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3 days from earth, and not far from Solomon, Dozle Zabi's fleet conducted business as usual, creating a wall of ships, mobile suits, and manly intimidation that none could hope to penetrate. None that is, but a lone Public class missile boat that perplexingly sped alone directly toward the enemy formation. "Sir! We've got an enemy contact! It's a.... a public!?" "What!? Only one!? It could be a trick, launch mobile suits to investigate and destroy it." Hangar's were alive with action as Zakus fired off into space one after the other, preparing for the very action they had assembled for, thwarting any Federation incursion into Zeon space. It wasn't long before a small group of Zakus had reached the lone enemy vessel, and a message filtered through to the command ship. "It's only a balloon sir, scouts report no Federation presence in the area. We think it may have drifted off from a fleet during battle or something." "I see, dispose of it, fool feddies should keep a better eye on their toys..." "You heard the captain, take it down." The Zaku raised it's machinegun to fire, but his comrade quickly pushed the gun aside. "Don't waste the ammo, just pop it with your hawk." "Roger that." Now the Zaku closed in. Heat hawk in hand, it burst ahead of the fake ship, and made a powerful slash right into the nose of the impostor. *POP!* "GAH!?!?! What is this!? I can't see!!! HELP!" The pilot screamed as the deflated balloon wrapped tightly around his now helpless Zaku. "Captain this is team leader, the decoy is destroyed, but it seems to have *hehe* attacked one of our men." "What do you mean attacked?" "Well sir, *haha* he cut it open, *heh* and it's got his suit all tangled up!" The Zaku pilot choked out between childish chuckles as the other soldiers burst into laughter. "Silence! We're still on alert! Somebody rescue that moron from the dummy balloon...." The stage: North Africa. The scene: The Detrivore's Fancy. The actors: David Mass and the Dynamic Dopp Detachment. The Vulture circled over the African terrain, and it circled in the same sense that the Vulture was an actual bird; it was going in as straight a line as a Medea could go. A mechanical creature as it was, soaring as much as cutting through the air, it needed external forces to repair it when it was ill, unable to use organic nutrients to repair damaged organs and tissues. In the condition it was in, it needed a heart transplant, two blood transfusions, a marrow donation, and a replacement hip. Mechanics take note; these numbers may not be exact. An ill bird is a sad sight indeed, so thought the Dynamic Dopp Detachment, a North African Zeon patrol. A North African Zeon patrol who had picked up on the Vulture's presence, at that. Their aircraft vibrated with a prescient ecstacy that caused several pilots to smack their monitors until the machines stopped making such a racket. Regardless, a vulture with a broken wing was tastier than anything on the desert floor, that was for sure. "Um, David?" Marie tested the word as carefully as she dared, the incoming enemy problem was slightly more important than bonding with Mr. Mass. David's head tilted towards Marie, chin supported by the un-slung arm. He raised an eyebrow, but felt like it snapped something in his bowels, and decided just using words might be better as long as his innards looked like a bowl full of mashed jelly. "It's not good, is it?" "No, sir," the girl replied while manipulating switches and keys on the panel in front of her. "Not good, not good at all. Six incoming targets." "I didn't think Zona Rosa would already have its own air force," David responded, bemused by the thought of a struggle for the base. "Well, actually, sir, I mean, David, they're probably not from Zona Rosa, they're actually, um, uh...well, they're-" "Dopps. Of course it's Dopps." He rubbed the bridge of his nose before deciding on what to do. "ETA?" "It looks like...two minutes? No, maybe o-" The ship shook and cut the girl off. "Now. Definitely now. Definitely, definitely now." David sat up and looked around the bridge, partly to test his tender neck, but mostly to make the girls think he had a good idea. Well, he had an idea, and he hoped it was good. Hoped with his intact organs. "Jackie, Elizabeth, we're making a crash landing. Can you handle that?" David asked the girls in the pilot and copilot seat. One of the girls turned around, letting go of the control stick in the process. "Yes, Sir!" She confirmed, only to whip around as the other smacked her in the back of the head and pointed at the control stick. "Am I supposed to say May Day?" The enthusiastic girl (Jackie, this time) asked, but instead of waiting for an answer, she pushed the control stick all the way forward. That was exactly what David's stomach needed. The Vulture cirlced over the African terrain, and it circled in the same sense that it wasn't a crashing Medea; it wasn't. The gargantuan hull dropped through the sky as missiles collided with its engines and sides, tearing holes and ripping bits and pieces out. Bullet holes turned the skin into slices of swiss cheese as the Dopps made their first pass, halfway done with the rogue element; its weak spot was hit for massive damage. The ship crashed into the desert ground and slid along the surface, and sparks sprayed as it ran against rocks and crashed through stone pillars. The top half of the Medea was black, and in most place...well, missing. The Dopps soared past, deciding that the burning jet fuel igniting the wings and hull was sufficient to take out the craft. Out one of the hangars, though, a dilapidated truck, covered in rust, and seemingly hopping along instead of rolling, escaped the burning wreckage. David hated Dopps. David Mass: 1 VP gained, Injured +3 |