Herman Blake
U.N.
Engaging Hostiles, Pyrite, Orre
We pull up to around 5,000 feet, out of range of most attacks. Turning my head downwards, I squint again, and see that those Wyrms, must have been at least three or four of 'em, are throwing up a series of Twisters. Four spiraling pillars of muck and debris begin to form, effectively covering their retreat into the mucky Earth. Huffing, I turn my Bird back out towards Pyrite itself, knowing that those tornadoes aren't going to let us or our munitions get anywhere near that road without incurring serious risk. Looking forward again, I try and re-establish contact with Lieutenant Sullivan.
"Bravo Actual, come in. What's your status, over?" I call in over the comm relays. I notice my wing-mate Six's aircraft is jerking slightly, the wingtips seeming a bit jittery. We ascend a bit more, pushing our aircraft up a bit farther to avoid the mud and debris getting slung around.
"This is Bravo Actual-- It's FUBAR down here! We got snipers picking us off wherever we pop up; only 4 tanks still operational. We're falling into defensive formation-- We need some damn guns on these snipers!" Sullivan's voice comes in, obviously filled with panic, though I could hear him giving orders still in the background. He was holding up well enough, though it was hard to tell past all that gunfire in the background. I peer over the edge of my craft, seeing that the tanks have fallen into a defensive circle. I saw men manning their machine gun turrets frantically firing... One getting picked off quickly by a sniper.
"Roger, Bravo Actual, we'll make a pass here in a moment. Light 'em up with a designator if you can," I reassure him, getting only a 'COPY THAT!' in response. I'm beginning to formulate a plan of attack to clear those snipers out for our boys on the ground, when I'm interrupted by the voice of Aztec 6.
"Boss, I think I got a bite," He informs me, and I recognize that callsign. 'I got a bite' was pilot-speak for 'Psychic-type pulling my aircraft'. It was an extremely urgent problem for most aircraft... But not the F/A-41B. Dark-type armor kept Psychic-types from getting a good grip, almost like we were all oiled and slicked up, by deflecting telekinetic energy. It was pretty easy to slip out of a psychic-type attack for an Obsidian, since roughly ninety-percent of the energy is nullified or reflected. Hitting a fast-flying or far-away aircraft flying straight was difficult for most Psychics. An Obsidian in a high-G turn? Nigh-Impossible. It was still possible to feel the noticeable tug of a Psychic-Type trying to yank you outta the sky, though, so we still have a useful little alarm that alerts us that they're attempting it.
"Roger; Aztec: bank hard, right, low. We're looping around Pyrite; clear those rooftops, keep an eye out for Psychic-users," I instruct, pulling my stick in the designated direction. Without delay, my wingmates follow suit, turning with me in formation as we swing out wide, and then turn inward in a sharp spiral towards the outskirts of Pyrite. We throttle down, slowly our aircraft slightly as we angle ourselves to skim over the town. Our Obsidians roar and groan in high-pitched shrieks as we move into the town, perpendicular the spiraling twisters, and begin our attack run around 1,000 feet in the air. We level our aircraft out, and begin using our eyes to visually mark targets. To do this, we start squinting at buildings, letting our helmets zoom in for us, and--
"Mark." I say promptly, spotting a human sniper, not one of ours, in a window. Automatically, my helmet detects my voice, and an orange dot appears inside a building window, right where my eyes were focused. It's a transparent orange square, (
◘), designating a target to strike. Within moments two, then three, then four more markers appear in my vision, for a total of five marked snipers, easy targets for our guns to work on now. We're nearing the outskirts opposite the city, when Aztec 6's craft shudders again.
"Damn, think he's still on me," My pilot says, his voice showing some annoyance as something struggles to grip onto his aircraft. "Som'in's got me, and I don't know what," He continues, his wobbling a bit, though he throttles forward and regains some more control, though he turns away a bit from the squadron. "I'm alright, little bastard is annoying though," He informs me, still on his 'bite'.
"Keep it together, Six," I caution, looking over to him as he joins back in the formation.
"I'm good boss, don't worry about me," Ricky reassures as we shoot out from the other border of Pyrite, ascending upwards again. We throttle up again, our engines whining as we push them to accelerate to just below the speed of sound as we try to make soem distance away. We keep this up for roughly a half-minute, before once again the nozzles of our engines narrow and we decelerate slightly, and begin to make a wide turn. Pushing our aircraft tighter, we re-align with Pyrite town, still seeing those narrow, spiraling pillars of earth slinging their mud around, though they will hopefully die shortly.
"Aztec squadron, engage marked targets," I inform, squinting one last time. My aircraft suddenly shudders a fair bit as if I hit a turbulence that wasn't there, and a small purple light goes off in the side of my vision, informing me,
PSYCHIC ANOMALY DETECTED
Got a bite. Great, now its trying drag me down too. I decelerate again, swerving left and right a little bit to shake the psychic type off. Seeing my maneuver, the other Aztecs begins doing the same, falling int close behind me, and swerving around my aircraft as we try to throw the psychic off our trail. 'Where are you...' I almost mutter, searching roof-top to roof-top between the snipers we'd already marked, when I see, sh a distinctive group of figures on the roof of a restaurant... One of them is a Lucario, peering angrily towards my bird. The zoom is a bit fuzzy at this range, but I can tell its looking straight at me. "...Mark." Another orange square appeared over the roof of the restaurant, making six targets into total.
My fingers reach in towards my console, flipping a pair of switches, sending the signal through to my ground-attack missiles. The guided AGM-109 Tauros, which more than lived up to their name, were more than capable of finding their way right through a window into a sniper's nest, and blow it to kingdom come. And they were my weapon of choice for Close-Air Support passes like this, where I needed something a little more focused than guns.
BOX3 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- ARMED
BOX4 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- ARMED
"Aztec Six, take left, Seven, right. I have center targets," I tell them throttling as we rapidly approach the border to Pyrite. My wingmates break off, giving a pair of 'Roger's, as they prepare to fire into their own lines. Quickly, we break into the border, and slow just ever so slightly. My finger twitches once, and my HUD changes accordingly.
BOX3 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- FIRED
BOX4 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- ARMED
A screaming, white spear suddenly lurched forward from beneath the left wing of my aircraft, launching forward at super-sonic speeds with a burst of flame, propelling the warhead forward. Back fins stabilize it, and the small computer in front of the warhead searches out its target; the orange square. Which just turned a bright read as my missile locks into it, propelling itself forward faster than even its screech. The sniper in the window of the building was never aware what was coming until the ground-attack missile struck his window, immolating him instantly in a hot burst of fire. the pressure wave blew him and his equipment apart instantly and efforlessly, leaving only a large hole in place of the window he'd been stationed in. In that instant, the orange square goes black. Similarly, two other red squares go red, then black, and finally disappear. This happens again a moment later as my wing-mate's manage to slam their AGMs into their second set of targets, and I can only hope that means another set of snipers destroyed under them.
My aircraft rumbles again, and I turn my focus onto the restaurant again where that Lucario, and that other, presumably other Black Alpha militant sat. The aircraft wobbles again, and I pull to get my Obsidian back on track so that I can keep that Lucario in my view. The shudders get stronger, and I know it's going to be difficult to get a shot off and that thing tries to grab my aircraft with all its focus.I pull up on the stick, and stare right back at it, placing my crosshairs right over the rooftop of the restraunt. My finger twitches again, and my aircraft rocks slightly as I ascend up and away from the newly detatched weight, as it too activated as turned itself for the building's roof.
BOX3 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- FIRED
BOX4 -- AGM-109TAUROS -- FIRED
I didn't stick around to see if my strike hit, and the orange square dissipated from my vision as my aircraft screamed past, shaking windows as I come within a few hundred feet of the ground, and shoot out the other border of the city, leaving a low rumbling in my wake. I pull back on my stick, looking to my right, and as expected, I see Aztec 7 moving back into formation with me after having dispatched his targets. Nodding, I turn back to my left-- And see Aztec 6, limping along. I notice that one of his tail fins is gone, and his left engine is billowing smoke.
"Aztec 6, report?" I ask quickly, squinting my eyes to zoom in on the damage.
"Debris from them fuggin' twister, hit me right in the as
s!" He tells me, though I could almost tell with the substantial amount of red mud on the back of his Obsidian.
"Copy that, Six, return to the
Red Crown," I tell him. A small box in the corner of my HUD has changed, and Aztec 6's plane is depicted as an orangish yellow, with the back-end covered in a warning sign.
"Roger that, breaking off!" He says, his aircraft shaking violently as its damaged engine tries to keep up with the undamaged one. His whining, lumbering aircraft turns out for the sea to regroup, as Seven and I throttle on ahead and ascend.