Futuristic Damned Is The Second Sun

[falseJTAC]

(I haven't been getting any luck lately with getting role-plays going, so this will be what I'm going to do in the meantime. For all I know, this quest is one grand experiment that may go horribly wrong at any moment.)


"More desert. From my calculations, we're 600 miles from human civilization at this point.The radioactive ash is harsh, but the fact that no life has ever set foot here for two decades is unbearable. Lost two MCRVs in the past week. NBC filters failed. Both of em'. I tried not to think too much of the crews' dying screams. Nothing works here. All electronics , even the 'ruggedized' gear has ceased to function at this point. The satellites...what satellites? They have been out of commission every since the war. If our supply consumption keeps going up at this rate, and no one finds us in the next 3-5 days, nothing's going to be left on us except a shitty archival record of the 33rd Exploration and Geoengineering Battalion's final mission." -  Collections of the Abandoned Age: Transmissions, Author Unknown ca. 2020-2052


The glint off a puddle of JP-8 on the ground caught your eye, as a particularly scarred F-111 Aardvark Interdictor rolled into the maintenance dock. Immediately, men in fatigues chocked the the undercarriage. The tail identifier, which read '72' was barely visible amid the newly painted low visibility camouflage. You suddenly heard a loud bang. You look up from your tablet. Someone was grasping at the back of his head.  The poor crewman had evidently collided with the aircraft's beam-cannon barrel. In the distance, the suburbs of Laughlin began to light up. Shadows danced across the canopy, as the setting sun retires for night to begin it's conquest.


"Chief, watch out. I bet the pilot forgot to safe that gun again." the weapons specialist remarked. He looked quite ridiculous, leaning on a rack filled with a colossal amount of fuses. A few fell, and the man's dwarfish proportions became even more exaggerated as he bent to pick up the ceramic tubes.


You quickly flashed a smiled, unable to tell if he was joking or not. The fine memory of the lieutenant accidentally unloading a full salvo along the flight line refuses to leave your mind. In fact, you yourself had been very nearly caught by the beam. It was a terrifying, yet majestic thing, you remembered. You even stopped to admire the perverse beauty of a particle-beam cutting through reinforced concrete. That is, until the Munitions Officer was unceremoniously sliced in half.


The first things you saw on your tablet were the blown circuits.  "This bird's a real goner." you announced, scrolling through records on your tablet. "It ought to be in the boneyard by now."


Wasn't it ironic that your first comment was about how broken down the Interdictor was, when half of the squadron was at one point composed of barely functioning machines? As you set down to begin your customized checklists, a number of options presented themselves. Now, which procedure did you commit to first, Sergeant?


1. Plug in to the aircraft's Integrated Flight and Fire Control Computer for your detailed readouts. Nothing can go wrong from following the book.


2. Inspect the tubing for damage. You just realized that the puddle on the ground seems to be getting larger. Is it...? it'd better not be. No, I will not allow... heaven forbid another hydraulic fluid leakage! That's the third one of the day!


3. Order a technician to climb into the cockpit and make sure the cannon's safety is latched. A high-powered beam slicing through the CXG's office a SECOND time won't earn you any promotions.

 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi]

2.


This is some good shit. I'll help this live.

 

[Unit GRX-293]

3

 

[falseJTAC]

(Rolled 1D6 using Google. 1-3: option 2, 4-6: option 3 | Result: 2. Option 2 selected.)

You manage locate the source of the fluid. The cross-feed hydraulic linkage, located just behind the Interdictor's canards, has been severed, a common consequence of exceeding G-limits. In normal circumstances, the aircraft's flight director shouldn't permit this kind of maneuver, and the scaution and warning panel should've lit up like a Christmas tree. However, given this rustbucket's condition...

"Well, nothing we can do here." you shrug unceremoniously. "It WILL be scrapped after all." A slight pause in activity broke the routine, as the crew were relieved in the knowledge that the procedure would be much simpler than what they anticipated, and consequently, much less exhausting.

You, for once, can rest for a few moments as the crew began to execute procedure after procedure, preparing the aircraft for it's fate.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The effective standing orders of the 72nd Ground Support Wing mandated the maintenance of operational readiness to deter an amphibious invasion through the Aleutian island chain. At least 1/4 of the wing's interdictors were to be on station at all times, forming an integral part of the North Atlantic Protestant Alliance's grand containment strategy against Stalindroid's robotic horde.

What that DIDN'T entail was an unexpected explosion of half a thousand galleons of fuel. Nor a subsequent broken arrow accident, in which a significant number of tactical air delivered nuclear devices were destroyed by the fire. It would in fact be the straw that would break the camel's back, the camel being "any pretense of peace and goodwill between Stalindroid and the alliance" in this case. In the words of Air Marshall Thurmond, it was "the wrong incident, at the wrong time and the wrong place."

You did not have to worry about these far reaching geostrategic implications. Your first thoughts were those of a man who has just escaped a gruesome death by running onto the tarmac in time: namely, panic and confusion. You reached out to your memory for a sanctuary. A word came to mind. "Inert." The particular F-111 you working on, having undertaken a training mission earlier in the day, was supposedly equipped with inert weapons.

Your second realization was this: Whatever weapon that created the inferno before you was not inert. Gathering your senses, you find yourself at a point of decision. Time is not at your side, Sergeant. Whatever you choose, you must do it quickly to prevail.

1. Report to the base's firefighting attachments that have just arrived from the other end of runway 27, hoping that your information on the materials stored in the bay would be of some use to the extinguishing efforts.

2. Perform a quick headcount, in order the ascertain the number of survivors. The least that you could do is delegate emergency tasks. If any of the crew standing around were in a condition to do something, that is.

3. Shout for medical assistance. A piece of gleaming metal is sticking out of your left thigh, and you doubt that you could assist the situation in any useful manner.

 

[Obi-Wan Kenobi]

2. Perform a quick headcount, in order the ascertain the number of survivors. The least that you could do is delegate emergency tasks. If any of the crew standing around were in a condition to do something, that is.

D E L E G A T I O N
E
D
L
E
G
A
T
I
O
N