FourtyTwoThe closest Zola ever got to travelling across the seas was when she flew across the Mediterranean to throw in her lot with the UN, and thus she found herself feeling completely lost even as she stood around the nose of her aircraft beside Everett. Landing on an aircraft carrier would have been different enough for her, but a submarine aircraft carrier? Just saying those three words in her head made her feel like breaking out into a fit of laughter; it simply sounded like something only an overly-imaginative ten year old would seriously consider to be an actual thing. "So, what now?" She asked, the silence between her and her pilot becoming far too awkward for her liking.
Everett nodded to their squadron leader, who was waving them over to her. "I guess a debriefing or something," He said and stretched his arms.
"Ah, right." Zola replied with a nod, her voice just above a mumble.
Everett looked sideways at her with a minute, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. "Don't worry, I was nervous the first time I was on a carrier as well. The Chinese make practical stuff, but they didn't really put much thought into crew comfort, if you ask me."
"Who's nervous?" Zola asked sharply and glared at Everett, who merely shook his head and chuckled before walking towards their squadron leader. As she walked behind him, however, she gave herself a little grin. It was nice to know that Everett could tell that she felt uncomfortable. No doubt it would pay dividends in later missions. Still, she could not shake the slight unease that clouded her mind as she followed behind her pilot towards Ariella. She much preferred wide-open spaces, having grown up in the wilderness of the South African bush. Yes, the cockpits of the planes she had flown were cramped, but she was never expected to spend any more than just a few hours a day in them.
The two of them stopped in front of the Colonel just as she was congratulating each of the pilots in turn. "We could've done better, I think." Everett said with a grimace when it came to their turn, earning him a quick elbow to the ribs from Zola. He was about to let off a caustic reply, but then remembered that the Colonel was standing right in front of them and held his tongue, though he did cast a dirty look over at his WSO.
"We both appreciate it." She said with a sweet smile. "I don't even think those bombers tried, if you ask me."
Not long after, the ship's executive officer appeared and quickly introduced himself before taking the squadron for a short tour of the hangar facilities. Were it not for the knowledge that they were on a massive submarine, Zola could have mistaken the facilities to be simply smaller and cramped versions of those in an airbase. She could barely feel a flutter through the floors of the submarine, which to her was odd, considering that her image of a submarine was essentially a long, cramped tube constantly filled with the smell of sweat and with vibrations from the engine reverberating through the hull.
She paid little attention to what was being said - she could always just ask Everett for details if needed - until they were given the tablets. "What's this?" She asked Everett as she gingerly took hers and turned it over in her hands.
"You would know if you were paying any attention," Everett said, sounding slightly annoyed. "It's supposed to make our lives easier. Orders and everything will come through them, so I guess we have to keep them with us at all times."
Zola nodded and continued following the squadron to the bunks. Now she paid her full attention to what was being said. Sound-proofed partitions, personal monitors and headsets, it all sounded too good to be true, and it only got better because Zola knew that it was all real. This was so much better than the bunks she was used to. RAF Lossiemouth had been a vast improvement over the hot and humid bunks of Africa and this was light-years away from them. "Y'know, I think I might actually get to like this place." She quipped and looked to Everett.
"It is...Comfortable," He said and cleared his throat. "But I imagine we will not be spending too much time here."
Zola walked forward and sat down on the bottom bed of the bunk closest to the door. "I'll take bottom, if you don't mind." She said.
Everett's response was a shrug as he shoved their only bag into the storage compartment. Being mercenaries, they did not have much in the way of personal belongings aside from clothes and other essentials such as phones, documents and the like. Zola would have bought some things to personalize her bunk had she known that they would be relocating to the carrier, but she barely had any time to roam around the towns around Lossiemouth between practice sessions with the Fencer and the Avalon-mandated conversations with Everett.
She flicked on her tablet and scrolled through a few pages, all of them about the carrier, before losing interest. Really, she only needed to know where the hangar, her bunk and the canteen was. Anything else she could just find out when needed. Seeing the Colonel sitting at the small table in the center of the room, Zola stood up and walked over to join her and the Japanese pilot. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Everett keenly studying the tablet and decided to just leave him be. He always got a little antsy when he did not get his 'alone time', as Zola had found out during their brief encounters in Africa.
"Hello," She said cheerily and stood beside the table. "This is all pretty damn amazing, if you ask me." She stopped, then realizing that the other members of the squadron most likely did not know who she was, decided to introduce herself again. "I'm Zola. Zola Vermaak. I fly in the Ghost of the Straits with Everett," She pointed over her shoulder to him. "Over there."
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10 yrs ago
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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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"No, just be quiet and-" Zhenya began for the umpteenth time as he tried to calm the incredibly agitated local in front of him. The truck driver had been understandably upset and slightly frightened from being stopped at gunpoint, and although Zhenya did not really understand his words, he did pick up one word he understood: Terrorist. The poor driver was probably frantically trying to say that he was not whoever he supposed Zhenya was looking for and that he was just simple civilian trying to go about his life. It was a story Zhenya could recite by heart; nearly every insurgent he had caught in Chechnya gave the same story, and although back then Zhenya had reason to doubt their stories, now he was simply feeling annoyed.
"Stop your-" Zhenya started again when the driver stopped to take a breath, but this time he was interrupted by the Captain's frantic voice in his headset. His frustration turned to surprise when he turned to his right and saw the target car barreling straight towards him and the man. Behind it, he could see the squad's humvee. Without hesitation, Zhenya grabbed the driver and threw themselves back, just as the Mercedes crashed into the truck, followed shortly by the humvee crashing into the rear of the Mercedes. It was now or never, Zhenya knew. He had to act fast, otherwise the person with the canister might simply decide to detonate the device where he was. The Russian drew his pistol and stormed to the side of the Mercedes.
"Do not try," He said threateningly to the driver, keeping the pistol trained on him as he opened the rear door. Only then did he shift his attention to the dazed, bruised and scratched man in the backseat, still holding on to the device. He pulled the man out of the car and threw him to the pavement, causing him to drop the device. It dropped to the ground with a metallic clang, but it was otherwise harmless. The man tried to crawl away, but then Zhenya knelt and pulled him back up before slamming him against the Mercedes. With the memory of the attack on Grozny brought to the forefront of his mind, Zhenya clenched his fist and punched the man hard in the face, breaking his nose and a few teeth along with it. That took all the fight out of the target and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. It was little justice for Grozny, but it did for now.
"Target secure," Zhenya said and picked up the device. "And I have the device."
"Stop your-" Zhenya started again when the driver stopped to take a breath, but this time he was interrupted by the Captain's frantic voice in his headset. His frustration turned to surprise when he turned to his right and saw the target car barreling straight towards him and the man. Behind it, he could see the squad's humvee. Without hesitation, Zhenya grabbed the driver and threw themselves back, just as the Mercedes crashed into the truck, followed shortly by the humvee crashing into the rear of the Mercedes. It was now or never, Zhenya knew. He had to act fast, otherwise the person with the canister might simply decide to detonate the device where he was. The Russian drew his pistol and stormed to the side of the Mercedes.
"Do not try," He said threateningly to the driver, keeping the pistol trained on him as he opened the rear door. Only then did he shift his attention to the dazed, bruised and scratched man in the backseat, still holding on to the device. He pulled the man out of the car and threw him to the pavement, causing him to drop the device. It dropped to the ground with a metallic clang, but it was otherwise harmless. The man tried to crawl away, but then Zhenya knelt and pulled him back up before slamming him against the Mercedes. With the memory of the attack on Grozny brought to the forefront of his mind, Zhenya clenched his fist and punched the man hard in the face, breaking his nose and a few teeth along with it. That took all the fight out of the target and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. It was little justice for Grozny, but it did for now.
"Target secure," Zhenya said and picked up the device. "And I have the device."
"Copy, Alpha to continue scouting and return to base." Mischief said into his microphone and nodded to his squad, quickly issuing orders for them to move in their previous formation. They had wasted a few seconds taking a knee at the treeline for him to contact Tempest, and, truth be told, Mischief did not like the idea of crawling through vegetation with the grey-hued camouflage pattern his team wore. He suddenly regretted not bringing along his Vz. 95 kit. It utilized an old pattern - a close relative to the 1948 vintage ERDL - but its colour scheme was perhaps the best for the terrain he was currently skulking through.
"Take care where you step," Came O'Connor's voice over his headset. "Twigs and branches everywhere. Sanderson nearly gave us all away."
"Acknowledged," Mischief replied with a nod and quickly glanced at the ground below and ahead of him. In the darkness, all he could see were just the vague outlines of twigs and branches resting on the irregular outlines of what he supposed were leaves. The thick canopy of the trees blocked whatever light the moon had to offer, and it was simply impossible for them to move with absolute silence. Every rustle, snap and crunch caused Mischief's heart to speed up ever so slightly and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. It was nerve-wracking, but each time he just swallowed and soldiered on, telling himself that there was only a little bit more to scout.
"Sarge," Recker said quietly from behind and placed a hand on Mischief's shoulder. "Look there," He said and pointed to what appeared to be a strip of cleared land cutting through the forest. "I ain't no armour, but I'd reckon that if the AAF wants to attack us wit' their numbers and heavy weapons, they're gonna have to cut through that path."
"He's right," Jennings agreed with a nod. "I don't think anyone can drive a tank through these trees."
Mischief nodded. That path would be the best route for the AAF to take in the event of an attack, but it would also be the most obvious. If the AAF commanders had any brains at all, they would take any route but that. They might even take the long way around and swing from the east to hit Tempest in the flanks, or they could just cut another path through the forest. The possibilities were endless, but for now, Mischief had done his job. The worrying and brainstorming could be left to someone else. "Alpha squad, confirm you all have eyes on clearing roughly twenty-five meters to our front?"
"Alpha-1 has eyes." O'Connor said.
"So does Alpha-2." Kelly said. "You want us to set up an ambush, staff?"
"If only I had the numbers. For now, mark the positions on your maps and we will return to Tempest." Mischief replied and shook his head. At least he knew that his squad was eager to bring some pain to the AAF, perhaps a little too eager.
"Alpha-1 has position marked."
"Good," Mischief said. "Regroup on me and we will retrace our steps. Alpha-Lead will take point. Alpha-2, check our six. Alpha-1, keep an eye on our flanks."
The trek back to Tempest took what felt like hours, but according to Mischief's watch, had only been half-an-hour. The squad did their best to stick to the route they had taken, taking care to avoid leaving any signs that they were ever there aside from the bodies of the AAF scout patrol. Those men were far enough away from the cleared path that it would simply look as if they had the poor luck to be detected and intercepted by a unit from Tempest. Once they were back at base, however, they felt the instant sense of relief from not needing to check over their shoulders every now and then. "Good work, everyone," Mischief said and nodded to his squad. "I will check in with Huscarl. The rest of you, get some food and rest...O'Connor, I will need to borrow your map."
"Ah, right." The Irishman said and pulled out the map from a pocket in his vest. He handed the crumpled and slightly damp folded sheet of paper to Misfit. "Sorry about the condition, staff sergeant. I didn't have the time to wrap it in plastic."
"It is fine," Mischief said and took the map. "Go get some sleep, sergeant. Make sure everyone gets enough rest."
"Will do, staff sergeant." O'Connor said with a grin. "Best order I've heard all night, if I may say so."
Mischief chuckled and shook his head and waved to his squad with his free hand before turning and walking towards the command tent. Despite the casual and relaxed manner he had chatted with his second-in-command, Mischief knew that the current situation in Tempest was anything but. The AAF could attack at any time and the forces currently stationed at Tempest simply did not have the manpower to repel a determined assault. Mischief even doubted if they had any anti-air capability, and if they did not, it would only be a matter of time before they were hit by airstrikes.
He walked into the tent and nodded to Athena and Irish. "Evening," He greeted them and looked at Huscarl. "Alpha squad reporting in." He said and saluted quickly before walking over to the table and unfolded the map. He splayed it out and pointed at the marking O'Connor had left on the map. "We scouted most of the forest to the north, but did not encounter any AAF forces beyond the scout patrol we eliminated. However, we found a cleared path through the forest. It looked fresh, so it was not on any of our maps, but my sergeant managed to mark out its position. It is the likely route the AAF will take if they decide to attack."
"Take care where you step," Came O'Connor's voice over his headset. "Twigs and branches everywhere. Sanderson nearly gave us all away."
"Acknowledged," Mischief replied with a nod and quickly glanced at the ground below and ahead of him. In the darkness, all he could see were just the vague outlines of twigs and branches resting on the irregular outlines of what he supposed were leaves. The thick canopy of the trees blocked whatever light the moon had to offer, and it was simply impossible for them to move with absolute silence. Every rustle, snap and crunch caused Mischief's heart to speed up ever so slightly and the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. It was nerve-wracking, but each time he just swallowed and soldiered on, telling himself that there was only a little bit more to scout.
"Sarge," Recker said quietly from behind and placed a hand on Mischief's shoulder. "Look there," He said and pointed to what appeared to be a strip of cleared land cutting through the forest. "I ain't no armour, but I'd reckon that if the AAF wants to attack us wit' their numbers and heavy weapons, they're gonna have to cut through that path."
"He's right," Jennings agreed with a nod. "I don't think anyone can drive a tank through these trees."
Mischief nodded. That path would be the best route for the AAF to take in the event of an attack, but it would also be the most obvious. If the AAF commanders had any brains at all, they would take any route but that. They might even take the long way around and swing from the east to hit Tempest in the flanks, or they could just cut another path through the forest. The possibilities were endless, but for now, Mischief had done his job. The worrying and brainstorming could be left to someone else. "Alpha squad, confirm you all have eyes on clearing roughly twenty-five meters to our front?"
"Alpha-1 has eyes." O'Connor said.
"So does Alpha-2." Kelly said. "You want us to set up an ambush, staff?"
"If only I had the numbers. For now, mark the positions on your maps and we will return to Tempest." Mischief replied and shook his head. At least he knew that his squad was eager to bring some pain to the AAF, perhaps a little too eager.
"Alpha-1 has position marked."
"Good," Mischief said. "Regroup on me and we will retrace our steps. Alpha-Lead will take point. Alpha-2, check our six. Alpha-1, keep an eye on our flanks."
The trek back to Tempest took what felt like hours, but according to Mischief's watch, had only been half-an-hour. The squad did their best to stick to the route they had taken, taking care to avoid leaving any signs that they were ever there aside from the bodies of the AAF scout patrol. Those men were far enough away from the cleared path that it would simply look as if they had the poor luck to be detected and intercepted by a unit from Tempest. Once they were back at base, however, they felt the instant sense of relief from not needing to check over their shoulders every now and then. "Good work, everyone," Mischief said and nodded to his squad. "I will check in with Huscarl. The rest of you, get some food and rest...O'Connor, I will need to borrow your map."
"Ah, right." The Irishman said and pulled out the map from a pocket in his vest. He handed the crumpled and slightly damp folded sheet of paper to Misfit. "Sorry about the condition, staff sergeant. I didn't have the time to wrap it in plastic."
"It is fine," Mischief said and took the map. "Go get some sleep, sergeant. Make sure everyone gets enough rest."
"Will do, staff sergeant." O'Connor said with a grin. "Best order I've heard all night, if I may say so."
Mischief chuckled and shook his head and waved to his squad with his free hand before turning and walking towards the command tent. Despite the casual and relaxed manner he had chatted with his second-in-command, Mischief knew that the current situation in Tempest was anything but. The AAF could attack at any time and the forces currently stationed at Tempest simply did not have the manpower to repel a determined assault. Mischief even doubted if they had any anti-air capability, and if they did not, it would only be a matter of time before they were hit by airstrikes.
He walked into the tent and nodded to Athena and Irish. "Evening," He greeted them and looked at Huscarl. "Alpha squad reporting in." He said and saluted quickly before walking over to the table and unfolded the map. He splayed it out and pointed at the marking O'Connor had left on the map. "We scouted most of the forest to the north, but did not encounter any AAF forces beyond the scout patrol we eliminated. However, we found a cleared path through the forest. It looked fresh, so it was not on any of our maps, but my sergeant managed to mark out its position. It is the likely route the AAF will take if they decide to attack."
I'm just gonna say that Everett and Zola are still unclear as to who's with who.
The period of slow, lazy circling over RAF Lossiemouth was a welcome break after the hectic dogfight. Everett brought them into a comfortable orbit over the airfield and activated the aircraft's autopilot. He released the controls with a sigh and looked out the window on his side, wincing as he saw the small fires that were a direct result of his final attack on the Tu-95. Part of his mind knew that had he not destroyed the aircraft, the damage would have been a lot worse. However, that did little to ease his guilt of having opened fire on a stricken plane. It was made even worse by the lack of admonishments from his fellow pilots - during his days in the PLAAF, it had been frowned upon for pilots to pursue damaged aircraft for a kill unless they had a specific order to do so.
"It had to be done, Evy." Zola said gently, as if reading his mind, and placed a hand on his arm.
"I know," Everett said with a sigh. "It's just the uncertainty of it all and hindsight playing its games in my head. Those bombs could have still been unarmed, or the aircraft could have cleared Lossiemouth."
"It was combat, there was no time to consider all the possibilities." Zola said and smirked. "Come on, Evy, you've been a pilot long enough to know that."
Their radios sparked to life before Everett could respond, and what he heard only dampened his spirits even further. The skirmish had been nothing more than a distraction thrown halfheartedly at them by the UNWO. It was a minimal loss, maximum potential gain for them - if the bombers made it through, they would have leveled one more UN airbase and thus score a victory. If the bombers were lost, as they were, it would just be a minor defeat. Those few aircraft were by no means going to put a dent in the UNWO airforce, not by a longshot. "So much for a victory," Everett muttered.
"I wonder how the UNWO got so far into UN territory, though." Zola wondered aloud and furrowed her brow. "Last I checked, Gibraltar's pretty far into Europe."
"Maybe they hit the Spaniards while they were having their siesta." Everett said dryly, earning him a snort of laughter from Zola. "Either way, it's not our job to wonder how, we're here to just defend whatever the UN has left." He placed his hands back on the control column and turned sharper towards the heading specified by their AWACS controller. It suddenly made sense to Everett as to why the Avalon Institute had steadfastly pushed for an upgrade to the Fencer for carrier-borne operations; they had been flexible with just about every other arrangement. "Ever took part in any carrier-borne operations?" Everett asked.
Zola shook her head. "Nope, but I'm not the one putting us down." She said and patted Everett on the back. "Just don't splatter us against the ship and I'll be fine."
"Say until like easy liddat." Everett murmured beneath his breath, slipping into the broken form of English that was widely known as 'Singlish'. Even after countless years away from his home nation, he found it hard to drop the creole or even the accent, though the latter had been greatly tempered by his years going from country to country. He flew them on a straight and level course towards where the carrier was, the two of them chatting intermittently about anything and everything along the way, as they used to do when they flew alongside one another in Africa, though this time it was in person rather than over the radio. It was all routine - they exited the range of their AWACs and were picked up by the carrier's on-board air controllers - but what they saw was far from normal.
The carrier looked liked someone had taken a proper aircraft carrier and smashed it into a submarine, creating something that looked vaguely like both. "Fuck me, we're supposed to land on that?" Zola said, her eyes wide with surprise at what she was seeing and voice filled with incredulity, voicing both her's and Everett's thoughts. "Which genius thought up this fucking thing?"
Everett did not reply, too busy trying to figure out how he was going to approach the carrier. They were going to have to land from the front, rather than from the rear like conventional carriers. He had to do it right the first time as well - aborting the landing too late or overshooting the runway would result in them being smashed against the submarine like a bug against a windshield. "Well, we're going to have to land on it." Everett said and mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. It would be like landing on the various PLAN aircraft carriers during his time with the PLAAF, only in the opposite direction.
Like Excalibur One, when it came to their turn, Everett did a few trial runs to find the best way to approach the flight deck. "Excalibur Eleven, the runway will be approaching you, so take care to reduce speed at a greater rate than you are used to. Remember to deploy your arrestor hook and try to put your aircraft down close to the front end of the runway and you should be fine." Everett said over his radio and gulped. The time for practicing was over. "Well, Zola, ready?"
"As ever as I'll ever be," Zola said uncertainly and shook her head. "Goddamn, I feel more nervous than when I'm entering combat."
"Right, then." Everett said and went on final approach towards the runway. "Excalibur Eleven, follow my lead and you'll do fine."
As the Fencer closed the distance between it and the runway, Everett reduced speed accordingly, reducing and increasing the rate based on how much distance he had left to cover. At the same time, he kept an eye on his airspeed indicator to avoid falling below stalling speed. "Nearly there," He said, more to reassure himself than anything else, and lowered the landing gears. He pitched the nose of his aircraft up and raised the spoilers, feeding some power to the engines when his speed was decreasing too quickly for his liking. Not long after, he felt a rough bump as the Fencer touched down, followed by another one when the nose gear hit the runway. Then, he felt a short, sharp jerk as the arrestor hook grabbed onto one of the cables.
"We're down. Powering down engines." Everett said and began the drill to power down his aircraft as they were towed to an elevator which brought them down to the cramped hangar below decks. By the time the Fencer was towed into its designated spot, Everett had completed his landing checklist and popped the canopy open once he felt his aircraft come to a complete stop. The ground crew hurried ladders to both sides of the cockpit and Everett and Zola wasted no time in exiting the Fence, eager to stretch their legs.
"Well," Zola said once her boots touched the floor of the hangar. "That was exciting. The landing, I mean."
"More than the dogfight, I'll say." Everett agreed with a nod and looked around him. Their squadron leader's aircraft was already in the hangar, and now they were just awaiting the rest of their squadron to land before the expected debriefing. Until then, Everett was content with just standing in front of his aircraft and enjoying the benefits of remaining stationary.
"It had to be done, Evy." Zola said gently, as if reading his mind, and placed a hand on his arm.
"I know," Everett said with a sigh. "It's just the uncertainty of it all and hindsight playing its games in my head. Those bombs could have still been unarmed, or the aircraft could have cleared Lossiemouth."
"It was combat, there was no time to consider all the possibilities." Zola said and smirked. "Come on, Evy, you've been a pilot long enough to know that."
Their radios sparked to life before Everett could respond, and what he heard only dampened his spirits even further. The skirmish had been nothing more than a distraction thrown halfheartedly at them by the UNWO. It was a minimal loss, maximum potential gain for them - if the bombers made it through, they would have leveled one more UN airbase and thus score a victory. If the bombers were lost, as they were, it would just be a minor defeat. Those few aircraft were by no means going to put a dent in the UNWO airforce, not by a longshot. "So much for a victory," Everett muttered.
"I wonder how the UNWO got so far into UN territory, though." Zola wondered aloud and furrowed her brow. "Last I checked, Gibraltar's pretty far into Europe."
"Maybe they hit the Spaniards while they were having their siesta." Everett said dryly, earning him a snort of laughter from Zola. "Either way, it's not our job to wonder how, we're here to just defend whatever the UN has left." He placed his hands back on the control column and turned sharper towards the heading specified by their AWACS controller. It suddenly made sense to Everett as to why the Avalon Institute had steadfastly pushed for an upgrade to the Fencer for carrier-borne operations; they had been flexible with just about every other arrangement. "Ever took part in any carrier-borne operations?" Everett asked.
Zola shook her head. "Nope, but I'm not the one putting us down." She said and patted Everett on the back. "Just don't splatter us against the ship and I'll be fine."
"Say until like easy liddat." Everett murmured beneath his breath, slipping into the broken form of English that was widely known as 'Singlish'. Even after countless years away from his home nation, he found it hard to drop the creole or even the accent, though the latter had been greatly tempered by his years going from country to country. He flew them on a straight and level course towards where the carrier was, the two of them chatting intermittently about anything and everything along the way, as they used to do when they flew alongside one another in Africa, though this time it was in person rather than over the radio. It was all routine - they exited the range of their AWACs and were picked up by the carrier's on-board air controllers - but what they saw was far from normal.
The carrier looked liked someone had taken a proper aircraft carrier and smashed it into a submarine, creating something that looked vaguely like both. "Fuck me, we're supposed to land on that?" Zola said, her eyes wide with surprise at what she was seeing and voice filled with incredulity, voicing both her's and Everett's thoughts. "Which genius thought up this fucking thing?"
Everett did not reply, too busy trying to figure out how he was going to approach the carrier. They were going to have to land from the front, rather than from the rear like conventional carriers. He had to do it right the first time as well - aborting the landing too late or overshooting the runway would result in them being smashed against the submarine like a bug against a windshield. "Well, we're going to have to land on it." Everett said and mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. It would be like landing on the various PLAN aircraft carriers during his time with the PLAAF, only in the opposite direction.
Like Excalibur One, when it came to their turn, Everett did a few trial runs to find the best way to approach the flight deck. "Excalibur Eleven, the runway will be approaching you, so take care to reduce speed at a greater rate than you are used to. Remember to deploy your arrestor hook and try to put your aircraft down close to the front end of the runway and you should be fine." Everett said over his radio and gulped. The time for practicing was over. "Well, Zola, ready?"
"As ever as I'll ever be," Zola said uncertainly and shook her head. "Goddamn, I feel more nervous than when I'm entering combat."
"Right, then." Everett said and went on final approach towards the runway. "Excalibur Eleven, follow my lead and you'll do fine."
As the Fencer closed the distance between it and the runway, Everett reduced speed accordingly, reducing and increasing the rate based on how much distance he had left to cover. At the same time, he kept an eye on his airspeed indicator to avoid falling below stalling speed. "Nearly there," He said, more to reassure himself than anything else, and lowered the landing gears. He pitched the nose of his aircraft up and raised the spoilers, feeding some power to the engines when his speed was decreasing too quickly for his liking. Not long after, he felt a rough bump as the Fencer touched down, followed by another one when the nose gear hit the runway. Then, he felt a short, sharp jerk as the arrestor hook grabbed onto one of the cables.
"We're down. Powering down engines." Everett said and began the drill to power down his aircraft as they were towed to an elevator which brought them down to the cramped hangar below decks. By the time the Fencer was towed into its designated spot, Everett had completed his landing checklist and popped the canopy open once he felt his aircraft come to a complete stop. The ground crew hurried ladders to both sides of the cockpit and Everett and Zola wasted no time in exiting the Fence, eager to stretch their legs.
"Well," Zola said once her boots touched the floor of the hangar. "That was exciting. The landing, I mean."
"More than the dogfight, I'll say." Everett agreed with a nod and looked around him. Their squadron leader's aircraft was already in the hangar, and now they were just awaiting the rest of their squadron to land before the expected debriefing. Until then, Everett was content with just standing in front of his aircraft and enjoying the benefits of remaining stationary.
It's an AU sort of setting, so you don't have to be really, really accurate. =D Besides, I'm sure we'll all be more than happy to help you out if you feel your CS needs any ironing out.
I'll wait for your next post. Not much to add on my end.
Man, my character looks like a boy scout in comparison now. All he's got going for him is religious persecution of Catholics. XD
And I'm still here. Just not usually active in OOCs. =\
And I'm still here. Just not usually active in OOCs. =\
I'm still here.
Merrick let out a breath in relief when the girl managed to escape the undead. He removed his hat for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow; he was still reeling from the surprise of having to deal with the supernatural. It was not anything anyone would be - or could be - prepared for. Not anyone normal, in any case. Merrick removed the bayonet from his weapon and returned it to his sheath, then slung the weapon behind his shoulder before walking towards the girl. If he had been shaken by the mere sight of the undead, he could not imagine what state the girl would be in. Then again, if she was a native of Paradise, then this could just be another regular walk at night.
"It's nothing, not like we can just sit by and let someone cark it." He said in response to her mumbled, barely audible thanks. She had to be in a state of shock, Merrick guessed, and that was something he knew how to deal with as well. Every soldier had to, at one point or other, deal with a shell-shocked comrade. He nodded to her weapons, a peculiar mesh of a revolver and knife. Not something that Merrick would bring into a fight, but it certainly stood out as something unique. "Odd weapons you've got there," He commented.
He heard her question and pointed in the general direction at the way they had came. "Somewhere down that way, we just came from the church." He said with a shrug and cocked his head slightly to the left. "You want one of us to come along with you? I-I'm not sayin' you're not capable of doin' it on your own, but safety in numbers, yeah?"
"It's nothing, not like we can just sit by and let someone cark it." He said in response to her mumbled, barely audible thanks. She had to be in a state of shock, Merrick guessed, and that was something he knew how to deal with as well. Every soldier had to, at one point or other, deal with a shell-shocked comrade. He nodded to her weapons, a peculiar mesh of a revolver and knife. Not something that Merrick would bring into a fight, but it certainly stood out as something unique. "Odd weapons you've got there," He commented.
He heard her question and pointed in the general direction at the way they had came. "Somewhere down that way, we just came from the church." He said with a shrug and cocked his head slightly to the left. "You want one of us to come along with you? I-I'm not sayin' you're not capable of doin' it on your own, but safety in numbers, yeah?"
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