Post by Latus on Apr 22, 2009 21:59:00 GMT -5
Faction: Republic
Department: Army Air-Corps
Rank: Sergeant Major
Name: Adamar Sevchenko, "Sev"
Call Sign:
Seventh Flight: Six-Lead
Post Seventh: Gilder
Race: Rilan
Age: 31
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 193 lbs
Appearance:
Civilian Photo
Active military
Military Garb
When not in full military, this man is quite dashing to look at. His hair is a prematurely graying obsidian and he rarely shaves the stubble before it is a week or so old. His eyes are the only thing that marks him apart from the other soldiers, his only link to his Rilan past. When he does not have his helmet on he commonly wears sunglasses to cover them up. While he only stands as tall and is built a little larger than the average man, his gear makes him look like a proper soldier; bulky and imposing. The field gear (as pictures above) is also used as his jumpsuit while piloting, the visor acting as a combat HUD.
Personality: As the basic military training is meant to do, Sev was quickly made into an unemotional killing machine. As he continued on in life, achieving higher ranks and moving about the universe, some of his emotions began to resurface. Largely they come is a sort of pensive calm when alone or in a small group. When commanding soldiers or flying alongside his wing-men he gets taken up in the adrenaline and is siezed by the moment, becoming lighter and more talkative. Soldiers under Sev's command have often doubted that it was him at the controls.
When in his calm pensive state he may slip into a deep meditative thought in which he allows himself to get overwhelmed with his thoughts. He rarely meditates unless in the sanctity of his quarters or a place that he knows is private.
Profession: Atmo-Pilot/Foot-Soldier
Skills: Attack Piloting, Weapon Finesse (Slugthrower Rifle), Demolitions
Gear: SM82 Assault Rifle,
Field Gear/Body Armor,
M-55 Blaster Pistol,
Standard Issue Combat Knife
Birth place: Rilia
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 5
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: +3
Child of War
Birth to Eleven years
Adamar Sevchenko, true name Tabbris was born, by midwife, on the planet Rilia. His parents supported the honorable Feanturi against the Morequai; his father supporting their guerrilla tactics as a soldier, his mother as a field medic in one of their camps. Sev's father gave up his life as an guerrilla to raise his child. This allowed his mother to continue the fight through non-combat participation, giving the family enough to survive on. Knowing that the child would be plunged into the fires of war at a young age, the father instructed Sev to live healthy as well as the values values of discipline, honor, and tenacity.
Even though his father was technically retired, he was often called away to train new recruits to fight the Morequai. When this happened, Adamar accompanied his mother to her duties at the field hospital; commonly off the beaten path to prevent Morequai incursion. The young man had no taste for medicine so he listened to the infirm; the stories awakening the imagination of the young boy. Soon after, he developed an interest in armed combat, as most boys his age did.
As the movement escalated Adamar's father was pressured back into service. At this point, realizing that the war would likely claim the lives of both his son and wife, his father arranged for the pair to be smuggled off planet. He opted to stay behind, to serve his planet even if it cost him his life. Using his connections within the Rilian underground he had his family smuggled out of the system, hoping to give the pair a new start on Coruscant. As they traveled into their future his mother had instructed him; "You have something they do not. You are someone they could never be but they must never know."
Adamar grew quickly into a stout hearted and troublesome boy. What money his father sent with them was quickly exhausted. His mother, truly a soldier out of her element, was forced to work long hours day after day just to feed, clothe, and house the pair. What formal schooling that there was, Adamar did not attend. He spent his waking hours daydreaming about being a soldier, reliving the stories about Rilia. His love of war drove him to pick fights with other children, oft times several times his size. He took his share of poundings but gave his own back as well. Though his mother knew, she was unable to correct the behavior.
His scuffles were slow in gaining the attention of the law but gain it they did. Soon the young man was evading the ever present gaze of local law enforcers. There were however several times that he was caught, arrested, and sent to holding for disturbing the peace among other things. His mother tried to explain their situation to those who would listen but it did no good. Adamar was just too violent in the eyes of the law to be allowed to live at home.
Adamar was taken from his home at fourteen and sent to a facility for troubled youth. The moment the troubled youth entered the facility he knew; "I do not want to be here." Vowing to return home a better man he began to clean up his act. There the young man finally submitted to schooling, begrudgingly learning everything that a conventional school would. Other activities included rudimentary military discipline training and anger management.
Three years later Adamar was finally deemed no threat to society and he was allowed to leave. Upon returning home the young man discovered something he had feared for the years he had been away. The small home that his mother had bought was empty. The next few days were spent digging through holonet data, searching for clues about what happened to his mother. What he found was enough to bring him to his knees; she was found dead in that very house a week after he had been put into the correctional facility. The few things that belonged to him had been placed into storage by the state, awaiting his release. Something happened then that showed how much Adamar had truly changed; he chose to honor his mother's memory by enlisting in the Republic Army. On the eve of his eighteenth birthday he entered a recruitment center on the lower levels of Corucant and enlisted in the Army.
As the days passed Adamar finally began to feel the weight placed upon him by the passing of his mother. He hardly slept, rarely ate, and nearly failed his physical examination for service. Yes he was honoring her memory but that memory was suffocating him. By the time the actual training had begun, the young man had seemed to lost any will to live. It was the training itself that pulled him back from the brink. The daily regimens and strict discipline that he was submitted to every day for the months that followed slowly rekindled the smoldering coals of his spirit. Looking to raise his spirits the new soldier took to calling himself Sev, offsetting the mourning of his mother with a new-found self respect and sense of purpose.
Sev showed a great deal of skill early on in armed combat, proficiency in CQC, and an eye for demolitions. However, after mere hours in the training simulators of both atmospheric and orbital piloting of small fighters the soldier found something in which he truly was gifted. Both his reaction time and his ability to push the fighter to its limits were abnormally high. This spurred his superiors to transfer him to the air division of CorSec. Once basic training was complete he was assigned the duty of first response in low atmospheric to near-orbital matters that called for semi-militaristic intervention.
His first true taste of battle came at the eve of Coruscant's end of the year celebration, the Winter Fete. A deranged ex-soldier stole a new model snub-fighter after breaking into one of the larger military bases on-planet. The man proceeded to rampage through the space between the massive Coruscant skyline, shooting indiscriminately. The then Corporal Sev was the first to intercept the man. Sev, who had received the kill order, took up chase. Because of the density of civilians, Sev was forced to hold his fire, only having the chance to fine off a few bursts as they weaved through the sky-lanes between buildings. The few shots he did get off managed to knock out the weapon systems aboard the fleeing starfighter.
Opting to get away with his hide intact Sev's quarry aimed his ship for the sky, forcing Sev to do the same. The Corporal, not having a craft able to break atmosphere, was ordered to follow as far as he was able to bring him down. As the pair of fighters broke atmosphere, Sev finally landed the killing blow, destroying the fighter. However, without the proper systems, Sev's fighter lost air pressure and the engines died. Sev blacked out just as the fighter reentered the atmosphere. The only thing that saved Sev that day was the sensor-suit built into the fighter to automatically stabilize the craft and launch the ejection seat.
Transfer
Twenty-Two to Twenty-Seven
From that point on the newly promoted Sergeant had trouble breaking atmosphere. No matter what his superiors recommended, he had developed a phobia of flying between atmosphere and space. Taking this into consideration, Sev's superiors decided that, though the Sergeant was an asset to the Coruscant defense force, he would be of more use on another world that needed a purely atmospheric defense flight. He was one of forty-five pilots that were transferred to Corellia to act as their standing atmospheric defense force.
Of the standing military on Corellia, the Seventh Air Division, or "The Lucky Sevens," as Sev's squadron became known were not held in high regard by the other members of the Corellian Army. They were viewed them as rusting remnants of a by-gone age, a waste of time and military funding. Regardless of what the other soldiers thought, the Sevens, led by an aging Captain got the job done whenever they were assigned to it. The fighters that they were given were prototype, top of the line, and could shift quickly from interceptor to close air support VTOL and back again. This allowed the Sevens to be assigned a myriad of assignments that purely attack starfighters were unable to handle.
The Sevens were also used as ground troops when their aircraft were unneeded. Of the things his mother left him when she died, one thing in particular was a rifle that his father had used in the war on Rilia. Though an older slug-thrower model, Sev modified it with the best sights, stocks, barrel, and everything else his money could buy. While they were feared in the air, they had an equal amount of respect on the ground. Their Captain had a high degree of knowledge regarding military tactics and they managed to succeed in several missions that were deemed impossible by the higher ups. The disrespect for the Sevens did not last and soon they were the first called in for the missions no one else would take.
Four years later Sev and the other Sevens were handed a job to provide close air support for a ground force that was to neutralize a cell of environmental terrorists that had taken up holdings in Corellia's badlands. The intel they were given was terrible, their aircraft affectionately dubbed "Firehawks" were dangerously unprepared. The unpredictable wind currents coupled with the blowing sand, and improperly estimated enemy numbers were more than the Sevens could handle. More than three quarters of the division was either shot down or lost control of their planes in the twisting canyons around the target facility. Only Sev and his wing-mates achieved their objectives and returned to base alive.
Once again Sev became overwhelmed with loss. Even thought he was immediately promoted to Sergeant First-Class, it was and empty and Pyrrhic victory for the Sevens. Sev received command over the remaining Firehawks and continued to do his duty to both the Republic and Corellia. To make matters worse, upon the loss of so many of their prototypes the developers of the Firehawk froze part production regardless of the success on Corellia. The Sevens were allowed to keep their planes but with a lack of parts for maintenance the use of even one was risky.
Several weeks later the word came down from the higher ups that the sevens were being disbanded. Sev retained his rank as Sergeant First-Class but was given the opportunity to return to Coruscant, one which he happily accepted. He left with one request though, that he could return with his Firehawk. His superiors granted his request in hopes that he would take up patrol of the sky-lanes once more. Though he did just that for a time, Sev couldn't help feeling that there was something else that he was meant to do in the universe. At Sev's request, his Firehawk was converted to allow space flight and, with the addition of a hyperdrive and navicomputer, was turned into a one of a kind starfighter. Almost two years to the day since returning to Coruscant, Sev was reassigned to a position traveling the galaxy in one navy ship or another as part of the required ground force that could always come in handy for planetary encounters.
Thought he knows not where his duty will lead him, he knows that, someday, he will find his true calling.
RP Sample:
All wings maintain holding pattern Delta and wait for my signal. The order is set to drop imminently.
Eight different barks of approval echoed each other over the radio, one for each wing leader in the sky. Each wing consisted of five members, one wing leader and four wingmen; each member sharp as a dagger in the pilot's seat. Some were humans, most were not. One in particular had no real indication that he wasn't really human. The only sign was his eyes, they changed smoothly from gray to purple and back, streaks of both ran through his irises at times. They were the only true representative of his emotions.
Intel may only indicate light resistance but I want this op flawless. Watch for the wind currents over the ridge on approach vector B; I don't want to see a single scratch on that paint. Hold position...
Yes sir.
The Sergeant loved the dulcet tones of his Captain, especially at a time like this. His confidence had a calming effect to it. Once again they all responded. Sergeant Sevchenko shifted in his seat, trying to memorize the lay of the area while mentally comparing it to the map in the briefing. He and his fellow pilots were holding several meters off the ground, shadowed by a large natural rock formation. The engines of their planes thrummed rhythmically, camouflaged by the howling desert wind. The engine nacelles at the back of craft were dark and silent while vents on the underside of that same engine kept the craft aloft. Every man there undoubtedly marveled at the piece of hardware they were using; a fixed wing aircraft that could shift quickly and seamlessly from flight to hover to flight again. Sev knew, that function would come in handy today just as it had in operations past.
Green light, Sevens, do what you do best.
This time, not a one of them responded. Not to the Captain anyway. A smile crossed Sev's face as the engines flared in each of his squad's planes, to him this would never get old.
You heard 'im, lads. Knock their birds ou' o' th' air. We got clearance tae test th' new Hunter Seekers so make 'm count! Go, go, go!
One lever was all Sev had to pull in the cockpit. The small plane accelerated as the tips of the wings quickly folded flat and fire burst from the engines, lift taking over for the ventral engine ducts. The five Firehawks roared into the sky, clearing the rock cliffs and gaining altitude quickly. Their target, an abandoned civilian complex, came into view several kilometers away as the dusty environment sprawled out before them. Unsurprisingly, to the Sergeant at least, the air over the complex was filled with dozens of tiny specs, each one of them too dark to be any of his allies. Combat drones.Glancing to the right and the left, however, reassured him as three other groups of the forest green colored Firehawks shot over the canyons below.
Tangos a' ten kilos, 12 high, and closing, eight-eights armed.
Four voices chimed in their roger, Sev flicked a knob on his control-stick the red lock indicator swimming into his HUD's field of vision. The voice of one of Sev's wing men crackled over the com.
How many you think I can peg Six-Five, these guys look like easy pickings.
Ping seven and I'll buy the whole flight drinks.
The sergeant couldn't help but cringe, minds in the wrong place. No matter how "easy" a mission there was always risk. The enemy craft finally entered range and the red HUD marker split into multiple marks, quickly locking onto eight different signatures.
Stow th' chatt'r you two. Eight-eight release in fou', three, two...
There was something satisfying about the shuddering that rocked the plane when missiles launched. The two missile batteries under slung near the tips of each wing loosed a volley of four missiles each, the small warheads only visible by the trailing burst of blue-white vapor. A quick glance to each side showed that the other squads had the same idea; the air-space was soon filled with the small missiles. Instead of bearing straight at their targets, the projectiles spun and whirled through the air, making unique swooping patterns as they flew. Though the bulk of the targets banked to avoid the missiles, the larger cross-section the action presented made the move foolish. On Sev's HUD all but one of his target locks vanished, the air was soon filled with explosions and shrapnel pelted the plane's hull.
His wingmen banked away to engage as Sev fired a burst from the twin nose-cannons, barely missing the remaining target. The Sergeant smiled, the air would be theirs in no time. Just another day in the life of a Seven.
Department: Army Air-Corps
Rank: Sergeant Major
Name: Adamar Sevchenko, "Sev"
Call Sign:
Seventh Flight: Six-Lead
Post Seventh: Gilder
Race: Rilan
Age: 31
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 193 lbs
Appearance:
Civilian Photo
Active military
Military Garb
When not in full military, this man is quite dashing to look at. His hair is a prematurely graying obsidian and he rarely shaves the stubble before it is a week or so old. His eyes are the only thing that marks him apart from the other soldiers, his only link to his Rilan past. When he does not have his helmet on he commonly wears sunglasses to cover them up. While he only stands as tall and is built a little larger than the average man, his gear makes him look like a proper soldier; bulky and imposing. The field gear (as pictures above) is also used as his jumpsuit while piloting, the visor acting as a combat HUD.
Personality: As the basic military training is meant to do, Sev was quickly made into an unemotional killing machine. As he continued on in life, achieving higher ranks and moving about the universe, some of his emotions began to resurface. Largely they come is a sort of pensive calm when alone or in a small group. When commanding soldiers or flying alongside his wing-men he gets taken up in the adrenaline and is siezed by the moment, becoming lighter and more talkative. Soldiers under Sev's command have often doubted that it was him at the controls.
When in his calm pensive state he may slip into a deep meditative thought in which he allows himself to get overwhelmed with his thoughts. He rarely meditates unless in the sanctity of his quarters or a place that he knows is private.
Profession: Atmo-Pilot/Foot-Soldier
Skills: Attack Piloting, Weapon Finesse (Slugthrower Rifle), Demolitions
Gear: SM82 Assault Rifle,
Field Gear/Body Armor,
M-55 Blaster Pistol,
Standard Issue Combat Knife
Birth place: Rilia
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 5
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: +3
Child of War
Birth to Eleven years
Adamar Sevchenko, true name Tabbris was born, by midwife, on the planet Rilia. His parents supported the honorable Feanturi against the Morequai; his father supporting their guerrilla tactics as a soldier, his mother as a field medic in one of their camps. Sev's father gave up his life as an guerrilla to raise his child. This allowed his mother to continue the fight through non-combat participation, giving the family enough to survive on. Knowing that the child would be plunged into the fires of war at a young age, the father instructed Sev to live healthy as well as the values values of discipline, honor, and tenacity.
Even though his father was technically retired, he was often called away to train new recruits to fight the Morequai. When this happened, Adamar accompanied his mother to her duties at the field hospital; commonly off the beaten path to prevent Morequai incursion. The young man had no taste for medicine so he listened to the infirm; the stories awakening the imagination of the young boy. Soon after, he developed an interest in armed combat, as most boys his age did.
As the movement escalated Adamar's father was pressured back into service. At this point, realizing that the war would likely claim the lives of both his son and wife, his father arranged for the pair to be smuggled off planet. He opted to stay behind, to serve his planet even if it cost him his life. Using his connections within the Rilian underground he had his family smuggled out of the system, hoping to give the pair a new start on Coruscant. As they traveled into their future his mother had instructed him; "You have something they do not. You are someone they could never be but they must never know."
Troubled Childhood
Eleven to Eighteenth Birthday
Eleven to Eighteenth Birthday
Adamar grew quickly into a stout hearted and troublesome boy. What money his father sent with them was quickly exhausted. His mother, truly a soldier out of her element, was forced to work long hours day after day just to feed, clothe, and house the pair. What formal schooling that there was, Adamar did not attend. He spent his waking hours daydreaming about being a soldier, reliving the stories about Rilia. His love of war drove him to pick fights with other children, oft times several times his size. He took his share of poundings but gave his own back as well. Though his mother knew, she was unable to correct the behavior.
His scuffles were slow in gaining the attention of the law but gain it they did. Soon the young man was evading the ever present gaze of local law enforcers. There were however several times that he was caught, arrested, and sent to holding for disturbing the peace among other things. His mother tried to explain their situation to those who would listen but it did no good. Adamar was just too violent in the eyes of the law to be allowed to live at home.
Adamar was taken from his home at fourteen and sent to a facility for troubled youth. The moment the troubled youth entered the facility he knew; "I do not want to be here." Vowing to return home a better man he began to clean up his act. There the young man finally submitted to schooling, begrudgingly learning everything that a conventional school would. Other activities included rudimentary military discipline training and anger management.
Three years later Adamar was finally deemed no threat to society and he was allowed to leave. Upon returning home the young man discovered something he had feared for the years he had been away. The small home that his mother had bought was empty. The next few days were spent digging through holonet data, searching for clues about what happened to his mother. What he found was enough to bring him to his knees; she was found dead in that very house a week after he had been put into the correctional facility. The few things that belonged to him had been placed into storage by the state, awaiting his release. Something happened then that showed how much Adamar had truly changed; he chose to honor his mother's memory by enlisting in the Republic Army. On the eve of his eighteenth birthday he entered a recruitment center on the lower levels of Corucant and enlisted in the Army.
Private Sev
Eighteen to Twenty-Two
Eighteen to Twenty-Two
As the days passed Adamar finally began to feel the weight placed upon him by the passing of his mother. He hardly slept, rarely ate, and nearly failed his physical examination for service. Yes he was honoring her memory but that memory was suffocating him. By the time the actual training had begun, the young man had seemed to lost any will to live. It was the training itself that pulled him back from the brink. The daily regimens and strict discipline that he was submitted to every day for the months that followed slowly rekindled the smoldering coals of his spirit. Looking to raise his spirits the new soldier took to calling himself Sev, offsetting the mourning of his mother with a new-found self respect and sense of purpose.
Sev showed a great deal of skill early on in armed combat, proficiency in CQC, and an eye for demolitions. However, after mere hours in the training simulators of both atmospheric and orbital piloting of small fighters the soldier found something in which he truly was gifted. Both his reaction time and his ability to push the fighter to its limits were abnormally high. This spurred his superiors to transfer him to the air division of CorSec. Once basic training was complete he was assigned the duty of first response in low atmospheric to near-orbital matters that called for semi-militaristic intervention.
His first true taste of battle came at the eve of Coruscant's end of the year celebration, the Winter Fete. A deranged ex-soldier stole a new model snub-fighter after breaking into one of the larger military bases on-planet. The man proceeded to rampage through the space between the massive Coruscant skyline, shooting indiscriminately. The then Corporal Sev was the first to intercept the man. Sev, who had received the kill order, took up chase. Because of the density of civilians, Sev was forced to hold his fire, only having the chance to fine off a few bursts as they weaved through the sky-lanes between buildings. The few shots he did get off managed to knock out the weapon systems aboard the fleeing starfighter.
Opting to get away with his hide intact Sev's quarry aimed his ship for the sky, forcing Sev to do the same. The Corporal, not having a craft able to break atmosphere, was ordered to follow as far as he was able to bring him down. As the pair of fighters broke atmosphere, Sev finally landed the killing blow, destroying the fighter. However, without the proper systems, Sev's fighter lost air pressure and the engines died. Sev blacked out just as the fighter reentered the atmosphere. The only thing that saved Sev that day was the sensor-suit built into the fighter to automatically stabilize the craft and launch the ejection seat.
Transfer
Twenty-Two to Twenty-Seven
From that point on the newly promoted Sergeant had trouble breaking atmosphere. No matter what his superiors recommended, he had developed a phobia of flying between atmosphere and space. Taking this into consideration, Sev's superiors decided that, though the Sergeant was an asset to the Coruscant defense force, he would be of more use on another world that needed a purely atmospheric defense flight. He was one of forty-five pilots that were transferred to Corellia to act as their standing atmospheric defense force.
Of the standing military on Corellia, the Seventh Air Division, or "The Lucky Sevens," as Sev's squadron became known were not held in high regard by the other members of the Corellian Army. They were viewed them as rusting remnants of a by-gone age, a waste of time and military funding. Regardless of what the other soldiers thought, the Sevens, led by an aging Captain got the job done whenever they were assigned to it. The fighters that they were given were prototype, top of the line, and could shift quickly from interceptor to close air support VTOL and back again. This allowed the Sevens to be assigned a myriad of assignments that purely attack starfighters were unable to handle.
The Sevens were also used as ground troops when their aircraft were unneeded. Of the things his mother left him when she died, one thing in particular was a rifle that his father had used in the war on Rilia. Though an older slug-thrower model, Sev modified it with the best sights, stocks, barrel, and everything else his money could buy. While they were feared in the air, they had an equal amount of respect on the ground. Their Captain had a high degree of knowledge regarding military tactics and they managed to succeed in several missions that were deemed impossible by the higher ups. The disrespect for the Sevens did not last and soon they were the first called in for the missions no one else would take.
Four years later Sev and the other Sevens were handed a job to provide close air support for a ground force that was to neutralize a cell of environmental terrorists that had taken up holdings in Corellia's badlands. The intel they were given was terrible, their aircraft affectionately dubbed "Firehawks" were dangerously unprepared. The unpredictable wind currents coupled with the blowing sand, and improperly estimated enemy numbers were more than the Sevens could handle. More than three quarters of the division was either shot down or lost control of their planes in the twisting canyons around the target facility. Only Sev and his wing-mates achieved their objectives and returned to base alive.
Sergeant First-Class Sev
Twenty-Five to Present
Twenty-Five to Present
Once again Sev became overwhelmed with loss. Even thought he was immediately promoted to Sergeant First-Class, it was and empty and Pyrrhic victory for the Sevens. Sev received command over the remaining Firehawks and continued to do his duty to both the Republic and Corellia. To make matters worse, upon the loss of so many of their prototypes the developers of the Firehawk froze part production regardless of the success on Corellia. The Sevens were allowed to keep their planes but with a lack of parts for maintenance the use of even one was risky.
Several weeks later the word came down from the higher ups that the sevens were being disbanded. Sev retained his rank as Sergeant First-Class but was given the opportunity to return to Coruscant, one which he happily accepted. He left with one request though, that he could return with his Firehawk. His superiors granted his request in hopes that he would take up patrol of the sky-lanes once more. Though he did just that for a time, Sev couldn't help feeling that there was something else that he was meant to do in the universe. At Sev's request, his Firehawk was converted to allow space flight and, with the addition of a hyperdrive and navicomputer, was turned into a one of a kind starfighter. Almost two years to the day since returning to Coruscant, Sev was reassigned to a position traveling the galaxy in one navy ship or another as part of the required ground force that could always come in handy for planetary encounters.
Thought he knows not where his duty will lead him, he knows that, someday, he will find his true calling.
RP Sample:
All wings maintain holding pattern Delta and wait for my signal. The order is set to drop imminently.
Eight different barks of approval echoed each other over the radio, one for each wing leader in the sky. Each wing consisted of five members, one wing leader and four wingmen; each member sharp as a dagger in the pilot's seat. Some were humans, most were not. One in particular had no real indication that he wasn't really human. The only sign was his eyes, they changed smoothly from gray to purple and back, streaks of both ran through his irises at times. They were the only true representative of his emotions.
Intel may only indicate light resistance but I want this op flawless. Watch for the wind currents over the ridge on approach vector B; I don't want to see a single scratch on that paint. Hold position...
Yes sir.
The Sergeant loved the dulcet tones of his Captain, especially at a time like this. His confidence had a calming effect to it. Once again they all responded. Sergeant Sevchenko shifted in his seat, trying to memorize the lay of the area while mentally comparing it to the map in the briefing. He and his fellow pilots were holding several meters off the ground, shadowed by a large natural rock formation. The engines of their planes thrummed rhythmically, camouflaged by the howling desert wind. The engine nacelles at the back of craft were dark and silent while vents on the underside of that same engine kept the craft aloft. Every man there undoubtedly marveled at the piece of hardware they were using; a fixed wing aircraft that could shift quickly and seamlessly from flight to hover to flight again. Sev knew, that function would come in handy today just as it had in operations past.
Green light, Sevens, do what you do best.
This time, not a one of them responded. Not to the Captain anyway. A smile crossed Sev's face as the engines flared in each of his squad's planes, to him this would never get old.
You heard 'im, lads. Knock their birds ou' o' th' air. We got clearance tae test th' new Hunter Seekers so make 'm count! Go, go, go!
One lever was all Sev had to pull in the cockpit. The small plane accelerated as the tips of the wings quickly folded flat and fire burst from the engines, lift taking over for the ventral engine ducts. The five Firehawks roared into the sky, clearing the rock cliffs and gaining altitude quickly. Their target, an abandoned civilian complex, came into view several kilometers away as the dusty environment sprawled out before them. Unsurprisingly, to the Sergeant at least, the air over the complex was filled with dozens of tiny specs, each one of them too dark to be any of his allies. Combat drones.Glancing to the right and the left, however, reassured him as three other groups of the forest green colored Firehawks shot over the canyons below.
Tangos a' ten kilos, 12 high, and closing, eight-eights armed.
Four voices chimed in their roger, Sev flicked a knob on his control-stick the red lock indicator swimming into his HUD's field of vision. The voice of one of Sev's wing men crackled over the com.
How many you think I can peg Six-Five, these guys look like easy pickings.
Ping seven and I'll buy the whole flight drinks.
The sergeant couldn't help but cringe, minds in the wrong place. No matter how "easy" a mission there was always risk. The enemy craft finally entered range and the red HUD marker split into multiple marks, quickly locking onto eight different signatures.
Stow th' chatt'r you two. Eight-eight release in fou', three, two...
There was something satisfying about the shuddering that rocked the plane when missiles launched. The two missile batteries under slung near the tips of each wing loosed a volley of four missiles each, the small warheads only visible by the trailing burst of blue-white vapor. A quick glance to each side showed that the other squads had the same idea; the air-space was soon filled with the small missiles. Instead of bearing straight at their targets, the projectiles spun and whirled through the air, making unique swooping patterns as they flew. Though the bulk of the targets banked to avoid the missiles, the larger cross-section the action presented made the move foolish. On Sev's HUD all but one of his target locks vanished, the air was soon filled with explosions and shrapnel pelted the plane's hull.
His wingmen banked away to engage as Sev fired a burst from the twin nose-cannons, barely missing the remaining target. The Sergeant smiled, the air would be theirs in no time. Just another day in the life of a Seven.
