AWD #209: No Predators For Old Men
No Predators For Old Men
Summary: Jameson decides to blow things up with some of the Air Wing in the sims
Date: 04/08/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Jameson Kale Warren Phin Bennett Ygraine 
Flight Simulators
The Air Wing has access to flight simulators to train pilots off the ground in combat maneuvers and situations that are hard to replicate with regular dogfight practicing and this is their home. A rectangular room, the hatch opens up beside the bank of computers that control the simulations and what is seen by the individuals when training sessions are in progress. The sims are actual cockpits cut out of old frames and installed here to function exactly as the real thing, right down to oxygen plugs for suits. In front of each cockpit, complete with armored glass, are LCD screens that cover most of the front view to the front and above. There are two Vipers, two Predators, and one full-cabin Raptor available.
AWD #209

Not everyone is so awesome at their job that they best everything all the time. Some people are less than skilled as they might hope or need to be. The sims tend to be a good place for getting proficiency and time in the pit without strapping on a bird. Right now, though, there is a grumbly looking old-timer at the console, going through the mission list. Flightsuit unzipped and wrapped around his midsection, the ship's Oldest Man and Navy's ranking sailor is parked and poking through the mission list. There's a coffee mug beside him, though the dark contents appear to be cold.

" - only way I'm gonna get in a pred again is if you're my pilot and that's what I told him." Ygraine is telling Phin as the pair walk in. "And even then, ya know, I still ain't sold on 'em."

Phin and Ygraine aren't the only ones here to interrupt the old man's alone time. Two more pilots stroll in: Captain St. Clair and Lieutenant Smythe, apparently in conversation about mess hall fare. "I will take the lasagna any day over the pot pie," Bennett is telling the viper jock, pontificating with her pen. "Do you even know what they put in it?"

"Seriously?" Phin grins broadly, flattered. Though he makes himself moderate it. "I wouldn't be too sure about that. I've never flown one in real combat before. It's a totally different animal. Thanks, though." He's dressed in his flight suit. His own neatly zipped. When he notes another person in the room he says an automatic, "Oh, didn't realize the pods were booked…sir!" Oh, it's Jameson. To attention he goes.

Warren smirks at Bennett's comments about the food, "Oh the pot pie? Sure, you know… random medical waste and whatever they can fit through a wood chipper. All in a nice tylium gravy. Baked into a delicious crust of-" And then he nearly wanders straight into the now standing at attention Phin. He blinks stopping himself before he looks around the man and…ah that would certainly explain that and too attention he goes, "Sir."

"Crash 'nuff of 'em, you start appreciatin' the little things about the Predators," the old guy grumbles loudly. He looks over his shoulder with a low expression towards Phin and Warren, noting them going to attention. "Slow your roll, kids, I'm not looking for rank." He flutters his hand towards Dolly and Warren, dismissing the attention posture. The coffee mug is lifted and he spits into it, the sound clear as a bell as the liquid impacts liquid. It nearly echoes. "They ain't booked. I'm just down here trying to relax," he blows out with an exaggerated exhale. "Got enough stress. Was gonna see about firing off a few missiles or something. Nothing here looks particularly interesting, though. Its like shopping for canned ham. It all looks the same and at the end ah-the-day you know you ain't actually eatin' hog."

Bennett is a little slower to shift to attention, and by the time she thinks to, the Admiral is waving them all off anyway. Bemused, she saunters on up to the console and thumbs through a few of the discs stacked up next to the drive. "If it's fatboys you're after, sir, I think there might be a program or two here.. were you thinking of skeet shooting or something more like a ship to ship assault?" She seems remarkably relaxed around the big brass; but then, she's never been one for pomp and ceremony anyway.

Ygraine had started to salute when Jameson calls for the belays on formality, and instead sort of peers at him with interest, like she was expecting some kind of titan and unexpectedly (and perhaps delightedly) discovered a person instead. She looks over at Phin instead and offers, "I got my best pred sim scores with ya in the pilot seat. We can try again t'see if it was just a coincidence, if ya want."

"Uh…right, sir," Phin says after Jameson's ham metaphor, relaxing. A little. He can't resist asking, "I remember hearing you used to be an ECO. Guess I never really thought about it, though." Commanding officers just spring forth from Zeus' skull fully formed from Picon Fleet Headquarters or something. "Hey, Butch. Toast." To Ygraine, he grins. Almost blushing. "Yeah, anytime. You were right. It's totally different practicing with an actual ECO than just with the computer."

Warren relaxes a bit and smirks as Bennett starts heading over to figure out what the Admiral might be looking for. He gives a nod to Phin, "Dolly. Coming to practice not flying into commarrays?" He chuckles a moment and pats the man on the shoulder before glancing over to see what Bennett might be brewing up over there.

Jameson just shakes his head at the console as Bennett offers things up. "Hell if I care," he drawls. "No reason I can find to do any particular thing with it. Just wanted to blow something up." Jameson grumbles and slowly rises out of the chair and looks back to the others. "How yall doin?" Phin's question gets a nod, though. "Ayep. Started out ECOing at 20 during the first war. Flew Predators almost exclusively for five years. Never could get comfortable parked in the backseat of a Raptor. Its not the same thing and you don't get the same kick in the asshole as you do when some yahoo up front lights the afterburners." A pause. "Besides, Predators mell better."

Ygraine cranes her head back to peer at Jameson, rampant doubt etched into every freckle. "Ya can't suppress vehicle combat from a Pred and th'offensive capabilities are limited." she says. "And I don't know who ya ECO'd with, sir - but ain't none of my pilots smelled like anythin' other than daisies and roses." She's kidding of course, but her two primary pilots have been Maia and Bennett.

"I would not be adverse to a little practise on the predator stick," Bennett murmurs, still sifting through programs at the console. "Though I will still take a raptor any day over one of those glorified crotch rockets." A grin is curved Jameson's way. "Sorry, sir." Ygraine, loyal soul that she is, is given a wink for her daisies and roses remark. "Ah, how about this one? 'Ground Assault VII', looks like it's coded up for predators."

"What was that like?" Phin can't help but asks Jameson. "Flying in the First War, I mean." He's sort of angling for a story. To Warren, he shrugs. "I accomplished the objective. Not sure what else I was supposed to do, after a hit like that." 'Flying into commray' was, admittedly, probably not his only option.

Warren grins at Ygraine's comment, "I don't know, always thought it was vanilla." He shrugs and glances to Phinn, "Hey just giving you crap. Apparently the sims programed to blow up one of the two of us first thing each time. Doesn't think its fair if we're both still flying at the same time." He chuckles a moment and pats him on the back going over to see what Bennett is picking out over there.

"Sure ya can!" Jameson pipes up to Ygraine. "Just can't suppress Raiders. Just run from them, though. That ain't tough. Get low, get fast, burn some worms. Of course you could apply what you just said to almost any aircraft and it would be accurate in one way or another. …And I meant more the engines than the crew. Except for one pilot I had. The guy had breath like peaches and babyshit." Looking to Phin, he shrugs. "Lots of shooting. Things blew up. I drank a lot more than I do now. Best word to describe it? 'Loud'." Jameson crosses his arms and looks over towards Bennett without a word. Dad is watching, Bennett.

Bennett turns slightly, her search temporarily abandoned as Jameson waxes nostalgic about his time in the back seat. Her smile curves wider at mention of drinking and noise. "Sounds about right, sir," she opines with a little laugh. Then the disc is popped into the player, and her gaze goes to Warren nearby, for a moment. "Everyone in predators? Or do you and Phin want to fly viper?"

Through the doors to the Sim room from the hallway, glancing around at all the others gathered in the sim room, "Looks like flyin's out for me today." he offers with a quick grin. "You all got all the ECO's you need for whatever session your loading, or is there room for one more?" A glance is spared for Yggy, "How you doin?"

"Runnin's a thing, yeah." subconciously Ygraine's drawl is getting stronger, "But part of what we do is protect th'vipers and we can't do that if we turn and run. Preds are great if you're fightin' ground targets, but if any raiders do show up…and inevitably they do? It leaves our vipers sittin' ducks."

"If we all fly Preds, we've got a perfect number of pilots and back-seaters," Phin says to Bennett. "If the Admiral plays, that is. I mean, if you want to, sir." He looks to Ygraine. "If you don't mind partnering with me in one of the things again."

Warren Smirks as Bennet puts the disk in and glances over to Phin and hmmms and shrugs, "Well all the cool kids are doing it." He smirks for a moment and glances over to Ygraines comment then over to Jameson, "Don't mind her she's fairly religious about sitting in the back seat of the bus." He then glances over at Kale who steps in and looks the man over.

Jameson just listens to the others talking, idly watching the pilots all interact. Ygraine's comments get his attention back easily enough and he nods. "Sure. But the Raptor's job ain't to protect the Vipers. Raptor's job is whatever it is that needs to get done; Utility in tactical flexibility." Hands drop and hand hangs his thumbs off the tied-off sleeves. "If they're close enough to get jammed, they're close enough to get engaged. Goes both ways. I'm just more aggressive than most people, though. I see somethin and I turn into a coon hound when I get my jaws on it. Ain't no prying me off until I see that thing burned, bleedin, blind, or busted." But the invitation to fly has him chuckle. "I don't think you want me sittin in the backseat with anyone and expecting miracles. You know how long its been since I fired a shot in anger? Longer than most of yall have been in the Navy."

"Sir, I think any pilot in their right mind would be honoured to fly with you," Bennett puts in, voice soft, and with a quiet sincerity. "You may backseat for me, if you wish. Though I suspect Toast's flying may be more to your liking; I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of fancy footwork." Nevertheless, she heads over to one of the predators and hoists herself up the ladder smoothly.

Bennett adds, for Kale's benefit, "You're in luck, Lieutenant; we have room for precisely one more if you're ready to go."

"Are you kidding me?" Yggy just grins to Phin, before tilting her head toward a simulator. "See? Butch don't mind none." A greatful look is shot Bennett's way as Ygraine makes her way to the ladder.

Warren shrugs and smirks as he heads over towards one of the pods, "Oh don't sell yourself short Butch, you handle a stick pretty damn well yourself." He does glance over to Jameson to see if he's going to make his move over towards the pods or not, "You are welcome sir if you're interested." Then theres a glance to Phin as he gets to the top of the Ladder, "Lets see if we can beat the sims and not blow up first thing this time yeah?"

"Sweet!" Phin quickly trails Ygraine to strap himself into their chosen Pred pod. A chuckle to Warren as he gets settled. "Next exercise we should partner, Toast. See if the machines, like, spontaneously take us out the minute they rev up."

Jameson snorts. "Honored? More like 'cursed'." He lifts the mug again and spits a brown wad into the cup, that sound once more emanating in a rather stomach-turning way. It doesn't smell all that great, either. "I'll fly with whoever feels like draggin my ass along. Get a front row ticket to watchin me try and kill something. Gonna look like a seizin bull try to kill a fly with his horns. Same amount of gruntin n snortin, too." He slowly pulls the flightsuit up and over, pushing his arms through as he ambles (yes, ambles, because old Pred junkies amble) towards the sims. He flashes a thumbs up to Warren. "May as well."

"You got it Captain. Who am I gonna backseat for then?" Kale inquires, moving the rest of the way into the simulator room. He's got his flight suit on already, so he's good there. Getting no response from Yggy, he just focuses on the Captain now since at least she told him what was going on. New guy hasn't worked his way into good graces of his fellows perhaps? REgardless he waits for someone to tell him which pod he should get in.

"Doin' alright, Echo the ECO!" Ygraine says as she clambers into the ECO's seat behind Phin.

Laughing, Bennett swings into the predator's cockpit and tugs up the zipper on her own flight suit. "Climb on in, sir. You're not going to keep a girl waiting, are you?" Only St. Clair would flirt with Orion's commanding officer. "Echo, why don't you partner up with Toast?" She pulls her harness on, and fiddles a moment with the buckles— which are slightly more restricting than she's accustomed to in the raptors. The screen in each pod flashes a yellow 'Mission data loaded'.

Warren chuckles at Jameson's comment as he works on getting himself strapped in. He grins glancing over towards Phin as he clammors in, "I don't know, the techies might get pissed at us if they blow up trying to do that" Then theres Bennett and he shakes his head chuckling a bit more as he gets ready.

Phin goes through pre-flight. Slower than when he goes through the motions of it in a Viper pod. He doesn't take these ships out 'for real' much. He chuckles to Warren, before really getting down to business. "Looks green to me. Ready when you are, Milkshake." Once he's satisfied with the state of his instrument, he can't help but glance out the viewport of his pod toward Bennett and Jameson's. He is very curious how this'll roll.

"Five by five, Dolly." Yggy reports after she does her own preflight. Then she lifts a hand, and thumps the back of Phin's helmet with her finger before whispering playfully, "You're starin' like a fanboy, ya know that, right?"

"You've obviously never met Missus Jameson, Captain," Lou tells Bennett. "I told her I accepted an assignment that would have me away for three years. You know what she told me? She tells me 'Good, I don't need your bitchin bout things round the house that need gettin done'." He slides down in the back seat on Bennett's bird, pulling on the straps and putting them on even if the sim isn't actually going anywhere. Once done, he immediately starts flipping switches and powering up systems. Apparently it hasn't been long enough to actually forget how to do this job.

Kale for his part isn't really sure what to make of Bennett and Jameson, so he just gets into the pod with Toast, and starts running through prep. Switches are flipped, dials are turned, outputs are read. "Alright Toast, everything's checkin out. Ready when you are."

Bennett is clearly not accustomed to the much closer confines of the predator seating arrangement; her look of vague discomfiture, though, passes once she has something to do. Namely, pre-flight. "Missus Jameson sounds like a rather practical, no-nonsense woman, sir. I would expect no less from your better half." She sends him an abbreviated glance over her shoulder, and a brilliant smile. Meanwhile, their screens go black and the simulation begins: they are launching from an unnamed colonial escort-class carrier, and their objective — marked with flashing red text and a set of coordinates — is a city on the surface of an equally unnamed planet. The planet's disc is prominent, and takes up most of their sim screens. The city? is friendly, but under enemy takeover. Their orders are to execute a tactical strike on an enemy-occupied bunker at its outskirts, with minimal civilian casualties.

Warren runs through his preflight check, like phin its a bit slower than he is in a viper, but its not slow either. "Alright Echo, good to go up here. Lets see what Butch has got in store for us now." And then woosh simulated black and he's thumbing his coms, "Butch, Toast. You got lead. Call the play."

Phin swats a hand back playfully at Ygraine's arm for that comment, and for thumping his helmet. "Touching off in three…two…one…here we go." And launching he goes. "Flight, Dolly. Forming up on your starboard side, Butch." He's clearly used to the tighter formations of Viper flight, and has to do some course correction to keep from swooping too close to Bennett's plane signature.

"Better Half," he snorts, muttering. "Better nine-tenths." Dawww. The Admiral actually does love the spitfire he married. He works fast, doing a lot of button mashing to get things right like he wants them. DRADIS, missile selection, REKRS on each of the three screens. He waggles the stick in front of him. "Backseat ready," he calls, drawling the words out. Once they're up and flying, he looks around outside the cockpit and seems to be scheming something for the briefest moment. But then his head goes back down.

"Relax," counsels Yggy when she notices how tight Phin flies, and instead sets to triggering the sensor system, searching DRADIS for enemy targets.

Simulated though this may be, Bennett's eyes close for a heartbeat as she hits the throttle and firewalls the simulated ship's engines for takeoff. It's a far cry from the gentle liftoff of a raptor from the flight deck. In seconds, they are plunging into the black and slipping up alongside Phin and Warren. At first, she seems inclined to hang back, but corrects smoothly enough and noses out in front of her 'wingmen'. "What is our ETA for atmo?" asks the bus driver over comms, gloved hand light on the stick for the time being. "Let's keep a loose formation until we reach planetfall; then standard offensive configuration, ah, alpha-seven. We'll do an initial flyby of the drop zone, then I will call for missiles away once we've got the all clear from the ground." There are no enemy contacts on DRADIS. Yet.

"Butch, Toast. Coppy that" Warren says as he says easing the stick along, angling in towards the plannet and formation. He smirks at how tight Phin's flying, "Dolly, Toast. Careful there careful. Aint a viper. More like a lead sled going down hill." His flying certainly aint the practiced flying of a pred jocky but he's not forcing the issue of flying just yet, just easing it along. Then again…he has been through flight school twice so that might be helping a bit too.

From his seat in back, Kale continues to mess around with switches and dials, keeping an eye on DRADIS for contacts, "So far, so good, Toast. DRADIS is clear."

"It's a weird mental shift, to go from flying a Viper to these things," Phin admits to Ygraine, as he angles himself into the pattern Bennett called. He does some experimental dips and swerves on his way, like he's feeling out how the controls respond to him. Over the in-sim comm, «Butch, Dolly. Copy that. Alpha-seven. Yeah, Toast, I noticed. The gravity always feel like way more of a trip in these boats.»

Jameson is busy working on something in the back, looking like he's actually writing something down on his kneepad with a grease pencil. Notes? Reminders? He's not paying any attention for a minute, waiting until they get down into atmo. Eyes glance to the systems every few seconds but little else.

Bennett may or may not be aware of her erstwhile backseater jotting down notes behind her. Given that she's accustomed to flying with a partner and practically sharing a brain, by necessity, it's a good bet she has some hint of it. It doesn't take long for their pods to start registering the pull of the planet's gravity well; information begins popping up on their screens, overlaid with a rough satellite map of the southern continent. Townships and cities, shipping lanes to and from the continent's major port. The timer claims 10 minutes to reach the airspace above their objective: a heavily populated city on the coast. "All right, let's form up and see what we're dealing with down there. Weapons hold until we have a clear shot."

Ygraine continues scanning and reminds her pilot, "I know it's hard, lettin' go a little, but ya gotta be a bit less tight in these things. They can't exactly stop on a dime." Grimly she continues to sensor sweep, muttering grimly, "Come out, come out, wherever ya are."

Ah the pull of gravity, its not real gravity, but it feels real enough on the controls. Warren tightens his grip on the stick a bit, as he eases it over going slow with it at first. It certainly doesn't respond like a viper as he slides over into the tighter formation, past it slightly, and then back into it. «Butch, Toast. Coppy that, weapons hold till we've got the all clear» He hmms to himself a moment, "Almost forgot how much these things can slide around at speed." Then back to echo, "Get ready, gonna get bumpy pretty damn soon."

«Butch, Dolly. Copy. Weapons hold until your order.» Phin scans what 'visuals' the simulation gives him, though he mostly leaves it to Ygraine to warn him about whatever might be incoming. He tries to ride the gravity like a sled and use its momentum to level out. It bumps some, but it's not horribly jarring. "Gotcha, Shakes. I'll try to keep it loose." Well, looser.

Warren has the right of it: it does indeed get bumpy. The planet's troposphere is awash with dense, fast-moving pressure systems which toss the predators around like brittle leaves in a fall windstorm. Then, quite suddenly, they break through the layers of cumulus and into what looks like — and probably is — a warzone. Numerous enemy contacts on the ground, mostly clustered around the bunker marked as their OBJECTIVE. Friendly tanks are moving in from the south, though no air units have been deployed on either side yet; a hangar sits to the north with several vipers burned to the ground, and a smattering of raiders and heavy raiders parked on the tarmac.

"Roger that, Toast." Echo replies, flipping another switch on his console, "DRADIS is still clear. I'll call out anything out of the ordinary as I seem."

What's Jame-O doing? He's still scribbling. He eventually tucks the pencil back into a pocket on his flightsuit and looks down at the displays with idle interest. A finger slowly reaches out and he presses a button. There's an accusatory look given to what the screen does and he pushes another button. "Damned upgrades," he grumbles. She can probably hear him in the backeat pushing buttons and rolling through weapons selections. One mind? The Admiral seems to be off in his own world. Its also been awhile for him. He eventually seems to settle on something and gets comfortable in the backseat… then he starts whistling some obscure and rather jaunty tune, even as he's locking up targets.

"Gods fraking damn it. I hate atmo some times" Warren mutters to himself as everything bumps and bounces around before getting out into the clear. And there they are, targets, the bunker. Theres a little grin as he gets ready, staying in formation, checking his angles lining up ready to move into the attack patern. "Get your tray table in its upright and locked position we're about to go in," he says back to Echo before thumbing the com «Butch, Toast. Objective in sight, waiting for the greenlight»

"Warm up a missile, Milkshake, we're almost there," Phin says as he flies in formation with the other Predators. He's getting a little more used to the way the thing handles now. Marginally. «Butch, Dolly. I see it, too. Ready on your mark. … Is that whistling?»

"So what was your callsign, sir, back in the day?" Bennett enquires with a smile, eyes on her screen even if a portion of her attention is on her backseater. She's flying a little more guardedly than the viper jocks, perhaps, but that's probably for the best. A transmission crackles over the comms, «Flight, this is ground control. We've got coordinates for you, for the bunker. Be warned of three, I repeat, three grounded raiders and one heavy raider two minutes away. Subtlety would be in your best interests.» Then Bennett's voice, «All right, offensive formation. Let's pull out wide and fly in low, try to stay out of sight. Weapons free once you've got a lock.»

The console chirps as Kale flips another switch, "I've got a few missiles ready, Toast. Just give the word and I'll light something up." Beyond that though, the ECO seems focused on the DRADIS, "DRADIS still clear of contacts."

"Waiting to get the lock and the word, Dolly, but we're where we need to be." assures Ygraine, and once the coordinates are submitted, she enters them into the targetting system. "Butch, Milkshake. Target locked. DRADIS showing clear. Say the word."

Out wide and then low. Oh this should be great. A pair of viper pilots rolling through atmo in preds this is going to be like riding a rocket powered sled down a slip-n-slide. Warren cuts and yup theres the sidelsip as he maneuvers out wide in the formation, then angles back in low with the other two preds. "Alright Echo time to shine" he says.

"Hairball. Got it after a particularly hard night of drinking. I recalled most of the nights spirits after getting back to barracks and apparently sounded like a cat. Godsdamned name stuck." Jameson continues getting things all settled in and sets the missile's seeker head on the heavy raider. "Ten seconds to range," he drawls, leaning a bit to the side in the cockpit to look out forward. Three, two, one… "Rifle," he calls, firing a Javelin missile towards the targeted vehicle. It flies off the simulated rail and arcs out high overhead towards the target.

Phin definitely sleds steep on momentum as they roll toward the target, but he keeps the Pred from faceplanting into the virtual ground. And he's going to the right place, if probably without as much finesse as the more senior pilots. "Here we go…"

Bennett's fingers move over the controls with only the slightest hesitation where the layout throws her for a loop. Her other hand tightens around the stick, and she feeds more tylium to the predator's engines as they lance back up and through the clouds for another go-round. The bird is slingshotted back in again with enough force that — if this were for real — she and Jameson would probably be bringing up their lunches about now. "Hold on tight then, Hairball, I'll see if I can line us up for a shot," she murmurs, nosing the bird in low so that they skim the landscape while coming in on their attack vector. And line them up she does; her backseater's missile takes out one of the enemy tanks pretty soundly.

Ygraine lets her missile fly, and starts announcing DRADIS contacts. "Godsdammit, there's centurions on the ground, now. These passes are about t'get harder."

"Toast, I've got contacts on DRADIS. We've got raiders launching, centurions on the ground. Launching missiles, best start getting into some fancy flyin' here." Kale offers up in a controlled tone of voice.

Two more missiles fired from the other predators, and both find their marks as well. One of the raiders, in the process of getting airborne, is blown to smithereens. The heavy that Jameson was aiming for — rather than the centurion transport he hit, taking out a goodly number of tincans — dusts off and makes it into the air. And now there's no mistaking the missiles arcing toward them from the ground; one aimed at Bennett, the other at Phin. "This might hurt," mutters St. Clair, rather abruptly banking their bird to starboard— and it simply doesn't respond. She frowns, tries again. Nothing. "Shit. Flight control is offline. Switching to auxiliary rudders-" But before she has the chance, one of those missiles scores a solid hit on them which the sim registers as 'ELIMINATED'.

Jameson watches the missile strike the heavy raider and blot it across the tarmac. "Oops," he observes with a grin. But the maneuver messes with the tracking on any more locks and he lifts his head to see the vector they're coming around towards. Slaving the DRADIS to that heading, he starts picking up new targets. "Yeeeeep. Looks like more bulletheads in the target zone. Might be time you bring the bo-" Then there's a problem and a missile blows them away. "Well that would have been number seven for me," he muses. The cockpit opens and he takes off the helmet, looking over towards the other strike craft.

"Oh? Is that all? Few raiders, few centurions? Inbound missiles? Geeze I thought it was going to be hard," Warren says with as much sarcasm as he can muster. He pulls hard on the stick to come around for another pass and…right not a viper and in atmo none the less. It doesn't quite snap around like he was half expecting, but it gets around eventually with a fair amount of sliding through the air, to bring them back around for another pass. "Well lets make this a good pass then cause we're not going to get much more yeah?" «Flight, Toast. Echo's telling me we've got party crashers on the way. Lets clean em up and get out before we find out what the weather's like out there yeah?» And then down goes Bennett… "Well frak…"

"Good frakking times," Phin mutters as word of all the contacts starts coming in, angling a little further above the ground. Though he's careful not to stray from formation with the other Predators. Until he has to start dodging incoming fire at their ship, that is. He banks up hard, attempting a spiral-y sort of evasive that really would be more suited for a Viper. It tosses the lunch about a bit. But it works to avoid being blown to smithereens, at least. "Woo…" It's more relieved than celebratory. "You OK back there, Shakes?" It takes a second for him to notice Bennett's blinked-out signal.

"Sorry, sir," Bennett shoots back to Jameson with a sheepish little smile, and the slightest tinge of a blush on her cheeks. "Rudders checked out fine in pre-flight, might be a software bug.." She flips through the system logs, occasionally checking on the other pilots' progress. "Toast, would you mind taking over for me? I should see if I can sort out what's wrong with this pod."

"Ugh - yeah, I'm fine." Ygraine's kind of gritting her teeth at all the maneuvering, but she's keeping her seat - and her lunch. "I'm ready t'make another run whenever you are. But th'path ain't exactly clear."

Jameson shrugs to Bennett as she moves off. "It happens. Can't win 'em all." He unpacks himself from the rear pit and makes his way back to the console in order to watch everyone from there. The flightsuit gets unzipped in the meantime and he watches in silence.

«Godspeed, Butch,» Phin says over the comm, just a little wryly. «Toast, Dolly. We're still with you. Bringing her back into formation for another pass. It's getting nasty down there.»

Clear would be easy, and Bennett apparently hadn't set the thing to easy. Bullet heads certainly aren't going to give up shooting at them that easy. And how could anyone forget the raiders who've decided to crash the surprise party the predators were throwing? They're inbound hard, likely ready to intercept the Preds as they come out of their next pass at the ground.

Warren smirks, "Kale, hope you're ready on missiles again cause here we go." «Dolly, Toast. Last pass, clean up as much as you can and then hard burn. Lets try to blast past those Raiders before they can tear us to pieces.» He says diving in and thumbing the firing nub trying to pepper the bulletheads on the ground before he slams down on the accelerator hard.

"Bringing her around one more time, Milkshake," Phin says, nosing the Predator down for the last pass over the target area. "Hold on to your seat once those're dropped. Going to try and double-time it outta here before we get overrun." Fingers crossed and all that. Vroom!

Through the fancy flying, and the hectic nature of trying to blow up bad guys and use counter meaures, Kale doesn't have much time to think, "Missiles going hot!" he calls out, flipping a few switches after he says it.

Well the bulletheads don't quite have the element of 'Surprise we have missiles too' this time. Due to this the predators seem to have slightly better luck as they scream through and strafe the position again, leaving plenty of wreckage behind. But ofcourse theres those wonderful raiders coming in hard and straight at them. Phins either gotten used to the Predator, or he's lucky as the fire from the raider misses. Warren's a little less lucky taking a few hits on the way out but nothing too terrible it seems. But all in all it looks like if the Predators keep their pace up and their direction the Raiders don't have much of a chance to catch them.

«Dolly, Toast. Still with me? I think we're done here.»

Ygraine can't help it, when Phin rocks the pred, Yggy lets out a, "Whoooooooooh!" of adrenaline induced glee. "Echo, Milkshake. You able to get a missile through to target?"

Phin is getting a better feel for the way the Pred moves, or just isn't fixating so much over the differences anymore. He syncs up with Warren after Ygraine gets their missile off. He can't help but grin wide at her 'Whoo'ing.' "See? I'm totally loose." Into the comm, «Toast, Dolly. I'm with you, dude. Let's bail.»

With the predators bailing out, and no chance of the raiders catching back up with them the simulation ends. Warren pops open his pod a moment before pulling off his helmet. He waits a moment for Phin to open his pod, "Well…Holy shit we both managed to stay alive in a sim mission. Did hell freeze over or something?" He chuckles glancing back to Kale, "Nice shooting out there."

Echo isn't quite as vocal as Ygraine, but when they decide to bail out he just grunts over the com, "Negative Milkshake, we're buggin out." And soon the pod powers down as Warrenn opens the door. He offers a nod to Toast, "Nice flyin out there." he grins at that.

Ygraine pops the canopy and takes her helmet, grinning like a fiend as she stands up and starts climbing out. "See?" she says to Phin. "You an' me in a pred? If I'm gonna be stuck in one, I wanna be stuck with ya. Even if it's more likely you'd be in an escortin' viper anyway!" She looks over. "Good job, guys." Beaming, freckled smile.

"Maybe the computer just hates us in Viper mode," Phin says with a grin as he pops out of the Pred pod. Not that he descends the latter immediately. First, he turns slightly and holds up a palm to Ygraine. High five!

Warren gives a firm nod to Kale, and chuckles over at Phin, "Maybe so or maybe it just doesn't like LT's or Captains eh?" He smirks a moment as he climbs out, "So Milkshake how'd your pilot smell? Know it wasn't a raptor but…" He can't help but make the joke about earlier comments as he heads around over to the command console to close things out and print out the results.

Ygraine lets out a laugh as she slaps her palm hard against Phin's, and then, damned if she doesn't lean in and sniff him before informing Warren gleefully, "Aftershave. 'Cept around th'damn face caterpillar."

Kale returns Warren's nod and gives another Phin and Yggy, "I'm gonna head down to the mess, time for my eighth frakkin' meal of the day." a beat pause, "Still tryin' to get to normal weight for the Docs." And with that, he heads for the door.

Phin can't help but laugh when Ygraine sniffs him. "I'm totally growing into it," he retorts about his mustache. He's not, really. He winks at the ECO, before climbing down the ladder. "I should bail, too. Hit the showers, get some rack time. I'm on extreme early CAP tomorrow."

Warren laughs, "Careful there Dolly we'll put you to work sweeping the bunks if you're not careful about growing into it" He gives both men a wave as they head on out, "Enjoy yourselves. I'll make sure everythings cleaned up and reset here, then I'll head out myself."

Ygraine smirks a moment, and then looks at him earnestly. "Phinny. Dolly. My bestest friend forever. I totally get why you're growin' th'thing, but believe me when I tell ya - and I say this outta love, and as a woman who definitely enjoys th'male aesthetic - it is definitely not workin' for ya." She pats him on the shoulder, "But I support your endeavors! Even when they involve face caterpillars." Mwah, Phin. There's a grin at Warren.

"I'm trying something," is Phin's parting defense of his grooming choices. He at least doesn't try to claim it's working. And off he goes.

Warren chuckles as Phin heads out, "What trying to impersonate a broom?" He shakes his head as he works at the control station getting things back in order, "Not bad out there Milkshake. Not bad at all."

"The word you're actually lookin' for is awesome." Ygraine replies without a trace of shame. "Maybe not my best degree of awesome, but definitely within that spectrum." She grins wolfishly, showing teeth.

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