Dazuto
The Pilot
Location: Airspace over Gessbenna
Objective: 1 - Eliminate Bloodcrest Pirates
The sweat in his suit was beginning to pool. Every time he shifted in his seat or shook a tired limb, he could feel the dampness on his smooth Selkath skin. The cockpit was getting muggy and had to be defogged. His radio crackled. Buzzers and alarms sounded to inform him of impending doom. Each jerk of the throttle rattled his skeleton, every motion in his field of vision could be an enemy trying to blow him from the sky. Seven laps on his watch tallied the kills. His throat was dry but he dared not take a drink for fear of having to relieve himself during the fight. Altitude and motion made him dizzy. This was dogfighting. Dazuto loved every second of it. The near-misses and brushes with death spoke to him. They said, "Yes, you are alive, this moment is real. Take it. Take them all."
His enemy left a vapor trail in its wake. Dazuto could faintly see the movement of the flaps as they tried to outmaneuver him. A left break, a right, a dive, all followed by the Republican. Number eight. He fired at the fleeing Cutter, but a crafty spin by his opponent made sure they didn't reach the mark. This one did not appear to be such an easy kill. He quickly pulled up, his craft flying high into the sky. Dazuto gave chase, but the sudden forces pulled on his body made the cockpit, and indeed the whole of the world, spin around his head.
He felt the sweat. The universe began to slip away. A dark blanket was being drawn across his head.
Still, he followed.
His lungs churned meager, recycled air. The yoke began to slip from his fingers.
Still, he followed.
The ocean. His old home in the sea. His family back on Manaan. Pitaka for dinner. His mother's smile.
Still, he followed.
Blood rushed back into his fingers, into his face. The smell of sweat, oil, and sulfur. The Cutter had broken his maneuver and steadied out on the horizon. Once again, the voice in his heart spoke to him. "Take this moment."
Number Eight plunged like a meteor back to Terrijo.
[6/20]
Objective: 1 - Eliminate Bloodcrest Pirates
The sweat in his suit was beginning to pool. Every time he shifted in his seat or shook a tired limb, he could feel the dampness on his smooth Selkath skin. The cockpit was getting muggy and had to be defogged. His radio crackled. Buzzers and alarms sounded to inform him of impending doom. Each jerk of the throttle rattled his skeleton, every motion in his field of vision could be an enemy trying to blow him from the sky. Seven laps on his watch tallied the kills. His throat was dry but he dared not take a drink for fear of having to relieve himself during the fight. Altitude and motion made him dizzy. This was dogfighting. Dazuto loved every second of it. The near-misses and brushes with death spoke to him. They said, "Yes, you are alive, this moment is real. Take it. Take them all."
His enemy left a vapor trail in its wake. Dazuto could faintly see the movement of the flaps as they tried to outmaneuver him. A left break, a right, a dive, all followed by the Republican. Number eight. He fired at the fleeing Cutter, but a crafty spin by his opponent made sure they didn't reach the mark. This one did not appear to be such an easy kill. He quickly pulled up, his craft flying high into the sky. Dazuto gave chase, but the sudden forces pulled on his body made the cockpit, and indeed the whole of the world, spin around his head.
He felt the sweat. The universe began to slip away. A dark blanket was being drawn across his head.
Still, he followed.
His lungs churned meager, recycled air. The yoke began to slip from his fingers.
Still, he followed.
The ocean. His old home in the sea. His family back on Manaan. Pitaka for dinner. His mother's smile.
Still, he followed.
Blood rushed back into his fingers, into his face. The smell of sweat, oil, and sulfur. The Cutter had broken his maneuver and steadied out on the horizon. Once again, the voice in his heart spoke to him. "Take this moment."
Number Eight plunged like a meteor back to Terrijo.
[6/20]