!!0ZviLFh59My 03/03/12(Sat)22:14 No.18194135|
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What little sense you started the day with slowly comes back to you. There's an egg growing on your skull, but whatever. You reach into the shattered cockpit Sean just dragged you out of, and come out with the Thompson you'd thrown behind your pilot's chair, along with a bandoleer of spare magazines.
"Sean, the machine guns!?"
Sean snorts. "With the ass-end of the plane, back there, somewhere."
"Oh." You reach into the cockpit again, and carefully extract an M-1 carbine, ducking as a mini-rocket explodes a few inches to your left, cutting your arm with shrapnel.
Then you go blind. You wipe at your face, and the world comes back hued red. You lick your gloved finger and taste coppery, bitter blood. You wipe at your goggles a few more times, then pass Ian the M-1 Carbine.
"What the FUCK happened?" you ask.
Sean points at the shattered martian Tripod Walker dangling limply over one side of the ship. "See that?"
"No, no, see the smoke?"
"Well now I do," you say defensively.
"I think that fucker was riding a rocket-bomb," Sean tells you. "Right into the side of the Fitzgerald."
"Fuck," you say wearily, sliding down the side of the A-20. "Just our luck. A rocket-bomb without the actual bomb."
"... actually, I think the rocket was enough," Sean tells you. "Look."
The deck plates under the shattered Walker are beginning to glow red.
"I think it's time to leave," Sean says.