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The Korean peninsula is beautiful this time of year. Then again, even the battle scarred planet known as Earth is still beautiful from the air and Earth Orbit. The flight is still boring, however, as the crew of the cargo airliner Sunstorm cruises high over the Asian continent. In the cockpit Scarth Maheart sips at his coffee while the crew work the avionics. It took a while but the Sunstorm is as handicap accessible as his old Heavy Transport Ultra Magnus. He misses those trucks but with any luck, the rogue can purchase more of them in th future. Maheart does not expect any trouble up here and if there was, his Sunstorm has teeth of its own unlike the other planes of her class. Sergeant Jim Irwin shifts in the pilot seat, relaxing stiff muscles from the long flight in a way only veteran fighter pilots knew. Three other Tin Cods are in formation with him. Irwin scans the horizon as he listens in on the radio chatter. "Sarge, don't you think we should have brought a Dish aircraft with us?" asks John Sousa for perhaps the hundredth time. "Forget the Dish," mutters Craig Daniels," why are we going after renegades when we can be shoving missiles up a Zeek's ass?" "Because you have one already stuck in yours," Lisa Andrews voiced dryly. Irwin smiled to himself as he looks at the lead aircraft. Having her on point is almost the same as eying her ass on the ground. Irwin is sure that Daniels is thinking the same in his cockpit. "Hey Sarge," said Andrews," I think that's our target at 10 o'clock. Range 10 miles." A quick check on his instruments confirms this. "Okay kids, let's tally-ho," commands Irwin. It was smoky white trails of the air-to-air missiles that alerted the crew of the Sunstorm that they are under attack. But before they could man the customized AA turrets, a chain of explosions rock the cargo airliner. There was immediate cabin depressurization as shrapnel tore through the skin of the aircraft. In the cockpit, Scarth Maheart is already shouting for the crew to shoot back as they try to evade. Vicious heavy machinegun fire surprises the Tin Cod squadron, forcing the pilots to momentarily break away. The other three fighters group around Irwin as he leads them back on an attack run. Looping around the AA fire, the Tin Cods unleash a devastating barrage of 25mm vulcan rounds into the cargo airliner's airframe. The thin metal skin was no match for the large bullets and before anyone could react, one of the Sunstorm's engines explodes and the large plane begins to trail smoke. The Tin Cods saw the explosion. They watch as the wounded aircraft seem to groan as it sharply dives towards the ground. From his pilot's seat, Jim Irwin could tell from experience that the large aircraft is doomed. Feeling that it is useless to waste ammunition, he collects the rest of the squad to return to base to refuel and rearm. But in the cockpit of the Sunstorm, Scarth Maheart is not about to give up. As the ground races up to greet them, he and the surviving crew members fought the controls of the aircraft. They adjusted power to the engines, cut fuel to the damaged ones, and attempt to wrestle back control of the plane. Miraculously, they managed to raise the nose of the aircraft just moments before they struck the soft mud of a rice field. The airliner slid across the field, destroying everything under its weight. It finally came to a halt, creating a long trench about half a mile long. Later on in the day, Maheart and the survivors survey the damage and to begin their plans to make the Sunstorm airworthy again. Jim Irwin - 7 VP gained, Repair 1 Scarth Maheart- 6 VP gained "Ah, you smell that, Vito?" "What, the fuel?" "JP-7, Vito." "Yeah, whatever. Let's get this over with." The Italian shimmied his lanky body on top of the many fuel cells while ignoring his partner's ramblings, tugging a rather heavy canvas bag along with him. Having found a suitable location, Vito took out several cylindrical objects and began to tape them onto various areas on top of the fuel cell. Tearing off another piece of tape, he looked over and saw Nu nearly done emptying the contents of one of his satchels as if he'd done this many times before. Vito shook his head at the thought and wondered about what kind of people he was working with, but a solid clank forced him to abandon the thought and look over at Nu. "Gawd'amnit, Vito. Hurry the hell up," whispered Nu, looking up at the now frantically working Italian. Des and Fernando leaned up against one of the ground support vehicles that littered the airfield, inviting the freedom fighter to verbally express his dismay with blatant lack of protocol followed in this particular installation. Looking over, he saw Fernando shrug and continue to sit back and stare at the towering Medea parked in front of him. The Chilean could read the name Maque artistically applied to the body of the aircraft and an equally good artwork of a contemporary model gracing the sickly yellow tinged skin of the Maque. Chuckling, Fernando said, "Pretty damn good artists they have here." "Yeah, that's about all they have," retorted Des, paying little attention to the object of his partner's observations. They were supposed to dissuade any nosy soldiers from peeking their heads inside the rear area of the Medea, but fortunately nobody had even bothered to come by, the smell of a distant barbecue giving him a distinct idea as to why. "Relax Des, it's going to be fine." The two men inside the body of the Medea were now carefully walking towards the middle of the Medea, but one of them suddenly halted with a devilish grin on his face. Realizing that he was now only hearing his own footsteps, Vito turned around and asked, "Nu, what the hell? We have to get to the cockpit." To his confusion, the Italian saw his compatriot take out a particular looking pipe, unscrewing one of the ends to show a cheddar cheese coloured putty packed into the cylinder. "Semtex, the pride of the Czechs," he said aloud before shoving a much thinner cylinder into the pipe." "Nu, what the hell are you doing? The turbines are last. Put that shit back," Vito ordered, beginning to become uneasy around this odd character. Displacing his grin, Nu put on a serious face and replied, "Honestly, Vito. We're right here. Why would we go to the cockpit and then come back? That's doesn't make sense." "Des has his reasons, you idiot!" The Italian was about to wrench away the pipe bomb from the demolitions expert, but Nu swiftly produced a pair of pliers and crushed the exposed end of the pencil detonator, causing Vito to stop in his tracks and stare at Nu with his mouth agape. The South African took the moment to screw the pipe bomb's end cap back on and toss it into engine number 3 before closing the open maintenance access panel. Seeing his companion pull out another explosive, Vito sprang forward and took the remaining pipe bombs from him, berating Nu for his rash actions. Unwilling to stand having his decisions questioned, Nu began walking toward the nearest exit yelling, "You know what? Fine. Go to the cockpit yourself. I'm done with this crap. I'll be outside." "Look, there they are," said the Chilean, pointing Nu out as he stepped off of the Maque. Raising his right eyebrow, Des wondered aloud, "That was a bit fast, and where's Vito?" Of course, his answer came not too long after when he saw the Italian scramble out of the plane holding all four satchel bags. And to make matters worse, Fernando pointed out a single jeep with a security detail on board approaching them. The four freedom fighters now found themselves in a pickle, and that wasn't a desirable situation to be in when one was inside a military power's own base. Staring at the pintle mounted MMG on the jeep, Des put his hand next to the holstered pistol as the vehicle approached him and his team, though to his surprise the standing machine gunner didn't even pay attention to the four men on the ground as the jeep came to a halt. Looking at the satchels, the passenger in the jeep called out, "Nice! Liquor run in town eh?" "You betcha," Des replied, a look of relief washing over his face. "Well, don't forget to get us some, eh? We're off at 19:00. Oh, and the boys are having a barbecue near the MS hangar, so stop on by when you all are done." The sergeant waved back at them before instructing the driver to continue their patrol around the base. Waiting until the jeep was out of sight, Des turned around with a mixed look of relief and confusion on his face. "Jislaaik! That was close. Did you all finish already?" Nu was about to reply, but the Italian cut him off and replied, "Sorta. But I think we should get out of here, Des." "Sorta? What the hell do you mean sorta?" said Des, clearly wanting some clarification to Vito's answer. "Just, sorta." Nearly an hour after the rogue infiltration team had left, a minor explosion occurred precisely in Maque's engine number 3, and not long after a raging inferno erupted from within the fuel tanks area of the Medea, prompting a rather coordinated response from the recovery team. The speed in which the firefighters contained the fire actually impressed Des, but the damage had already been done, and his mission was more or less a success. Des Mielle: 5 CP Gained, No Damage "Well he's kinda cute..." Hirsch thought to himself as he sat in his Aqua GM's cock pit, his feet dangling out the front. He sat quietly, taking a break from his studies and maps, letting out an occasional sigh as a sailor in a tight uniform would walk by. After he had enough of the view, the young test pilot grabbed his books and charts and scaled his way down. As he descended down the ladder from his cockpit, papers floated to the ground and navigation tools plummeted to the floor. As he reached the feet of the suit he frantically grasped for his dropped belongings. "What a mess... I really do need to be a little more organized." He sighed as he corrected his glasses and looked around to make sure no one saw all the commotion he made. "Ok, good... now to get to the war room. Have a siege to engage." Persephone looked up from her meal as a faint twinkle flashed across her mind. A look of concerned became visible on the young girls face as she stood up and made her way to the command center in a hurry. Her blonde hair flowed behind her as she rushed down the hall way to alert the base commander of the impending danger she sensed. The young newtype didn't know what was coming there way, or how to explain how she knew, but Persephone had a bad feeling and felt it best to act on it. "You need to ready your men, sir..." She stared at her officer with conviction as she stared down the room of Zeon Officers. Persephone Dawn: 1 VP Gained, No Damage Cray Vermillion: 1 VP Gained, No Damage |