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The Gaw Intrepid drifted slowly in and out of the dark clouds over South Africa. The massive purple assault carrier flew at a high enough altitude to avoid the worst of the horrendous rain storms that the region was experiencing. On the bridge, Steve Myer, clothed in his usual SS uniform and flowing black leather trench coat, and Susan Steel, a TAF soldier, stood quietly on the darkened bridge. The mood was foul - the Gaw's departure from Zeon-controlled North Africa had not gone as smoothly as Myer had expected and the TAF had not supplied nearly enough aircraft to support a proper entry into Federation territory. "Still no targets?" Myer asked for the umpteenth time. "No sir," the Intrepid's captain replied, irritated by the SS officer's continued pestering. "The Dopps haven't spotted anything. This ship hasn't spotted anything. I haven't spotted anything. Please, sir, we know exactly what we're doing. At this point, we're not going to run into anything at al-" "Sir!" yelled one of the Intrepid's radar operators. "Contact!" "Shit," the captain cursed under his breath, angry at the stupidity of jinxing the moment. "Why upset, Captain," Myer said, turning towards the man, smiling. "We get to kill some Feddies." "Eagle 1, this is Eagle 5," the Tin Cod pilot announced over the radio. The Desert Eagles had conducted patrol routes in the rain soaked South Africa at high altitude, allowing them to avoid the terrible turbulence at lower levels. "I've spotted an enemy assault carrier." "Where?" Amy Bauer-Meister asked, "Our 3 o'clock," the pilot replied, "Down at least a thousand feet." "Excellent," the leader of the Desert Eagles replied. She banked her Tin Cod down and towards the enemy contacts. As she did, she could spot the massive Gaw amongst the black clouds. A handful of enemy fighters, Dopps, drifted above the assault carrier. "Gentlemen, focus on the Dopps. The 53rd will handle the fat boy." A chorus of acknowledgements rang over Bauer-Meister's radio, and she grinned a wolfish smile. Time to kick some ass. "Where are they?" Steel asked, leaning over a forward console on the bridge to look out of the Gaw's bridge view port. Suddenly, one of the Dopps exploded viciously into a ball of flames, its carcass beginning to fall rapidly. Six Federation Tin Cods broke through the cloud cover, racing towards the Zeon warship, steadily approaching. "Open fire with the AA turrets!" the SS officer ordered. "Yes, sir!" the captain replied, and shouted the order to a nearby bridge officer. Within moments, the heavy anti-aircraft turrets of the Intrepid opened fire, massive shells filing the surrounding air with rounds. The Tin Cods and Dopps began mixing it up, maneuvering and avoiding and exchanging missile and vulcan fire. One of the Intrepid's AA cannons accidentally struck one of the Dopps, sending the fighter tail-spinning out of control. The air battle was not going well, as another Dopp exploded. "Shit," Myer cursed. "More contacts!" the radar operator called out. "Type?" the Intrepid's captain asked. "Fly Manta's. Six of them." "Damn," Steel suddenly burst out, displaying, for Myer, the first visible sign of emotion. A fourth Dopp careened out of control, falling down into the cloud cover. "Take out the last Dopp!" Bauer-Meister ordered, quickly banking her own Tin Cod out of the path of Zeon anti-aircraft fire. She looked down to check her radar, and was pleased to see the formation of Fly Manta's steadily approaching the enemy assault carrier. "When you get a confirmed lock, let rip!" "Acknowledged," the pilot of the lead Fly Manta replied. The newly formed 53rd Manta Wing set in a flying "V" formation, rapidly closed on the purple Gaw, each of the six pilots eager for their first action, fingers close on the trigger. "Closer...," the Fly Manta pilot said softly, "Closer...FIRE!" Bauer-Meister leveled out her Tin Cod and watched as a massive volley of missiles lance forth from the Fly Mantas, screaming towards the Zeon warship. A moment later, massive explosions raced along the right side of the Gaw, ripping the warship open. A quick second volley from the Fly Manta's impacted higher up on the carrier's flank, causing further damage. "Behind you, Eagle 1!" one of the other Tin Cod pilots yelled. Checking her six, Bauer-Meister saw the last of the Dopps closing in behind her, the fighter's vulcans firing. With the skill that only years of training could provide, the experienced Tin Cod pilot jerked her fighter to the left and dived rapidly, avoiding most of the incoming rounds. Her fighter craft suddenly shuttered as the Dopp, nearly on her tail, exploded from a missile from one of Bauer-Meister's subordinates. "Great job, Eagle 3," she yelled happily. "Thanks," the pilot replied. "It's turning back," Eagle 5 broke in, and the Tin Cod pilots all swiveled their heads and craned their necks, watching as the Gaw broke into a wide turn, the remaining AA guns firing towards the retreating Fly Mantas, destroying one of them. "Pursue?" Eagle 3 asked. "No," Bauer-Meister replied, "We don't have the rounds to finish her off." Steve Myer: 8/2 VP, 0 Days Damaged Susan Steel: 8/2 VP, 0 Days Damaged The C-88 Medea, its engines whining and groaning as it flew swiftly over northern Europe, continued on its path, routine for the past several weeks. The Mare's Leg was assigned as an operational lift for the EFGF, working primarily for Virgil Hilts, ferrying mobile suits and other military equipment from Federation bases to the front lines. "You've been looking at the same porn mag for three weeks, Ken," the Medea's pilot complained. The copilot looked up from his nudie magazine. "Hush," Ken replied. "This is the only entertainment I've had in weeks, John." "Blah, blah, blah," John said, turning back to his controls. As he cast his eyes over his console, he noticed the radar panel and three rapidly approaching radar signatures. "Oh, shit." "What?" the copilot asked, putting his magazine away. "Contacts, three of them. Unknown sigs." "Shit," Ken said. Scarth Maheart powered his Tin Cod forward. "Damnit," he muttered, "Why couldn't the Federation keep the same control layout in this piece of junk as the Fly Manta." "Because they hate you," replied the pilot of the Silent Fate, the rogue's Medea transport. The large airlift's engines strained to keep up with the slightly faster Fly Manta. "True," Scarth said. He grunted as his aircraft his a pocket of turbulence. The controls were awkward, and he was still trying to master it. "Oh shit," Silent Fate broke in again, "The Federation Medea is pulling away." "What?" the rogue answered, shocked. "Yeah, it's increased speed. Rapidly. It must be a different model than the Silent Fate." The rogue commander cursed his luck and throttled his Fly Manta to full speed. "Come on," he seethed. After a minute, he had gained little ground on the Federation airlift. The fighter began to shake under the pressure of the speed Scarth was pushing the Tin Cod. "Sir!" yelled his Medea's pilot, "If you continue at that speed, your aircraft is going to break up." "Damnit all," Scarth said in anger, slamming a fist onto on of the fighter's control panels. "You're right. We'll try again another time." Scarth Maheart: 6 VP, 0 Days Damaged |