darkjigglypuff
Borderline Troll
Herman Blake
U.N.
Engaging Hostiles, Pyrite, Orre
I ponder on the words of the Chimera for a little while. Not all Chimera were evil? Well, I knew that, in a way. I also knew that the majority of the Chimera were actively seeking to infect the rest of humanity with their virus, however, which isn't exactly something I was to let slide. Perhaps there are good individual Chimera? Maybe. Maybe he is telling the truth. And I hope he's not just talking to make sure I don't withdraw my mercy... he's a dead dog if he chooses to go back on his word. If not?... Maybe he'll have earned a little respect from me. Maybe not admiration, but respect.
My squadron will be liable to look over him and his pals as they retreat, since we’re more busy hunting active threats right now.
I pull back on the stick, recovering my bird from another run as I leave the dust to settle behind me, and coat the remains of another Black Alpha sniper as the roof collapsed out from under it. I pull up into the night sky, watching as a pair of Obsidians crossed my view. Aztecs 3 and 5, it looked like, moving in on another run of their own. I feel a little happy inside; I know my teammates are competent enough to not need me holding their hands the entire time. They knew how to operate when a job needed to get done... and boy, was there ever one here. As I watched, I saw them ducking into the Southwestern part of town, a tinkling stream of yellow bolts blurting out towards the ground as I look away.
I knew right away, from the resistance Black Alpha was putting up, that they intended to stay right put. This terrorist group was dug in like an Alabama tick, and it was going to take a hell of a lot of leverage to dislodge them. From what I knew of Pyrite, there used to be a massive, secondary city underneath the ground. It was sealed up, but I'm all too willing to bet Black Alpha's sunk its roots deep down in there. I think about this for a minute as I begin to throttle out and away from the town, when one of the ground teams tries to patch through to me. A second later, I hear, yet again, another somewhat frantic voice.
"Aztec, Aztec, come in--" It's the voice of a female this time, she's yelling pretty hard over all the explosions and gunfire.
"Aztec Leader here, report. Status?"
"This is Lieutenant Daylee, 4th Armored, w--" I heard nothing else but a scream after that, and for a short second, I could swear I heard a nostalgic sound. A two second -chime... do-do-doo.... Like a jack-in-the-box or an... ice-cream truck. And ice cream truck? The hell would an ICE CREAM TRUCK being doing out here? Black Alpha must be damn desperate for technicals. I began to pull off on the throttle, and gently yawed to the side to begin a second run.
My radio begins to crackle, and I hear the same line coming through. "Mayday, mayday, this is Charlie Platoon, 4th Armored, we're in need of assistance! Enemy f-- technical! Painted like a damn ice cream truck!! Chimera occupants!" He yells, and sure enough, I hear that music in the background. My eyes shift a bit as I turn my head back. I almost ask for where he's at as he shouts "Requesting close-air support at Mike-Bravo, position!" He yells, and my eyes immediately dart towards the 'Mike' section of 'Bravo' sector, a single block of Pyrite.
It doesn't take long for me to spot my target through squinting eyes. My helmet zooms in, and my pupils instantly focus themselves on a fast moving, brightly-colored object, zipping down the streets, dodging potholes in the road as it sprayed machine-gun-fire from a gun atop it. Squinting in at it, I see bullets dinging off its brightly-colored hull. Baghdad armor on an ice-cream truck? Creative. I don't know what they were going for with that 'please shoot me it hurts to live' color scheme, though, but judging by the swathe it was cutting, it seems like is was going pretty well. Well, it would have been, if good air support weren't hard to find.
"Roger that, Charlie Platoon. This is Aztec Leader, I am moving to engage," I report back, though I know there’s a little more to it.
“Roger, roger, thanks!” I hear, but I’m too busy doing to calculations in my head to really think it through. Killing a technical was no big problem, really. Killing a technical as it ran down the street, flying straight past boots on the ground? It’d be hard as hell to hit it, not to mention minimize casualties. Dammit, this was a job for ground-pounders to be doing… don’t they have anything to take it out? None-the-less, I’ve got to think about this if I want to disable that truck without incurring any friendly-fire.
Yawwing slightly to the left and decelerating, I pull to intercept them—And apparently, so is Aztec 8. Surprised, I turn to look at his aircraft, and he’s already pulling ahead of me to attack. I pull back a bit, deciding to let him take care of this, and turn, thinking I’m going to go select another target as he takes car of this battle-ice-cream truck. That is, until, I hear a horrible ringing in my ears.
“Lock, it’s got a lock!” Aztec 8’s voice echoes through my radio, and my heart sinks as I pull away, dumping flares almost instinctively. My eyes dart to the right immediately as I watch Aztec 8 desperately turn into a roll, only for the heat-seeking missile fired from the truck to slam into his Obsidian anyway, shearing off its wing. For a moment, my mind fills with blinding rage.. The Chimera would have taken a fourth pilot, and for that there could be no more forgiveness. Suddenly, a ray of hope—Aztec 8 had been far enough away from the ground to eject, his cockpit detatching as his ejection seat shot into the air.
Aztec 8’s Obsidian slams into a small shop on the edge of town, engulfing it in a massive explosion. I pull out and away to around 2,000 feet as I start formulating my attack run. The Chimera aren’t getting away with this bull. I press forward on the throttle, and my bird lurches forward, pressing me back into my seat from the sudden acceleration. I pull hard to the left, my thumb hitting a swith on my console as I turn hard into the left, spinning my plane in a tight turn towards the street the ice-cream truck was barreling down.
BOX 9 -- GBU98G-SDB –- ARMED
The Guided Small Diameter Bomb. ‘Small Diamter’ in this case meaning an explosion with a diameter of 10 meters. The ‘Guided’ part came from the bomb’s ability to adjust itself according its target. In this case, the vehicle’s unique heat signature amongst the rest of the street, which was beginning to cool now that night was setting in. That shoddily armored truck, however, for however much ice-cream was inside it, showed up as a light house to infrared. My plane begins to descend, and my eyes dart towards the ice-cream truck, still making its runs through the roads. Wreaking havoc, though not at all hard to spot with that obnoxious color-scheme. My eyes squint, zooming in on the
“Mark.” I say quietly, realizing I was holding my breath as my plane leveled for the ground. As expected, an orange square appears directly over the truck, and begins to shakily follow it. My finger hovers over the trigger, and I pull my plane slightly to the right, pointing my nose to the road in front of them as I approach on an attack angle, reaching only a 1,000 feet and closing. The orange square hovers over the target, shakily moving in front of it. It would be now or never.
Aztec 8’s ejection seat had just barely skimmed the ground, when my finger depressed the trigger, and immediately my arm pulled gently back on the flight-stick, and to the right. Sensing what might have been coming next, having soared so close for so long, my hand immediately traveled to another switch on my dashboard, and I immediately dropped my second, and last, load of flares, scattering them over the city as I pulled out and away, immediately gaining altitude and distance from my target.
BOX 9 -- GBU98G-SDB –- FIRED
I looked back just in time to watch as the section of road where the ice-cream truck would have been become covered in a sizable flash of a fireball, followed quickly by a fifty-foot tall plume of blown-apart dust and concrete, which covered the street from one side to the other. Bit of destroyed road hit the rooftops of buildings, and I saw nothing move from that dark cloud in the night, and the buildings aflame on the block over revealed no movement. Satisfied, I soar off again, and begin trying to get into contact with Aztec 8.
U.N.
Engaging Hostiles, Pyrite, Orre
I ponder on the words of the Chimera for a little while. Not all Chimera were evil? Well, I knew that, in a way. I also knew that the majority of the Chimera were actively seeking to infect the rest of humanity with their virus, however, which isn't exactly something I was to let slide. Perhaps there are good individual Chimera? Maybe. Maybe he is telling the truth. And I hope he's not just talking to make sure I don't withdraw my mercy... he's a dead dog if he chooses to go back on his word. If not?... Maybe he'll have earned a little respect from me. Maybe not admiration, but respect.
My squadron will be liable to look over him and his pals as they retreat, since we’re more busy hunting active threats right now.
I pull back on the stick, recovering my bird from another run as I leave the dust to settle behind me, and coat the remains of another Black Alpha sniper as the roof collapsed out from under it. I pull up into the night sky, watching as a pair of Obsidians crossed my view. Aztecs 3 and 5, it looked like, moving in on another run of their own. I feel a little happy inside; I know my teammates are competent enough to not need me holding their hands the entire time. They knew how to operate when a job needed to get done... and boy, was there ever one here. As I watched, I saw them ducking into the Southwestern part of town, a tinkling stream of yellow bolts blurting out towards the ground as I look away.
I knew right away, from the resistance Black Alpha was putting up, that they intended to stay right put. This terrorist group was dug in like an Alabama tick, and it was going to take a hell of a lot of leverage to dislodge them. From what I knew of Pyrite, there used to be a massive, secondary city underneath the ground. It was sealed up, but I'm all too willing to bet Black Alpha's sunk its roots deep down in there. I think about this for a minute as I begin to throttle out and away from the town, when one of the ground teams tries to patch through to me. A second later, I hear, yet again, another somewhat frantic voice.
"Aztec, Aztec, come in--" It's the voice of a female this time, she's yelling pretty hard over all the explosions and gunfire.
"Aztec Leader here, report. Status?"
"This is Lieutenant Daylee, 4th Armored, w--" I heard nothing else but a scream after that, and for a short second, I could swear I heard a nostalgic sound. A two second -chime... do-do-doo.... Like a jack-in-the-box or an... ice-cream truck. And ice cream truck? The hell would an ICE CREAM TRUCK being doing out here? Black Alpha must be damn desperate for technicals. I began to pull off on the throttle, and gently yawed to the side to begin a second run.
My radio begins to crackle, and I hear the same line coming through. "Mayday, mayday, this is Charlie Platoon, 4th Armored, we're in need of assistance! Enemy f-- technical! Painted like a damn ice cream truck!! Chimera occupants!" He yells, and sure enough, I hear that music in the background. My eyes shift a bit as I turn my head back. I almost ask for where he's at as he shouts "Requesting close-air support at Mike-Bravo, position!" He yells, and my eyes immediately dart towards the 'Mike' section of 'Bravo' sector, a single block of Pyrite.
It doesn't take long for me to spot my target through squinting eyes. My helmet zooms in, and my pupils instantly focus themselves on a fast moving, brightly-colored object, zipping down the streets, dodging potholes in the road as it sprayed machine-gun-fire from a gun atop it. Squinting in at it, I see bullets dinging off its brightly-colored hull. Baghdad armor on an ice-cream truck? Creative. I don't know what they were going for with that 'please shoot me it hurts to live' color scheme, though, but judging by the swathe it was cutting, it seems like is was going pretty well. Well, it would have been, if good air support weren't hard to find.
"Roger that, Charlie Platoon. This is Aztec Leader, I am moving to engage," I report back, though I know there’s a little more to it.
“Roger, roger, thanks!” I hear, but I’m too busy doing to calculations in my head to really think it through. Killing a technical was no big problem, really. Killing a technical as it ran down the street, flying straight past boots on the ground? It’d be hard as hell to hit it, not to mention minimize casualties. Dammit, this was a job for ground-pounders to be doing… don’t they have anything to take it out? None-the-less, I’ve got to think about this if I want to disable that truck without incurring any friendly-fire.
Yawwing slightly to the left and decelerating, I pull to intercept them—And apparently, so is Aztec 8. Surprised, I turn to look at his aircraft, and he’s already pulling ahead of me to attack. I pull back a bit, deciding to let him take care of this, and turn, thinking I’m going to go select another target as he takes car of this battle-ice-cream truck. That is, until, I hear a horrible ringing in my ears.
“Lock, it’s got a lock!” Aztec 8’s voice echoes through my radio, and my heart sinks as I pull away, dumping flares almost instinctively. My eyes dart to the right immediately as I watch Aztec 8 desperately turn into a roll, only for the heat-seeking missile fired from the truck to slam into his Obsidian anyway, shearing off its wing. For a moment, my mind fills with blinding rage.. The Chimera would have taken a fourth pilot, and for that there could be no more forgiveness. Suddenly, a ray of hope—Aztec 8 had been far enough away from the ground to eject, his cockpit detatching as his ejection seat shot into the air.
Aztec 8’s Obsidian slams into a small shop on the edge of town, engulfing it in a massive explosion. I pull out and away to around 2,000 feet as I start formulating my attack run. The Chimera aren’t getting away with this bull. I press forward on the throttle, and my bird lurches forward, pressing me back into my seat from the sudden acceleration. I pull hard to the left, my thumb hitting a swith on my console as I turn hard into the left, spinning my plane in a tight turn towards the street the ice-cream truck was barreling down.
BOX 9 -- GBU98G-SDB –- ARMED
The Guided Small Diameter Bomb. ‘Small Diamter’ in this case meaning an explosion with a diameter of 10 meters. The ‘Guided’ part came from the bomb’s ability to adjust itself according its target. In this case, the vehicle’s unique heat signature amongst the rest of the street, which was beginning to cool now that night was setting in. That shoddily armored truck, however, for however much ice-cream was inside it, showed up as a light house to infrared. My plane begins to descend, and my eyes dart towards the ice-cream truck, still making its runs through the roads. Wreaking havoc, though not at all hard to spot with that obnoxious color-scheme. My eyes squint, zooming in on the
“Mark.” I say quietly, realizing I was holding my breath as my plane leveled for the ground. As expected, an orange square appears directly over the truck, and begins to shakily follow it. My finger hovers over the trigger, and I pull my plane slightly to the right, pointing my nose to the road in front of them as I approach on an attack angle, reaching only a 1,000 feet and closing. The orange square hovers over the target, shakily moving in front of it. It would be now or never.
Aztec 8’s ejection seat had just barely skimmed the ground, when my finger depressed the trigger, and immediately my arm pulled gently back on the flight-stick, and to the right. Sensing what might have been coming next, having soared so close for so long, my hand immediately traveled to another switch on my dashboard, and I immediately dropped my second, and last, load of flares, scattering them over the city as I pulled out and away, immediately gaining altitude and distance from my target.
BOX 9 -- GBU98G-SDB –- FIRED
I looked back just in time to watch as the section of road where the ice-cream truck would have been become covered in a sizable flash of a fireball, followed quickly by a fifty-foot tall plume of blown-apart dust and concrete, which covered the street from one side to the other. Bit of destroyed road hit the rooftops of buildings, and I saw nothing move from that dark cloud in the night, and the buildings aflame on the block over revealed no movement. Satisfied, I soar off again, and begin trying to get into contact with Aztec 8.
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