T'was the night before christmas, In HTC's house
Not a stick was stiring, not even a mouse.
The GV's were guarding the VH with care
In the hopes that pork-augerdweebs soon would be there.
The La-dweebs where nestled all snug in their beds.
While fluffers dreamed visions of bombing tool sheds.
With Raiders in vulch mode, and I at High cap.
Had just settled into reseting the map.
When on channel 2 arose such a chatter,
we brought up our clipboards to see what was the matter.
Red dots were approching HQ as it flashed.
No doubt we should head there before it gets smashed.
We vectored our flight to intercept course.
While Komets were scrambled to strenghthen our force.
On radar green met with the cluster of red.
No doubt when we get there they all will be dead.
Range channel got active as we moved in to vis.
"The icon says sleigh? What's that mean? What gives?"
"I got E Im moving to shoot"
"He rammed me the dweeb"
"Whats a R-S?"
"Reindeer Chute"
We moved into con range, only to learn.
Hes, dropping not bombs, but supplies fell astern.
He fired not a shot, but went on with his work,
Released all supplies; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to 30k he rose;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he warped out of sight,
"Merry Christmas you dweebs...Oh, and learn how to fight"
Merry Christmas from the 479th Raiders!
