You make no motions. You are an immobile statue, an expressionless wraith. Only a bead of sweat crawling down your cheek betrays your living nature. You stare deeply into the blue eyes of your opponent, her light brown hair draw into her cap. She is no such paragon of tranquility, her brow furrowed in thought. Examining her trembling cards carefully, she picks a pair, setting them down. A pair of Aces, Heart and Spade. Only three cards left in hand, she watches and waits for your reaction. You keep a straight face. A pair of Aces is hard to beat, especially when one is a heart. You let her stew as you glance at your cards. With a slow, deliberate motion, you reach for a pair in your hand, and gently set them on top of the pile. "GOD DAMMIT, THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Rae yells, echoing through the mess hall. She tosses her hand onto the pile: 2 of Hearts, 4 of Clubs, 4 of Spades. "WHY ARE YOU SO GOOD AT THIS?" "Calm down, Rae. You're the one that wanted to play, remember?" says Miranda, trying to calm her down. "Yeah, I wanted to play Poker! Not this bizarro game. Who the hell ever heard of hearts being the highest suit? Why is 2 the highest rank?" she complains, pointing to your pair of 2s, Diamond and Club. "...Can we finish?" asks Yetta. "Fine, fine, go ahead! I'm last again, anyway."
You play your final card, starting the last round. 5 of Spades. Yetta follows, playing the 5 of Diamonds. Miranda plays the 7 of Clubs. Socks tosses in the 10 of Hearts. With that, the only person with cards in hand is Rae. "I hate you guys," she says, pouting. "Even the damned Martian is better than me." The three of you smirk as Socks remains motionless, not understanding Rae's outburst. It's been two days since the Martian attack on the flotilla. Finally getting a chance to breathe, your group has settled on the larger Jintsu, surrounded by more crew and away from Lt. Cmdr. Naomi Ito. Sticking close to Socks, your group has managed to prevent the crew from getting too rowdy, and now your far corner of the mess hall is thoroughly avoided by the regulars. That's fine, seeing as you'll only be here for a few more days. As Rae shuffles the deck for another game ("Let me do it, you guys keep jinxing the deck for me."), you scan the nearly-empty mess. It's the evening, and dinner has already been served for most of the crew. A few officers float through, enjoying the privileges of rank and eating at their leisure instead of the assigned times. As your group starts the first round of cards, Sarah walks in. "How the hell did that Two beat an Ace?" she asks. Rae goes rigid as she hears Sarah speaking from behind her back.[ ] Invite her to join the game[ ] Buzz off[ ] Deflect. Why are you still here?[ ] Other
[x] Invite her to join the gameWe need to not antagonize people.
>>19715979Oh, what's the danger in letting her play a little?
>>19716072Also inquire as to her continued presence.Thirdly, looks like you got hit by the permasage, Kotters
>>19716095As always.
I have the horrible feeling that this thread was struck by a mod who abuses the permasage flag.
>>19715979Invite her to join and inquire about her continued presence.
>>19716147"Submersible Witches" in the subject might actually be set to auto-permasage.
>>19715979[x] Deflect. Why are you still here?We're not exactly happy with her, what with threatening the ONE THING THAT COULD WIN THE WAR FOR US!
>>19716185Deflect: why arn't you running YOUR quest
>>19716198Go write something, Panzer.
>>19716198Yeah, what the hell, Panzer?
So, is this thread dead or what?
>>19716332Nope, one of the mods who lurk on the Rizon server unfucked it. Kota's writing.
>>19716340Oh god. I was about to bawl like a little bitch if it was.
You're a bit put off by this Witch, but she has yet to really do anything detrimental. In fact, her group saved your lives. You decide she's at least earned one game of 13 Cards. "Want to sit in a game? You're welcome to it," you offer, gesturing to a seat. Sarah surveys the group, her eyes staying on Socks just a little bit longer than anyone else. After a moment of consideration, she answers. "Sure, I've got nothing better to do until there's another attack." Sarah plops into her spot, waiting. "Speaking of which, what are you doing here, anyway?" you ask. "Oh, got some orders over the radio. 'Do your best to cover Admiral Isaki's fleet until it arrives safely at Brisbane' or something. The Jintsu's got basic facilities for a striker aboard, so I invited myself aboard. The Captain didn't seem too pleased, but that Admiral was delighted." Sarah shrugs. "Plus, I haven't seen my little sister in ages." She wraps an arm around Rae, who hasn't moved since she first noticed Sarah. "Come on, Rae, don't be so stiff! You've gotta learn to be sociable sometime!" After several games, Sarah joins. She promptly begins to dominate, taking the next three with some incredibly lucky hands and gambits. It soon turns into a boring game of counting how many turns it takes for Sarah to win. All of you grow tired, mumbling excuses to leave.
>>19716425 "Aww, come on! Just one more game, huh? This is great!" Sarah pleads. "Sarah, come on. We're still recovering from the rush of the past few days. Give us a break," you tell her. "Maybe tomorrow." "Hmph. Fine, it's cool. You're all just sore at how badly you lost. Haha, I'm the greatest!" She's not only irritating; she's right. All of you begin breaking off in different directions, leaving Sarah with the cheap deck. Who do you follow?[ ] Rae[ ] Socks and Miranda[ ] Yetta[ ] Other
[x] RaeShe needs a friend right now.
>>19716433[x] RaeThough I'm tempted to go for Yetta.
>>19716499Same.
>>19716433The Admiral. Or perhaps Yetta.
>>19716570Ooo, even better. Follow Yetta to the Admiral's quarters, discovering their illicit affair.
>>19716433You follow Rae out of the room, trusting Miranda to safeguard Socks and for Yetta to be alright wherever it is she's going. Rae heads back to the aft of the ship, a difficult feat, given the disappearing sunlight. She leans against the railing silently, thinking. Staring out at the ocean, she doesn't notice you. "Rae, what's up with you and Sarah?" She turns around, leaning her back against the railing so that she can face you. "Oh, hey Cleo." Rae looks at the deck sullenly. "It's nothing." "Come on, Rae. If it's nothing, you'd have been your over-the-top self during those last games." "I'm just disappointed at how easily we got beat, is all."[ ] Accept it and join her at the railing.[ ] Press her.[ ] Other.
>>19716628Press her or some bullshit
>[x] Press her.But be reasonable. If she insists, back off.
>>19716628LIIIEEESSSSS>[ ] Press her.
>>19716628[x] Other.Make the observation that no, it's not that. She's got a real problem with her sister, and quite frankly, we can't blame her. Then join her at the railing.
>>19716671If I were inclined to be reasonable and change my vote, I'd change it to this. Too bad I'm feeling goofy.
>>19716628This >>19716671
>>19716628You take a spot at the railing next to her, facing the ship's wake. "Come on now, Rae. Don't give me that." Rae sighs. "You're not going to let this go?" "If you really don't want to talk, then that's fine." You let a minute pass as you watch the water churn behind the Jintsu. The intricate patterns of moving water are mesmerizing. "But you look like you've got some issues. You should probably work through them, Rae. Now's better than later." Rae leans her head back, catching glimpses of stars beginning to pop into existence. The sun is below the horizon now. "I guess you're right," she says. "I...dunno. I don't really hate my sister and brother at all, you know." "Seems more like you're afraid of them, or embarrassed," you note. "Haha," she chuckles. "I guess that's partly right. If I had to put it into words...I'm probably afraid of their expectations. I'm afraid of the Rae Caulders in their heads, of them figuring out I'm not that girl." You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"
>>19716975 "Max and Sarah were top of their class, best in everything. Whatever they decided to do, they just did, effortlessly. They're honest-to-god geniuses, prodigies. I'm...not." Rae's voice strains as she utters that last word. "The entire time at the Academy, I had to study hard to get by. I was never that sociable, burying myself in a book. Sarah always teased me because of it." "Oh, yeah? A bit of sibling rivalry there?" "I guess, but it wasn't anything of ill-intent. I love my siblings dearly, and they me. They just don't really understand what it's like to struggle. I mean, get this. Sarah, in her last year at the Academy, was valedictorian. There were some classes cut short as the world prepared for another big upheaval, but she was still on-par or better than past graduates. Top marks in everything and involved in a million extra-curricular volunteer jobs." "Sounds like she was busy." "That's the thing. She wasn't. I was the one with no time for friends. I was the one feeling the strain. I was the one trying to move the god damn world, and she was the one getting the awards." Rae pauses. "And Sarah thinks it was the same for me as it was for her, that I chose not to do anything more than get by." She clenches her fist. "It's just not fair."[ ] Life's not always fair, Rae.[ ] Stay silent.[ ] Other.
[x] Stay silent.Let her keep venting.
>>19716993[x] Life's not always fair, Rae.Look at us, a Witch, and yet our family was ruined by the Depression. We still had to work for everything that all other Witches seem to take for granted.
>>19716993[x] Stay silent.Let's not be condescending here.
[x] Stay silent.Let's not be condescending here.Perhaps some way to be supportive while remaining silent?
>>19716993Shit sux, girl.Take that as you will
>>19716993 You stay silent, letting Rae keep control of the conversation. Rae takes a few minutes to work through her anger, her fist trembling. You suspect she's having difficulty even determining who to be angry to. "They don't even expect much from me; they're completely OK with whatever I decide to do! I can't even be mad at them. I..." Rae trails off, trying to figure out what to say. "Max and Sarah are a hotshot pilot/witch duo, practically heroes back home. Me? I'm nobody, worthless. All I've done is get caught by a bunch of aliens in my first fight." Rae turns to face you. "I'm...angry at myself. And they remind me of it." She barely manages to get those words out, barely describable as a whipser.What do you do?
>>19717164I agree.
>>19717212'You're worth something to me...'Sorry, Kota, I had to :(
>>19717212"Well, honey, for however little it might be worth, your situation does sound kind of shitty. But consider this. I could tell you that hard work and perseverance can overcome inadequacy issues, or I could tell that you haven't hit your stride yet and it'll happen some day...or I could tell you to harden the fuck up, and to just tell her about it and hear her side of the story. Which do you think will actually solve anything?"
>>19717243Go to bed, Peorth
"You're not a hero. But you're not worthless, either. They don't know what to expect from you, and neither do you."
>>19717212give her the dick
>>19717261This is good
>>19717270What
>>19717212Yep, this >>19717261 will do nicely.
>>19717300You made a friend!
>>19717212>>19717243Say it!>>19717270This seems good, too.
>>19717212You look Rae in the eye. She's on the verge of tears, an emotional state you brought her to. As the night sky begins to reveal its brilliance, a familiar phrase echos through your head. It's always darkest before dawn. "Rae, you know what I think it is?" She shakes her head. "They don't know what to expect from you. They're waiting for you to decide what you want to do in life." "B-but!" Rae sputters, but she cuts herself short as she realizes your next point. "The reason why you're so frustrated...is because you don't know what you want." Both of Rae's fists clench up at that, a stinging truth flung in her face, no longer avoidable. "I found out what I wanted to do early on. I wanted to work hard, show others that Witches can appreciate a hard day's work from their side of things, and do great things at the same time. Enlisting was just another way to do so. During the Depression, I learned the hard way what it's like to need, what it's like to have to work just to get by each day. I'm just lucky enough to have found my passion, working side by side with average people to move mountains. Rae, you need to find yours."
>>19717261Seconding this.
>>19717424 Rae doesn't say anything for awhile, brooding. You turn your head upwards, trying to find constellations you might recognize. It's a futile effort, with most of what little you know not being visible in the southern sky. "...Thanks," says Rae, interrupting your stargazing. "I think I can try to do that. Find what I want to do, I mean." She wraps her arm around your shoulder and squeezes you tight. "Geez, when did you get so good at talking to people? You had me almost crying!" she says, hints of cheerfulness coming through her voice now. "But seriously, thanks." As the two of you head to your temporary bunks, you swear you see Socks. It was only for a moment, though. [ ] What's that Martian up to now?[ ] Probably nothing[ ] Other
[x] What's that Martian up to now?Oh, dat wascally awium.
[X] What's that Martian up to now?
>>19717431[x] What's that Martian up to now?
[x] What's that Martian up to now?
>>19717431>>[ ] What's that Martian up to now?
[x] What's that Martian up to now?If it was Socks without a bodyguard, it wasn't Socks.
>>19717431 "Hey, Rae." "Yeah?" "Was that Socks just now?" Rae shrugs. "I don't know. Why? You not ready to hit the bunks just yet?" You shake your head. "No, it's not that; I'm tired as hell too. I'm just worried about the guy wandering about. Martians aren't exactly popular, you know." "Miranda was with him, right? No problems. Besides, Isaki's probably scared the fleet shitless with what he'll do to them if they kill our first Martian turncoat." "I'm still a little worried. I'm going to go check." "Suit yourself. Those thin comfort pads are calling my name." With a wave, Rae makes her way back inside the ship. It's dark, as lighting is minimized to avoid detection. You walk to where you spotted what might be Socks, and open the hatch you find there. Walking inside, you find a hallway with a few branches. Only the night watch are about in this area this late, and they're nowhere to be found. You hear some noises, a regular beat of sound that you peg as...yes. It's Martian. Peeking around the corner, you spot Socks. About 4 meters away from him is an unfamiliar Martian, wearing some sort of gear. He doesn't strike you as a regular soldier, or even a commando. Whatever he is, just looking at him gives you the creeps. It's as if your brain itself were getting goosebumps. Socks and this other are speaking. You can't understand them.[ ] Conceal yourself.[ ] Confront the two.[ ] Communicate with Socks.[ ] Other.
[ ] Communicate with Socks."Hey man, you around? What's up?"WE GIVE NOTHING AWAY
>>19717595>[ ] Conceal yourself.We can ask Socks about it later.
>>19717595[x] Communicate with Socks."Hey buddy, what's up?"
Call for backup.
>>19717595[x] Conceal yourself.Confront him later.
>>19717595mfw Socks is cheating on Cookie with another Martian :(
>>19717679But they had passionate sex!
>>19717707Sadly, it doesn't mean the relationship was meant to be.
It looks like Socks's boss isn't too pleased about his defection. Is that a personal cloaking device? Or maybe a SEP field.
>>19717595 You hide around the corner, making sure they can't spot you. Reaching out with your mind, you try to contact Socks. [Socks? You there?] [Ah, Kukyendall. Um, what can I do for you?] His mind radiates nervousness, unease, and hesitation. [I'm working on a rather difficult problem at the moment, it's a bit frustrating.] [Oh, just wondering why you weren't at the bunks, is all. Miranda with you?] [Y-yes, of course.] You get the feeling that even he knows how unconvincing he's being. [Alright. Let her know I said 'hi.' Is that problem anything I can help with?] [Of course. As for the problem, eh, no, not really. It has to do with Psionics.] [Ah, Psionics. You know, we really should sit down sometime and go over some basics of Psionics-] [I am sorry, Kukyendall. I really must get back to this problem before...my train of thought leaves me.] [Oh, of course. Good night, Socks.] He doesn't reply. You sneak a look around the corner, just in time to witness the strange Martian approach Socks. He pulls a weapon out, and suddenly beats Socks with the butt of it. Socks falls to the floor, writhing in pain.[ ] Not today, fucker[ ] Stay hidden[ ] Other
[x] Not today, fuckerNobody pummels our own little deceitful Martian but us!
>>19717795>[ ] Stay hiddenMuch as I want to jump in, let's see where this is going, first.
>>19717795[x] Not today, fuckerI'm weary of this decision since we don't know the whole context of what was going on.
>>19717795[x] Not today, fuckerSocks is gonna have some explaining to do.
>>19717795Ok, let's gettum!
Sound the alarm! Any alarm!
>>19717595[x] Not today, fuckerSocks is gonna have some explaining to do.
>>19717795[x] Not today, fucker
>>19717795He did not just attack your favorite Martian. Oh, oh. He did. That's not OK. You pad yourself, finding your familiar M1911 at your side. You draw it, taking off the safety, and whirl around the corner. Taking but a fraction of a second to aim, you fire several shots at the strange Martian, expecting to see him drop to the floor. Instead, he merely turns to you, unperturbed. He raises a tentacle, waving it side to side. Ah-ah-ah, he seems to be saying. You fire at different points of his body, emptying your magazine. Not a single one hits, and if you didn't know any better you'd swear the Martian was smirking at you. He doesn't even raise his weapon to attack you, simply standing in place as if asking "Is that the best you can do?" Pissed off, you grab your knife and lunge at him. He sidesteps with impossible speed, leaving you to crash painfully into a bulkhead. He's toying with me, you realize. He stands still again, that same annoying smirk on his face.[ ] Space CQC[ ] Call for Help[ ] Other
Space CQC while ALSO screaming at the top of your lungs
>>19717944[x] Other.Shrug, holster weapon, collect Socks, and walk away. All while screaming bloody murder over magic radio.I'm betting he's all defence, little offence.
>>19717944[x] Space CQC[x] Call for Help
>>19717944I'd look for a rock and do this instead.
Wait... Strike Witches weapons work on the principle of inverse damage. 30cm incendiary shells barely scratch an alien ship, but a witch can head-butt one into oblivion or slice it in half with a sharp stick. Stab this smirking sob with a putty knife!
>>19717944Space CQC his shit.>>19718112Maybe if we were in the normal Strike Witches world, that would work.
>>19717944 You close in for a wild attempt to make contact with this stranger. You take a wide stance, determined not to let him slip by. Making a sudden forward motion, you brace for any kind of counter-attack, hoping to grapple him. He dodges, again evading your grip. Frustrated, you throw a punch, and another, and another, the Martian nimbly moving out of the way each time. Closing for a kick, you sweep the floor with your leg. He jumps (which impresses you), and your kick hits nothing but air. Seemingly finished with this, he again smirks at you, and makes to leave. You attempt to follow him around the corner, but you lose sight of him for a moment. Coming around the corner, you find he is no longer there. Like a ghost, he has disappeared. The night watch returns, rushing to discover where the gunshot came from. They find you not 5 meters away from Socks' writhing, scrunched up form. With little regard to either of your comforts, they grab Socks and you, yelling in Japanese. They drag you outside, your shins hitting a few hatchways during the trip. Finally, you come to a stop, face to face with Admiral Isaki. A piercing look on his face, Admiral Isaki is not happy.NEXT TIME ON SUBMERSIBLE WITCHES: A PHANTOM MENACEMONDAY, 9 PM EST, 8 PM CST
Fine. The fallback weapon in situations like these is a fire extinguisher.
aw shit son
Algoud harrumphed. “Anyway! The ship was spotted again here, approaching Rome at approximately twenty five knots. Before it could get within range of the coastline, a sortie from Civitavecchia assaulted the ship and destroyed it.” The Colonel lifted a stack of grainy photographs and handed them to an aide, instructing to him to pass them out. “The vessel was photographed here.”Chrichton picked up the photo, looking at the grainy, grey image. The alien ship was shaped like a gigantic pear, with the fat end partially submerged under the water, and the ‘stem’ aiming up. The ship was covered in the same red and black paneling that the aliens seemed to put on everything for no goddamned reason, and several maser and missile batteries decorated the upper hull. Small, hexagonal slots above the waterline were indicated to be the fighter launch ports by some helpful analyst. There were only four slots total, all wide open.
>>19718149Welp, totally saw that coming.
>>19718149You all just had to get involved, didn't you?
“Any idea of its raw armament?” a new voice asked from across the table. Major Heidmack, the Paladins’ squadron leader and the only WWI veteran in the squadron, leaned forward, tapping the photo. “Those masers are bigger than anything we’ve seen so far.”“Beyond the visible weaponry, we have no idea. The mounted weapons, as you can see, are mounted on a ring,” Algoud said, “so it is impossible for it to bring all its guns to bear on a single target.” Chrichton shook his head. He was far less willing to assign the word ‘impossible’ to anything the squiddly scum tried.Algoud hefted a much larger photograph, this one seemingly taken from the deck of the Italian warships. “Finally, this image was taken at 2300 the next morning. As you can see, though the Black Smoke had dispersed, this machine was still present at the site of the battle.” Chrichton leaned forward and squinted. There was a red box floating on the surface of the water.“We suspect it to be some sort of buoy,” Algoud said. “It appeared to have been emitting massive amounts of radio waves, right up until the Arggiogone destroyed it.”
“If I may, sir, what precident exists for this?” one of the Italian pilots asked.“None. The aliens have performed camouflaged drops before, but never a completely un-jammed radio beacon.” The French Lieutenant Colonel leaned forward, his sagging moustache concealing the tightness of his jaw. “It is possible that it was signaling for reinforcements to land there. If that is so, gentlemen, we may be in for the fight of our lives, if more of those ships splash down nearby. One was enough to blast half the decking of the Arggiogone to scrap. A flotilla…” he trailed off.“Strikes me that if it could get spooked off by a single recon flight of Mustangs, it probably doesn’t have any more fighters than it scrambled,” Smith said, his harsh Boston accent lending his words an edge he didn’t – probably – mean them to have.“Captain, if as much of that interior space is devoted to fighter storage as it could be while maintaining its buoyancy, that thing could easily be carrying a third of a wing,” Algoud said coldly. “I assume nothing yet.”Girroti spoke up. “Did the ship have an escort?”“No,” Algoud said, sounding glad to finally be conveying some good news. “It was alone.”“We should assume that will change,” Girroti pointed out. “They usually believe in their own invincibility until someone proves them wrong.”“And thank God,” Smith said, eliciting a few laughs from the American officers and a frown from Algoud.
The meeting wore on, with most questions after Girroti’s being met with some variant of ‘I have no idea.’ At long last, the meeting concluded, and the officers dispersed. Chrichton made his escape, sidling past the crowd and making for freedom. Before he could vanish, however, a hand grabbed his shoulder.“Wally, you leaving already?” Smith asked innocently.“I was planning on it, sure,” Chrichton said, shrugging free. “Why?”“Because you, dear friend, are on patrol in fifteen minutes, and I would be greatly saddened if you were to miss your first command after your brevetting,” Smith said sadly.Chrichton glared at the taller pilot, but couldn’t argue with the point. “Fine…fuck. I’ll go. Get your hand off me,” he grumbled. He brushed the Bostonian’s hand aside with a halfhearted swipe. “What’s got you so perky, anyway?”“Third has the evening to ourselves,” he said contently.“Lucky bastard,” Chrichton said. “Ours isn’t until tomorrow.”“Now, I’m off. Clear skies, pal,” Smith said cheerfully, nearly jogging off to the vehicle annex. Chrichton glared at the taller man’s back, trying to set him on fire with his mind. It didn’t work.“I guess you get to live. FOR NOW,” he muttered under his breath. The sound of engines spooling up interrupted his mumblings, and he glanced over to the hangar the Americans were using. Sure enough, a fuel truck was puttering over to some of the planes on the far left of the structure.
Chrichton’s flight took to the skies, angling away from the setting sun. Chrichton’s wingman, Lieutenant Beyside, pulled up behind and to the left of him, eyeing the rest of the extra-sized flight as they formed up. “Five up, chief.”“Acknowledged,” Chrichton said, finishing his own check. He tapped the microphone on his radio once, signaling the flight. “All right, kids, standard clock. We’re on mid-highs, Angels three, eyes on the deck.”“Confirm deck, sir,” Paladin 17 said. Chrichton glanced back at Duberstein.“Confirm deck. The enemy has sortied a new class of surface warship. If we spot one, we’ll radio back to Vadina and sortie the cruisers. I’ve seen pictures of the hostile; it looks like a gigantic pear with a ring of tubes around the top.”“Uh…okay,” Duberstein said. “And…how big is it?”“Displacement is half again a standard Dreadnought,” Chrichton said, tapping the rudder. The aircraft eased over to the left, starting its circuit. “No camo, just a big old blob of grey and red.”“Uh huh. Armament?”“Same as a Dread, just more of it, from what we’ve seen. Only one has ever been sighted,” the newly-minted Captain said.“And…why are we hearing about this now? Sir?” Beyside asked.“Because I found out, literally, on the way to the hangar,” Chrichton said truthfully, eyes wandering over the sky. “Now cut the chatter.”The flight of five – formerly six – Mustangs buzzed on, only breaking the radio silence to announce a course change. About half an hour in, though, Beyside suddenly spoke up.
“Contact contact, we have movement!” he suddenly announced. “I have unidentified air, seven O-clock, angels one and heading south!” Chrichton leaned over, rolling his craft slightly, trying not to cut across any of the other Mustangs’ flight paths. Sure enough…“Contact confirmed, we have four repeat four Steamsled-type heavies!” He opened his radio to the base’s command frequency. “Vadina Vadina Vadina, this is Paladin Thirteen, we have trade, four sleds, over the coast, heading for you! Request an invitation!”“You are cordially invited, Paladin,” the controller said. “God be with you.”“Aye,” Chrichton said, switching back to squad channels. “Paladins, break and engage! Duberstein, cover and watch! Beyside, on me, Blair, Garms, nail the leader! Break up their formation!” Without another word, he slammed the rudder down and jerked the stick slightly, wheeling the plane over and into a shallow dive. The massive Packard engine thrummed into higher speed as the formation wheeled around. Chrichton twitched the throttle up to 400 mp/h, deliberately holding back on full power. The sleds were much slower than the Mustangs, and he didn’t want to overshoot on the first blind pass he would get.“Game plan?” Beyside asked.“Nail them from above and behind, shoot under, split both ways, fall in behind the ones going to engage Blair and Garms,” Chrichton said. He switched his M2’s selectors to six, and squeezed the sticks. “Just a minute…”The ugly Martian aircraft soared along over the coastline of the island, staying in tight formation. The weird ripples of the air they made roiled off the backs of their craft like smoke, but dissipated almost as soon as you saw them. If any engineer had any idea how they did that, they weren’t telling the lower links of the chain.
Chrichton watched the distant Martian birds, eyeing his gunsights. They were almost in range…A flurry of bright yellow rounds tore past him, startling him. The bullets slammed into the rear of one of the Martian sleds, sending it listing around a bit, and it started spewing smoke from its engines.“Damn it, Blair,” Chrichton muttered, “we’re going to have to teach you restraint…”The Martian planes split apart like leaves, spreading out. Chrichton cursed bitterly. “All right, break and attack, Paladins!” He suited actions to words, slamming the throttle as far forward as it could go. The massive supercharged Packard rumbled as the plane plummeted to the Earth below. The speedometer on the control panel read 430…440…450…Chrichton clenched his teeth and squeezed the triggers. A hailstorm of Browning rounds tore forth from his wings, scattering over the frontmost sled. The alien craft suddenly slowed, tilting upwards and coming nearly to a halt.“The fuck you doin’, alien?” Chrichton snarled. He tilted the nose of the Mustang up a hair and fired again, just as the sled leaped forward, leaving a trail of purple gas in its wake. Chrichton gasped in horror as his plane shot through the cloud……And nothing happened. Chrichton blinked. “What? That wasn’t Black Smoke?” he asked, absolutely confused.A rocket shot past his windscreen and detonated, sending a piece of shrapnel skittering off of his airframe. He shook himself. “Right.” Grabbing the stick, he pulled up and hard to the right, slewing back out of his dive. A maser beam cooked the air behind him as he abruptly applied more rudder, straightening out in mid-turn.
A blur of red and black shot past his vision, too quick to shoot, and a Mustang soared by, hot on his tail. “I GOT HIM I GOT HIM I GOT HIM!” someone yelled over the radio, and the edge of Chrichton’s vision turned red.“Confirmed, confirmed! That’s a kill!” Garms crowed.“Need help here!” Beyside suddenly yelled. Chrichton whipped his head upwards in horror to see his wingman’s plane spiraling upwards, a flurry of tiny rockets decorating his flight path.“Coming!” Chrichton snarled, pulling the stick up to his chest. He squinted against the strain as the sun cut down across his vision and vanished below his nose. A sled in the far distance spun and twisted, then disappeared as he pulled up farther still.“Got you!” he gasped as a sled emerged in his sight, still peppering his wingman with rockets. He broke out of the loop and squeezed the two triggers on the sticks. The six Brownings in his wings erupted, firing a stream of yellow lead into the sled’s tail.The sled lurched, visibly dropping components, and plummeted towards the water. Beyside stopped his frantic evasion, easing back down into the furball. “Jesus, thanks,” he managed, panting.“Any time, Larry,” Chrichton said, then nosed over sharply, following the sled down.“…Er, Captain, you going somewhere?” Beyside asked.“Making sure he’s dead,” Chrichton snarled. He slid the shuddering sled into his gunsights and squeezed the left trigger.
The four outer Brownings fired again, shaking the plane. The sled shattered under sustained fire, something oily emerging in a heap from the cockpit.“SUCK IT DOWN, ALIEN,” Chrichton howled.“Break right NOW!” Duberstein’s voice cut through his euphoria. Without even thinking, Chrichton slammed the stick hard to the right, and pumped the rudder pedal as hard as he could. As the world spun outside his seat, a stream of red and purple shot past his position.“You got a sled on you, Chrichton, I’m coming,” Garms said urgently. Chrichton kept up his evasives, pushing the stick downwards as far as he could without stalling and letting go of the pedal. The speedometer spun upwards as he let gravity pull him downwards, aided by the Mustang’s own engine. 440…450…460…Chrichton flinched as a chunk of shrapnel bounced off the cockpit behind him. “Fuck!” He slid the stick to the right again, then rapidly juked left, trying to dodge his attacker.“Chrichton, pull up!” Beyside yelled. Chrichton stopped his evasives, yanking the stick back into his chest until he bruised. The sled shot under him, the air underneath it shimmering. Somehow, the ungainly block of metal actually managed to follow him.
“Who IS this clown?!” Chrichton asked nobody, twisting the stick left and slamming the pedals. He twisted into a tight aerilon roll, then immediately cut the engine to half throttle and juked low and left. Finally, the Martian broke past him, skidding like a greased brick on a glacier. Chrichton flattened the plane out and slammed the right rudder pedal again, this time cutting into a flat loop. He straightened out as he saw the sled in his sights, and snapped off a quick shot.“You hit him! But…fuck, he’s still airborne! Dive!” Beyside reported, plummeting towards the fight.“GO FOR A SWIM, ALIEN!” Chrichton roared, nosing down into another dive, slamming the throttle back forward. The plane accelerated, dropping like a stone. “Let’s see how you like saltwater,” he hissed. His Mustang dropped towards the waves below, and the thick sea air screamed past his cockpit.
As the waves grew bigger and bigger in his vision, the young American eyed the altimeter. A maser beam flashed past him and into the water, kicking up a plume of water. At four hundred feet, he pulled the stick back up, gliding out of the dive at nearly four hundred seventy miles per hour. The plane kept dropping, as he didn’t pull the stick all the way level, and his altimeter dropped more and more, until…A rocket splashed the water in front of him, kicking a white blob of water off the surface. Chrichton ignored it, until at last he was at fifty feet above the waves. He gripped the stick and tilted it a fraction up and left, putting some rudder into it. The plane swung around to the side, and in seconds he was facing back along his own flight path. Staring through his gunsights at a no-doubt shocked alien, he offered it up a cruel salute. “Like I said…” He squeezed the triggers and sent two 137mm rockets screaming towards the alien. The rockets slammed into the sled and tore through it like anvils through stained glass, breaking it into a trillion pieces. “Take a swim,” he said triumphantly.
And that's a wrap. See you next week.
Neat.
