Post by Threid on Apr 6, 2010 20:54:08 GMT -5
"Gun-damn it!" Kyle wasn't usually one for profanity, but being hit by another bazooka round sucked, especially after he'd promised himself he wouldn't get hit again. His hip felt bruised, but the knowledge that his precious Gundam had taken the brunt of the blow was more painful. He thanked the Luna Titanium armor plates and hauled all 51.5 metric tons of the EZ-8, plus armaments, back to its feet. She'll hold together.
At least it'd be him, and not one of his teammates. Luna Titanium armor was a luxury neither of them enjoyed. The titanium was significantly weaker than it's lunar relative. "Gun-damned Doms!" The dirty Zeeks were hiding behind the homes of civilians, and Kyle wasn't going to risk shooting the people who might be inside. One of The Beam Team's unwritten rules - not that they had any written ones, yet - was never to cause collateral when they could avoid it. The Doms were retreating; they'd pick 'em up later.
Suddenly, Kyle noticed Bigby's desert GM rushing forward. "Provide cover fire! Don't hit the houses!" Kyle cried, hoping his teammates could hear him. Their magazines were full, courtesy of the crew of Big Tray Crusade. Kyle made a mental note to send them a thank-you note as he sent a bazooka round smoking toward a protruding Dom torso. The Dom popped back into cover just in time, and the 305mm round spun harmlessly past.
But Bigby followed it, performing an impressive aerial maneuver before bringing his beam saber down decisively on the surprised Dom. The Desert GM turned to a group of Zakus next. "Bigby, get your bare ass back here!" Kyle hoped the profanity would to Bigby how dire his situation was.
But Aaron, in his Land Combat GM, screamed through the static, "Advance!"
Kyle relayed the order to The Beam Team, and they led the charge Bigby had started, machine-guns blazing. Kyle yelled encouragement, Madelaine just yelled, and Tybalt screamed witty obscenities at the group of Zakus. But they hadn't closed half the distance before Bigby's GM was sliced in half, the heat saber slicing right through the cockpit. Kyle looked for his friends possibly-skirted form on the ground - perhaps he had ejected - but didn't see him.
Damn it, Bigby! Kyle remembered their night on the town. As weird as it had been, it was one of his first hangout experiences in the EFGF; it was certainly a night he'd never forget. The skirt-wearing, the jokes it engendered, the bar, the band - almost all of it was spectacularly bad, but somehow, when you put it all together, it had been a neat experience. If they'd had more time to hang out, maybe Bigby could've been part of The Beam Team. Then again, Kyle sensed that Bigby had always been kind of a lone wolf, a free spirit. Who knows what might have been - what might yet be?
Kyle yelled louder, and The Beam Team continued the advance.
Tybalt danced. Keeping his GM out of harm's way was difficult here, to say the least. It was like trying to dance well in a large group of people, some of whom were less-than-skilled. It was like making one's voice stand out in a torrent of blathering. It was like choosing that perfect pairing of words to express oneself, when others would communicate the same thing, but less elegantly.
But Tybalt had been doing all of these things for as long as he could remember. And so he danced through the mayhem surrounding him, making his own finely-crafted additions. His shots rang precisely where he meant them to, directed with as much precision as his words. Ah, such is my life. Oh, but if only everyone else could move and act as I do. Then, perhaps, even war would be beautiful.
Madelaine's world was explosions: Making them, and making sure she didn't become one of them. Kyle and Tybalt's words echoed in her head. She saw a Type 61 take a vicious burst of machine-gun fire from an enemy Zaku. The tank stopped moving, and the flames that sprouted on it bloomed into a giant fireball. She looked away. Bad memories.
There were too many enemies, and too many Type 61 tanks. Too many to kill, and too many to protect. Then again, isn't war always like that? The slightly philosophical nature of her thoughts surprised her somewhat; she wasn't the type to think like that during a battle. Someone in her position couldn't afford to. She wondered how much longer they could keep up the offensive, and how much longer the enemy could effectively defend. Something's gotta give! But it won't be me! She smiled as she heard Corporal Slater curse. Someone has the battle-spirit in him.
She returned to her explosions.
At least it'd be him, and not one of his teammates. Luna Titanium armor was a luxury neither of them enjoyed. The titanium was significantly weaker than it's lunar relative. "Gun-damned Doms!" The dirty Zeeks were hiding behind the homes of civilians, and Kyle wasn't going to risk shooting the people who might be inside. One of The Beam Team's unwritten rules - not that they had any written ones, yet - was never to cause collateral when they could avoid it. The Doms were retreating; they'd pick 'em up later.
Suddenly, Kyle noticed Bigby's desert GM rushing forward. "Provide cover fire! Don't hit the houses!" Kyle cried, hoping his teammates could hear him. Their magazines were full, courtesy of the crew of Big Tray Crusade. Kyle made a mental note to send them a thank-you note as he sent a bazooka round smoking toward a protruding Dom torso. The Dom popped back into cover just in time, and the 305mm round spun harmlessly past.
But Bigby followed it, performing an impressive aerial maneuver before bringing his beam saber down decisively on the surprised Dom. The Desert GM turned to a group of Zakus next. "Bigby, get your bare ass back here!" Kyle hoped the profanity would to Bigby how dire his situation was.
But Aaron, in his Land Combat GM, screamed through the static, "Advance!"
Kyle relayed the order to The Beam Team, and they led the charge Bigby had started, machine-guns blazing. Kyle yelled encouragement, Madelaine just yelled, and Tybalt screamed witty obscenities at the group of Zakus. But they hadn't closed half the distance before Bigby's GM was sliced in half, the heat saber slicing right through the cockpit. Kyle looked for his friends possibly-skirted form on the ground - perhaps he had ejected - but didn't see him.
Damn it, Bigby! Kyle remembered their night on the town. As weird as it had been, it was one of his first hangout experiences in the EFGF; it was certainly a night he'd never forget. The skirt-wearing, the jokes it engendered, the bar, the band - almost all of it was spectacularly bad, but somehow, when you put it all together, it had been a neat experience. If they'd had more time to hang out, maybe Bigby could've been part of The Beam Team. Then again, Kyle sensed that Bigby had always been kind of a lone wolf, a free spirit. Who knows what might have been - what might yet be?
Kyle yelled louder, and The Beam Team continued the advance.
~
Tybalt danced. Keeping his GM out of harm's way was difficult here, to say the least. It was like trying to dance well in a large group of people, some of whom were less-than-skilled. It was like making one's voice stand out in a torrent of blathering. It was like choosing that perfect pairing of words to express oneself, when others would communicate the same thing, but less elegantly.
But Tybalt had been doing all of these things for as long as he could remember. And so he danced through the mayhem surrounding him, making his own finely-crafted additions. His shots rang precisely where he meant them to, directed with as much precision as his words. Ah, such is my life. Oh, but if only everyone else could move and act as I do. Then, perhaps, even war would be beautiful.
~
Madelaine's world was explosions: Making them, and making sure she didn't become one of them. Kyle and Tybalt's words echoed in her head. She saw a Type 61 take a vicious burst of machine-gun fire from an enemy Zaku. The tank stopped moving, and the flames that sprouted on it bloomed into a giant fireball. She looked away. Bad memories.
There were too many enemies, and too many Type 61 tanks. Too many to kill, and too many to protect. Then again, isn't war always like that? The slightly philosophical nature of her thoughts surprised her somewhat; she wasn't the type to think like that during a battle. Someone in her position couldn't afford to. She wondered how much longer they could keep up the offensive, and how much longer the enemy could effectively defend. Something's gotta give! But it won't be me! She smiled as she heard Corporal Slater curse. Someone has the battle-spirit in him.
She returned to her explosions.