From a game yesterday...
The Russians had fallen back, giving ground and now clung desperately to only a single forward operating position; the one the ISR boys had cleverly assigned the moniker ?A?. Real deep thinkers, those guys. The US forces were pressing their advantage and a tank line advanced across the intervening ground from their own staging position in the valley pass to the southeast. Our unit had been selected for the new GI-GoGreen effort and all the Abrams had been converted to hybrids. As such they were having a bit of trouble dealing with the modest grades on the hillside there and progress was slow. A few brave Russian troops had emerged from the tree line on the high ground north of Alpha and were harassing the approaching armor. We were flying close support in the Apache and vectored to the area when the tankers started delivering colorful epithets in response to those Russian harriers tossing RPG?s their way. The lead tank was PMC when we arrived on station. He began marking targets in between executing repairs and with our first pass we took out a cluster of tangos. We looped around at the south end of the hill taking sporadic small arms fire from the cluster of troops hold up in the Alpha vehicle park. We were powering back up the slope when the missile alarm sounded. Spares had been something of a problem lately since the quartermaster ran off with that Brazilian girl, so we were flying without countermeasures that day. My pilot juked, but we didn?t have much altitude to work with and the incoming ordinance was not fooled. The blast went off somewhere aft of the copter and rocked the airframe forward. It was a piece of luck we were equipped with the new GTHOD! ejection apparatus. When we were ass over teakettle the pilot called it a day, pulled the handle and a moment later I was treated to an impromptu visit to the Chilean countryside. It?s pretty really, in the fall?without all the bullets and explosions. So we ended up ?chuting into the tree line overlooking the Russians MOB. No one?s really clear how they were able to dig in little more than a mile from our own home turf. I guess they ran out of quarters for the satellite machine back stateside. Anyway, there we were doing our best Ewok impression, trying to blend in with the trees; two hundred yards of open killing ground between us and the nearest friendlies behind and some light concealment between us and an advancing search and destroy unit coming up in front. I?d just managed to free myself from the chute harness when I heard the Russian just uphill of me. I dunno what he said, and I really don?t know why he was yelling at all, being we were all playing this ?tag, you?re dead? game in the trees anyway, but I suppose it?s their style. In any case it scared the crap out of me and left me fumbling for my sidearm. Things were kind of a blur and I totally forgot when I mustered up that morning I?d strapped on a TRCR-357 instead of my usual .45. I know, I know it?s not standard issue for the air corps, but it?s lighter than my Colt and the way the holster sits it doesn?t dig into me as bad in the seat. Anyway, I whip it out and squeeze off a round. Despite my borderline panic my aim was still good (the 11b guys would call it ?flyboy luck??but whatever). The dart flew true and stuck the guy center torso. Then things kind of?well, paused. I looked at him. He looked at the flashing red beacon on his chest. I looked at the dart pistol in my hand. He looked at me. And yeah?then I ran like hell. He peppered the trees all around me with AK fire. I dunno how he missed, except that maybe the flashing red light was bugging his sight. Even so, I knew it was only a matter of time and I was dead meat. I dropped down behind a boulder and fumbled for my own weapon and there was my pilot. Standing there big as day and twice as proud like a goddamn Statue of Liberty in khaki?s. He was aiming a Gustav up into the wild blue and with a grin launched that bad boy on a tail of smoke and fire. Now, I?m not one to question fate or karma. I?ll take my luck where I can find it. But, still?on quiet nights when I lie awake unable to doze off?still hearing the surprised scream of that Russian soldier and the huge explosion a second later I find myself wondering; WHERE THE HELL IN THE PILOTS SEAT DID HE STOW THAT ROCKET LAUNCHER?
-Hex-
The Russians had fallen back, giving ground and now clung desperately to only a single forward operating position; the one the ISR boys had cleverly assigned the moniker ?A?. Real deep thinkers, those guys. The US forces were pressing their advantage and a tank line advanced across the intervening ground from their own staging position in the valley pass to the southeast. Our unit had been selected for the new GI-GoGreen effort and all the Abrams had been converted to hybrids. As such they were having a bit of trouble dealing with the modest grades on the hillside there and progress was slow. A few brave Russian troops had emerged from the tree line on the high ground north of Alpha and were harassing the approaching armor. We were flying close support in the Apache and vectored to the area when the tankers started delivering colorful epithets in response to those Russian harriers tossing RPG?s their way. The lead tank was PMC when we arrived on station. He began marking targets in between executing repairs and with our first pass we took out a cluster of tangos. We looped around at the south end of the hill taking sporadic small arms fire from the cluster of troops hold up in the Alpha vehicle park. We were powering back up the slope when the missile alarm sounded. Spares had been something of a problem lately since the quartermaster ran off with that Brazilian girl, so we were flying without countermeasures that day. My pilot juked, but we didn?t have much altitude to work with and the incoming ordinance was not fooled. The blast went off somewhere aft of the copter and rocked the airframe forward. It was a piece of luck we were equipped with the new GTHOD! ejection apparatus. When we were ass over teakettle the pilot called it a day, pulled the handle and a moment later I was treated to an impromptu visit to the Chilean countryside. It?s pretty really, in the fall?without all the bullets and explosions. So we ended up ?chuting into the tree line overlooking the Russians MOB. No one?s really clear how they were able to dig in little more than a mile from our own home turf. I guess they ran out of quarters for the satellite machine back stateside. Anyway, there we were doing our best Ewok impression, trying to blend in with the trees; two hundred yards of open killing ground between us and the nearest friendlies behind and some light concealment between us and an advancing search and destroy unit coming up in front. I?d just managed to free myself from the chute harness when I heard the Russian just uphill of me. I dunno what he said, and I really don?t know why he was yelling at all, being we were all playing this ?tag, you?re dead? game in the trees anyway, but I suppose it?s their style. In any case it scared the crap out of me and left me fumbling for my sidearm. Things were kind of a blur and I totally forgot when I mustered up that morning I?d strapped on a TRCR-357 instead of my usual .45. I know, I know it?s not standard issue for the air corps, but it?s lighter than my Colt and the way the holster sits it doesn?t dig into me as bad in the seat. Anyway, I whip it out and squeeze off a round. Despite my borderline panic my aim was still good (the 11b guys would call it ?flyboy luck??but whatever). The dart flew true and stuck the guy center torso. Then things kind of?well, paused. I looked at him. He looked at the flashing red beacon on his chest. I looked at the dart pistol in my hand. He looked at me. And yeah?then I ran like hell. He peppered the trees all around me with AK fire. I dunno how he missed, except that maybe the flashing red light was bugging his sight. Even so, I knew it was only a matter of time and I was dead meat. I dropped down behind a boulder and fumbled for my own weapon and there was my pilot. Standing there big as day and twice as proud like a goddamn Statue of Liberty in khaki?s. He was aiming a Gustav up into the wild blue and with a grin launched that bad boy on a tail of smoke and fire. Now, I?m not one to question fate or karma. I?ll take my luck where I can find it. But, still?on quiet nights when I lie awake unable to doze off?still hearing the surprised scream of that Russian soldier and the huge explosion a second later I find myself wondering; WHERE THE HELL IN THE PILOTS SEAT DID HE STOW THAT ROCKET LAUNCHER?
-Hex-
