FourtyTwoStatus
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10 yrs ago
Current
acquire raifu, defend waifu
10 yrs ago
Nothing quite like schizophrenic weather.
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10 yrs ago
At this point I don't even care where I end up. I just want to do something productive, bloody hell.
10 yrs ago
I still remember four...
10 yrs ago
Standing by to stand by, cap'n!
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Count me in! =D I'll be using the character I showed you previously, if you don't mind.
[/pat] Happens to the best of us.
Interested.
"Thanks, Overwatch, but I'll settle for getting home in one piece." Everett said in response to the AWACS' controller's praise, a slight grin on his face. Shooting down two bombers and a fighter in rapid succession had been unprecedented, but it was certainly a grand way to start out his career in Excalibur squadron. However, the job was still far from done. There were still enough payload-carrying bombers to absolutely wreck RAF Lossiemouth. Biting his lip, Everett glanced at the watch he had taped to the arm rest of his seat. It had barely been fifteen minutes since the fight began, but a Tu-95 could cover plenty of ground in that time. They were running out of time to intercept the remaining bombers before they released their own cruise missiles.
"Firing R-77," Zola said, snapping Everett's attention back to the task at hand. "Oi, you're not dozing off on me, are you?" She said and nudged Everett with her elbow.
"We're running out of time," Everett said grimly just as the missile disengaged from its hardpoint. "Excalibur Four fox-three." He reported in a monotonous voice and pitched his nose up to fly up and above the enemy bomber formation. The enemy interceptors were slowly, but surely getting ground down by the squadron, but there were still enough to pose a threat, or at the very least, a distraction from his task. A distant flash of orange told him that their missile had indeed struck its intended target, but as for whether it was a killing blow or not, Everett left that up to Overwatch to inform him.
Just then, Everett saw the bay doors of another two bombers open. Two huge cruise missiles fell out of the bomb bay and their engines ignited once they were clear of the bombers, streaking straight towards the airbase. "Excalibur Five and Six, I have visual confirmation of two more missiles launches!" Everett shouted out and glanced at his radar screen to check for any fighters headed for him. Curiously, his scope was relatively clear - there were contacts, but the blips were either closely following the maneuvers his fellow squadron-mates or were peeling away from the bombers. "Five and Six, be advised that I'm seeing hostile radar contacts peeling away from the bombers. They may be attempting to intercept you two before you intercept their missiles. Take caution, out." Everett said, just to be on the safe side.
A series of alarms sounded in the cockpit once again. "Going evasive," Everett warned before pulling off a sudden immelmann maneuver, successfully evading the missile that had been fired by an enemy to their front. They leveled out far below the enemy bombers and immediately Everett began a steep climb to intercept them. There was no time to play around with the enemy fighter, which, according to their radar, was making an attempt to follow them. "Zola, how are we doing for coutnermeasures?"
"We've got enough," She replied. "Focus on the bombers. We should let the squadron get their share of the fun, eh?"
Everett smirked. "My thoughts exactly," He replied just as they got a positive tone from their R-77s. "Fox-three," Everett said over the mic as Zola fired the missile, and it was not a second too soon, as the cockpit filled with the sound of a now all-too familiar alarm. "Excalibur Four has bogey on our tail!" Everett shouted out and turned sharply as Zola released chaff and countermeasures. The alarms stopped, but it was almost a dead certainty that the enemy fighter would try again. "We're focusing on the bombers, can anyone get rid of the bandit on our tale?"
"Firing R-77," Zola said, snapping Everett's attention back to the task at hand. "Oi, you're not dozing off on me, are you?" She said and nudged Everett with her elbow.
"We're running out of time," Everett said grimly just as the missile disengaged from its hardpoint. "Excalibur Four fox-three." He reported in a monotonous voice and pitched his nose up to fly up and above the enemy bomber formation. The enemy interceptors were slowly, but surely getting ground down by the squadron, but there were still enough to pose a threat, or at the very least, a distraction from his task. A distant flash of orange told him that their missile had indeed struck its intended target, but as for whether it was a killing blow or not, Everett left that up to Overwatch to inform him.
Just then, Everett saw the bay doors of another two bombers open. Two huge cruise missiles fell out of the bomb bay and their engines ignited once they were clear of the bombers, streaking straight towards the airbase. "Excalibur Five and Six, I have visual confirmation of two more missiles launches!" Everett shouted out and glanced at his radar screen to check for any fighters headed for him. Curiously, his scope was relatively clear - there were contacts, but the blips were either closely following the maneuvers his fellow squadron-mates or were peeling away from the bombers. "Five and Six, be advised that I'm seeing hostile radar contacts peeling away from the bombers. They may be attempting to intercept you two before you intercept their missiles. Take caution, out." Everett said, just to be on the safe side.
A series of alarms sounded in the cockpit once again. "Going evasive," Everett warned before pulling off a sudden immelmann maneuver, successfully evading the missile that had been fired by an enemy to their front. They leveled out far below the enemy bombers and immediately Everett began a steep climb to intercept them. There was no time to play around with the enemy fighter, which, according to their radar, was making an attempt to follow them. "Zola, how are we doing for coutnermeasures?"
"We've got enough," She replied. "Focus on the bombers. We should let the squadron get their share of the fun, eh?"
Everett smirked. "My thoughts exactly," He replied just as they got a positive tone from their R-77s. "Fox-three," Everett said over the mic as Zola fired the missile, and it was not a second too soon, as the cockpit filled with the sound of a now all-too familiar alarm. "Excalibur Four has bogey on our tail!" Everett shouted out and turned sharply as Zola released chaff and countermeasures. The alarms stopped, but it was almost a dead certainty that the enemy fighter would try again. "We're focusing on the bombers, can anyone get rid of the bandit on our tale?"
That I'm not too sure. I was working under the assumption that the forces we'd be directly communicating with were so decimated that Alpha and Bravo would have been enough. That was the feel I was getting, anyway. I s'pose we could go with Hephaestus 1-1 or Hephaestus 1-2, but 'Hephaestus' is a bit long and hard to clearly enunciate over the radio. Maybe Hotel?
Aw...=( Well, I'll still be here if you wanna pull this off again.
I think it's Bravo, since Zdislav's is Alpha.
"Excalibur Four to Eight, thanks for the compliment. Tell your WSO that Evy-I mean Everett sends his regards. Out." Zola replied over her mic as the Fencer pulled into a steep climb to carry out another attack on the enemy bomber formation. With the element of surprise gone, the bombers were now actively taking measures to make the lives of their attackers very difficult. Most of them were trying to jink - to move so erratically that getting a lock or bead would prove challenging enough to buy their fighter escorts enough time to destroy the attacking aircraft. However, it proved to be ineffective as Excalibur Seven soon downed another bomber. Still, the turrets were putting up a hail of cannon fire and, for a moment, it even made Everett hesitant to attempt to break through the bomber formation.
However, if he had any thoughts of turning back, it was too late for him to do anything of the sort. Split-seconds later, his Fencer came up above the bombers. He continued to gain some additional altitude before banking hard to the left while descending to make another run. The Ghost of the Straits came screaming down for another high-speed pass at the bombers. "Firing missile." Zola reported and pulled the trigger, releasing another R-77 missile. This time, they hit their target in a more vital region - the area just behind the cockpit. Even if that did not kill most of the piloting crew, it certainly severed or disabled the on-board flight computers, and sure enough, the Tu-95 soon dropped out of formation and began a slow crash towards the ocean below.
"Nice shot," Everett commented, sounding genuinely impressed. Over the squadron frequency, he reported, "Excalibur Four splash one more Tu-95."
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all day. Now let's go bail Excalibur Twelve out of trouble, eh?" Zola said with a laugh, but her mood was quickly dampened when alarms began to sound in the cockpit. She immediately looked at the rear-view mirrors mounted to the sides of their cockpit; an old-fashioned instrument of questionable usefulness, but this time it allowed her to see the sunlight reflecting off the enemy fighter which had gotten a lock on them. "Shit! Enemy has a lock on us!" She shouted out over the squadron frequency.
"Excalibur Four evading!" Everett said and pulled the aircraft into a steep climb, away from the bombers. At the same time, Zola fired one of their flare-and-chaff countermeasures, throwing off the enemy's lock. The alarm stopped, but that did not mean that they were out of any danger. He glanced out the window, just in time to see Excalibur Twelve streak past with a bandit hot on his tail. Seven had just eliminated one chasing Eight, but the enemy had plenty more fighters to throw at them. There was no time for Everett to even weigh the benefits of calling from help from their fighter cover - they were possibly too busy fending off the enemy's own air superiority fighters.
Without informing his squadron, or even Zola for that matter, he pulled the aircraft into a turn. The move caught Zola off-guard and she let out a yelp of surprise. "What the fuck are you doing?" She asked once she had recovered from the surprise.
"Dogfighting." Everett replied plainly. As he had expected, the enemy fighter followed, slowing down and banking into a turn to stay on the Fencer's tail. It quickly became a deadly game of seeing who would die from a stall first. With both sides playing with their airspeeds to get an edge, neither could get into good firing position or even get a lock on one another. "Zola, prepare cannons and the R-74s." Everett said grimly.
Zola immediately caught on to Everett's plan. It was risky - there was a chance the enemy fighter could handle well at slow speeds, but if Everett played it right, he could make their pursuer choose between either giving up the chase, slowing down to the point of a terminal stall or to overshoot and place itself right in their crosshairs. "R-74s armed and cannons are ready to go." Zola reported. Everett's only response was a nod before leveling out the aircraft, pretending as if he had just made a basic error when it came to a turning fight. However, almost instantly, he raised every drag-inducing device he had on the plane, rapidly killing the Fencer's speed. Its wings rotated back to their landing configuration, inducing even more drag and slowing the Fencer down even more.
The enemy fighter had evidently not expected that as it overshot the Fencer, streaking past overhead. "Burn the fucker!" Everett yelled as he lowered the spoilers and pushed the Fencer to get more airspeed, not that it was necessary. The R-74s quickly locked onto the enemy fighter's hot exhaust, and the fighter's speed meant that it lacked the time to get out of the way before Zola released the missile. It streaked forward and quite literally went up the enemy fighter's exhaust nozzle. The enemy aircraft erupted into a ball of flame and went crashing down to the sea below as a shower of debris.
Everett let out a sigh of relief and turned his plane around to return to attacking the bombers. "Excalibur Four splash one fighter." He said, then remembered that he had not told his squadron about what had happened. For all they knew, the Ghost of the Straits simply disappeared midway through the fight. "Sorry about our absence. We had a bogey on our tail. Took care of it. Returning to engage bombers, out." Everett said curtly and increased speed to rejoin their squadron.
However, if he had any thoughts of turning back, it was too late for him to do anything of the sort. Split-seconds later, his Fencer came up above the bombers. He continued to gain some additional altitude before banking hard to the left while descending to make another run. The Ghost of the Straits came screaming down for another high-speed pass at the bombers. "Firing missile." Zola reported and pulled the trigger, releasing another R-77 missile. This time, they hit their target in a more vital region - the area just behind the cockpit. Even if that did not kill most of the piloting crew, it certainly severed or disabled the on-board flight computers, and sure enough, the Tu-95 soon dropped out of formation and began a slow crash towards the ocean below.
"Nice shot," Everett commented, sounding genuinely impressed. Over the squadron frequency, he reported, "Excalibur Four splash one more Tu-95."
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me all day. Now let's go bail Excalibur Twelve out of trouble, eh?" Zola said with a laugh, but her mood was quickly dampened when alarms began to sound in the cockpit. She immediately looked at the rear-view mirrors mounted to the sides of their cockpit; an old-fashioned instrument of questionable usefulness, but this time it allowed her to see the sunlight reflecting off the enemy fighter which had gotten a lock on them. "Shit! Enemy has a lock on us!" She shouted out over the squadron frequency.
"Excalibur Four evading!" Everett said and pulled the aircraft into a steep climb, away from the bombers. At the same time, Zola fired one of their flare-and-chaff countermeasures, throwing off the enemy's lock. The alarm stopped, but that did not mean that they were out of any danger. He glanced out the window, just in time to see Excalibur Twelve streak past with a bandit hot on his tail. Seven had just eliminated one chasing Eight, but the enemy had plenty more fighters to throw at them. There was no time for Everett to even weigh the benefits of calling from help from their fighter cover - they were possibly too busy fending off the enemy's own air superiority fighters.
Without informing his squadron, or even Zola for that matter, he pulled the aircraft into a turn. The move caught Zola off-guard and she let out a yelp of surprise. "What the fuck are you doing?" She asked once she had recovered from the surprise.
"Dogfighting." Everett replied plainly. As he had expected, the enemy fighter followed, slowing down and banking into a turn to stay on the Fencer's tail. It quickly became a deadly game of seeing who would die from a stall first. With both sides playing with their airspeeds to get an edge, neither could get into good firing position or even get a lock on one another. "Zola, prepare cannons and the R-74s." Everett said grimly.
Zola immediately caught on to Everett's plan. It was risky - there was a chance the enemy fighter could handle well at slow speeds, but if Everett played it right, he could make their pursuer choose between either giving up the chase, slowing down to the point of a terminal stall or to overshoot and place itself right in their crosshairs. "R-74s armed and cannons are ready to go." Zola reported. Everett's only response was a nod before leveling out the aircraft, pretending as if he had just made a basic error when it came to a turning fight. However, almost instantly, he raised every drag-inducing device he had on the plane, rapidly killing the Fencer's speed. Its wings rotated back to their landing configuration, inducing even more drag and slowing the Fencer down even more.
The enemy fighter had evidently not expected that as it overshot the Fencer, streaking past overhead. "Burn the fucker!" Everett yelled as he lowered the spoilers and pushed the Fencer to get more airspeed, not that it was necessary. The R-74s quickly locked onto the enemy fighter's hot exhaust, and the fighter's speed meant that it lacked the time to get out of the way before Zola released the missile. It streaked forward and quite literally went up the enemy fighter's exhaust nozzle. The enemy aircraft erupted into a ball of flame and went crashing down to the sea below as a shower of debris.
Everett let out a sigh of relief and turned his plane around to return to attacking the bombers. "Excalibur Four splash one fighter." He said, then remembered that he had not told his squadron about what had happened. For all they knew, the Ghost of the Straits simply disappeared midway through the fight. "Sorry about our absence. We had a bogey on our tail. Took care of it. Returning to engage bombers, out." Everett said curtly and increased speed to rejoin their squadron.
"Hit the skies, got it, Colonel." Zola replied enthusiastically once their commanding officer had given them the briefest of briefings, but it was enough. They were going to be doing an air-interception mission; not Everett's or Zola's specialty, but it was something they could manage. The two of them raced for their aircraft and climbed in - Everett in the pilot's seat and Zola in the weapons' systems officer's. She slipped on her helmet and did a quick check to ensure that everything was in working order. From what she was seeing, her plane had been fully kitted out for aerial interdiction. Out of the Fencer's nine hardpoints, four had been used for the R-74 missile, four for the R-77 and the centerline had been used to carry an additional gunpod.
Beside her, Everett was busy with the pre-flight checklist. "Powering up engines, external APU disabled. Stealth systems on stand-by, control surfaces responsive." He rattled on out of habit. It served a practical purpose, however; he felt less likely to forget anything if he said the steps out loud rather than saying them in his head. These were checks that he had performed countless times in the past, but Everett was all too aware of the dangers complacency posed. One of his ex-colleagues in the PLA had almost had a nasty accident when a rushed and incomplete pre-flight check left him unable to raise the landing gears. With a full load, he had to fly at close to stalling speeds until he had burned off enough fuel for a safe landing.
"We're green and good to go." Everett said and opened the throttle slightly. The plane began to roll forward, moving behind the other members of his squadron. "How are we on weapons?"
"All armed and ready. R-74s and R-77s. When are we going to get some long-range missiles?" Zola replied.
"Probably never. The Fencer was never meant for long-range interception." Everett replied grimly. He did not like the idea of having to fight at a closer range than other fighters, but he had plenty of chaff and flares. If his evasive maneuvers could not cut it, he had those to fall back upon. "We'll just have to get close and stick it to them. If your stomach can take it, I've got plenty of moves up my sleeve."
"You just worry about getting me targets." Zola shot back indignantly. While she had only flown planes designed for low-altitude ground attacks so far, she had performed her fair share of high-G evasive maneuvers. Most of them threatened to tear her aircraft apart, true, but that was besides the point. Whatever Everett had up his sleeve, she was certain that she could take it. "I'm warning you, I get antsy if I'm not shooting at anything for too long."
Everett shrugged in response as he turned them onto the runway. He waited patiently in line as the planes ahead of him took off and once it was his turn, he opened the throttle all the way, drawing as much power as he could from his engines. The Fencer surged forward at a breakneck speed as it raced down the runway. Everett and Zola felt the familiar sensation of being forced back into their seats and the vibrations and rumbling that accompanied the takeoff roll. "Rotation," Everett reported, as was the standard practice, once the takeoff speed was reached and pulled back on the control column. Suddenly, the worst of the vibrations and rumbles stopped, signalling that they were now airborne. There was only a slight shake and soft mechanical whirr as the landing gears were retracted.
"Excalibur Four at angels ten and leveling out." Everett droned over the squadron's frequency and brought the aircraft to a steady cruise. He brought the aircraft's speed down to a more fuel-efficient speed. There was a second shudder and whirr as the Fencer's wings swept back to a forty-five degree angle to allow for a high cruising speed. He flew in formation with the other members of his squadron, but always kept an eye on the radar screen on his side of the instrument panel. However, it did not take long for them to be given a job by the colonel. Tu-95s were slow, lumbering beasts, but the UNWO had modified them extensively, just as how the Avalon Institute had breathed new life into the ageing aircraft they were flying.
"Excalibur Four copies," Everett replied and clicked off his mic to address Zola. "You know how aerial combat works, right? Wait until we're in a good angle before firing. Preferably when we're behind or above the target."
Zola rolled her eyes. "I know how this works, relax." She said. "I've got this."
"Good," Everett replied with a nod and clicked on the mic again. He had been brought into the UNF for his insights on UNWO tactics and technology, so he felt obligated to tell his squadron what he knew about the aircraft they were to destroy. "The Tu-95s are slow, but the UNWO fitted them out with fly-by-light systems, so expect them to be a bit more agile than what you'd expect from a four-engine bomber. Powerplants have been upgraded, but their not any faster. The UNWO prioritized armour over speed for the 95s, so that's not a problem for us. Look out for the cannons they added to the nose, dorsal and belly positions. They're radar guided, and while their traverse is shit, they'll still get you easy if you get yourself in a tricky position. Let's get them." He said and fed his engines maximum power. "Try to keep your breakfast, Zola."
"Oh, piss off." Zola muttered and braced herself for what she knew was coming. Everett flipped the plane around and raised the elevators, bringing them into a steep dive towards the enemy formation. It was about as standard as Immelmann's got, but that did not make it anymore enjoyable. A series of beeps within the cockpit told her that she was getting a lock on one of the bombers, clearly visible ahead of them. It's dorsal gun was already firing cannons rounds in their direction, but they had to press the attack, otherwise their efforts so far would be all for nought. It only took a few seconds of her to receive a flat, constant tone, but for Zola, it may as well have been minutes. "R-77s are locked. Firing!"
"Excalibur Four locked and firing. Fox-Three, Fox-Three." Everett reported just as the missiles separated from the aircraft. It streaked towards its target, and to the bomber pilot's credit, it tried to evade the missile, but it was simply too close for them to be of any use. The Tu-95s fielded by the UNWO were agile, but they were still at the end of the day not designed for sudden turns or quick maneuvers. The missile struck it's target in the center of the fuselage, but the Tu-95 was not out yet. "Zola, prepare the guns. We'll be making a high-speed pass." Everett said quickly. They were closing fast on the Tu-95, and he was not willing to waste a missile on what was already a crippled bomber.
"Guns armed," Zola said and switched to the in-built cannon and gunpod. From their angle, they were going to get a good shot at the Tu-95's starboard wing, and the number three engine along with it. "In range, I'm firing." She reported. The Fencer shuddered with each of the three short bursts Zola fired, each of them spitting out deadly twenty-three millimeter cannon rounds at their target. As expected, a few round missed, but they still scored several damaging hits on the Tu-95's wing and engine. One of the rounds must have hit something vital, as the engine soon erupted into flames. Soon after, the Fencer streaked past the bomber, emerging underneath the enemy formation.
"Excalibur Four has hits on target, now at flight level four-nine hundred and-" Everett began, but was cut off when he heard the sound of a distant explosion behind him. "Zola, what the fuck was that?"
"Hang on," Zola said and twisted in her seat to look at their rear. The Tu-95 they had struck had evidently suffered a catastrophic explosion which had torn a gaping hole in its starboard wing. The flying debris had ripped up the already-weakened fuselage, and that was all the aircraft could take. "Ha! Our target's in flames and going down. First kill goes to Sandstorm!"
"Correction, Exclaibur Four splashed one Tu-95. At flight level four-nine hundred and coming around for another attack from below." Everett quickly said over the squadron frequency. They should have reported their position and status a long time ago, but they had been momentarily distracted by the effects of their headlong and almost foolhardy attack. He knew that their fire should not have been enough to bring down the Tu-95, at least not in such a catastrophic manner and in such a short time. They must have caused a fuel leak which ignited within the engine. "Nice shooting, Zola." Everett said. "But we've got more to kill."
Beside her, Everett was busy with the pre-flight checklist. "Powering up engines, external APU disabled. Stealth systems on stand-by, control surfaces responsive." He rattled on out of habit. It served a practical purpose, however; he felt less likely to forget anything if he said the steps out loud rather than saying them in his head. These were checks that he had performed countless times in the past, but Everett was all too aware of the dangers complacency posed. One of his ex-colleagues in the PLA had almost had a nasty accident when a rushed and incomplete pre-flight check left him unable to raise the landing gears. With a full load, he had to fly at close to stalling speeds until he had burned off enough fuel for a safe landing.
"We're green and good to go." Everett said and opened the throttle slightly. The plane began to roll forward, moving behind the other members of his squadron. "How are we on weapons?"
"All armed and ready. R-74s and R-77s. When are we going to get some long-range missiles?" Zola replied.
"Probably never. The Fencer was never meant for long-range interception." Everett replied grimly. He did not like the idea of having to fight at a closer range than other fighters, but he had plenty of chaff and flares. If his evasive maneuvers could not cut it, he had those to fall back upon. "We'll just have to get close and stick it to them. If your stomach can take it, I've got plenty of moves up my sleeve."
"You just worry about getting me targets." Zola shot back indignantly. While she had only flown planes designed for low-altitude ground attacks so far, she had performed her fair share of high-G evasive maneuvers. Most of them threatened to tear her aircraft apart, true, but that was besides the point. Whatever Everett had up his sleeve, she was certain that she could take it. "I'm warning you, I get antsy if I'm not shooting at anything for too long."
Everett shrugged in response as he turned them onto the runway. He waited patiently in line as the planes ahead of him took off and once it was his turn, he opened the throttle all the way, drawing as much power as he could from his engines. The Fencer surged forward at a breakneck speed as it raced down the runway. Everett and Zola felt the familiar sensation of being forced back into their seats and the vibrations and rumbling that accompanied the takeoff roll. "Rotation," Everett reported, as was the standard practice, once the takeoff speed was reached and pulled back on the control column. Suddenly, the worst of the vibrations and rumbles stopped, signalling that they were now airborne. There was only a slight shake and soft mechanical whirr as the landing gears were retracted.
"Excalibur Four at angels ten and leveling out." Everett droned over the squadron's frequency and brought the aircraft to a steady cruise. He brought the aircraft's speed down to a more fuel-efficient speed. There was a second shudder and whirr as the Fencer's wings swept back to a forty-five degree angle to allow for a high cruising speed. He flew in formation with the other members of his squadron, but always kept an eye on the radar screen on his side of the instrument panel. However, it did not take long for them to be given a job by the colonel. Tu-95s were slow, lumbering beasts, but the UNWO had modified them extensively, just as how the Avalon Institute had breathed new life into the ageing aircraft they were flying.
"Excalibur Four copies," Everett replied and clicked off his mic to address Zola. "You know how aerial combat works, right? Wait until we're in a good angle before firing. Preferably when we're behind or above the target."
Zola rolled her eyes. "I know how this works, relax." She said. "I've got this."
"Good," Everett replied with a nod and clicked on the mic again. He had been brought into the UNF for his insights on UNWO tactics and technology, so he felt obligated to tell his squadron what he knew about the aircraft they were to destroy. "The Tu-95s are slow, but the UNWO fitted them out with fly-by-light systems, so expect them to be a bit more agile than what you'd expect from a four-engine bomber. Powerplants have been upgraded, but their not any faster. The UNWO prioritized armour over speed for the 95s, so that's not a problem for us. Look out for the cannons they added to the nose, dorsal and belly positions. They're radar guided, and while their traverse is shit, they'll still get you easy if you get yourself in a tricky position. Let's get them." He said and fed his engines maximum power. "Try to keep your breakfast, Zola."
"Oh, piss off." Zola muttered and braced herself for what she knew was coming. Everett flipped the plane around and raised the elevators, bringing them into a steep dive towards the enemy formation. It was about as standard as Immelmann's got, but that did not make it anymore enjoyable. A series of beeps within the cockpit told her that she was getting a lock on one of the bombers, clearly visible ahead of them. It's dorsal gun was already firing cannons rounds in their direction, but they had to press the attack, otherwise their efforts so far would be all for nought. It only took a few seconds of her to receive a flat, constant tone, but for Zola, it may as well have been minutes. "R-77s are locked. Firing!"
"Excalibur Four locked and firing. Fox-Three, Fox-Three." Everett reported just as the missiles separated from the aircraft. It streaked towards its target, and to the bomber pilot's credit, it tried to evade the missile, but it was simply too close for them to be of any use. The Tu-95s fielded by the UNWO were agile, but they were still at the end of the day not designed for sudden turns or quick maneuvers. The missile struck it's target in the center of the fuselage, but the Tu-95 was not out yet. "Zola, prepare the guns. We'll be making a high-speed pass." Everett said quickly. They were closing fast on the Tu-95, and he was not willing to waste a missile on what was already a crippled bomber.
"Guns armed," Zola said and switched to the in-built cannon and gunpod. From their angle, they were going to get a good shot at the Tu-95's starboard wing, and the number three engine along with it. "In range, I'm firing." She reported. The Fencer shuddered with each of the three short bursts Zola fired, each of them spitting out deadly twenty-three millimeter cannon rounds at their target. As expected, a few round missed, but they still scored several damaging hits on the Tu-95's wing and engine. One of the rounds must have hit something vital, as the engine soon erupted into flames. Soon after, the Fencer streaked past the bomber, emerging underneath the enemy formation.
"Excalibur Four has hits on target, now at flight level four-nine hundred and-" Everett began, but was cut off when he heard the sound of a distant explosion behind him. "Zola, what the fuck was that?"
"Hang on," Zola said and twisted in her seat to look at their rear. The Tu-95 they had struck had evidently suffered a catastrophic explosion which had torn a gaping hole in its starboard wing. The flying debris had ripped up the already-weakened fuselage, and that was all the aircraft could take. "Ha! Our target's in flames and going down. First kill goes to Sandstorm!"
"Correction, Exclaibur Four splashed one Tu-95. At flight level four-nine hundred and coming around for another attack from below." Everett quickly said over the squadron frequency. They should have reported their position and status a long time ago, but they had been momentarily distracted by the effects of their headlong and almost foolhardy attack. He knew that their fire should not have been enough to bring down the Tu-95, at least not in such a catastrophic manner and in such a short time. They must have caused a fuel leak which ignited within the engine. "Nice shooting, Zola." Everett said. "But we've got more to kill."
Well, if you need help or anything, you can always just shoot me a PM. =D
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