Author Topic: Blockland Aces: The Cartelian War [On Base]  (Read 74895 times)

"forget me sideways," I mumble to myself as sirens cry all over the base.

"Now hear this! Now hear this! Scramble fighters!" cries a voice over the intercom.

I hop off the couch and run as fast as I can to the lockers to get my helmet and mask, and fumble around a bit before getting it on. They don't just activate the alarms and send everybody running as an exercise, or do they?

"Join the 86th they said, it's better than anything else they said," I mumbled.

My hands are shaking a bit, they wouldn't do this kinda stunt as a training thing, this has to be real.

Maintenance crews were scurrying about the Tarmac like ants, and trucks were hauling missiles and ordnance around. I ran to my hanger, and found the maintenance chief.

"Is she ready?" I asked.

"The last of the ordnance is being loaded now,"

I hopped in the seat of my F-16C Falcon, and closed the canopy. I put togeter on my oxygen system while a small taxing truck sort of thing moved the plane out of the hanger. The truck let go as soon as I was out.

"Electronics, hydraulics, fuel, engines, looks good enough,"

"Tempest to tower, request taxi, and where my wingm-"

"Tower to Tempest, cut the chatter, wingman unfit to fly, proceed to runway 35L and hold,"

"Tempest copies all,"

starfish desk commandos...

At the runway, another F-16C throttles up and barrels down the runway.

"Tower to Tempest, take off granted, climb to seven thousand feet, target vector 290, range 80 miles."

"Tempest copies,"

I'm thrown back into my seat the the plane lumbers forward, picking up speed exponentially, the takeoff goes without a hitch, I climb and head the towards the fight.

Uh, is there another slot left?

How about two slots?

Name: Lars Green
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Side: Cartelian
Piloting Style: Multirole
Personality: Dutiful, often found stiff and boring.
Backstory*: Served in the Estovakian Air Force until the end of the Anean Continental War. With no home to return from the resulting destruction and previous economic meltdown, he wandered the streets with a sign reading "will pilot fighter jets for food" until he was found by a Cartelian recruiter. His ethnic origin can apparently be traced to Osea.
« Last Edit: February 11, 2014, 08:12:37 PM by NoZoner »


NoZoner, you're accepted.
Swat, you can still join.

Also NoZoner, you're a mod, so what plane do you want?

I want to be a mod :(

How about two slots?

Name: Lars Green
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Side: Cartelian
Piloting Style: Multirole
Personality: Dutiful, often found stiff and boring.
Backstory*: Served in the Estovakian Air Force until the end of the Anean Continental War. With no home to return from the resulting destruction and previous economic meltdown, he wandered the streets with a sign reading "will pilot fighter jets for food" until he was found by a Cartelian recruiter. His ethnic origin can apparently be traced to Usea.

Nozoner, welcome back. We'll find out your plane then we will begin the first mission.

I want to be a mod :(

To be a mod you must have:
  • experience, being in previous blockland aces rps or many missions in this one
  • behavior, you need to follow rules a lot (advice heavily recommended)
  • approval, by other moderators and general players alike

Once you meet these criteria, you can declare you want to be moderator and the mod team will privately discuss if you will be one or not. General players will also be asked if they want you as a moderator.
« Last Edit: January 03, 2014, 07:15:00 PM by Deoxys And One Noob »

I think I'll stick with the Falcon for now

I think I'll stick with the Falcon for now
(be my mirage wingman)

I manage to pull up behind a plane, and quickly identify it as a Su-33.
"Sayonara, sucker."
I pull the trigger on my machine gun, sending bullets straight up its engines. Smoke billows out of the engines as they, heavily damaged, start leaking fuel. As a result, when the enemy tries to push the afterburners to get away, the fuel burns a bit too far back, and the fuel tank catches fire and then explodes, blowing apart the rear half of the plane, spraying debris everywhere, and tearing off his starboard wing. I see him spiral put of control and eject. My plane is pinged by minor debris in multiple locations.
"stuff, that's gonna leave a mark. Oh well, two down."
« Last Edit: January 03, 2014, 07:49:56 PM by Gojira »

Nerverak doesn't own any MiGs


Name: Haythem Florlick
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Side: Cartelian
Piloting Style: Multi-role, but focuses more on air-ground.
Personality: A nice guy who enjoys what he does, but he is very serious when he is on the job. He is very friendly and tries to set a happy mood, but he gets embarrassed sometimes, mostly when people notices he is having his flashbacks.
Nickname: Mayhem
Backstory: He used to be posted on an aircraft carrier fixing planes. He also has weird flashbacks sometimes.
« Last Edit: January 07, 2014, 01:44:51 AM by Swat 3 »

"Tempest, this is AWACS, callsign Blackwater, I have you on my scopes vector 290 range 80 miles, two bogeys on the scope heading 110 range, 190. We will be monitoring your activities from here. You are not weapons free at this current time."

"Tempest copies all,"

A few seconds later a buzzer begins to chirp periodically in my ear, a radar had locked on to my aircraft.

A red light flashes in the roosterpit as a buzzer sounds in my ear, a radar missile had been launched!

I roll and turn hard right and dump chaff in my wake, and reverse the turn and dump more. The light ceases to flash and the buzzer falls silent, my hands are shaking.

"Blackwater I've been fired upon, permission to engage?!"

"Negative,"

"The IFF is negative though, and they're fi-"

"Tempest, you are weapons free,"

"Copy,"

The radar lines up a target, the locking tone is in my ear, I keep nervously looking back and forth between the sky in front of me and the liquid crystal screens of the roosterpit, waiting. Then the tone changes and the HUD reports the missile is locked, I press the button to fire.

The missile speeds away into the sky, nervously I watch and wait, seconds feel much longer. The tone in my ear reports the missile is still tracking. In a few seconds it falls silent.

"Blackwater, Tempest here, missile impact, splash one,"

There is a few second pause.

"Confirm, splash one,-"

The missile alert blares in my ear, I roll left and pull hard, dumping chaff, the missile is still tracking, I roll and reverse the turn, deploying chaff again, it fails. An idea strikes me, I deploy more chaff and pull hard upwards, sending the aircraft vertical. My G-suit inflates, and my vision narrows. The missile however, stops tracking. I notice the glare of a flash of light in the reflection of my canopy. I pull through the Immelmann turn and wait.

"Blackwater, I didn't copy your last,"

"Splash one, second hostile is disengaging, anchor and stay in the area until you receive further orders,"

"Tempest copies all,"

As I walk back to the barracks, I dearly appreciate the silence that had replaced the noise of civilization. I sighed as I round the corner and find my navigator staring at me.

"Tosè, the hell have you been? We should have been in the air ages ago!"

I walk past him. "Air units, they don't need us up there."

As I further my distance from him, he shouts from down the hall. "Guess I'll see you later then!"



After another five minutes of walking, I finally spot my barracks door and input my code on the keypad. With a three beep confirmation, the door slides open with nary a sound. The lights raise as the door closes, and the silence is as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold night. I walk to the window, and watch as two F-16s change course back toward the base, presumably to refuel. I turn my back to the window and walk to the small couch before sitting down, tossing my flight helmet onto the bed, and pulling my flight manual from my jacket. I then skim through it, reviewing the flight systems used for ground attack.