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(just a little short story)
"Damn", He thought as his eyes burned...
The one thing they never could teach you in all the intensive flight
training was how in the hell you were supposed to wipe the sweat off
your brow in a wild dogfight with this damn helmet on.
He glanced quickly to his left and right view ports, scanning for
movement down at his CMD head's up display.
The last thing you wanted while coming in for a kill was for one of
those accursed A-wings screaming down at you; as it might be the VERY
last thing you ever saw.
Deslock jabbed the rocker switch on his chest box, forcing cooler air
into his flight suit.
This is what made it all worthwhile, the rush of insane combat,
weaving and dodging, seeing all the explosions around you; yet
maintaining an icy nerve as you aquired your target... while chaos
ensued around you.
the ultimate life or death struggle: Kill or be Killed.
there is no politics in a dogfight, just a test of the opposing
pilot's skill, no grey area.
And damn...., if he didn't love to test his skill.
He smiled as the green light on his OTIA targeter turned red;
indicating a lock on the Y-wing trying desperately to get away from
the front of the faster fighter at his rear.
Deslock had to concentrate intensely to maintain a firm steady grip
on his flightstick to keep the lock-on computers on target; as the Y-
wings' pilot, wild with fright; pulled up and down, left and right,
to get away from the TIE fighter so determined to finish him off.
"Ohhhh noooo you don't," Thought Deslock as he righted his fighter
back again at the rear of the Y-wing. The computer chimed, telling
missile lock was also achieved.
"YESSSS!.."
He said aloud as the verdant blasts from his cannons
lanced out and spattered the engine pods of his foe, causing smoke
and sparks of superheated metal of the ruptured tanks to spew into
space.
"That took out his shields, now to finish this."
As fast as he could, he clicked the button of his flight computer to
match the speed of the rapidly slowing starcraft; Then quickly
stabbed the thumbswitch of his joystick, sending out a concussion
missile screaming at the ship in the center of his hexagonal main
viewport.
"Die, You rebel pig!!!" he hissed thru clenched teeth.
He smiled gleefully behind his black plas-steel helmet, as his eye
lenses instantly darkened to protect his eyes from the white hot
explosion rocking his ship, as his prey was vaporized to star dust.
"One more for the Emperor."
"Yes",He thought..."one more".....One more for the Death Star, so
viciously destroyed by these rebel filth. one more, for his
girlfriend who died when that battle station went supernova.
one more, for his family; who died as a rebel torpedo missed it's
intended mark of the Imperial munitions factory, and slammed right
into the heart of the housing sector.
"There can never be enough!"
A black rage seethed through him, and he had to fight to regain the
proper control of his mind and ship; as he turned back to the Victory
class Star Destroyer that was now his port,.....and home.
Soon he would be back in at the Pilots' lounge, enjoying an Imperial
ale, laughing and joking; as they painted a new, freshly painted kill
mark on his TIE.
he marked his combat 'puter to auto-dock.
"Life is good"
"It's good to be in the DSA."
"Damn", He thought as his eyes burned...
The one thing they never could teach you in all the intensive flight
training was how in the hell you were supposed to wipe the sweat off
your brow in a wild dogfight with this damn helmet on.
He glanced quickly to his left and right view ports, scanning for
movement down at his CMD head's up display.
The last thing you wanted while coming in for a kill was for one of
those accursed A-wings screaming down at you; as it might be the VERY
last thing you ever saw.
Deslock jabbed the rocker switch on his chest box, forcing cooler air
into his flight suit.
This is what made it all worthwhile, the rush of insane combat,
weaving and dodging, seeing all the explosions around you; yet
maintaining an icy nerve as you aquired your target... while chaos
ensued around you.
the ultimate life or death struggle: Kill or be Killed.
there is no politics in a dogfight, just a test of the opposing
pilot's skill, no grey area.
And damn...., if he didn't love to test his skill.
He smiled as the green light on his OTIA targeter turned red;
indicating a lock on the Y-wing trying desperately to get away from
the front of the faster fighter at his rear.
Deslock had to concentrate intensely to maintain a firm steady grip
on his flightstick to keep the lock-on computers on target; as the Y-
wings' pilot, wild with fright; pulled up and down, left and right,
to get away from the TIE fighter so determined to finish him off.
"Ohhhh noooo you don't," Thought Deslock as he righted his fighter
back again at the rear of the Y-wing. The computer chimed, telling
missile lock was also achieved.
"YESSSS!.."
He said aloud as the verdant blasts from his cannons
lanced out and spattered the engine pods of his foe, causing smoke
and sparks of superheated metal of the ruptured tanks to spew into
space.
"That took out his shields, now to finish this."
As fast as he could, he clicked the button of his flight computer to
match the speed of the rapidly slowing starcraft; Then quickly
stabbed the thumbswitch of his joystick, sending out a concussion
missile screaming at the ship in the center of his hexagonal main
viewport.
"Die, You rebel pig!!!" he hissed thru clenched teeth.
He smiled gleefully behind his black plas-steel helmet, as his eye
lenses instantly darkened to protect his eyes from the white hot
explosion rocking his ship, as his prey was vaporized to star dust.
"One more for the Emperor."
"Yes",He thought..."one more".....One more for the Death Star, so
viciously destroyed by these rebel filth. one more, for his
girlfriend who died when that battle station went supernova.
one more, for his family; who died as a rebel torpedo missed it's
intended mark of the Imperial munitions factory, and slammed right
into the heart of the housing sector.
"There can never be enough!"
A black rage seethed through him, and he had to fight to regain the
proper control of his mind and ship; as he turned back to the Victory
class Star Destroyer that was now his port,.....and home.
Soon he would be back in at the Pilots' lounge, enjoying an Imperial
ale, laughing and joking; as they painted a new, freshly painted kill
mark on his TIE.
he marked his combat 'puter to auto-dock.
"Life is good"
"It's good to be in the DSA."
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