Post by nirvash on Feb 20, 2010 16:20:18 GMT -5
FF-S3 Saberfish, huh? Crosser gently ran his hand down the fighter's dirtied fuselage. His fingers hesitated above the bubbled and flaking white paint spelling out his name under the crystalline canopy.
"Crosser Falcon," and underneath, crooked letters, as if they were stenciled on in a drunken stupor or a rush, "Saviorfish."
Crosser smirked.
Two Weeks Later[/i]
The Saberfish-- no, the Saviorfish gleamed in the hangar's sterile light. The paint was fresh; the magnetic coating process meant that not a single drop would find its way into the air or ventilation systems. The blue was deep and mysterious, just like an ancient sea on that blue and white refuge, Earth. Crosser missed the fields and his crop duster.
The oceans of golden grain that shimmered under him as he passed were out of sight but not out of mind. Even here, he had them with him, the blue of the Saviorfish's hull was highlighted with a golden yellow, distrubted just enough to catch your eye and keep the blue from overwhelming your senses.
"Hey, Falcon!" The voice dulled the scent of nostalgia lingering in Crosser's nose and replaced it with the smell of grease and metal. He loved that smell. It meant victory. He turned around to see who it was. It was the Kid. The Kid was his biggest fan.
"Hey, boss. What's the good word?" Crosser tousled the kid's hair, a mess of brown waves.
"Did you hear? We're going after a mine!" Of course Crosser had heard, he was considered an integral part of strategic analysis both for his morale boosting effects on the men and his hard-earned ace status. Truthfully, he had enough kills for a few dozen aces over, but he didn't mind; all that mattered was that he remembered every kill he made.
"A mine? You don't say! Where's it at, bucko?"
"We're only a few hours away!"
Two Days later_[/i]
The mine was destroyed, yes, but they hadn't gotten away. The Lucifer's Fury rained hellish retribution unto Damocles, and lives had been lost. Crosser knew. He didn't forget. He couldn't forget.
He lifted the Kid's dogtags up as he leaned back in his cockpit. The hangar's light refracted through the raised canopy of the blue and gold Saberfish and glinted off the tags.
This was a bad way to learn his name.
"Crosser Falcon," and underneath, crooked letters, as if they were stenciled on in a drunken stupor or a rush, "Saviorfish."
Crosser smirked.
Two Weeks Later[/i]
The Saberfish-- no, the Saviorfish gleamed in the hangar's sterile light. The paint was fresh; the magnetic coating process meant that not a single drop would find its way into the air or ventilation systems. The blue was deep and mysterious, just like an ancient sea on that blue and white refuge, Earth. Crosser missed the fields and his crop duster.
The oceans of golden grain that shimmered under him as he passed were out of sight but not out of mind. Even here, he had them with him, the blue of the Saviorfish's hull was highlighted with a golden yellow, distrubted just enough to catch your eye and keep the blue from overwhelming your senses.
"Hey, Falcon!" The voice dulled the scent of nostalgia lingering in Crosser's nose and replaced it with the smell of grease and metal. He loved that smell. It meant victory. He turned around to see who it was. It was the Kid. The Kid was his biggest fan.
"Hey, boss. What's the good word?" Crosser tousled the kid's hair, a mess of brown waves.
"Did you hear? We're going after a mine!" Of course Crosser had heard, he was considered an integral part of strategic analysis both for his morale boosting effects on the men and his hard-earned ace status. Truthfully, he had enough kills for a few dozen aces over, but he didn't mind; all that mattered was that he remembered every kill he made.
"A mine? You don't say! Where's it at, bucko?"
"We're only a few hours away!"
Two Days later_[/i]
The mine was destroyed, yes, but they hadn't gotten away. The Lucifer's Fury rained hellish retribution unto Damocles, and lives had been lost. Crosser knew. He didn't forget. He couldn't forget.
He lifted the Kid's dogtags up as he leaned back in his cockpit. The hangar's light refracted through the raised canopy of the blue and gold Saberfish and glinted off the tags.
This was a bad way to learn his name.