Going though some of my old saved posted from the AWer days I found some golden oldies that still have something to say today. This first one is by Tilt.
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The az pilot flew at his normal precombat altitude studying dar and
his immediate surroundings alert for potential adversaries.
Surley, he mused, he should be content...his understanding of ACM, his
SA coupled with his instinctive piloting skills made him the master of
the arena. How could anyone doubt it!
And this was the only arena that counted. How could any other? The
pityfull arcade gamers in RR could flock to take part in their mass
furballs and fight fests but they new nothing of the greater
refinements of FR! They were truly beneath contempt. How could their
opinion count for anything?
He reflected briefly upon his time in an RR arena many many years ago.
Thankfully no one now flew who knew him then. Any way it was different
then, Gods flew RR then too.
Now the plebs and cockroaches of later day RR's were seeping into his
arena. They gathered only rudimentary skills but their sheer numbers
were begining to effect the nature of the supreme arena. They were
bringing their disgusting habits with them!
He had resisted this migration of course. Particularly when they had
started to invade his country. Destroying an airfield by first
disabling it and its supporting fields and then blanketing it in
covering fighters until the sheilded gooney made the inevitable
capture. They were like a festoring swarm slowly moving across the map
gathering their pathetic satisfaction from the "land grab".
He had announced his contempt for those who gained pleasure from the
arena in this way, corrupting it with the use of bombers never meant
to be used in such a fashion. He had voiced his opinion loudly in the
ng's claiming that planes designed for scenario's should not be
allowed to so change the supreme arena.
But he did not fear them, he could out fly them, out shoot them and
certainly out think them.
When forced into combat with them he quickly despatched them.They had
no idea the honour he had bestowed on them. They merely returned in
greater numbers some sacrificing them selves to eliminate the threat
he posed to their "land grab"... truly pathetic!
Yes he had his followers.. there were those who also new the true
values of the arena as he did and occasionally he would attract a new
follower from the RR migration. He could never respect such recruits;
their birth right was obviously suspect and they were never entitled
into his inner circle of followers.
The gods had passed on to greater things. Only to be seen very rarely
and then worshipped by all who noted their passing. The gods new him
well of course. They were always very polite and courtious. He had
initially been annoyed when some of his old comrades had been drawn
into their numbers but they were not really worthy and was he not
really a demi god him self. To be worshipped and looked upto by all?
And that was it he mused, that was why he was not fully content. The
Elysian fields were becoming defiled and Olympus was denied him!
He was brought out of his reverie by an enemy fighter obviously
negotiating to gain position on him. The enemy fighter was the same
model as his and so putting out his usual warning to dweebs wasting
his combat time (and interfering with his fight) he also began to
manouver for combat.
Soon after merging he began to appreciate that here at last was an
adversary worthy of his skills. The bogie seemed to anticipate his
turns and dives, read his thoughts and manouver to counter them. He
mentally listed his regular adversaries checking their styles against
this enemy trying each tactic that he knew they each had difficulty
with.
The combat continued, each fighter scoring pings on the other without
fatality. The az pilot could not remember such a lengthy combat, who
was this pilot? Was he a god returned to tease him, to embarass him
before the migrating swarm?
He realised that his fuel was near exhausted, too that should he
attempt to break and run this enemy would have him and he would be
killed running from combat!
As his engine coughed its last gasp he saw his adversary hang
momentarily above his gun sight.
As he pulled his stick back to take the kill, prior to falling into
certain stall, his ear phones were filled with the noise of another
craft zooming through him and firing upon his adversary who exploded
in the obligatory ball of red and black smoke.
Followed by the pathetic kill macro of the dweeb crowing over his
kill.
His plane now gliding down to an inevitable sea ditching, the pilot
typed furiously telling the little **** of his contempt of such
behaviour in stealing the kill he had worked so hard to gain. There
was no reply.
100 ft off the sea the pilot remembered he still had not noted the
name of his adversary. Quickly he hit t and scanned for the "shot
down" message just prior to the dweebs kill macro. The CPID was his
own,
He stared at the screen incredulously................ .....and then it
went red.
Far away in anther place the gods nodded to one another and smiled
gently.
A kill had been recorded.
Tilt
