ABS FIESTA REDUX

[Agent Legit 22]

I call being in a bomber
I want to be in a operation next time

[Ad Bot]

[xxxxkill]

I call being in a bomber
I want to be in a operation next time

If you can't be assed to look at the plane list of things you will have available or have available, you aren't going on any operations.

[Mr. Hurricane]

"- Two Kilometers to touchdown," the flight controller says. His Asethian is rough.

I hold on to the stick, trying to guide the aircraft down easily. We've been flying for some time, I'm really starting to hate these ferry flights.

"One Kilometer,"

"500 Meters,"

"Touchdown," I radio.

The aircraft bounces twice, then finally settles. I breathe a sigh of relief, but I still have to spend the next hour parking the aircraft. I taxi off the runway and wait for a marshaller. The roosterpit is cramped, and my knees can bash the bottom of the console from time to time. It's either too hot or too cold, I'm pretty sure the climate control doesn't work, assuming there is any.

[Swat 3]

I circle the base until everyone hits the tar and then I come down.

[Juncoph]

Only when I had landed did I realize how crampt the mirage's roosterpit is. Taxi-ing to the hangar I had been assigned, I noticed that my neck was hurting because of the way I had to lean to fit inside the roosterpit.

Getting out and stretching in the hangar was satisfying as hell, but short lived. I decided to check where we'd be sleeping first, and I headed in the direction of the bunks.

[Gojira]

"Tower, this is Talisman, requestig permission to land."
"Granted, Talisman," he says, his Mercanan accent easily audible.
"Thanks, tower. Lining up for final approach."
"Two kilometers to touchdown."
A few seconds later, I hear "One kilometer to touchdown.
"500 meters to touchdown."
I deploy the airbrakes for a few seconds, lowering my speed so that I can land safely. I drop my landing gear, and once they're fully deployed, I touch down on the tarmac. I feel a jolt as my plane hits the ground, the landing gear absorbing most of the impact.
"Touchdown," the controller says, stating the obvious.
I put the airbrake on to slow me down enough to apply the brakes. Once I've slowed down enough, I put the engines on low enough thrust to taxi myself to my assigned hangar. I get out of the plane once I've stopped, and shut down the flight computers and engines.
Jesus Christ, that thing is cramped, I think as I walk to the barracks.

[Mr. Hurricane]

Gojira keep in mind that my character is 6'2, so the Dassault could be more cramped for him. It is a small fighter though, and the roosterpit's console construction is similar to that of the F16's.

I've been in the roosterpit of some F16 variant before, and me, being about 6 feet or 6'1, it was cramped. My knees always bashed the bottom of the console. I'm also assuming that if I ejected either I would break my knees or the console would remove them for me.

I've also been in the roosterpit of some type of F4 and those are rather spacious.


A marshaller finally comes by. He looks like one of ours. A few Mercanan marshalers assist us along the way. After five to ten minutes, I finish parking in a hanger. It's not an armored one, but it's better than open air I supposed. There are a few other 514th aircraft in the hanger.

Now I have to figure out where to get my bags at.

Damnit

[Gojira]

It's still a tiny roosterpit to be crammed into for 6 hours.

[Juncoph]

Once I'd familiarized myself with my room, I went to check out the cafeteria while I waited for the cargo craft that was given the task of luggage shipping to land and empty its goods. On my way there, I started to ponder the feasibility of requesting to be transferred to a proper strike aircraft.

[Qwepir]

Only when I had landed did I realize how crampt the mirage's roosterpit is.

Jesus Christ, that thing is cramped, I think as I walk to the barracks.

Gojira keep in mind that my character is 6'2, so the Dassault could be more cramped for him.

you people are not going to enjoy kintharian planes then, those being designed for girls and manlets instead of big hefty nordic motherforgeters.

[Juncoph]

you people are not going to enjoy kintharian planes then, those being designed for girls and manlets instead of big hefty nordic motherforgeters.

excuse me

[Qwepir]

im sorry, big hefty nordic and mesoamerican motherforgeters

[Juncoph]

im sorry, big hefty nordic and mesoamerican motherforgeters

better

anyway, how many dead migs does a promotion cost

[Qwepir]

More than 1, but considering you've just been transferred to an airbase closer to the front lines, there is going to be actual Tier 1 equipment available instead of the antiquated stuff you took out on patrols. If you're looking to fly a strike craft at your current rank, maybe you should inquire if there are any captured Jaguars sitting about, or if the Mercanan air force would be willing to let you borrow an A-10. Just keep in mind that if you use the A-10 it is very possible that the rest of your squad will charge into the fight without you, and that you'll be a very tempting target for enemy fighters.

[Juncoph]

i see
in that case


I realized two things.

One: I am actively fighting Huitzitlaotani.

 It's possible that Mercanan forces have captured Jaguars, and are willing to send me one. If I recall correctly, Jaguars are cheap and Huitzitlaotanian forces rarely went through full precautions to stop any of them from being captured. There was that time that I saw them transporting some on unarmored truck beds. A group of rogue slaves could've easily hijacked them. Plus I'm sure Mercanan strike pilots would opt for planes like the A-10, because they can actually read the instruments, meaning that they wouldn't be trying to get their hands on a Jaguar of their own.

Two: I am actively fighting Huitzitlaotani.

My homeland.

I took a seat, as I had gotten to the dining hall, and started to think.



I am fighting my homeland.

I left it for a reason.

HI I'M THE THIRD VOICE IN YOUR HEAD WHO IS HERE TO REMIND YOU TO NOT BE TOO EDGY

forget off, Bob. We're trying to be serious.

WELL OK, BYE I GUESS



I realized I may have severe psychological ramifications within being at war with my own nationality, but found resolve in the fact that I left because of the barbaric concepts of slavery and gladiatorship, not to mention the disregard for the working class in favour of tourism. A poor argument, but to retain my sanity, it will have to do.

I head over to the area where the pencil pushers plan attacks and get us funding, and ask if they indeed have a disposable Jaguar.