I was patroling near Freeport 5, when my IFF detector began to glow a baleful red: "Lane Hacker? What's he doing out in O-41?" I launched 3 hornets and managed to knock him out of cruise. We engaged in a dance macabre for 3 minutes. My Vengeances and Buckshots ripped angry holes out of his hull and he ejected as his ship expanded into a ball of incandescent gas. Life is good.
9.1.08
I flew out to Freeport 11 to pick up a new sensor array. The Zoners had the best credits could buy (or so I heard), and F-11 had it in stock. After I popped it in, I decided to check out the job board. A Mr. Pablo Cordova needed a dirtnap, so I hopped in my Manta of and flew to the mission point. Duty calls, evil needs a thumping and I need the coin.
Well, Cordova wasn't alone, but that didn't stop me from preforating his ship's hull. However an odd-looking ship of Corsair design had also entered the fray: a bomber. It gained my complete attention. I engaged it, but it soon went into cruise. I fired off 5 or 6 mosquitoes, but none found their mark. I fell back and continued my official quarry. Not a minute later, an M-10 showed up with some fairly tricked out equipment. This one had all the bells and whistles. And armor. We engaged. I just dropped his shield and began working on chewing his hull down into a cloud of metal shavings, when his buddy showed up - in a gunboat. Not to toot my own horn, but I lasted about 4 minutes. I nearly had Mr. Cordova inhaling vacuum, but the gunboats flak turrets did a funny little jig on my starboard. I floated back to F11 in my cozy little ejection cocoon. Fun! The Corsairs, to their credit, decided not to use me as a clay pidgeon. Perhaps their gesture of mercy was inspired by the Winnie the Pooh print on the cocoon. I like to think so.
10.1.08
I flew back to O-41 and took a mission to liquidate a flight of Hessians. I had sold my Vengeances and purchased two more Buckshots. I fiqured that this mission could be doable: 650k of cash money. Yay!
The beginning the mission was a bit challenging. The area was experiencing a cosmic storm of annoying magnitude. The Sabre and Odin pilots were executing manuevers that would of had me heave-decorating my cockpit in shades of oatmeal and orange juice (not the synthesized swill mind you, but the real stuff that only the Zoners can provide). Meanwhile, the gentle enviroment of O-41 was doing a job etching mortality on my Manta's hull. The nanobat reserve would soon be depleted. To make thinks worth, those lousy metwurst-eaters weren't dropping any nanos after they went kaput. I finally managed to bag the last one, when I noticed that I had 18 procent hull intergrity. I went into cruise, white-knuckling it all the way to F-5. "C'mon, c'mon, hold together darlin'. Just a few more klicks, then pappa can have your ouchies all patched up." All of my encouraging words and wishful thinking were in vain. I was 3km from the dock when I was ejected from the rad-abused carcass of my beloved ship. Life isn't all strawberries and cream I suppose, but background radiation really makes this pilot grumpy!
***I originally placed this story in the wrong forum by mistake. My apologies.***
