Southern Twang

by Ragashingo , Official DBO Cryptarch, Monday, May 06, 2013, 19:53 (4007 days ago) @ bluerunner

bluerunner grimaced as he pulled his ship through another desperate max g turn. Two of the black angular fighters giving chase broke up in the atmosphere behind him, trails of fire and debris marking their inability to handle the stresses. The third, however, wisely attempted a shallower arc, and dipped more gracefully towards the blue green marble of a planet below. The edges of the enemy fighter glowed bright red as the additional air friction buffeted it about, but somehow its pilot managed to maintain control. A moment later it was again pointing starside, and had bluerunner’s larger, slower ship in its sights.

Shrill warning alarms denoting hull breaches, engine fires, fuel leaks, and a whole host of additional lesser catastrophes followed a series of gut wrenching, head jarring impacts that left bluerunner momentarily dazed. By the time he shook off the effects his ship was spinning and tumbling end over end. Images of green ground, blue water, and the blackness of space flashed by in rapid succession out the front window as bluerunner fought to save his mortally wounded spacecraft. Fortunately, a few control surfaces were still active, allowing him to correct his uncontrolled counterclockwise roll. A well timed burst of reverse angled thrust similarly ended the forward tumble. All that was left was to guide his ship to the ground as best as the situation allowed. The crash landing certainly wasn’t pretty, but he had made it… made it to the outskirts of old Chicago.

bluerunner donned his suit’s helmet before opening the door sealing the cockpit from the rest of the ship. He was glad he did, as a wave of smoke and heat rushed into the smaller room the moment he activated the door control. It was a struggle, but he made it past the internal wreckage to the ship's weapons bay where he retrieved a sidearm and his “Southern Twang” CSA1860 crossbow. A nearby overhead maintenance hatch got him on top of his doomed ship and out of immediate harm’s way.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” was the ancient saying that came to bluerunner’s mind as his staggered from his now burning ship. He’d barely survived an extended, three hour air and space battle with a blockading Glimmer carrier, only to be stranded deep in territory soundly held by The Fallen. The only thing he had going for him now was his training, and his silent, nearly untraceable crossbow. Before turning away bluerunner gazed up at the column of smoke rising from what remained of the best ship he’d ever had the privilege to fly. With a sorrowful shake of his head he activated his suit’s emergency beacon and proceeded into the nearby swamp of a city, cautiously hopeful that he had the tools he needed to survive.