It was time. As Grent “Gurlanin” Notimo stepped into his fighter, Strill Squadron patch proudly adorning his shoulder, he focused on the task ahead. This was a ground attack scenario. He didn’t know everything about it, except that he had to blow up everything he saw.
Grent had been practising on the sim as much as he could, talking to veteran bomber pilots on the best techniques. He had to time it just right, that the velocity and momentum of his craft would carry the bomb to the target after it had been dropped. It was difficult in a fighter, especially one such as the Interceptor, which was built for speed and tailchasing other fighters, rather than bombing runs.
Gurlanin strapped on his Katarn helmet, having gained permission to wear it in lieu of the standard issue helmet, the familiar T-visor giving him some confidence. He ran through his pre-sortie checks: everything was how it should be and all systems were green. Time to enter the infamous trench.
Grent knew he was flying a fighter, not a bomber, so his air-to-ground heavy weaponry was very limited. He was going to have to do most of this with the ship’s laser canons.
He edged the TIE/In into the trench and began his run, first target, a mock New Republic tank, coming up. He locked onto the signature, and started lining up the trajectory of the bomb with the targeting computer’s predicted layout, levelling out his wings. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEEEP. At the sound of the continuous noise, signifying a lock-on, Gurlanin let fly with his bomb, trusting it was true and heading onto the next target.
“Target confirmed hit. Nice start, Gurlanin,” came the voice over the comm.
Shut up and let me concentrate thought the young pilot, as he bombed the next target: a turbolaser tower. He aimed for the lower corner, recalling from a previous lecture that they had a weakness there.
Next up was a series of three entrenched infantry positions. Trying to save as many bombs as he could (he had two left), Grent made the decision to switch to guns. He had to strafe them.
Strafing a ground target was very different to tailchasing. In a tailchase, there was plenty of space to manoeuvre and follow the enemy. With both fighters moving, it was simple enough to line up the shot, and fire. Plenty of time. In a ground strafe, time was not a luxury Grent had. He had to line up his shot
before he made his run. On the upside, the target wasn’t going anywhere, so there was a good chance he would hit something.
Grent locked the targets into his navicomputer, and quickly, and mentally, plotted the best path forwards, from where he could fire upon all the upcoming infantry positions. Attack route set, the young pilot started his run, hugging the ground to minimise detection from enemy sensors. Rocks whipped past, as Gurlanin swerved to avoid outcrops and crevasses. He was coming up on the first target … NOW! Grent yanked up on the control column, and fired his guns, the green light emanating from the dark cylinders that protruded out of the small craft. There were explosions, as the first target blew up. There was a sudden thermal current on the route to the next target, the lasers shooting wide. Grent cursed, but narrowed his eyes in concentration, determined to get the next one.
He did.
With two of the three outposts in flames, the young Vast Empire Navy pilot carried on down the trench to his next targets: two, side-by-side, downed New Republic vessels. Grent was going to bomb them both with one bomb, directly in the middle. Like before, he began his attack close to the ground, skimming the trench’s bottom. However, as he pulled up to let fly with his bomb, a gust of wind raised one of his wings, gliding him off course, and causing the bomb to destroy only one of the vessels.
He started tallying up his hits: 5 out of 7. Wind and thermals had blown him off course a couple of times, but the rest had hit enough for a kill to be confirmed. Not bad for a rookie, but he wanted to do better. But not now. Now he had to do his final run: a hardened target.
The pan was to strafe to lower and test the anti-air defences, before doing another pass and releasing a bomb. Another pass to strafe is necessary.
All of this, and more, was going through his head, as he prepared for his first pass. He flipped the switch to select guns, locked onto the target, and breathed. Time seemed to slow down around him, and the human squeezed the trigger, hearing the familiar sound of the guns firing. Laser-fire radiated from the target below, several anti-air turrets exploding as Grent raked them with canon fire. Time caught up to him. He pulled back hard on the control column, bringing the craft into a steep climb. At the top, he executed a stall turn: the fighter sharply turning in midair, plummeting towards the ground again. But Grent caught it, skimming the ground, and pulling up at the last moment, it was his favourite move, letting fly with his remaining bomb. He turned his head around, but all he could he was dust everywhere. A rumbling told him he had hit something, but he couldn’t be sure. He radioed in.
“Gurlanin to base, over.”
“This is base, go ahead Gurlanin.”
“Base, did I make that hit, over?”
“One moment,” came the reply, as Gurlanin waited with baited breath. Had he done it? Had he successfully destroyed the bunker on his first attempt? The radio operator came back, “I’ve got your results here, Gurlanin. 5 out of 7 on the trench run. And a …” slight tapping on a keyboard, “Partial kill on the bunker. Apparently you collapsed part of it, but most of it is still standing. Over.”
Grent groaned. So close, yet so far, “Copy all, base. Heading home. Out.”
- OOC:
- WC: 1,016
AAR: Grent hit all targets, bar two, in the trench run. On the hardened target, he partially destroyed it.
