On February 5, 2439, the first BattleMech or 'Mech received its baptism of fire on a desolate series of steppes near the North American city of Yakima. The BattleMech, a joint effort by more than 20 of the best weapons manufacturers in the Hegemony, was tested against four ancient Merkava heavy tanks specially fitted with remote control devices. The commander of the BattleMech and the first MechWarrior was Colonel Charles Kincaid.
The few people allowed to witness the first combat run of the BattleMech were debriefed. What follows is a transcript of a verbal report filed by Professor Htov Gbarleman, chief research scientist for Karena's Fiber Optics Interstellar, manufacturer of the BattleMech's sensor systems.
Colonel Kincaid, with his usual impatience, rushed through the pre-test warmup and nearly ripped apart one of his umbilical connections trying to get the test started. As I began to monitor the sensor output, I noticed that the BattleMech's myomer-neural feedback circuits were faithfully echoing Colonel Kincaid's brain wave patterns. It was eerie - almost as though the 'Mech were technically alive and Kincaid was its spark of divinity. The Colonel's howl of sheer pleasure quickly cleared my head of that notion. He pushed the Mackie forward in a trot straight into the test range where four tanks waited among low, rolling hills.
One of the tanks opened fire. Its shot was true and hit the 'Mech just above the right hip. Everyone in the brightly lit bunker seemed to hold his breath as all the readouts fuzzed into snow at the blast interference. No damage! A piece of steel no thicker than my finger, strengthened by radiation casting techniques and impregnated with a sheet of woven diamond fibers, had stopped cold an armor-piercing shell. That same shell would have gone straight through a third of a meter of normal steel.
The tracking cameras watched as the Colonel swiveled his chest to bring his weapons to bear. Twenty years of my life seemed to focus into a single action that would take no more than five seconds. I watched as Colonel Kincaid used his sensors - my sensor - to pick out the tank hidden behind a group of small trees and bushes. He fired both his PPC and autocannon. Both shots were direct hits and the tank erupted into a ball of flame.
A thunderous cheer swept the bunker, while everyone present began to slap me on the back. Instead of feeling pleased at the 'Mech's performance, I felt increasingly sad.
I didn't realize why until Kincaid began to track down the last tank. The tank operator was sitting at his remote control panel next to me. I'll never forget the expression on the young man's face.
Outside, Kincaid had disabled the last tank. As he stood over it, he raised the 'Mech's right foot and brought it crashing down onto the tank. Before the hunk had a chance to explode, Kincaid twisted the 'Mech's foot deeper into the tank's carcass. Next to me, the operator of the tank was trying so hard not to show his fear that tears were streaming down his cheeks.
It hit me than that my colleagues and I had just turned loose one of the most powerful weapons ever conceived by man, but we were celebrating like giddy children. While my companions jumped up and down with glee, that poor boy was trying to hide the fact that in the instant his screens went black, he had wet his pants.