Post by Threid on Feb 24, 2010 21:36:36 GMT -5
Kyle settled into his desk chair and took a deep breath. It had been a long battle - nothing like the academy simulations. There had been too many variables for his preconceived strategies to do much good. He'd have to develop his battlefield awareness to increase his flexibility during the fight; it wouldn't do to spend so much time behind cover, planning his next move. He had to fight more fluidly.
When he thought about it, battles were like medical operations. First off, you had to be familiar with what you were up against - the disease. You had to know what the enemy was packing, how many, his primary targets, and how he would go about the assault. You also had to know the body; the environment was important part of battle, during planning and execution. What was the terrain like? How might it be used by or against your enemy? And you had to know the limitations of your instruments; surgical strikes couldn't be quick incisions if all you had was the military equivalent of a dull scalpel or crude scissors.
Finally - and this is the part Kyle knew he was lacking in - you had to make snap decisions. When windows of opportunity opened and doors were slammed shut in your face, you had to decide in an instant whether it was worth jumping out the window, busting through the door, or waiting for other openings. His hindsight was always 20/20, but his foresight and "midsight" needed correction.
I'm just like a medic fresh out of the academy; armed with an arsenal of knowledge I can't properly apply, still just training to be excellent. He hoped the "residency" portion of his battle training wouldn't leave him dead. A stray artillery shell had rocketed into his mobile suit's crotch. If it hadn't been a dud, the huge crater would have been in the Tuscan soil, instead of his Gundam's armor. Despite the lucky break, the Gundam's legs were wobbly for the rest of the battle as a result of the damaged control systems, and parts of the armor looked like Swiss cheese. He was lucky he had good mechanics. Otherwise, he doubted the suit would ever walk again without replacement legs. He was sure Madelaine would have it fixed in no time. At least there's no sand to clean.
He wondered how Tack and Flack had done. He hadn't heard from them since they took off, joining the considerable flock of Tin Cods. They'd lost a lot of pilots, but Kyle didn't know whether Tack/Flack had made it out or not. Command was fairly liberal in how they assigned and reassigned Tin Cod pilots, and they had better things to do than to let him know what had happened to pilots who'd been under his command for a mere day. Still, he hoped they were all right.
Madelaine had made it out relatively unscathed, boasting of the number of units she'd shot down or shot up. (She made the distinction, not him.) Kyle had lost of track of his kills during the battle, but Maddy could tell him the details of almost every shot or burst she'd fired. Once again, he wondered why she'd been mucking about as a mechanic for so long, when her piloting skills were so obviously so above average. Maybe he'd ask her later.
Now, however, it was time to rest. Kyle laid out his uniform for the next day, checking to ensure there were no wrinkles or blemishes, before crashing into bed. He closed his eyes, let the beams, gunfire, explosions and tactics fade from his mind, and fell asleep.
When he thought about it, battles were like medical operations. First off, you had to be familiar with what you were up against - the disease. You had to know what the enemy was packing, how many, his primary targets, and how he would go about the assault. You also had to know the body; the environment was important part of battle, during planning and execution. What was the terrain like? How might it be used by or against your enemy? And you had to know the limitations of your instruments; surgical strikes couldn't be quick incisions if all you had was the military equivalent of a dull scalpel or crude scissors.
Finally - and this is the part Kyle knew he was lacking in - you had to make snap decisions. When windows of opportunity opened and doors were slammed shut in your face, you had to decide in an instant whether it was worth jumping out the window, busting through the door, or waiting for other openings. His hindsight was always 20/20, but his foresight and "midsight" needed correction.
I'm just like a medic fresh out of the academy; armed with an arsenal of knowledge I can't properly apply, still just training to be excellent. He hoped the "residency" portion of his battle training wouldn't leave him dead. A stray artillery shell had rocketed into his mobile suit's crotch. If it hadn't been a dud, the huge crater would have been in the Tuscan soil, instead of his Gundam's armor. Despite the lucky break, the Gundam's legs were wobbly for the rest of the battle as a result of the damaged control systems, and parts of the armor looked like Swiss cheese. He was lucky he had good mechanics. Otherwise, he doubted the suit would ever walk again without replacement legs. He was sure Madelaine would have it fixed in no time. At least there's no sand to clean.
He wondered how Tack and Flack had done. He hadn't heard from them since they took off, joining the considerable flock of Tin Cods. They'd lost a lot of pilots, but Kyle didn't know whether Tack/Flack had made it out or not. Command was fairly liberal in how they assigned and reassigned Tin Cod pilots, and they had better things to do than to let him know what had happened to pilots who'd been under his command for a mere day. Still, he hoped they were all right.
Madelaine had made it out relatively unscathed, boasting of the number of units she'd shot down or shot up. (She made the distinction, not him.) Kyle had lost of track of his kills during the battle, but Maddy could tell him the details of almost every shot or burst she'd fired. Once again, he wondered why she'd been mucking about as a mechanic for so long, when her piloting skills were so obviously so above average. Maybe he'd ask her later.
Now, however, it was time to rest. Kyle laid out his uniform for the next day, checking to ensure there were no wrinkles or blemishes, before crashing into bed. He closed his eyes, let the beams, gunfire, explosions and tactics fade from his mind, and fell asleep.