Antelope lay on the crash seats of his UTH-66, his head propped up against the fuselage with the pillow from his quarters cushioning it. In his one hand, he stared at the manual for his new bird, and in his other, he absentmindedly motioned with a ballpoint pen as if it were a conductor's baton, humming his own medley of Winged Assegais, the songs he remembered from Rhodesia, and the latest hits in South Africa that he knew about before he had ended up…here.
He didn't know exactly what he had expected of the Diamond Dogs, but it certainly wasn't what he got. An oil rig? How they got it, he didn't know, nor did he want to. Without a doubt though, it certainly was a new experience. He'd swum in the Zambezi, seen Victoria Falls, and holidayed on Lake Kariba, but this would take some getting used to. No land in sight, no landmarks to fly off of, and a tiny base in the middle of the ocean to find.
No town to go to either, just his fellow Diamond Dogs for company. He hadn't met many yet, but whether he liked them or not, he'd have to learn to deal with them and be pleasant at least. If it was anything like the Fireforce deployments, any violations of discipline would be dealt with in a manner he had no intention of finding out for himself.
But more than that, he had a whole new bird to fly.
Just looking at the aircraft, he could tell it was a whole different animal from the Alouette. More things to keep track of in the cockpit than he had fingers and toes, and how it would handle remained to be seen.
It had none of the light elegance of his former choppers, it was big and bulky, and certainly didn't look at first glance like it'd be able to do half of the moves he would pull to bring fire support to troops on the ground.
Although maybe he wouldn't have to fly the tight racetracks he used to. With dual miniguns, and more than likely ammunition to spare, his gunners wouldn't have to make every shot count. Still wish they'd have given me an Alouette so I wouldn't have to act like I was a dog back at ground school again he thought to himself.
Not like I've got much choice now. I made the choice to fight for them, now I've gotta-
"Yo, Antelope!"
He snapped out of his trance and looked up to see another Diamond Dog poking his head inside the Blackfoot's rear compartment.
"What's up?"
"Some of the guys are having a game of blackjack. You wanna join in?"
"Sure, why not, anything is better than sitting here and jerking off. Just letting you know, I got no money, so don't think you're getting jack shit out of me."
"I'm sure someone will be willing to loan money to you, at interest obviously."
"Gotta turn a profit no matter what?"
"For sure."
Antelope tossed his pillow aside and stuffed the Blackfoot's manual into one of the breastpockets of his flightsuit. Swinging his legs onto the floor of the cargo hold, he stepped out of the chopper, sliding the door behind him closed. Jogging to catch up with the other mercenary, he slowed down to keep pace with him. "So…who are you?" he asked.
"Oh, me? Sorry, should have told you. I'm Brown Crocodile." the other mercenary responded.
These new names are gonna take some getting used to…
"And I'm guessing you already know who I am?"
"Yeah, word got around quick that we got a second Rhodesian on the base. Osprey couldn't stop babbling on about it."
"He was that excited?"
"You could say that. I think he was just happy there'd be someone else so he could prove to us he's not crazy and that some stuff was normal in Rhodesia."
"Like?"
"Like having eaten a rotten baboon and liked it."
"I mean, us pilots had to do that too."
"…but did you like it?"
"Oh hell no. It was disgusting."
"Thought as much."
"It was probably the fact the Scouts got starved for days before being allowed to eat that baboon. Anything is good when you're that hungry."
"Still a little weird to still swear by it being delicious."
"You're not wrong there. So where'd you come from?"
"Me? I fought in Grenada during '83, got out thinking I'd like the civilian life. Hated it. Found these guys, joined up, haven't looked back. They pay well, and I can't complain, the work's what I'm good at."
"I see. Is everyone here former spec ops?"
"Not everyone, some weren't even in the military at all and just wanted to do something. Hell, we got some doctors who've joined us."
"They pay them well?"
"Of course. They're mostly not in it for vengeance against Cipher, though Miller and some of the other guys are all about that stuff. I know Osprey is, but he still doesn't hold a candle to Miller."
"Who's Miller again?"
"'Friend' of the Boss and Ocelot. Guy in the beret, missing an arm, jerks off with his good arm to the thought of killing his enemies, that one?"
"Uhhhh huh."
"You'll know him when you see him. Anyways, here we are." Crocodile said, stepping past the sign with a cartoon girl on it saying 'Work in Progress' and turning the corner.
Antelope followed after into the room. It was sterile white, like a lot of the rooms on the rig, with basically no furnishings, save for a flimsy-looking table and some chairs stacked against a wall. Around it sat three men in the same fatigues every mercenary wore in metal folding chairs.
One of them, wearing a visor and an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, looked up from the table. "Ah, Antelope, glad you could make it. Welcome to our own little Mother Base casino. Chances to get rich quick abound, try your hand!" he said in a noticeable German accent, punctuating his sentence with a hearty laugh.
Crocodile spoke up. "Antelope, meet Red Falcon and Raging LIzard." gesturing to the visor-wearing dealer and goatee-sporting Indian.
"A pleasure." Antelope said, unfolding and pulling up a chair at the table. "Now, mind you, I don't have any money or things to bet, and I'll be honest, I'm terrible at cards."
"Well, you are the newest one here, why not tell us things about you. We all know you're a Rhodesian, so that one's already out the window, Osprey's let everyone know that."
"Fine by me." Antelope said, sitting down. "Alright, let's go."
The flicking of cards began, and Antelope looked at his hand. A king and a five.
"Hit me."
Another card, this one another five. Perfect. He attempted to keep his poker face, though whether or not he was up for debate.
"Anyone else? No? Show your hands."
Antelope tossed down his. "20, none of you gonna beat me boys."
"I beg to differ." said Lizard as he cracked a smile and laid down his cards. A king and an ace.
"Well fuck." Antelope said with a laugh. "You win."
"Alright then, Lizard, you get the chips. Antelope, tell us something about yourself."
"Hmmmm…well, how about the fact when I was brought here, I was recovering from a massive bender the night before?"
The rest of the Dogs chuckled. "Are you serious?" asked Crocodile.
"Embarrassing, but yes. Either I drank beer before liquor, or I just drank so much cheap beer at the braai that I was way too fucked up to sleep. It was closer to a coma."
"I think that's the first time someone's been brought here while hungover. Usually they're captured by the Boss in combat, but taking someone who is comatose from too much booze? That's a new one."
"Wha-how? How do they get people who are shooting at them to do what they want."
"Offer us money and a better life if I'm being honest. That, or Ocelot convinces them over the course of several days." said Viper.
"Why were you drunk in a warzone anyway?" asked Lizard.
"Celebration of my fiftieth mission."
"Fair enough."
"Alright Antelope, I think you've said enough for one hand. Another one?"
"I'm in."
…
The deck of cards lay discarded on the table, and each of the mercs leaned back in their chairs as they continued to converse.
"I've never really understood how you pilots like flying so much, or how you can stand flying helicopters."
"Why do you say that Red?"
"It's really simple." responded the former Fallschirmjager. "You all make fun of us parachutists for jumping out of planes, but think about it. Once we're on the ground, we can always hide or find ways to survive." he continued. "When you're up there, you're at the whim of the weather, your aircraft, enemy fire, and if you get hit, you've just got prayer."
"Suppose you're right. I'd be lying if I didn't say I just about, or did, piss my pants in fear when my helo came under small arms fire the first few times during Fireforce. But damnit, I love flying. It's different from being sealed up in the back as a passenger. When you're in control, you feel like you can take on the whole damn world."
"You're all a special breed of crazy, you know that?" chimed in the former Indian soldier. "I saw enough helicopter pilots doing downright suicidal things in Bangladesh, seems like every pilot's got a damn death wish."
"What can I say? We do some pretty reckless things in combat, but it's a rush like no other when you gamble like that and it works. Flying straight and level at high altitude is safe for sure, but when you're down in the sticks, it's something else."
"Case in point." chortled Lizard.
"Just please don't lose it when I'm zipping you in and out of hot zones, and if you do puke your guts up, don't do it on me."
"I'll try not to strangle you when we land."
"No promises." responded Crocodile.
Antelope looked down at his watch. 2241. "Getting a bit late?" he asked.
"Yeah. I think we'll continue this some other time."
"Alright then gents, it was a pleasure playing and talking with you. See you in a few hours." Antelope said, standing up, nodding at his fellow Diamond Dogs. Walking back out onto the deck of whatever platform he was on, he attempted to retrace his steps in the pitch darkness of the night. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a walkway in front of him, and it certainly looked like the right way.
Walking along, he started humming Sweet Banana to himself, and immediately realized with a start that his Walkman and all his tapes were still the border camp. Great. Never gonna get those back.
It had been hell to get electronics into the combat zone, and he had no idea how he'd get another. But he was a helicopter pilot. Puff the Magic Dragon flights had gotten away with their antics in Rhodesia, it couldn't hurt to grab himself a Walkman as a detour or have one smuggled onto the oil rig.
As he drew closer to the other platform, he could hear something. Music. More guys? Can't hurt to introduce myself.
It was pitch-dark, but there were definitely some lights on belowdecks. Coming up to a flight of stairs, Antelope gingerly stepped down them. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a bunch of drunk or hungover mercs who could probably kick his ass. But as he came down to the last step, he heard no voices. No noise but the buzzing of lights and the music. There was a single cell in the middle with a shower and bed, but it was empty. He shrugged, and sat down against a wall near the stairs, taking out his UTH-66's manual. He'd been dozing off all day in the back of his bird and he had just been assigned to become familiar with the helo. Sleep could wait, and maybe some good music would help with studying.
He flipped to the operating limits, scanning the page of numbers. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes, and tried to recite the numbers. Never exceed speed…193 knots, max weight, 23,500 pounds, cruising…115 knots?
He opened his eyes and looked back at the ops limits. 150. Shit, that's right, the Alouette's was 115.
As he studied, he heard a sound like a gust of wind, and instinctively grasped the pages of his manual. He shrugged it off, and continued studying. Cargo hook limitation, 8,000 pounds, searchlight extension prohibited beyond 100 knots, 180 knots max for extended searchlight. Flight limitations...same as the old Alouette, don't suffocate your crew, yeah yeah yeah.
As the song switched to Home by the Sea, the pilot started to wonder where the music was coming from. It had to be a radio or boombox of some sort. Or better yet, a Walkman. Finder's keepers, and at the very least, he could ransom it off back to its owner for another one.
Standing up, he put his manual back in his flightsuit, and immediately realized that there was someone else in the room with him. Someone had shown up out of the blue inside the cell. He instinctively reached for his sidearm, but quickly realized he had nothing against whoever this was. It looked like a woman inside the once-empty cell. He took a hesitant step forward. It was a woman, a gorgeous-looking brunette in a goddamn swimsuit. Who the he-how the hell? What the hell am I seeing?
It couldn't be real, it had to be a figment of his imagination from having been in the bush without female contact for so long. He blinked a few times, but the person was still there, leaning against the side of the cell with her arms through the bars, staring at him. It wasn't his imagination. He tried to speak, to ask a question, but all that came out was incoherent, stuttering nonsense. He took a deep breath and tried to speak again. Finally, words, stuttering and shaky as they were, came out. "Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" he asked.
Silence.
"Come on, this can't be real. Who are you?"
Silence.
Looking at her face, Antelope could see she was far from amused by his questioning her. His face felt flushed as she continued to stare at him, following him as he inched his way back. "Okay I…uh…I'm…gonna go now." he stammered out, sprinting out and up the stairs, his steel toed boots clanging on the steps as he bounded up them two at a time. As he reached the top, he kept moving, bounding behind one of the superstructures on the platform, panting, and checking around the corner.
After several minutes, feeling safe, and realizing that this was not his platform, he began sprinting back across the oil rig. There were only two besides the center platform, and the other one had to be the right one. Even if he was wrong, it'd at least put more distance between him and that cell.