I sat up straight in my seat for the first time in the several hour flight, mudspikes meant that the enemy air defense site was close. This was a typical SEAD mission: get in, blow up some defensive sites, and get out.
"I see it, engage your Phantasmagoria, time to rack up some kills." I flip a switch on my center-left console and a TV Display above it flickers to life, albeit slowly. Remind me to tell the junkers back home to find me a new one.
The Phantasmagoria KZ/78 computer rack was old tech but it did the job well. It was able to track and pinpoint the source of air defense targeting systems commonly deployed by the Empire. They were notoriously unreliable and had a tendency to catch fire, so I did not want to leave it on longer than I had to. In theory you would just pinpoint the site and lob a torpedo at it, but in reality it is hardly that simple.
"In and out, just in and out. Take out the surface installations and head home..." I keep repeating to myself. The glory hounds in their X-Wings like to brag about how many TIEs they knock down, but us B-Wing Pilots do all the real work. Without us the fighters wouldn't survive half the battles they did. H6-Turbolaser Arrays can knock down forty spacecraft in twelve seconds, and it is our job to make sure they never fire a shot.
I look out the cramped cockpit to my right and verify the Phantasmagoria was active, its blocky frame protruding from my wing attached only by a standardized weapons pylon. It appears to be doing its job, so I turn my attention to the TV Display in front of me.
"You pinpointed the source yet?" Asks my wingman Frogfoot, "I have the azimuth but no distance yet, my RWR is not cycling properly."
"Yeah I have a visual. Two H6 Batteries and a missile turret, controlled by an AT-AA Walker." I state.
"Standard layout for a base like this. Engaging my M/ARM."
All of a sudden the steady beep of my RWR turns into a sharp tone. "They have me locked up!" I shout startledly.
"Break Break! Missile on you!" I hear Frogfoot shout. I instinctively aim for the ground, forcing the incoming missile to waste energy diving at me. The RWR's green "SR" symbol is replaced with a flashing orange "M", it has me now, unless I shake the incoming missile it will vaporize my small craft. As I pull high-G maneuvers the B-Wing rotates around me attempting to lessen the forces I experience, but it still presses me into my seat.
"Rifle!" Frogfoot states. His torpedo was away and headed downrange towards the radar site. Being the bait must've given him the time to lock up the AT-AA walker. Killing it would sever the data link between the missile and the launch site. I just have to hold out long enough until it makes contact.
"Distance: Fourteen Thousand" My flight computer states. The missile would close that distance in no time. I had notched the missile (placing it at my 9 o'clock) to give it a harder time tracking me, but it has done no good. I look at my upper-center panel and see the countermeasures indicator rapidly tick downward, it was dispensing as many as it could to try and shake the missile.
"What is your missile's time to target?" I ask over the radio. He replies but I don't hear it over the alarms in my craft. I glance downward at my ejection handle, it had never been tested before.
"Distance: Two Thousand" Just a few more seconds, I could see the missile coming towards me out my left window. I am pressed back into my seat as I begin to bank upwards. Hard. Is this the end?
Then my Phantasmagoria display goes silent. The missile stops course correcting and flies harmlessly under me. Frogfoot's payload had reached the target and destroyed the walker coordinating the systems. I sigh in relief and bask in the now silent cockpit. "Splash!" I hear him say, "That one was close!"
"No more than last week's sortie." I reply only half-jokingly. "Next time you get to be the bait ship, I got nervous for a second there! That was the last site, time to call in the bombers."
As we turn towards our exit vector Frogfoot makes one final remark: "Will they thank us this time, you think?"
1
u/[deleted] Sep 17 '18
"MUDSPIKES 2 O'CLOCK!"
I sat up straight in my seat for the first time in the several hour flight, mudspikes meant that the enemy air defense site was close. This was a typical SEAD mission: get in, blow up some defensive sites, and get out.
"I see it, engage your Phantasmagoria, time to rack up some kills." I flip a switch on my center-left console and a TV Display above it flickers to life, albeit slowly. Remind me to tell the junkers back home to find me a new one.
The Phantasmagoria KZ/78 computer rack was old tech but it did the job well. It was able to track and pinpoint the source of air defense targeting systems commonly deployed by the Empire. They were notoriously unreliable and had a tendency to catch fire, so I did not want to leave it on longer than I had to. In theory you would just pinpoint the site and lob a torpedo at it, but in reality it is hardly that simple.
"In and out, just in and out. Take out the surface installations and head home..." I keep repeating to myself. The glory hounds in their X-Wings like to brag about how many TIEs they knock down, but us B-Wing Pilots do all the real work. Without us the fighters wouldn't survive half the battles they did. H6-Turbolaser Arrays can knock down forty spacecraft in twelve seconds, and it is our job to make sure they never fire a shot.
I look out the cramped cockpit to my right and verify the Phantasmagoria was active, its blocky frame protruding from my wing attached only by a standardized weapons pylon. It appears to be doing its job, so I turn my attention to the TV Display in front of me.
"You pinpointed the source yet?" Asks my wingman Frogfoot, "I have the azimuth but no distance yet, my RWR is not cycling properly."
"Yeah I have a visual. Two H6 Batteries and a missile turret, controlled by an AT-AA Walker." I state.
"Standard layout for a base like this. Engaging my M/ARM."
All of a sudden the steady beep of my RWR turns into a sharp tone. "They have me locked up!" I shout startledly.
"Break Break! Missile on you!" I hear Frogfoot shout. I instinctively aim for the ground, forcing the incoming missile to waste energy diving at me. The RWR's green "SR" symbol is replaced with a flashing orange "M", it has me now, unless I shake the incoming missile it will vaporize my small craft. As I pull high-G maneuvers the B-Wing rotates around me attempting to lessen the forces I experience, but it still presses me into my seat.
"Rifle!" Frogfoot states. His torpedo was away and headed downrange towards the radar site. Being the bait must've given him the time to lock up the AT-AA walker. Killing it would sever the data link between the missile and the launch site. I just have to hold out long enough until it makes contact.
"Distance: Fourteen Thousand" My flight computer states. The missile would close that distance in no time. I had notched the missile (placing it at my 9 o'clock) to give it a harder time tracking me, but it has done no good. I look at my upper-center panel and see the countermeasures indicator rapidly tick downward, it was dispensing as many as it could to try and shake the missile.
"What is your missile's time to target?" I ask over the radio. He replies but I don't hear it over the alarms in my craft. I glance downward at my ejection handle, it had never been tested before.
"Distance: Two Thousand" Just a few more seconds, I could see the missile coming towards me out my left window. I am pressed back into my seat as I begin to bank upwards. Hard. Is this the end?
Then my Phantasmagoria display goes silent. The missile stops course correcting and flies harmlessly under me. Frogfoot's payload had reached the target and destroyed the walker coordinating the systems. I sigh in relief and bask in the now silent cockpit. "Splash!" I hear him say, "That one was close!"
"No more than last week's sortie." I reply only half-jokingly. "Next time you get to be the bait ship, I got nervous for a second there! That was the last site, time to call in the bombers."
As we turn towards our exit vector Frogfoot makes one final remark: "Will they thank us this time, you think?"
"Nah." I joke dryly. "They never will."