"I'm spiked bearing 310, 10 o'clock. Defending." The fighter rolled and pulled into a hard turn...
Militaria (OC)
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
-
- Tags
- warfare
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 3
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 2
-
Statistics (2 threadmarks, 1.9k words)
User Total 4WheelSword 2 Threadmarks Reader mode
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
A very short one-shot I wrote today in some free time. A couple of notes:
-Everything is kept ambiguos for good reason, though you can probably get some idea of where people are from by inference.
-I have... tried my best with Brevity code. I am not a pilot. This might quickly become obvious.
-If there are any major issues, feel free to bring them up.
-I hope people like it.
-Everything is kept ambiguos for good reason, though you can probably get some idea of where people are from by inference.
-I have... tried my best with Brevity code. I am not a pilot. This might quickly become obvious.
-If there are any major issues, feel free to bring them up.
-I hope people like it.
"I'm spiked bearing 310, 10 o'clock. Defending." The fighter rolled and pulled into a hard turn, the g-forces pushing the pilot into her chair. She felt the bladders of her suit inflate, tightening around her legs and stopping her blood from pooling in her legs. The plane spat a cloud of chaff as the afterburner lit.
"Roger, Blue-1. Vectoring a strike package on you. Blue-2, do you have eyes on the launch site." Blue-1 came out of the turn, her nose pointed away from the incoming missile and switched on her jammer. Another cloud of chaff burst from the tail, another attempt to spoof the radar guided missile. The plane should now be hidden in a mess of distortion on any radar return. Or at least she hoped so.
"Home plate, Blue-2, Naked. Tally smoke bearing 045. It's in the town by the river."
"Thank you Blue-2. Home plate out." Blue-1 looked over one shoulder then the other, trying to get eyes on the missile. Finally she saw it, almost level with her but, thankfully, off-angle. It was heading away, its seeker jammed or tricked into locking up a strip of metal that made up the chaff clouds. She breathed a sigh of relief but continued her run south at high speed
"Blue-2, Blue-1. Scram bearing 180, 10 miles. Cap at angels 20 and await package."
"Wilco. See you there."
----------------------------------------------
"Mace flight, Home plate. Request posit."
"On station at Point Charlie."
"Blue flight has been spiked by unknown SAM unit. Divert on heading 205, 45 miles, Gate. Weapons tight. Push 808-Hotel."
"Wilco, Home plate." Mace-3 changed switched his radio over to the new frequency as he put his aircraft up on it's wing and pulled it around to the correct heading, his wingman following suit.
"Blue flight, Mace-3. Closing on you, Angels one-five, ETA 6 minutes." The attack plane jumped as the throttle was opened, racing to close to it's top speed.
"It'll be good to have you Mace-3."
"Roger that, Blue flight. What's your status?"
"We're capping about 15 miles south of the town that's due west of Point Foxtrot. There is at least one SAM launcher in the town, unknown type. Warning Yellow over the town."
"Bogey's?"
"None."
"Roger that, Blue flight. We'll be there soon."
----------------------------------------------
Mace flight slowed as they passed Blue flights position, dropping down closer to 10,000 feet.
"Mace-3, I have visual on the town."
"Confirmed Mace-4. I-" Mace-3 pauses, surprised by the alarm in his cockpit. "Mud 8, bearing 010. Range… six miles."
"I've got it. Magnum." He glances over at his wingman, some hundred or so feet from his own aircraft. The small white missile drops slightly before firing its motor. It races away from the two aircraft, angling towards the town and the source of the radar. The radar warning alarm in the cockpit of Mace-3 shut down a few seconds after launch, presumably the operators attempt to avoid the missile homing in on him. It was for naught though, as fifteen seconds after the launch, the missile slammed into the town.
"Hit." Is Mace-4's simple call at the distant flash. Two minutes later, Mace flight is over the town, circling the point of impact. The wreckage of a 9K33 SAM system could be seen in a wide courtyard.
"Blue flight, New picture. SAM site is history."
"Thanks Mace-3. Good shoot. Out." Blue-1 waits a moment before continuing. "Home plate, Blue-1. Resuming last."
Last edited:
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Very quickly written. Pacing might not be 100%
-There is no specific setting for this piece, though obviously it draws from various sources.
-I hope people enjoy. Feel free to comment.
-I have edited the thread title to better reflect the added content.
-There is no specific setting for this piece, though obviously it draws from various sources.
-I hope people enjoy. Feel free to comment.
-I have edited the thread title to better reflect the added content.
Oppressive heat, cloying humidity and hordes of flesh eating mosquitoes. The three constants of jungle warfare, the same here as anywhere else. The river only made it worse, putting the men of third section, second platoon even closer to the bug's breeding grounds. Adding further to their discomfort, sailing down the middle of the river left them without the shade of the jungle's canopy, and the gunboat's deck was exposed to the full force of the pounding sun even as the light was dying in the late afternoon. The only saving grace was that she was built with a wood, rather than metal deck.
"Hey, Jimmy" Lance Corporal Jimmy Kimmel raised his head, blinking in the bright sun.
"What." he said bluntly, irritable.
"Jimmy, look."
"I swear, kid, if this is some stupid-" He rolled onto his side, shading his eyes with his hand. "Jesus. You truly are boot, aren't you." The baby faced soldier had written Shoot to Kill along the side of his helmet and was holding it up proudly.
"Ah, c'mon Jimmy. The guys in third have all got stuff like it."
"Yeah? Well third platoon are all as dumb as you then." He pouts, and Jimmy sighs. "Least you're our boot. Not gonna learn any bad habits in second platoon." A grin spreads across the kid's face.
"Kimmel." A gruff voice said, a shadow crossing the Lance Corporal's face.
"Yes Sergeant?" He said, saluting from his position on the deck. A flash of annoyance crosses the NCO's face as he does so.
"I thought, Lance Corporal, I had ordered you to-" he's cut off suddenly, a surprised look on his face. He looks down, and his eyes widen even further at the ragged hole in his chest. Kimmel rolls to one side as the Sergeant's corpse falls to the deck, dead long before it lands.
"Contact!" he just has time to shout before all hell breaks loose. Streams of tracer flick back and forth, a few feet above the deck level. Some of the first rounds hit the engine block at the back of the boat, and it sputters and dies. It's several long moments before anyone on the gunboat begins to return fire, but eventually they do. Kimmel picks up his own rifle and goes to one knee, flicking the fire selector and letting off a long rattle of fire into the dense jungle along the shore. He switches between targets, trying to send rounds towards the sources of the incoming tracer, but the vegetation made it near impossible to get a bead on anything. He glanced down as he dropped a magazine, slotting a new one into place without looking. The kid was on the floor, holding his helmet on his head, curled around his rifle. He might have been crying.
"Kid!" Kimmel reaches down and grabs his shoulder, pulling on it. "You gotta get up, kid. C'mon, just like the range. Get that rifle firing." he lets go, shaking his head and going back to his own job. He burnt through another magazine in what felt like seconds, and might well have been considering the volume of fire they were trading with the unseen enemy forces. The twin fifty on the bow of the boat finally opened up, heavy rounds tearing the jungle apart.When Kimmel glanced to the side again, the kid was up and firing. He couldn't tell how well he was doing, but rounds were going out and hell, how much more could he do right now.
He heard the call of 'Corpsman!' and knew one of his buddies was hit. He ducked down to put a fourth magazine in his weapon and watched the corpsman take three rounds as he did, a pale pink mist drifting over the starboard side of the gunboat. There were four bodies on the deck of the boat already, including the corpsman's. Two more were obviously wounded, though one of them was still firing his rifle.
He returned to the firing line and was immediately knocked back again. He fell on his ass, and when he opened his eyes his vision was blurred. He felt a liquid trickle down his head and touched it. Then the kid was kneeling over him, still firing and shouting for the corpsman. he blinked a few times and his vision started to clear.
"Corpsman's dead, jackass." He said, wiping his head with the back of his hand. "Get off me."
"Your head-"
"Must've been a ricochet. My lucky day." He hauled himself back into a position to fire, putting his rifle to his shoulder. Kimmel kept firing for what, in that most clichéd of ways, felt like hours but can only have been a matter of minutes. Eventually he ran short of magazines and began dragging them from the chest carrier still strapped to his dead sergeant. The heavy machineguns fell silent after a matter of minutes and, upon inspection, it wasn't a lack of ammunition that did it.
Finally, slowly, the guns fell silent and the incoming fire stopped coming. Kimmel breathed heavily, wiping another trail of blood away from his eye as he looked around. Him and the kid were the only ones still up on the gunboat. The deck was littered with the glittering bass casings of expended ammunition. One other man, Booth, was the only other member of the section still making noise, and that was the quiet sobs of someone badly wounded. Kimmel went aft to him, found him lying in a pool of blood.
"Booth? Booth." he said quietly, and the man opened his eyes slowly. "You okay?"
"Not so good, I think?" He says, hands pressed against his stomach still. Blood seeped out slowly, but not slowly enough.
"You'll be okay, Booth. Get the corpsman too you, you'll be fine." Kimmel leaned over and grabbed the corpsman's pack, pulling a syrette of morphine out.
"Corpsman's dead, Kimmel."
"So I'm corpsman now too. Lucky me." He stuck Booth with it and watched his eyes flicker close. A deep sigh of relief was followed by a rushed attempt to bandage the stomach wound that was bleeding profusely without the pressure of the man's hands on it. After a few minutes, the flow slowed, but it wasn't thanks to Kimmel. He looked for a pulse, found nothing.
"Shit!" He shouted, throwing his helmet across the deck. It clanged loudly against the bulkhead as Kimmel slumped back against the wheelhouse.
"You okay, Jimmy?" The kid had finally come to find him.
"I'm alive, aren't I? Not like these poor bastards." He says gesturing to the bodies near him. Kimmel pulls a pack of cigarettes from his vest, slipping one between his lips and lighting it smoothly. He holds the pack up, offering it.
"Oh no, I don't-"
"Probably the time to start, kid." Hesitantly the young man takes one, accepting the offer of a light. He fights a cough on his first draw, making Kimmel smile. They're silent for a few minutes, with barely a sound around them other than those of the jungle.
"So, Jimmy..." The silence is finally broken.
"Go on."
"What're we gonna do. Without the sarge, without the section-"
"Well..." He straightens up, looks around. He could feel the tension in the kids voice, knew how close he was to breaking. A lethal mistake in this sort of terrain. "Boats a no-go. But we've got gear, maps. We can wait till first light and make a go of it in the jungle."
"You mean... we'll spend the night here?"
"Kid, you want to trek through enemy territory in the dark, you go ahead. Me, I'd like an even chance of seeing what's coming for me." The pair are silent for some moments, Kimmel lighting a second cigarette.
"I... Okay Jimmy. You're the boss."
"Damn right, kid. Don't worry. I'll get you home."
"Hey, Jimmy" Lance Corporal Jimmy Kimmel raised his head, blinking in the bright sun.
"What." he said bluntly, irritable.
"Jimmy, look."
"I swear, kid, if this is some stupid-" He rolled onto his side, shading his eyes with his hand. "Jesus. You truly are boot, aren't you." The baby faced soldier had written Shoot to Kill along the side of his helmet and was holding it up proudly.
"Ah, c'mon Jimmy. The guys in third have all got stuff like it."
"Yeah? Well third platoon are all as dumb as you then." He pouts, and Jimmy sighs. "Least you're our boot. Not gonna learn any bad habits in second platoon." A grin spreads across the kid's face.
"Kimmel." A gruff voice said, a shadow crossing the Lance Corporal's face.
"Yes Sergeant?" He said, saluting from his position on the deck. A flash of annoyance crosses the NCO's face as he does so.
"I thought, Lance Corporal, I had ordered you to-" he's cut off suddenly, a surprised look on his face. He looks down, and his eyes widen even further at the ragged hole in his chest. Kimmel rolls to one side as the Sergeant's corpse falls to the deck, dead long before it lands.
"Contact!" he just has time to shout before all hell breaks loose. Streams of tracer flick back and forth, a few feet above the deck level. Some of the first rounds hit the engine block at the back of the boat, and it sputters and dies. It's several long moments before anyone on the gunboat begins to return fire, but eventually they do. Kimmel picks up his own rifle and goes to one knee, flicking the fire selector and letting off a long rattle of fire into the dense jungle along the shore. He switches between targets, trying to send rounds towards the sources of the incoming tracer, but the vegetation made it near impossible to get a bead on anything. He glanced down as he dropped a magazine, slotting a new one into place without looking. The kid was on the floor, holding his helmet on his head, curled around his rifle. He might have been crying.
"Kid!" Kimmel reaches down and grabs his shoulder, pulling on it. "You gotta get up, kid. C'mon, just like the range. Get that rifle firing." he lets go, shaking his head and going back to his own job. He burnt through another magazine in what felt like seconds, and might well have been considering the volume of fire they were trading with the unseen enemy forces. The twin fifty on the bow of the boat finally opened up, heavy rounds tearing the jungle apart.When Kimmel glanced to the side again, the kid was up and firing. He couldn't tell how well he was doing, but rounds were going out and hell, how much more could he do right now.
He heard the call of 'Corpsman!' and knew one of his buddies was hit. He ducked down to put a fourth magazine in his weapon and watched the corpsman take three rounds as he did, a pale pink mist drifting over the starboard side of the gunboat. There were four bodies on the deck of the boat already, including the corpsman's. Two more were obviously wounded, though one of them was still firing his rifle.
He returned to the firing line and was immediately knocked back again. He fell on his ass, and when he opened his eyes his vision was blurred. He felt a liquid trickle down his head and touched it. Then the kid was kneeling over him, still firing and shouting for the corpsman. he blinked a few times and his vision started to clear.
"Corpsman's dead, jackass." He said, wiping his head with the back of his hand. "Get off me."
"Your head-"
"Must've been a ricochet. My lucky day." He hauled himself back into a position to fire, putting his rifle to his shoulder. Kimmel kept firing for what, in that most clichéd of ways, felt like hours but can only have been a matter of minutes. Eventually he ran short of magazines and began dragging them from the chest carrier still strapped to his dead sergeant. The heavy machineguns fell silent after a matter of minutes and, upon inspection, it wasn't a lack of ammunition that did it.
Finally, slowly, the guns fell silent and the incoming fire stopped coming. Kimmel breathed heavily, wiping another trail of blood away from his eye as he looked around. Him and the kid were the only ones still up on the gunboat. The deck was littered with the glittering bass casings of expended ammunition. One other man, Booth, was the only other member of the section still making noise, and that was the quiet sobs of someone badly wounded. Kimmel went aft to him, found him lying in a pool of blood.
"Booth? Booth." he said quietly, and the man opened his eyes slowly. "You okay?"
"Not so good, I think?" He says, hands pressed against his stomach still. Blood seeped out slowly, but not slowly enough.
"You'll be okay, Booth. Get the corpsman too you, you'll be fine." Kimmel leaned over and grabbed the corpsman's pack, pulling a syrette of morphine out.
"Corpsman's dead, Kimmel."
"So I'm corpsman now too. Lucky me." He stuck Booth with it and watched his eyes flicker close. A deep sigh of relief was followed by a rushed attempt to bandage the stomach wound that was bleeding profusely without the pressure of the man's hands on it. After a few minutes, the flow slowed, but it wasn't thanks to Kimmel. He looked for a pulse, found nothing.
"Shit!" He shouted, throwing his helmet across the deck. It clanged loudly against the bulkhead as Kimmel slumped back against the wheelhouse.
"You okay, Jimmy?" The kid had finally come to find him.
"I'm alive, aren't I? Not like these poor bastards." He says gesturing to the bodies near him. Kimmel pulls a pack of cigarettes from his vest, slipping one between his lips and lighting it smoothly. He holds the pack up, offering it.
"Oh no, I don't-"
"Probably the time to start, kid." Hesitantly the young man takes one, accepting the offer of a light. He fights a cough on his first draw, making Kimmel smile. They're silent for a few minutes, with barely a sound around them other than those of the jungle.
"So, Jimmy..." The silence is finally broken.
"Go on."
"What're we gonna do. Without the sarge, without the section-"
"Well..." He straightens up, looks around. He could feel the tension in the kids voice, knew how close he was to breaking. A lethal mistake in this sort of terrain. "Boats a no-go. But we've got gear, maps. We can wait till first light and make a go of it in the jungle."
"You mean... we'll spend the night here?"
"Kid, you want to trek through enemy territory in the dark, you go ahead. Me, I'd like an even chance of seeing what's coming for me." The pair are silent for some moments, Kimmel lighting a second cigarette.
"I... Okay Jimmy. You're the boss."
"Damn right, kid. Don't worry. I'll get you home."
Last edited: