Chapter 2: Operation Startled Crane
Navigation display: Inoperative.
Primary flight displays: Inoperative.
Secondary targeting assistance: Inoperative.
Afterburner: Inoperative.
Advanced evasion subroutines: Inoperative.
Captain Jacob 'Deerstalker' Evans inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his lungs for a long moment before releasing it in a single calm exhale. He could feel the craft reacting through the control column as the few remaining systems struggled to maintain control in this buffeting wind. Reaffirming his grip on the controls he resumed his pursuit.
As far as he knew he was somewhere over the eastern edge of Siberia, but given the lack of computer assistace or line of sight outside he could only hazard a guess as to precisely where. With the ceaseless tundra making visual routing a near impossibility and all but his most basic instruments disabled he had to rely on a pilots' dead reckoning to find the target.
Through the thick haze of white he finally saw it, the pulsing blue light. There was no doubt in his mind as he took a firmer hold of the throttle and pushed the control forward, feeding power to the engines and increasing speed. He felt his focus limiting itself to keeping track of the single pulse of light lost in a sea of white, fearing only a momentary lapse of concentration would allow his prey to escape. Even before the engagement started the weather was proving itself as much his enemy as the aliens. Yet, despite the adverse weather conditions, he was determined to persevere.
Without warning the situation quickly deteriorated from bad to worse. From within the cover of white emerged a glowing ball of green energy, it was as much luck as anything that allowed him to evade just before the impact. As he rolled out of the turn the fighter began to shudder beneath him, slow at first but growing in intensity as the seconds passed. At first he feared that despite his best effort the shot had met its mark. He soon realised that the plane was stalling, it was difficult to tell without instruments. Dropping the nose increased the aircrafts speed and settled the craft underneath his feet. He had to be careful not to allow the speed to drop again.
Another ball of energy emerged in front of him, another precarious manoeuvre to evade the attack. The next shot followed swiftly on its heels, the frequency of the attacks only growing as he approached his target. All the while the glowing trail of the enemy ships engine glowed through the haze, taunting, mocking.
Without computer assistance, striking the target with a missile at anything other than point blank range was a near impossibility. Taking a chance upon a blind leap of faith he opened up with the crafts heavy gun. Although the gun could not hope to pierce the aliens hull there was a chance his attack would put his enemy on the defence and allow him sufficient time to secure a lock on.
The roar of the aircrafts gun erupted to drown out the whistle of the cold air around the aircraft. The first volley disappeared into the white haze. The second volley found their mark, a flash of orange light as the shots struck the surface of the alien craft. Using that as a rudimentary rangefinder he focused his attempts to secure a missile lock. He closed in the on target, just a little bit-
The fighter rocked violently, throwing him up in his seat to strain against the confines of the restraints. In his blind determination to close in for the offense he had left himself with no space to manoeuvre and wide open to the alien's retaliatory attack.
He felt the engines lose power, the cockpit falling eerily quiet with only the ceaseless howling of the wind to keep him company. The aircraft began to drop at an alarming rate, he felt himself being pulled from his seat held in place only by the restraints. Without electrical support, there wasn't even the incessant repetition of the ground proximity warning system to ceaselessly reminding him of his inevitable doom. He struggled with the controls but to no avail, the loss of the aircrafts engines was the final straw which sealed his fate. In an instant, the world turned black around him.
SIMULATION TERMINATED
Evans felt the cold sweat forming on the back of his neck, now fully conscious of his ragged breaths amplified by in his ears by his helmet. No matter how much he knew it was a simulation the true to life graphics, audio and force feedback made it feel all too real. Perhaps that was the point.
The locks released with a mechanical clunk, the body of the pod opening with a low hiss of pneumatic systems. Light shined in from outside of the pod, returning him to the real world after what felt like a lifetime of isolation. Outside, he was met by the group of pilots and technicians who had gathered to observe his practice flight. On the main viewscreen dominating the far wall of the flight simulation room he saw the last moment of his simulated demise frozen in time, a dark testament to his death.
Evans reached up to pull his flight helmet from his head, feeling the revitalising wash of the cool air against his sweat drenched skin. Turning his helmet over in his hands he took a moment to truly take in the details and realised how much the arcane design of the helmet made him look more alien than the invaders. Putting the thoughts to the back of his mind he returned to the matter at hand.
"So, how'd I do?" Evans asked.
"Well you died is the short answer" was the response he received. Flight Lieutenant Rupert Gardener was the de-facto leader of their little underground clique, always the first to give his assessment of a team members performance, or lack of.
"Where did they hit me?" Evans asked.
"It wasn't exactly the aliens that hit- well it was a crane" Gardener admitted.
"Shame it wasn't a goose" a technician called out. "I could have made a really good pun on that one"
"Looks as though a Crane got sucked into the left engine and made a right mess of the system on its way out" Gardener explained. "But enough about that, let's get to what you're all here for" Gardener walked across to the main viewscreen and passed his hand over the holographic interface. The frozen recording of Evans final moments before his simulated death melted away to be replaced by the tally board of the current scores of the competing pilots in the 'European Regional Flight Deck Buckaroo Championships'.
"Quick summary of the rules for those of you not in the know" Gardener turned to the assembled audience. "It's points on for every system disabled before the start of the simulation. Additional points are added for any damage caused to the alien ship with a multiplier added if the enemy aircraft is downed during the pursuit. Points are deducted for damage sustained to your own craft with a large penalty added for unsuccessful pursuits, namely death"
"Reviewing the current leader board" Gardener turned his attention to the board. "Representing the proud people of Vyshny Volochyok, we have Lieutenant Sasha Fedorovich" a round of applause rose from the assembled crowd. "From the Japanese Self Defense Force Squadron Leader Kururugi. How she managed to pull off that trick shot we'll never know" another polite round of applause.
"After that performance" Gardener referred to the scoreboard. "It has to be points off for the finisher" he reached out to trace his finger down the length of the leader board. "That puts you at 7th place, just behind the Australians and just ahead of Gary from Air Traffic Control who flew Microlights in the early 90's"
Another cheer rose to celebrate the new leader board position.
"Alright" Gardener turned to the flight crew. "Who's next?
XCOM Rule 192: All XCOM pilots are prohibited from participating in 'Flight Deck Buckaroo Championships' while on operational duty or mandatory training hours.
I wanted to thank the makers of Cabin Pressure for the reference to Flight Deck Buckaroo. For those who haven't heard it, it's a fantastic radio comedy show and I highly recommend it.
