Post by Threid on Feb 18, 2010 19:59:23 GMT -5
The air buzzed with megaparticle beams and heavy weapons fire. Well, the air outside, at least. Kyle stared out the ship's window, contemplating the action. If only the Mini wasn't still full of desert! He knew the suit was almost combat ready; it still moved a bit stiffly, of course, but it would do decently enough in a support role, laying down cover fire, or picking off any unit careless enough to stand still in range of his beam rifle.
He would have inquired why he hadn't been deployed, but he doubted anyone was in the mood to answer questions from the new guy, especially during a battle. Probably some bureaucratic crap, like forgetting I was with the fleet, or misplacing my papers or something. One of the things he'd learned at the academy was that organizations were rarely shining examples of, well, organization.
He didn't fault the 87th much; they had their hands full as it was and he was, after all, just a blip on their radar. For now, at least. Surely in the impending Odessa conflict, there would be plenty of opportunities to distinguish himself as a pilot, and as a person. From what he'd heard, it was going to be big - so big that his superiors couldn't afford to overlook decent pilots. Even new ones. Time to stop pouting.
He fed his rising bitterness into a flame of focus, channeling thoughts into his notebook, planning for the Odessa operation. Enemy and friendly positions, size and strength of forces, notable pilots on both sides, their strengths and weaknesses - he burned them all into his brain. As if I'd waste a solid block of free time.
A couple hours later, he dropped his pencil from his shaking hands, and smiled feverishly. He may be just a pawn, but he was a smart, well-prepared pawn. He couldn't decide who would regret his absence in the recent battle more: The Zeeks he downed at Odessa as a result of his careful planning, or his superiors, after seeing what he was capable of. I guess it doesn't matter, as long as I do my best.
He would have inquired why he hadn't been deployed, but he doubted anyone was in the mood to answer questions from the new guy, especially during a battle. Probably some bureaucratic crap, like forgetting I was with the fleet, or misplacing my papers or something. One of the things he'd learned at the academy was that organizations were rarely shining examples of, well, organization.
He didn't fault the 87th much; they had their hands full as it was and he was, after all, just a blip on their radar. For now, at least. Surely in the impending Odessa conflict, there would be plenty of opportunities to distinguish himself as a pilot, and as a person. From what he'd heard, it was going to be big - so big that his superiors couldn't afford to overlook decent pilots. Even new ones. Time to stop pouting.
He fed his rising bitterness into a flame of focus, channeling thoughts into his notebook, planning for the Odessa operation. Enemy and friendly positions, size and strength of forces, notable pilots on both sides, their strengths and weaknesses - he burned them all into his brain. As if I'd waste a solid block of free time.
A couple hours later, he dropped his pencil from his shaking hands, and smiled feverishly. He may be just a pawn, but he was a smart, well-prepared pawn. He couldn't decide who would regret his absence in the recent battle more: The Zeeks he downed at Odessa as a result of his careful planning, or his superiors, after seeing what he was capable of. I guess it doesn't matter, as long as I do my best.