Member
Lunamaria Hawke
Half Pint
Einherjar 906
Mae
Snowdrops
Crimson Flame
Slypheed
vietmyke
Sky BlueScott felt a wash of relief as the Blackjack went down in a fiery blaze, downed by the newcoming Cowboy squadron. A slight tinge of annoyance followed as they also took out the Su-27 he'd been targeting; though really, it was tinged with the reality that he probably hadn't had much of a chance to take out the much faster, sleeker and more adept air-superiority fighter anyway. But, it bruised his pilot's ego nonetheless.
Not long after, the back and forth over the radio net proved that the Cowboys indeed lived up to their name. What a bunch of pisswads, he groused mentally, rolling his eyes at their attitudes, before they promptly up and fucked off wherever it was they'd come from. They could have at least stayed to finish off these twats, he thought with some ire, noting their fancy-dancy F-35's buggering off, while the Angels were still faced with a number of high-performance aircraft to deal with, and only museum piece F-104's, a couple of near-retired F-14's, and his own A-10, which fit in like a dog in a fishtank.
Mind you, that said, they'd done bloody well for themselves. Multiple bandits downed, the nearby village safe, and the base mostly (mostly) intact. And the last of the red bandits were running with their tails between their legs
"Angel-5, this is Angel-4; all systems green. No missiles, but I got a whole load of thirty mike-mike with someone's name on it. What say we lure these buttholes into a game of tag, over"
Before he could even get an answer, Angel-5 had charged off on the hunt, contrary to his own earlier chastising of Angel-3 for doing much the same thing with no support either.
"Oh goddesses," Scott pleaded to himself, grey eyes rolling upward to look out of the canopy at the heavens above. "Someone please save me from these people".
Fortunately, Gravestone's more level-headed voice intruded on his thoughts, and the ground-attack pilot listened in intently as the AWACS reported three bandits running for the border. Three lights, three bandits, his mind put together and he reversed course.
"Roger, Gravestone. I'm gonna try and get a visual confirmation on our voyeurs, over and make a radio intercept. Break. All Angel callsigns, this is Angel 4; running after our unwanted visitors. Anyone who wants to back me up, would be much appreciated over".
So far, the rest of the squadron had pretty much ignored his existence and everything he'd said, so he didn't expect much of a reply, but he wasn't planning on sitting around in his cockpit turning lazy circles with his thumb up his ass while they did all the work. They could ignore him all they liked, but he was sure as hell going to do his part.
Taking a fix from his instruments, Scott put the A-10 on course and firewalled his throttles, pushing the twin turbofans on the A-10's back to full thrust as he ran low and hard on the tail of the interlopers, fixing to make a visual identification and, in the least, see what they did in reaction. Who they were and what they did would be some key as to why they were there, and why they'd been hiding during the rest of the battle.
As he closed within range, he slid his tinted visor up and looked out at the shapes of the aircraft, trying to make out markings and insignia, as well as clearly ID the aircraft types.
Switching to the common radio frequency, he called out in a clear voice.
"Attention unknown aircraft, you are in violation of Antrean Airspace during a hostile action. Please state your origins and your intentions, or you will be considered hostile and fired upon. Repeat..."
Scott repeated his message, while thumbing the ARM switch for the GAU-8 in the A-10's nose, and jockeying to set himself up in the best possible position for an attack, should it be needed.
Not long after, the back and forth over the radio net proved that the Cowboys indeed lived up to their name. What a bunch of pisswads, he groused mentally, rolling his eyes at their attitudes, before they promptly up and fucked off wherever it was they'd come from. They could have at least stayed to finish off these twats, he thought with some ire, noting their fancy-dancy F-35's buggering off, while the Angels were still faced with a number of high-performance aircraft to deal with, and only museum piece F-104's, a couple of near-retired F-14's, and his own A-10, which fit in like a dog in a fishtank.
Mind you, that said, they'd done bloody well for themselves. Multiple bandits downed, the nearby village safe, and the base mostly (mostly) intact. And the last of the red bandits were running with their tails between their legs
Felix Carter says,"Hey, it's called working like a team, not lone-wolfing over an Ace competition. Angel-5 to all Angel Call-signs, sound-off, over."
"Angel-5, this is Angel-4; all systems green. No missiles, but I got a whole load of thirty mike-mike with someone's name on it. What say we lure these buttholes into a game of tag, over"
Before he could even get an answer, Angel-5 had charged off on the hunt, contrary to his own earlier chastising of Angel-3 for doing much the same thing with no support either.
"Oh goddesses," Scott pleaded to himself, grey eyes rolling upward to look out of the canopy at the heavens above. "Someone please save me from these people".
Fortunately, Gravestone's more level-headed voice intruded on his thoughts, and the ground-attack pilot listened in intently as the AWACS reported three bandits running for the border. Three lights, three bandits, his mind put together and he reversed course.
"Roger, Gravestone. I'm gonna try and get a visual confirmation on our voyeurs, over and make a radio intercept. Break. All Angel callsigns, this is Angel 4; running after our unwanted visitors. Anyone who wants to back me up, would be much appreciated over".
So far, the rest of the squadron had pretty much ignored his existence and everything he'd said, so he didn't expect much of a reply, but he wasn't planning on sitting around in his cockpit turning lazy circles with his thumb up his ass while they did all the work. They could ignore him all they liked, but he was sure as hell going to do his part.
Taking a fix from his instruments, Scott put the A-10 on course and firewalled his throttles, pushing the twin turbofans on the A-10's back to full thrust as he ran low and hard on the tail of the interlopers, fixing to make a visual identification and, in the least, see what they did in reaction. Who they were and what they did would be some key as to why they were there, and why they'd been hiding during the rest of the battle.
As he closed within range, he slid his tinted visor up and looked out at the shapes of the aircraft, trying to make out markings and insignia, as well as clearly ID the aircraft types.
Switching to the common radio frequency, he called out in a clear voice.
"Attention unknown aircraft, you are in violation of Antrean Airspace during a hostile action. Please state your origins and your intentions, or you will be considered hostile and fired upon. Repeat..."
Scott repeated his message, while thumbing the ARM switch for the GAU-8 in the A-10's nose, and jockeying to set himself up in the best possible position for an attack, should it be needed.