Subject: [FFML] [Fanfic][Macross] The Drogan Schedule, Prologue
From: Timothy Groves
Date: 1/25/2003, 4:04 PM
To: Fanfic Mailing List


                           Disclaimer

I  don't  own  Macross.   If I did, I would be far too rich to be
bothered writing fan fiction.


                            Prologue


Trailing mists like some  great  bird,  the  VF-1A  Valkyrie  cut
cleanly  through  the  cloud  cover and into the clear air below.
The sun was just rising behind Seraph 210, burning across  Sora's
shoulder  and  illuminating  the  black  and white Valkyrie.  Far
below her feet, through the wonders of the  holographic  cockpit,
Sora  could  see  the jungle of Viet Nam, mostly untouched by the
Zentraedi holocaust.  Not completely untouched;  the city of  Ban
Me  Thuot,  forty  miles  ahead of the pair of fighters, had been
lasered from orbit, and a Zentraedi Destroyer  had  crashed  into
the  heart of the city.  Nothing grew for miles around the impact
site, even though the city had been abandoned;  the toxic fallout
from  the  ship's  engines  had poisoned the very ground for many
miles about.

The earpiece in her helmet crackled.  "Come right to  three-five-
four for ten seventy, ascend to Angels twenty."

She  checked  her  nav computer, and sighed;  a return heading to
the base at Haiphong.  Pity;  she loved  flying,  even  a  simple
patrol,  and she was unfortunate enough to have a group commander
who  knew  it.   Unfortunate,   because   the   CAG's   favourite
punishment,  whenever  Sora  was in hack, was to ground her.  She
started to think the jet through the turn,  then  paused  as  her
radar pinged at her.

"Hold  on, Lieutenant."  She adjusted the set, and frowned.  "Two
contacts, sir.  Bearing  two-six-five  for  fifty,  down  in  the
clutter."

"I've  got nothing on passive."  Protocol for this sort of patrol
called for the wing commander to run with his radar  on  standby;
this  made  little  sense  when  the wing commander was driving a
VF-1S, with its powerful sensor system.  But nobody said that the
rules had to make sense.

"Hold  on,  running  IFF..."   She  thumbed  the  button  on  the
throttle, and her radar transmitted an IFF - Interrogation Friend
or  Foe  -  request.   IFF was a little more advanced than it had
been last time there had been an air war here;  even  a  civilian
aircraft whould respond with its transponder code, and there were
no hostile aircraft in the region.

No response was forthcoming this time.  She scowled, and  thumbed
it again.  "Sir, I'm getting no response."  She checked the radar
again, but the A's system could only give bearing  and  distance,
and a rough guess at velocity and direction of travel.  "I've got
no reliable velocity figure, but  their  bearing  appears  to  be
about forty degrees northeast."

"Probably just some civvies in a prop job."

"I  don't  think  so,  sir.   Rate of climb is measurable, and it
wouldn't be on a civilian prop aircraft."

The Lieutenant sighed.  "You just  want  to  have  an  excuse  to
continue  flying.   All  right, Hasukawa, we'll go check out your
contacts."

"Vector two-seven-zero at six hundred for intercept, sir."   Sora
advanced  her  throttles and pulled her jet slightly to the left.
"I'd advise you to go active, sir."

"Good idea."  Her RWR beeped quietly as the more  powerful  radar
on  the  VF-1S  came  online.  "Got them now...they're just above
supersonic.  Skin paint says VF-1, but the  computer's  not  100%
certain."   There  was  a  click, then he said, "Sora, get within
five and give me a visual.  I'll backstop you."

"IFF cannot confirm or deny friendly aircraft, sir."

"Master arm is on."

Sora threw the throttle all the way forward, past the afterburner
detente.   The engines roared, as the "afterburner" began dumping
water into the thermal stream  of  the  FF-2001  fusion  engines,
producing  a  blast  of  plasma.  The fighter leaped forward, and
Sora could almost imagine it was a  state  of  the  art  machine,
rather than the fifteen-year-old relic that it was.

"Visual  contact,  sir."  She rolled the fighter inverted, so she
didn't have to rely on the holographics.  "Not VF-1 types at all;
some  atmospheric  fighter, probably Eagles or Flankers.  They're
pretty big."  She frowned, and rolled her ship upright.   "Aspect
change on them...I think they're getting curious."

"Back off, Hasukawa."

"Roger, sir--"

The  RWR went nuts, giving off the high-pitched warbling noise of
an active radar homing missile.  Her eyes widened.  "Missile!"

"Confirm.  I'm jamming.  Return fire."

Her hand flew across to the master arm  ring  and  depressed  it,
cranked it, and let it pop back up.  "Weapons hot."  She spun the
weapon selector, located on the throttle just  under  her  thumb,
until it rested on Point Five, the laser turret.  She pickled her
thumb button once, and the laser came on line.

She  glanced  through  the  holographic  floor  at  the  incoming
missile,  and  pickled again.  A burst of laser fire slagged down
the missile.

"Missile is down."

She pulled on the stick,  bringing  the  fighter  around  on  the
bandit.   The  fighter reconfigured as she maneuvered, the engine
booms swinging outward to sharpen the turn. She never had to  use
the  reconfiguration levers anymore;  the Valkyrie could read her
mind, through the sensor-studded helmet and gloves,  and  act  on
her very whim.

She  dropped in behind the bandit, and rolled the weapon selector
switch to Point One.  The warbling tone of a locked-on heatseeker
filled her ear, and she squeezed the weapon release trigger.

"Fox one!"

Th  missile  was  homing,  hot  and  true...but to her shock, the
fighter ahead merely reconfigured, reshaping itself into  robotic
form,  and  hosed down the missile with its cannon, now held as a
rifle.

"Lead, target is a variable!"

"Confirm.  Get the hell out of there!"

She pulled up, but the reconfigured bandit continued  firing  the
rifle/cannon  at  her, and she screamed as the fighter started to
come apart around her.

"Two's  hit!"   She  glanced  over  at   her   engine   controls.
"Starboard  engine's  out,  and  I'm  losing power on port."  She
fired two more missiles at the  bandit  in  front  of  her,  then
jettisoned  the  rack.   "Jettisoned...still  losing  power.  I'm
punching out!"

She reached down between her knees, to the ejector  handles,  and
gripped  them firmly.  She hesitated long enough to mutter, "Good
riddance", and pulled them sharply.  There was a series of  sharp
cracks,  as  the  canopy  was  blown  away,  and  then  she  lost
consciousness as the blast of the ejector seat catapulted her out
of the doomed Seraph 210 and into the air.

-- ICQ#66022322 "Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." -Benjamin Franklin ______________________________________________________________________ Post your free ad now! http://personals.yahoo.ca .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----. | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com | | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com | | Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject | `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'