It turns out there was another amusing event, it may have occurred shortly after the "SkyHawk v WhamBam" encounter. Hopefully it is worth sharing.
Wings of Misfortune: Another Tale from the Virtual Skies
In the digital skies of Aces High, where testosterone-fuelled pilots squabble over kill counts like seagulls over french fries, one man, a legend to some, a nuisance to many, stood out that day. Call-sign: Boozer. Known for his impeccable dogfighting skills, Boozer’s reputation had soared as high as the planes he mercilessly downed. Whether by sheer talent, arrogance, or a combination of both, Boozer was the kind of guy who didn’t just beat you, he made sure you remembered it.
Word had spread about his recent duels with LatinLuv and Flipps as recorded in the logs. Twentytwo matches in the DA. Twentytwo kills. Not a dent to his ego or his aircraft. Naturally, this had given Boozer a swagger, the kind of confidence that’d make you think he had Tom Cruise on speed dial. And so, with the virtual skies as his playground, Boozer was looking for his next victim and Lazer’s kills were filling the text buffer.
Now, Lazer was no rookie. A grizzled veteran of countless dogfights over countless years, he didn’t just fly planes, he practically lived in them. If Boozer was the hotshot, Lazer was the seasoned sheriff, unflappable and deeply unimpressed by show-boaters. That day, Lazer had been on a mission of wanton destruction, his P-38 gleefully razing a hapless enemy town. Flak batteries? Gone. Buildings? Reduced to rubble. Enemy planes? Swatted like gnats. His kill count was rising faster than a home sick angel.
Boozer wasn’t having it. From a distant airfield, he launched his aircraft with vengeance in his heart and altitude on his mind. Climbing higher and higher, he kept one eye on his altimeter and the other on the kill feed, where Lazer’s name appeared over and over like a bad joke. Finally, Boozer spotted him. The P-38 glinting way below, low and oblivious. Easy pickings.
Or so he thought.
Diving from well over 20,000 feet, Boozer miscalculated one minor detail: gravity. His aircraft, as majestic as it was, had a tendency to turn into a lead brick when diving at full tilt. With his controls stiffening like a reluctant hinge, Boozer found himself approaching Lazer at near Mach speed, barely able to pull out, let alone adjust for a shot. Lazer, of course, saw it coming and performed an elegant evasive maneuver, not unlike a matador sidestepping a clumsy bull.
Undeterred, Boozer looped over for another pass, determined to teach Lazer a lesson in humility. This time, he carefully lined up his approach, throttling back to control his closure and avoid overshooting. Lazer, steady as a rock, held a gentle turn below, seemingly oblivious to his impending doom.
But Lazer wasn’t oblivious. He had done the required evasive manoeuvre thousands of times before and the timing was locked into muscle memory, he could literally do it in his sleep.
Just as Boozer pulled lead and began to squeeze the trigger, Lazer pulled his P-38 into the vertical, cutting across Boozer’s trajectory like a knife through butter. Boozer, now flying at the speed of regret, pulled hard to avoid the collision, but his sluggish controls betrayed him. The two planes clipped their wings in what could only be described as an unintentional midair high-five. Boozer’s wing snapped clean in half, sending his aircraft rolling into a lazy death spiral.
Meanwhile, Lazer’s P-38, surprisingly intact, dove after him like a vulture eyeing roadkill. Tracer rounds zipped through the air as Lazer tried to finish the job. But fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor. Neither pilot had scored a single hit as Boozer’s unscathed aircraft plopped gently into the ground with all the grace of a tipsy ballerina. Lazer was awarded a proxy kill. Lazer's contact disappeared from the radar moments later, so I assume he ditched, was captured, or followed Boozer in.
For a moment, the radio was silent. Then came Boozer’s immortal words, typed into the open channel for all to see: “I hate collisions.”
The chat erupted.
“Have you been Boozing, Boozer?” someone jeered.
“Next time, try flying a bulldozer,” added another.
“A few drinks and every aircraft’s a lawn dart,” quipped a third.
Amid the cacophony of taunts and laughter, Boozer’s dignity was plummeting faster than his aircraft had. Determined to salvage his honor, he challenged Lazer to a duel in the DA. “Come on, Lazer. Let’s settle this like men,” he typed, his bravado as intact as ever.
But Lazer wasn’t taking the bait. “Only if you use voice comms,” he replied, clearly savoring the moment. The insinuation that Boozer might be a Shade, only added fuel to the fire.
Boozer’s silence spoke volumes. Whether he was a Shade, licking his wounds, or just halfway into a bottle of the good stuff, we’ll never know. What we do know is that Lazer’s proxy kill went down as a masterclass in trolling and Boozer’s reputation, while formidable, now had a dent the size of Texas.
Somewhere, high above the clouds in the MA the Aces High Gods were shaking their heads. But for the rest of us, it was comedy gold.
TopGunzo