NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is closed but to those who have joined up with designs.....you can post comments and send media outlets here, if you wish to do so, go to this thread (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=383889)

Some of this you may have seen already, if so, I apologize.

The pairs you will be competing in are posted here. (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8060316&postcount=122)


IC:
http://www.brentozar.com/archives/2004/07/11/ron.jpg

"Hello, Upper Xen, this is Ron Burgundy. Tonight's top story, the International Aircraft Competition begins."

"All over China and Japan, people are mobilizing to welcome the very prestigious contestants in this competition, such as Hallad and Democratic Colonies, featuring events like Best Design, and the much anticipated Combat Performance Showdown."

"Many are already betting in the casinos over who will win, so far, the heaviest bets seem to be on DA, Democratic Colonies, and Mauiwowee."

"This is Ron Burgundy reporting, more updates later. You stay classy, Upper Xen."

---------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, in Qinghai, Central China......

The airfield that the various teams would be landing at looked more like a carnival ground than an airfield. Streamers were everywhere, kids were buying food and balloons, and some people were jamming to live music, mainly cover bands.

The atmosphere was bouyant, and upbeat. Everybody wanted to see some planes fly, and morbidly, some wanted to see a crash. This was an air show, after all.

Behind this was a massive hangar complex. Here, several large hangars awaited the contestants, and they were filled with the essential toos and gear needed to stay competitive. All of the amenities were provided, the airfield was almost like a miniature city unto itself.

Amongst all of this, Klimenti Rokossonsky sat in his box. He awaited the triumphal entrance of each of the competitors, and stared through his opera glasses eagerly.

He said. "Any minute now....."


OOC: Anybody that wishes to make a grand entrance can do so....now.

The city of Anazozia lays like a jewel in the desert sands, a haven of light against the ocean of darkness that surrounds it. Angry lances of AA fire shoot up from its majestic form, casting light and shadow upon the nightclad clouds. Fire streams as her fighter squadren approaches - 16 shapeless mirages, weaving through fire and missiles that seemed to double, triple in number as they approach the city.

"Hang tight!" she radioes to her squadren. "Hang tight and stay in formation! Target zone is up ahead, everyone go weapons hot!"

The city looms ahead of her as the desert terrain passes under her in an unrecognizable blur. She goes into a wild roll as a SAM passes within metres of her cockpit only to -


"Commander Lewis? Commander Lewis, you awake in there sir?" crackled a voice over the internal intercom system of the C-16 Pelican Strategic Transport (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=389998&page=1). "Commander Lewis, you awake sir? This is the pilot calling Commander Lewis' bunk, do you copy?" repeated the scratchy voice over the intercom.

Commander Grace Lewis, a thin layer of sweat built up on her tensely wound body, rose from her bunk to slam a fist onto the intercom panel. "Lewis' bunk." she said hoarsely. "What's going on?"

"We're approaching the Qinghai Airfield sir." replied the pilot. "I thought that you said you would need twenty minutes or so to suit up and prepare for our landing?"

Uncapping a nearby bottle of Asprin, Grace nodded. "Alright then." she said. "I'll be ready to give the locals a little show... God knows they must be expecting one. Take us in, I'm going to get suited up." She took twice the recommended dose of Asprin, washing it down with a bottle of stale mineral mineral as the pilot confirmed her orders. She listened to him describe to her the local wind and weather conditions as she dressed, pulling on her flightsuit and tying her hair long flowing black hair into something more managable.

"Get my plane prepped for launch." she said into the intercom as she strapped her sidearm to her thigh. "I want this to go off without a hitch."

*****

The massive C-16 Transport flew over the airfield as the crowds assembled in the festivities gave the aircraft thier confused gazes. They were expecting the sleek, sharklike forms of fighters - the massive cargo plane above was something that they hadn't been expecting. It was clearly from the Democratic Colonies, but they had entered a fighter into this contest: the F-81 Peacemaker, which was nowhere to be seen.

Inside of the C-16 Transport, Commander Grace Lewis sat strapped into her cockpit. This stupid little stunt is probably going to get me killed she thought to herself as the massive rear doors of the cargo aircraft began to open up to the outside world. Wind began to buffet the inside of the transport, but everything in the effected cargohold was securely strapped down, with the notable exeception of Grace's F-81 Peacemaker. While her light fighter was held in place by a trio of wheel clamps, they would release soon enough. Grace gently eased her throttles forwards as the lift fan in the centre of the fighter's fusalage began to rapidly spin. The wind increased in strength as the door opened fully and locked in a horizontal position. Here goes nothing thought Grace to herself as she began to speak into her helmet mounted radio. "Okay folks, let me loose." she said calmly. There was a metallic clang as the wheel clamps released and she pushed her throttles to thier stops.

The dark interior of the C-16 Pelican was replaced by the dazzling sunlight of Qinghai, China, as the Peacemaker flew out of the cargo plane's hold. Grace held the fighter in hovering mode, letting the lift fan keep the Peacemaker airborne as it bled off the excess velocity from the aerial ejection. To those on the ground, it appeared that the plane was flying backwards as it remained at the same relative altitude. The truth was that Grace had to fight tremendously to keep her fighter from falling into a spin as she did this, but managed to maintain a constantly smooth backslide until the excess velocity was spent and she was left hovering over the runway. She let herself stay there for a moment, letting those on the ground get a look at her until she switched to the fighter's conventional flight mode to make a single pass of the crowd. She circled around them, transitioning again the V/STOL mode as she approached the hanger reserved for the Democratic Colonies. Dropping to only a dozen feet above the ground and drifting at something close to a man's jogging pace, she flew the Peacemaker into the hanger and landed squarely in its centre.

"I hope they liked that." she said over her radio as she saw the C-16 Transport, which carried her munitions and repair equipment, come in for a much more conventional landing.



ooc: Commander Grace Lewis, Colonial Airforce
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/768657df.jpg


The F-81 Peacemaker - (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386620&page=1)
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/55444be8.jpg

"Ok men, you know the Colonel likes an entrance, so we'll hang back and do our show later." said Captain Klipsche into his face mask.

The Mauiwoweean C-130 carried enough parts and manpower to build 2 Bong Buster II jets from scratch, but they didn't figure they'd need to do any more than refuel the One Hit - Colonel Stepford's plane in this outing; totally unlike the time they'd had to fight the insurgents in Sarzonia.

"Colonel, Democratic Colonies has finished their little show." said Captain Klipsche into the now keyed microphone - "We're behind you and cleared. The floor's all yours. Go get 'em!"

************************************************

You know the sound, the high pitched roar and scream of a jet as it comes in to land? Well the assembled crowd at the Qinghai airport knew it too. About 15 minutes after Democratic Colonies' dramatic entrance - just enough time for the crowd to start to think in it's collective mind "when's the next plane coming in?" and wander off to the beer and hotdog stands, they heard the sound - the high pitched roar of a jet. Only this sounded different. It wasn't consistent - didn't sound like it was in control.

Looking up, the crowd saw Mauiwowee's plane for the contest, a favorite with the bookies, coming in wild. She was barrel rolling - once, twice, 3 times - smoke trailing from her tail - she was coming in too fast! People in the crowd began to back up.

"Oh God, she's gonna crash!" someone yelled

At that moment - at the last possible moment - the plane straightened out, pulled up and zoomed by the crowd. Those who didn't have their eyes closed in the expectation of a fiery death could see the pilot waving at them from the cockpit, barely 6 feet off the ground. The plane tipped it's wings to the crowd and -

The crowd went crazy!!! Cheering, clapping, screaming. The plane did a full, but tight, 360 Degree loop as it pulled up at the end of the runway after the fly-by and then, using the VTOL systems, it slowly lowered itself in front of the cheering mob.

"Flying into her hangar? What kind of screwed up idea was that?" Thought Colonel Stepford as the One Hit settled to the ground amidst the cheers and clapping. "Democratic Colonies' planes may be good, but their pilot sure has a lot to learn about showmanship." Christina thought to herself. "Can't wait to beat the Tyrandiun guys so I can whip up on that Democratic Colonies bitch!" she said into her keyed mike to Captain Klipsche on the C-130 Calypso that would land with no fanfare in an hour or so. "Thanks boys, see ya' in the officer's club."

Christina punched the button on her control panel, patted the console and said "Good job girl!" as the cockpit's glass hissed open. As she stepped out of the plane on to the wing in the blazing sunlight and saw the crowd, she shook her long, beautiful hair out of her helmet in the sexiest manner possible and waved at the people.

More than one man in the crowd dreamed of her that night. Christina knew it would be that way too. She was a pilot, easily one of the best ever. She had something that most of her peers didn't have though - charisma and showmanship. She jumped off her plane's wing, knowing the crews would tow it to her hangar, and she walked towards the crowd in her flight suit, ready to shake hands and, reaching in the large breast pocket for her pen, autograph the photos of her and her plane that had been sent on beforehand in the press kit to Upper Xen.

Commander Lewis had a cat fight on her hands, and didn't even know it.

Colonel Christina Stepford's Bong Buster II plane - The One Hit

http://img42.exs.cx/img42/9116/finalad.jpg

Watching from her hagar door, Democratic Colonies' Commander Lewis thought "Show off! - but at least the real pilots are here."

The single F-79A Molniya II had launched from Trevensky Naval Air Station, a lonely Soviet Bloc station on the USSCR's coastline, which was in fairly close proximity to the point of destination, only requiring a single refueling en route, so Pacific Command [which was in charge of the logistical operation] had decided to dispatch the fighter alone with a single C-214 trailing behind to refuel. A second C-214 carried the F-79A Molniya II's extra parts, basically an entire aircraft and airframe along with some munitions.



Major Yakolev gave a hearty laugh after the news conference, which was transmitted directly into his neural interface system via the satellite uplink, "Already bets on these nations... They're gonna be out a lot of money." He laughed some more... "Ya know, they're all lucky... We're stuck in the same bracket as ISAF and their Valefor, which is gonna be hard-ass opponent. You know who's going to win in our bracket?"

Ivan shook his head from his perch behind the Major, "Who? ISAF?"

Yakolev scoffed, "No, of course not... Tonissia. I bet he'll win just because ISAF and us will just negate each other, then Tonissia can scramble out of there to claim victory."

A chuckle entered his neural interface, "Nah... You know they can't handle this shit."

The local area DNI system erupted into laughter between the two, as it lasted for a few minutes. With a heavy sigh the Major calmed himself down and casually surveyed his surroundings as the F-79A Molniya II penetrated the light air at 45,000 feet, supercruising with a fresh load of fuel from a C-380 launched from a remote Soviet Bloc naval station. Through his mind raced a few images and he quickly isolated and zoomed in on one, GPS and radar combined screen. His eyes glanced over the aircraft's sides and through the canopy to a speck of coastline in the distance. "Alright, Ivan, whaddya think of the rest of the competition? "


With a light laugh Ivan spoke up, "What competition?" Then he continued, "Well, that Halladi fighter looks good on paper but we'll have to see how it functions in the air. Its cockpit is definately not made for dogfighting, I'd say it was meant for a straight on interception role. That Mauiwowee thing looks impressive but once again, I don't think its a proven design. I especially dislike the laser in front, the drag? It has to be a hamper to maneuverability and must be VERY fucking annoying when its being fired, the bright light? No, not for me. Another thing about it, one crew... Just one, fuck, that guy's gotta be confused like hell when he's under attack. Or maybe he doesn't have much work load to worry about. " He laughed, as did Mikhail. "Nah, from what I've seen on paper, that thing is loaded with electronics and one guy to do all of that, run the countermeasures, run the navigation systems, run radar, fly the plane, and then also attack with it. Alot to do especially if there's alot of enemy in the air and even worse if they're trigger-happy." He let the words sink in for a little bit as silence filled the DNI communication waves.

Mikhail had nodded along, "Yeah... You know this thing can fairly easily top most of the competition out there and there's how many aircraft ahead of this? The two twins, the F-49A Ashiya and the F-78A Sokol as well as the F/A-91 and -41 series. Kinda sucks that the government is selling off third-rate equipment such as this but, hell, I like it, although it'd be nice to see an F-78A kick the competition's collective ass." The two shared a laugh although their attentions were quickly diverted to a transmission from ARSB Pacific Command.

"Simbir One, maintain heading and altitude. Direct coordinates to landing point are being forwarded as we speak to DefenseNet database as well as to aircraft navigational systems. Communication already made between Soviet Bloc and Upper Xen, you are now transmitting a coded signal to be intercepted by ground-based stations to maintain that you are of friendly origin. Upon landing, proceed as briefed." The voice stopped for a minute, as though it was gathering words to say, "Good luck gentlemen, we await the outcome of this competition."

The two men nodded in unison, both confirming the statement.

The pilot read the global positioning system's read-out again, "Well, shit Ivan, whaddya say to a little fun and games... We're over a foreign country, with alot of people watching us... Alot of people except our own government."

"Heh, go ahead Mischa, let's show them what this can do." Ivan smacked the back of Mikhail's helmet with his gloved hand, "Come on! Let's aggravate this wild horse, kick in the spurs!"

"Aye, aye Captain!" spoke the Major as the F-79A Molniya II came within clear view of the spectators. "You ready for this?" Mikhail mentally braced himself, "One for the money..." He quickly cut power. "Two for the show." Hit air-brakes. "Three to get ready." He mentally hit the vertical stabilizers, twisting them to port while redirecting thrust in the same direction. "And four to go!!" BAM! He nailed the throttle using the direct neural interface, a total of nearly 120,000 pounds of thrust exited the two thrust vectoring devices, angled to port. The aircraft quickly erupted into a flat spin of rather epic proportions. Spinning rapidly while moving directly down. The gravitational forces were excruciating on the two crew, however their hydrostatic flight suits gave them more lee-way when it came to G-Forces, allowing them to still effectively control the aircraft past the old 9Gs benchmark. The aircraft's digital altimeter, its readout displayed on the computer screen and in the two crew's minds, kept dwindling as the aircraft fell to 20,000 feet from its previous 45,000 feet cruise altitude.

Mikhail's thought process kicked in and he realized the stress may royally screw something up for the competition, so he cut the thruttle, re-twisted the stabilizers and the thrust vectoring and nailed it again. From the ground, this spinning and falling aircraft would suddenly stop and roar off as though nothing happened. He added a little 'twist' to it though, barrel rolling as he exited the flat spin. He eased back the throttle and let the aircraft coast as he glanced out the canopy, "That ought've given them a thrill." No reply. "Eh, Ivan?"

A moaning echoed over his comm-set, "God damn, don't do that again... Four times is the limit. I thought you were gonna do something else..."

"Oh... You mean this?" He hit the throttle and dropped the thrust vectoring, angling the thrust downwards while re-angling the canards, the nose dropped and the rear end tumbled over until it was completely backwards but the thrust pushed the rear down, the nose up and brought her back around to her original heading.

"Jesus Christ..." came the rather sick-sounding reply. "They better have enjoyed that one or I'm gonna microwave the bastards when we land." He chuckled lightly, his stomach still turning over and over, his head rolling.

Mikhail broke out in laughter as he guided the F-79A in for a nice, quiet landing, per the tower's orders. Upon touching down he went the required distance, taxiing to his assigned hangar. A Soviet Bloc ground crew, having been dropped in earlier via the C-214 dispatched, directed the Major into the hangar. Mikhail disconnected himself from the DNI and manually disengaged the twin turbofan/pulse detonation hybrids, their whining blades loudening as they slowed, cooling down as they did so. Ground crew threw wheel blocks in front of the wheels and rolled a ladder up to the cockpit side. Mikhail punched the canopy release lever as he unbuckled himself, the canopy slowly slid up to a fifty degree position. Setting his helmet on the forward fuselage, Mikhail stood up on his seat and glanced back at Ivan who still sat in his seat, moving sluggishly to unbuckle himself. "Come on, Ivan! Slow ass."

Ivan scoffed, "At least I'm not the one who doesn't know how to fly."

With a grin Mikhail playfully kicked the side of Ivan's helmet as he hopped onto the ladder, being assisted by a ground crewman. Upon hitting concrete he made his way towards the impromptu 'command center', a room in the hangar where the senior ground crew staff were set up along with communications gear. Ivan followed not too far behind. Mikhail stopped and peered across the tarmac at a lone fighter, he squinted and could make out the figure of its pilot, along the edge of the crowd. "Well, what do we have here..."

"What is it?" Ivan said as he quickly maneuvered up to Mikhail's side.

His finger pointed to the pilot, "Well, I'll be damned... Its a woman." He grunted lightly, "A little arrogant? Parks her fighter out in the middle of the tarmac and goes on to sign autographs."

Ivan reeled back a bit, emitting a low whistle, "Well, ya gotta admit... Not too bad looking at, eh?" He tapped his upper chest and then looked down, "Field glasses... Field glasses." He glanced over towards the 'command center' where an air force second lieutenant stood chatting with a senior non-commissioned officer. "Lieutenant, bring those binoculars over here, now!" he barked, giving a disgusted glance. He watched in some satisfaction as the lieutenant came scuffling over, raising a salute and handing over the glasses. "Thank you lieutenant, as you were." He quickly turned back towards Mikhail, "Now lets see who this is..." He raised the field glasses to his eyes and adjusted them until he could see the female pilot as clear as day as though she was only feet in front of him. "Damn, she's blonde... Nice backside." He handed the glasses to Mikhail, "Eh, I'm more of a brunette type of guy. She's your's."

Snatching the glasses, Mikhail lifted them to his eyes he examined the woman, "Hmm... Yes." His eyebrows flickered, "Dammit, turn around... Ah, hell, she's too engrossed with her crowd." He let the glasses drop from his eyes and turned to face Ivan, "Well, at least someone here is attractive? Maybe we'll be introduced later, it'd be nice to know where she's from." He winked at Ivan who just shook his head with a grin.

Ivan pushed Mikhail forward, "Come on, lets get the hell out of these flight suits."

Colonel Stepford stopped signing autographs and watched the Soviet Bloc plane's spin and touch down with the rest of the crowd - "Damn, not bad, not bad at all" she thought. She then continued to non-chalantly sign autographs, but she didn't fail to notice the Soviet Bloc guys with their binoculars watching her after they landed as she did so.

This was getting better by the minute and the pilot's reception was yet to come.

OOC: OK, I think my landing beat the hell out of Democratic Colonies, but Soviet Bloc, you raised the bar another notch and we've got 12 more to go - This is really getting good.

Kilimenti simply said, "Wow." His jaw hit the proverbial floor, he soon got up along with the rest of the crowd and began yelling cheers, giving the Soviet Bloc pilots a "whoop whoop!"

He then got up onto the podium and said, "How about that, ladies and gentlemen?! Nwo, let's see if anybody else can match those fine displays of acrobatics!"

The people soon gave a thunderous applause, and began going, "WHOO-WHOO-WHOO-WHOO!" rapidly, like fans at a football game.

They loved the whole show. By the reaction of the crowd, they liked Mauiwowee and Soviet Bloc's stunts best, though a good many people gave a shout-out, as it were, to the fine folks at Democratic Colonies.

Might as well BUMP.

[tag] will post soon.

bump for other nations that signed up.....

A lone TPC-5 Light Transport Plane, markings of the 2nd Dostanuot Loj Air Transport squadron accross the side, painted dark tan, flew towards the airfeild in Qinghai.
After a moment of circiling the airfeild and aquiring permission to land, the TPC-5 decended, landing carefully and pulling to it's respective hanger.
Suddenly, a low rumble began to sound, off to one side of the airfeild, a black dot appeared, quickly growing. Faster then thought possible, the single YF-100 interceptor screached past the airfeild at only five hundred meters, the ramjets working at full power with massive streaks of blue fire trailing many times the length of the aircraft itself from the back of the YF-100's engines.
After the insanley high speed pass over the feild, the YF-100 pulled up, screaching to the sky at an almost impossible rate, dissipearing from view in only moments. As the craft punched through the atmosphere, loosing momentum from the vertical flight, the pilot cut the engine, letting the fighter float there in the vacume of space a moment before redirecting it back down into the atmosphere, back to Earth. The aircraft came screaching down, ignighting it's engines at the last possible moment and pulling level with ground just a few meters from the airstrip. Suddenly, the thrust reversers cut in, massive spouts of fire going forward of the aircraft over the wings, bringing the fighter to a slower speed as the landing gear lowers, gently touching down onto the airfeild. A few moments after the aircraft had touched down, the engines and systems all powered down, a T-6A GPV painted in black with markings simmilar to those on the TPC-5 drove from the belly of the light transport plane, speeding down the runway to the YF-100. Two men got out of the back, dressed in flat black uniforms, sunglasses hiding their eyes as they moved to the front of the YF-100. They quickly hooked the YF-100's vehicle tow bar, mounted on the front landing strut, to the hitch of the specially prepared T-6A, and got back in the truck.
The T-6A towed the YF-100 slowly past the crowd, the windows of the fighter a blackish-goldish sheen, impossible to see into, as the crew waited inside to be towed to the hanger.

OOC: I'll post the three crew members soon.

Ooc- I'm going to assume Herman Von Thaller is there, his arrival will be covered in the other RP involving him.



Ic-


Suddenly there appeared in the sky before them all, a streak of red and orange, flying in lower and lower, coming in at treetop level, causing the trees to shake violently until they had given up their fruit and leaves.

Birds and animals fled before the approaching object, glass windows shattered, but then suddenly the sonic boom was gone, the plane had finally slowed to sub-sonic and then made its final approach to the runway.

After gaining clearance to land, he moved closer to the runway and readied to touch down.

The MiG-41 Good Ole Boy, piloted by Colonel Herman Von Thaller, had just landed on the runway, and the parachutes deployed to slow the plane enough to come to a stop on the runway. He had come in at Mach 4.2 and needed to deploy them to avoid running out of space on the runway.



http://www.harcirepulo.hu/MiG-35/MiG-35_01.jpg

Ooc- I'm going to assume Herman Von Thaller is there, his arrival will be covered in the other RP involving him.



Ic-


Suddenly there appeared in the sky before them all, a streak of red and orange, flying in lower and lower, coming in at treetop level, causing the trees to shake violently until they had given up their fruit and leaves.

Birds and animals fled before the approaching object, glass windows shattered, but then suddenly the sonic boom was gone, the plane had finally slowed to sub-sonic and then made its final approach to the runway.

After gaining clearance to land, he moved closer to the runway and readied to touch down.

The MiG-41 Good Ole Boy, piloted by Colonel Herman Von Thaller, had just landed on the runway, and the parachutes deployed to slow the plane enough to come to a stop on the runway. He had come in at Mach 4.2 and needed to deploy them to avoid running out of space on the runway.



http://www.harcirepulo.hu/MiG-35/MiG-35_01.jpg

The Crowd went wild for the Dostuanot Loj and DA pilots, cheering and stomping their feet.

In the other part of the crowd, some booed Thaller, these were from the New Homeland Party, they were met by a crowd of cheering people who wanted to come here for the games, not the politics.

Klimenti Rokossovsky then said, "Let's give a big hand for them, huh?"

The crowd gave thunderous applause, cheering and raising their arms in a chant of "WHOO WHOO WHOO WHOO!"

Colonel Stepford was talking to her crew as they offloaded supplies from the C-130

"We're doing good so far" she said

"What, are you crazy? We've barely got a chance" said the Captain of the C-130 and her 2nd in command. "Did you see how fast DA's plane came in? He's bound to be able to outrun us, and Dostanuot Loj's plane can hit the space/atmosphere barrier - they've probably got us on flight ceiling."

"Captain! I don't want to here that kind of defeatest crap! Do you understand?" snapped an instantly irritated Colonel Stepford. "You say shit like that one more time and you can drive home!"

"Mam, yes Mam!" said the captain as he snapped to attention.

"Never, I repeat, Never underestimate the power of being favorite!" Continued the Colonel, "and remember, a plane is only as good as it's pilot. Coming in fast and deploying chutes to stop, the crowd sees that every saturday at the drag races - big whoopie! Flying so high you can't be seen and coming back for a touchdown and immediately leaving the field - they'll be forgotten as quickly as the crowd lost sight of their plane. However, scaring the hell out of the crowd, making them think you're gonna crash and barely pulled off a save - why do you think people watch NASCAR? They live for that possible crash - it's cool, but tragic when it happens. It's super cool when they know it's gonna happen and, suddenly, it doesn't - the driver is a hero - that's me to this crowd now. Plus, they know me - they saw me up close, they have my autographed photo, they shook my hand - No!, we live and breathe for them - we're the guys to beat now - the psychological effect on the competition will enhance our chances. Watch the bookie's odds in our favor go way up tonight. No, the only people I'm concerned about is Soviet Bloc, their pilot knows how to put on the show, and he's clearly good. The flat spin was a great way to come in. If I'd thought someone might pull that, I'd have done an end-over-end. They screwed up too though, they didn't do the follow through. As far as the crowd and the judges are concerned, all the pilots are professional pricks, all that is, except me. We're gonna kick ass and don't you forget it. Now, back to work."

"Yes mam" said the chagrinned Captain.

*** In the stands, more than one person proved her right as they clutched tightly something that looked like. . .

http://img154.exs.cx/img154/3476/autographedphoto8pz.jpg

Colonel Stepford was talking to her crew as they offloaded supplies from the C-130





While his maintainence team was going over the plane, Herman decided to go walk over and bother the team from Mauwowee. He briskly walked over towards them, and called out to the lady colonel when he was about forty feet away, "So, you're a pilot, eh? How does that work for you, you know, being a woman and all..."

While his maintainence team was going over the plane, Herman decided to go walk over and bother the team from Mauwowee. He briskly walked over towards them, and called out to the lady colonel when he was about forty feet away, "So, you're a pilot, eh? How does that work for you, you know, being a woman and all..."

OOC: Awesome! This is what I was looking for in this thread, some good charactar RP's. Give me a bit to RP a reply and I'll edit this post :)

Edit

IC:

On gut instinct, as a true pilot has, Col. Stepford instantly sized up the words and tone as the same type she had put up with at the naval flight school in Mauiwowee before she had proven herself. Turning cooly, she noted the last name on the speaker's left breast patch and his rank on his shoulder instantly and, without thought, she said:

"I'm not sure Colonel Von Thaller. How does it feel to come in fast and have to use air brakes to wow a crowd?"

She drew out the "um" sound in "come" so it sounded to all that heard like "cuuummmm" and emphasized the word "fast;" with a rising inflection representative of a questioning tone. The double entendree' wasn't lost on her crew, they had been around her enough to expect something like this, and they giggled under their breath, thinking "you fucked with the wrong lady dude!" as they carried out their assigned duties. Random people would have only likely have heard: "How does it feel to Cum fast?"

She circled around them, transitioning again the V/STOL mode as she approached the hanger reserved for the Democratic Colonies. Dropping to only a dozen feet above the ground and drifting at something close to a man's jogging pace, she flew the Peacemaker into the hanger and landed squarely in its centre.




As she had just stepped out, and was watching the other planes come in, a rather tall, blonde haired and blue eyed Mississippian captain walked up behind her, slapped her firmly, with an open palm, right on the butt, and chuckled a bit as he grinned while she turned around. After she was facing him, he said, "So, you're a flying woman are you, eh? Well, maybe later I can fly my plane into your hangar, huh?"

As she had just stepped out, and was watching the other planes come in, a rather tall, blonde haired and blue eyed Mississippian captain walked up behind her, slapped her firmly, with an open palm, right on the butt, and chuckled a bit as he grinned while she turned around. After she was facing him, he said, "So, you're a flying woman are you, eh? Well, maybe later I can fly my plane into your hangar, huh?"

"Get the hell away from me." said Grace coldly, pulling her sidearm from her thigh holster. She chambered a round into the 10mm semi-automatic while she glared at him. With the pistol pointed at the ground, she continued to speak.

"I am a Colonial military officer, and I will not be subject to your immature, unwanted, and utterly stupid sexual advances. Do you understand me?"

In the backround, the C-16 Transport that carried Commander Grace Lewis' groundcrew rolled to a stop, having finished its taxiing into the hanger.

The captain smiled as he snapped his fingers, from the shadows, an MSAAS operative stepped forward, his MP-5 trained on the woman, a red dot on her forehead. He said only two words, "Stand down..."

The captain chuckled a bit as he slowly backed away from her, saying, "I didn't know you were a dyke, sorry... I'll leave, but really, don't point a gun at a Mississippian, especially me. That's your first and last warning about that, do it again, and you won't get another warning..."


As soon as he had left, the MSAAS slowly backed away, back into the shadows, and was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

The captain smiled as he snapped his fingers, from the shadows, an MSAAS operative stepped forward, his MP-5 trained on the woman, a red dot on her forehead. He said only two words, "Stand down..."

The captain chuckled a bit as he slowly backed away from her, saying, "I didn't know you were a dyke, sorry... I'll leave, but really, don't point a gun at a Mississippian, especially me. That's your first and last warning about that, do it again, and you won't get another warning..."

As soon as he had left, the MSAAS slowly backed away, back into the shadows, and was gone as quickly as he had appeared.


Grace angrily snapped her sidearm back into her thigh holster as the rear doors of the massive C-16 Transport began to open behind her. Master Chief Charles McKenna was the first person to exit the transport, and gave Grace a friendly wave as he began to walk towards her. Charles McKenna was Grace's ground chief, and would be in charge of maintaining her fighter.

"Brought you your standard uniform." said Charles as they approached eachother. He tossed Grace a duffel bag. "Thought you'd want to get out of that flightsuit."

"Thanks." said Grace, distracted. "Listen Chief, I want you to tell your ground crew to make sure that they keep thier sidearms handy and holstered at all times, okay?" she asked.

"Why?" replied Charles, confused.

"Just do it." said Grace. She started towards the C-16 Transport. "Just tell your ground crew to follow protocol - keep thier sidearms on them.... And make sure someone is always keeping an eye on my fighter. Don't leave it unattended - you get me Chief?"

Charles nodded.

"Good." said Grace. "And thanks... Chief."

Carrying the bag, she jogged the remaining distance to the transport, leaving Master Chief Charles McKenna to wonder what had caused her odd behaviour.

Grace emerged a few minutes later, dressed in the standard uniform of the Colonial military instead of the form fitting flight suit she was clad in earlier. The tan pants, black turtleneck and crimson red leather jacket of the uniform fit her slender body well. She had also let her hair down, letting her raven black curls flow freely down to her shoulders. She unconciously toyed with the 10mm P221 Pistol that was strapped to her thigh as she stood in the massive hanger, waiting for the arrival of the other competitors.


ooc: The Colonial military uniform.
With male varient jacket: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NS%20Uniforms/uniform.jpg
With female varient jacket: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/529962d9.jpg

Commander Grace Lewis is wearing the female varient jacket with the standard black turtleneck, as seen in the male varient picture.

The T-6A, and YF-100 in tow, stopped close to the TPC-5 that was parked outside the designated hangar, the YF-100 taking postsion infront of the hangar as the upper section to the crew compartment opened forward and up, revealing the three crew members inside. Each one stepped out slowly, clad entirely in a flat black armor suit, seen oh so rarely on the few ocasions a Rogue SpecOps unit has been in public. Every bit of skin covered by the pressurised suit, a goldish sheen on the face plate, hiding the person inside from view. From the pilot's seat, the unmistakable shape of a woman, 170cm tall, visible even through the armor plates and thick suit material. None of the three crew made any motion to remove their suits, there merely got to the ground, a few words exchanged via secure radio with the ground techs, and they then walked camly into the belly of the TPC-5.
Shortly after, as the YF-100 was being backed into it's hangar, and put the protection of several armed guards, a young woman, simmilar size and shape of the woman pilot of the craft, walked quietly down the TPC-5's rear ramp. She watched the men and women moving her large fighter into the hangar, the "De-armed" tags hanging from the missile pods, and gun ports.
She turned back to the transport, picking up a bottle of water before she walked down the ramp and turned to the Mauiwowee hangar, walking birskly and coldly over.
With a breif smile on her face, something unnatural to her, she approached the pilot, a Col. Stepford.
"Greetings, I am General Peshtur Ninur-tam, pilot and craft commander for the Dostanuot Loj's entry into this contest."
She slowly extended her free hand, a sign of good will.

She turned back to the transport, picking up a bottle of water before she walked down the ramp and turned to the Mauiwowee hangar, walking birskly and coldly over.
With a breif smile on her face, something unnatural to her, she approached the pilot, a Col. Stepford.
"Greetings, I am General Peshtur Ninur-tam, pilot and craft commander for the Dostanuot Loj's entry into this contest."
She slowly extended her free hand, a sign of good will.

Extending her hand, Col. Stepford said "It's an honor to meet you General Ninur-tam. That's quite a plane you have there. I look forward to kicking Tyrandian's ass in the first round and squaring off against a "real" pilot later on in the competition. In the mean time, would you let me buy you a drink at the pilot's reception tonight?"

Smiling, again an unnatural reaction, but understanding, Col. Christina Stepford was not like most of the pilots she had met or had to deal with, the General said, "maybe." Then she turned back to her plane and crew to muse on it - "Col. Stepford was definitely atypical" she thought.

"hmmm, cold cookie" thought Christina, "but she clearly respects her competition, a trait to be admired."

"I think I like her." said an unconscious voice in (t)he(i)r mind(s).

As she spoke to General Ninur-tam, the actions of the Decisive Action man toward's the Democratic Colonies' pilot had not gone unnoticed. "What a bunch of macho assholes!" thought Col. Stepford.

Approaching Commander Grace Lewis, after her exchange with General Ninur-tam, Col. Stepford said to Commander Lewis, a pilot, she recognized from the press releases, as she extended her hand:

"Commander Lewis, I'm Colonel Christina Stepford from Mauiwowee. I'm pleased to meet you and look forward to facing off against you in the contest after you, I and General Ninur-tam of the Dostanuot Loj take DA and the other jerks out."

Christina awaited a reaction.

OOC:

OK, personalities to date, my impression:

DA (Decisive Action) - Jerkwad, macho dorks - I look forward to shooting you down. :) otherwise, good job!
DL (Dostanuot Loj) - hmm, hard to gauge, but potential is scarey. Disarming personality, but good RP'd pilot skills
DC (Democratic Colonies) - What are you holding back? Clearly no fool. Remind me not to call you a Dyke :D
SB (Soviet Bloc) - Awesome pilot skills, could be a nice encounter, but what are your guys like out of their flight suits?
Maui - Cocky, arrogant, Tom Cruise in "Top Gun?" A showman, clearly a legend in her own mind, but no doubt, a force to be reckoned with.

DA (Decisive Action) - Jerkwad, macho dorks - I look forward to shooting you down. :)



Secret IC-

The two MSAAS operatives that had accompanied Herman Von Thaller, knew their task. They were tasked with sabotaging the plane of the Democratic Colonies pilot, for purely political reasons. The Czarina still had an axe to grind against DC for the Kelli Perim spy operation in Mississippi.

If they had time, they'd be sabotaging the plane of the plane of the nation of Mauiwowee, just as a favor for their friend, Herman Von Thaller, who they didn't want to have any problems. Of course Herman would be enraged if he knew about their plan. He wanted to face all opponents at their best. He had, after all, shot down no less than 121 fighter planes in a single engagement, by himself, in Egypt, a few years back.



Ooc-

As for your fun, you'll not be having any, unless being trumped by Thaller is fun for you. :D

Secret IC-

The two MSAAS operatives that had accompanied Herman Von Thaller, knew their task. They were tasked with sabotaging the plane of the Democratic Colonies pilot, for purely political reasons. The Czarina still had an axe to grind against DC for the Kelli Perim spy operation in Mississippi.

If they had time, they'd be sabotaging the plane of the plane of the nation of Mauiwowee, just as a favor for their friend, Herman Von Thaller, who they didn't want to have any problems. Of course Herman would be enraged if he knew about their plan. He wanted to face all opponents at their best. He had, after all, shot down no less than 121 fighter planes in a single engagement, by himself, in Egypt, a few years back.



Ooc-

As for your fun, you'll not be having any, unless being trumped by Thaller is fun for you. :D

"Colonel Stepford" interrupted the Captain. "We have a message coming in for you from General Ripper ::: speaking quietly, under his breath so no one could hear ::: "Code Phi Omega" :::

Turning away from Commander Lewis, Col. Stepford said "oops, sorry, gotta go, important shit - Bureaucrats you know." stepping into the C-130's cockpit and keying her command code into the computer's terminal she saw:


Colonel Stepford:

Christina, I don't have the details. However, we have reason to believe that
the competition you are engaged in is "personal" as it relates to a few of the
nations involved. I don't want us caught in the middle of something we didn't
start, but I don't know who else is involved. Intelligence is sketchy, at best.
You and this contest are too important to lose on some unrelated vendeta
between other nations. You are hereby directed to use all means you feel are
required to protect yourself and your plane and crew. More details, if and
when I learn them.

General Jack T. Ripper

Leaving the cockpit, Col. Stepford turned her men, "24/7 guards on the One Hit understand!~?"

They didn't need to be told twice, they understood. Something was up, something bad. They set up their stations; silenced, laser sighted, .40 S&W, auto fire weapons at the ready as they donned their infra-red goggles. Col. Stepford might lose in the air, but she would not lose on the ground, that was assured.

OOC: If you think this is a god mod since your IC was "secret" let me know what the problem is and I'll edit it. On the other hand, if you'll accept it, you and I can have a good, clean, fair fight in the air. Col. Stepford doesn't like cheating, but if you do it to her competition, she won't say diddley squat, even if she is sure that is what happened, because, without concrete proof, allegations are as valuable as confederate money.

OOC: If you think this is a god mod since your IC was "secret" let me know what the problem is and I'll edit it. On the other hand, if you'll accept it, you and I can have a good, clean, fair fight in the air. Col. Stepford doesn't like cheating, but if you do it to her competition, she won't say diddley squat, even if she is sure that is what happened, because, without concrete proof, allegations are as valuable as confederate money.



Ooc- Well the only problem is nobody has tried to sabotage it yet, and nobody knows but the MSAAS, there is nothing in writing, they've told nobody... So unless you have thought detection equipment, which granted, we have some (but they're very heavy, immobile, expensive, and can basically only detect general emotions and lies, used to test for loyalty)

Ooc- Well the only problem is nobody has tried to sabotage it yet, and nobody knows but the MSAAS, there is nothing in writing, they've told nobody... So unless you have thought detection equipment, which granted, we have some (but they're very heavy, immobile, expensive, and can basically only detect general emotions and lies, used to test for loyalty)

OOC:

No, I'm not claiming we know you intend to do something to us (or even DC); I don't. I just have info. that you're Pissed at DC over a prior incident and the conflict may be "personal" between ya'll. That would lead me to take extra precautions to make sure my stuff is safe. Same as if I thought Soviet Bloc was after you. The very idea there is a possible personal vendeta out there between competitors, would concern me and make me take extra precautions to make sure I didn't get caught in the middle.

OOC:

No, I'm not claiming we know you intend to do something to us (or even DC); I don't. I just have info. that you're Pissed at DC over a prior incident and the conflict may be "personal" between ya'll. That would lead me to take extra precautions to make sure my stuff is safe. Same as if I thought Soviet Bloc was after you. The very idea there is a possible personal vendeta out there between competitors, would concern me and make me take extra precautions to make sure I didn't get caught in the middle.


Ooc- But nobody but DC and I know about the previous incident, it was very hush, hush, quiet stuff... Anyway, he ought to be able to figure out on his own, MSers might not be too happy with his nationals.

Ooc- But nobody but DC and I know about the previous incident, it was very hush, hush, quiet stuff... Anyway, he ought to be able to figure out on his own, MSers might not be too happy with his nationals.

OOC: Got it, Coded message above has been edited. OK now?

After parting with Col. Stepford, and having agreed to the drink at the pilots reception, General Ninur-tam turned back to her hangar, walking at her usual brisk pace.
She walked over to her YF-100, to the cockpit side windows, as she ran her fingers along the side, right where her station was. Reading carefully the signs below the window, written in dark grey, almost unnoticible cuneiform was her name. Pleased with herself she remembered being chosen for a spot on one of the Glaive squadrons, a real honor it was for anyone of the Republic.
She walked back along the hull, inspecting it, her eyes resting on the twin, 15mm dorsal gun turret. "Definatly," she said softly to herself, "an unexpected surprise for those foolish enough to get behind one of these."
Turning around, she noticed that the magazine and launcher for the AIM-112N missiles had been removed. 'A fair choice', she thought, 'such a weapon would only give me an unfair advantage, and that would be no fun.'
She continued her walk around the fighter, examining the engines, all in working order of course. As she got around to the other side of the cockpit she noticed a small smudge on the window, next to the navigators postsion. She leaned over, using her sleve to wipe the smudge clear. Her dark tank, almost brown, face reflecting easily in the blackish-gold material applied to the outer windows.
She noticed movement behind her and turned to face it, it was Lieutenant Hatuey, his skin slightly lighter then hers, but his features unmistakably Borikan.
"General," the Lieutenant stated as he approached her, "our biographies are ready, as you requested, to be delivered to the contest hosts. I thought you would like the honor of delivering them." He held out a holder, which she promptly took from him.
"Thank you Hatuey, tell Shub-ad to cycle through the weapons systems with the mechanics while I'm gone. And check the other systems while you're at it."
"Yes General!" Hatuey nodded his head slightly, and turned back to the TPC-5 to deliver the orders.
Peshtur walked pver to the T-6A, getting inside and driving accross the airfeild to the control station to deliver the profiles to the Upper Xen officials, who she understood would be interested in such documents.

--------------------------------------------------------
OOC: Most of the informations on these pilots is classified, top level classified.

Name: Peshtur Ninur-tam
Gender: Female (Sumerian)
Rank: General
Age: 34
Birthplace: Lagash, Sumer Region, Sumer Territory
Date of Birth: year 9,973, 19th day of Elulu month
Postsion: Commander/Pilot
Unit: 1st Republican Airforce Interceptor Squadron
Military Career: Classified, inducted into service at age 4 as a Rogue candidate.
Combat Experiance: Classified
About:
Cold hearted, logical, and unemotional. No value for human life beyond orders.
Life devoted to Inanna, and the Republic.


Name: Nitay Hatuey
Gender: Male (Taino)
Rank: Lieutenant
Age: 22
Birthplace: Bayamon, Borikua region, Ke'Tuna Territory
Date of Birth: year 9,985, 27th day of Sabatu month
Postsion: Navigator/Systems Operation
Unit: 1st Republican Airforce Interceptor Squadron
Military Career: Classified, inducted into service at age 6 as a Rogue candidate.
Combat Experiance: Classified
About: A direct descendant of the great Taino cheif, Hatuey. Fun loving, semi-outgoing. Brilliant at mathmatics.

Name: Puabi Ahmad Shub-ad
Gender: Female (Sumerian/Elamite)
Rank: Major
Age: 29
Birthplace: Anshan, Elam region,Sumer Territory
Date of Birth: year 9,978, 3rd day of Arashamna month
Postsion: Weapons Officer
Unit: 1st Republican Airforce Interceptor Squadron
Military Career: Classified, inducted into service at age 3 as a Rogue candidate.
Combat Experiance: Classified
About: Known to get overly 'freindly' with those she trusts. Generally keeps to herself. Quick reactions to surrunding envronment, turned down Sniper postsion in a Rogue unit to join the Glaive units.

After the two men had changed into their officer slack uniforms, they wondered the hangar in which the F-79A sat, being maintenenced by a team of aircraft mechanics and engineers from the Rostov Institute for Aircraft Design, Construction, and Mechanics including a handful of experts from the Rostov Institute for Aircraft Powerplant Design, to tweak the F-79A's already formidable powerplant even farther, in order to get maximum capability out of it.


As the two circled around the aircraft, they stopped at the wide-open hangar doors, each taking a deep breath of this foreign air as they surveyed the sight.

Major Sanislav spoke first, "So, how do you think they liked our stunt?"

"Well, after I changed I sat down and had a cup of coffee with that colonel from Rostov and we watched a taped re-run of the announcer when we landed. Him and the crowd seemed really jacked up about it... " He thought for a second, "I mean, really, really, really jacked up about it. I think we did it, maybe got everyone beat here?"

Sanislav nodded a bit, "How about the pilots before and after us?"

With a slight shrug Kerensky answered, "What about em'? We blew em' away..." He laughed lightly, "Well, from what I saw in the tapes, I guess DC's wasn't too bad, it certainly was a feat, but not exactly what the crowd would like. Mauiwowee's was apparantly good, although I didn't see all of it because the tape cut out too soon. And Decisive Actions? Pfft. Trained monkeys could fly as well or better, all you have to do is suspend a bananna in front of the cockpit and they're gonna try to speed up and chase it, while moving in a straight line..." He sighed some as he scratched a spot on the back of his head, "But, what am I to say? I don't even pilot anything, I'm just the crazy backseat weapons jockey." He laughed and hit Hektor across the back, who was smiling at the WSO's remarks.

"Yeah, well, you're one of the best out there, and that's from personal experience, you saved my... Our ass a number of times. " He grinned as he remembered something, "You remember during Operation Wheel-Horse in Buechoria? Remember when those two headhunters were chasing our asses over Vogelsang and they each fired off at least two missiles each. I was running low on fuel and we got nicked in the air by a close call with that Belem fighter so I couldn't maneuver worth shit. And you managed to cancel out our radar image and project it off to the side at a Belem fighter... And it nailed the poor bastard, and he ejected." He grinned, laughing some.

"Yep, and then after we had to bail out, we got picked up by that Army patrol who had just captured a downed Belem pilot..." He broke out laughing, "Same guy..." He remembered that day, and now Kerensky and Sanislov were both friends with the man they shot down with his own missile, due to a thawing of Belem-ARSB relations within the past few years. "Good times."

Sanislov, still chuckling gazed across the tarmac, "Hey, isn't that DA's hangar?"

"Hmm?" Kerensky peered across the airport, "Well, I'll be damned. Yeah. Didn't we try to assassinate their leadership once? At their wedding with semtex candles?" He laughed.

"Heh, yep... I remembered that, and semtex cigars. All over the news the next day "Plot to Assassinate DA Leader with Candles Ends in Failure, Name-Calling". Say, what's their pilot's name?" Hektor picked up his binoculars again from a nearby maintenance cart, he surveyed the DA pilot and his cronies as they headed over to Mauiwowee's hangar.

"Lemme check." Ivan jogged off towards a table which was stacked with a bunch of contest-related information and packets, he ruffled through and produced the contest roster. He quickly returned, "A... Uhh... Colonel von Thraller."

"Heh... Look at him, he's hitting on what's her face, the Maui chick." He had the glasses firmly pressed to his eyes.

Ivan glanced at the roster, "Christina Stepford?"

Hektor lightly nodded, currently engrossed in his activities, "Yeeaaaaaahh..."

Kerensky shook his head with a light laugh as he stuck the clipboard under his arm, "What, were you a peeping tom when you were little? You sure seem to be good at peering into people's lives."

His shoulders shrugged, "Lets say I had some practice... We had a lot of cute girls in our neighborhood... And lots of trees." He laughed. "Whoah, who's this? Brunette... Walks like she has a stick up her ass..."

Ivan, at the word brunette snatched the glasses from Hektor, "Mmm... Yeah... Definately doesn't seem very happy." Sanislov was laughing in the background.

"Hey, did ya bring my airsoft rifle? My RSS-56D rifle?" Sanislov asked, with a flick of his eyebrows. Slightly dropping the field glasses, Ivan gave Hektor a questioning glance. "You know my airsoft sniper rifle?"

"Ohhhhh... Yeah, its in the cargo compartment. Why'd you bring it anyways, the thing took up half the compartment so we had to send our survival supplies with the C-214 crew, that'd sure help in the event of a bailout... Stuck in the pacific with an airsoft sniper rifle." He shook his head, "Sometimes, I wonder about you and your sanity."

"Never know, maybe take a little pot shot at Von Thaller over there, such an easy target with his two little cronies escorting him around everywhere." He eyed his 'targets' from across the tarmac...

Ivan said, amusedly, "Two words... International Incident. Those guys take things seriously, I bet they'd bill it as an assassination attempt. 'DA Air Force Colonel Target of Attempted Assassination by Airsoft Rifle-wielding Soviet Bloc Pilot.' Heh... Then his little henchmen would likely hang you or something. I hear they do that alot over there."

Hektor laughed lightly, "Well, whaddya say we head on over and introduce ourselves..." He tugged on his dark blue Air Force service uniform. "Come on..."


"Oh come on... Why can't we wait?" He dropped his head and shook it slightly, "Fine. Might as well, eh? He raised his head and glanced through the binoculars again, "I'm sure those two would be happy to talk to anyone besides Colonel Mississippi. Heh."

Hektor quickly set out across the tarmac, Ivan quickly caught up to him after depositing the binoculars and roster off on a maintenance cart. Sanislov adjusted himself as he moved, tugging his uniform top down to give a pressed-looking fit, sure to impress anyone.

The two managed to approach without Stepford noticing so they quickly got into position with Hektor speaking first, "Hey! I Can I have your autograph? " He did that to capture her attention, as she turned around he grinned, "I hear ya did some great flying earlier." He gave her a nod and offered his hand, "Colonel Hektor Sanislov."

Ivan, just a moment after, shot up, offering his hand with a smile, "And I'm his weapons jockey, Captain Ivan Kerensky."

"Colonel Sanislov, Captain Kerensky, it's a pleasure to meet you." said Christina as she shook hands with them both. "And it may be me that should be asking for your autographs." She said as she smiled in a disarming fashion. "That was a great flat spin entrance ya'll made. Between me and you, we've got the crowd jacked up for some real aerobatic showmanship."

While she spoke, Christina sized up her competition again, clearly a good pilot, only the best-of-the-best could do a flat spin or an end-over-end like she could. She figured that Colonel Sanislov could end-over-end as well as he could spin. At least these guys had some respect for a fellow pilot as well, not like that DA jerk. might be good if the final round was her vs. SB, it would certainly be a run for the money all the way round.

"Who'd ya'll draw for the first round?" She asked.

The Rivette aircraft doesn't arrive via the air - at least, not visibly. It arrives in a dropship, which carries it to its hangar almost silently, and lands equally silently. No show here - what would be the point? Risk is stupid, when there's no need. Or so CAF doctrine taught.

And 1st Echelon Flight Leader Thurall was sharper than most, more attentive than most, more by-the-book than most. It was a good thing the book wasn't very by-the-book, in point of fact, or he'd be too stereotyped to be of use in any air force.

He exited the dropship with a minimum of fuss, not even bothering to be suited up. Very boring for whatever crowd gathered, in fact: just a crisp white Commonality Air Force uniform, with numerous campaign ribbons and no less than four decorations - not bad for a man who doesn't look a day over twenty-two. His amber eyes and faintly pointed ears, however, suggest that whatever age he looks might not be entirely accurate; his personnel file (or, rather, the rather empty declassified version thereof) states clearly that his age is thirty-seven, however. Quite young, for a Nenyar pilot.

His ground crew were busy hauling the bird out of the dropship - in pieces. Nothing reckonizable as a plane is on view, yet. But a few minutes later, the 'Thunder' is gleaming quietly in the hangar as ground crew buzz around it, inspecting it carefully; apparently the bird is designed to be taken apart and put back together quickly, suggesting a modular design.

The Flight Leader appears to hold a conversation with thin air for several minutes, no doubt drawing some rather odd glances; a faint shimmer at the spot he talks to perhaps draws an eye or two, and those eyes that take the time to peer at the shimmer longer than an instant might well find themselves rather confused: a man in dark blue body armour - covering every single part of his body, tip of head to toes - with a rather pathetic-looking sidearm is nodding attentively as the Flight Leader speaks.

This brief conversation over, the Flight Leader strode out into the open, stretching lazily and taking in the view with a calm, cold eye.

"This should be diverting," he remarked quietly to the Air Force special operations major that stood off to one side. The push of the man's mind against his own was irritating, but easily fended off. The 'guard' (although Thurall would never have called the Nenya that to his face - or to any other part of him or anyone else, for that matter) was not invisible, but was simply allowing his mind to instinctively shield his body from obvious view. It was rumoured that some Humans accomplished this - Thurall doubted it - but this was entirely natural for his species, the Nenyar. Amber eyes, slightly pointed ears - and (so it was widely rumoured, however untrue it actually was) invisible at will. In fact, it was not tiring to maintain the hard-to-see-guise. It was more tiring to allow ones self to be seen by non-resistant minds (such as the average Human) - it was a curse, not a gift.

The major laughed softly. "Diverting? I doubt it. You've never lost, boy," the difference in operational position meant that, in fact, both were of equal rank, "and you aren't about to yet, I'll wager. The fools are betting on the competition, but the wise can surely see that Nenyar hands build better aircraft - and fly them more effectively. If the competition chiefs allow the perfluorocarbon-filled cockpit - and we still don't have word on that - the opposition do not stand a chance."

The last few words were punctuated for emphasis. Thurall shrugged slightly. "I suspect you're a little more confident than is wise, old friend. There are good pilots here. We have intel on a few, but not all. Some are hotheads, some aren't. You know the drill: it varies. The calm ones will take the day, however. - And I'm not flying an MI bird here - that makes more of a difference than you'd think. No supersonic turns, no hypersonic cruise, and a limited flight ceiling - hell, the acceleration of the Thunder is so damned sluggish I could fall asleep piloting her.

"But she's a good bird. Steady. Reliable. With a little tinkering, possibly the fastest conventional jet on the climb in the world, or so Rivette claim; but she's utterly untested in combat."

"I'll say," the major acknowledged - grumbling a little. "But you know it as well as I do: we're superior in every way to virtually any other flying force in the world, as it stands today. The CAF has never ever failed to attain air superiority where it wants it."

Thurall sighed heavily. This sort of superiority complex had always aggravated him, but he'd never heard it from his old friend Surat before. Surat Dox-Menjda was a rare individual: a Nenya who claimed Great House Menjda membership - the Nenyar in that House numbered less than two handfuls, Thurall recalled.

He chewed his lip a moment before asking quietly: "What's gnawing on you, mate?"

"Ah, same as usual. Little swine smashed up the skycar last week. Totalled it. Damn thing is impossible to crash, and he crashed it. While not in it, to boot. Can you believe it?" He ground his boot against the ground in annoyance, Thurall noticed - he always did that when particuarly...

Annoyed. Thurall decided to keep it to that one word: annoyed. It would be easy to write a novel about Surat's temper - but annoyed did the job, just about.

"Your son managed that? Hellfire. He crashed a Rotor? Remotely? Tinkering, I guess." He shook his head. "By Eru, he'll be a fine engineer...if he grows up."

"That's the bitch of it," the major swore - Thurall tried to ignore it - softly, "but as you said: if he grows up. - I guess I was a bit heavy on the superiority rubbish. But, you know, we've," he meant the CAF, "worked hard, haven't we? We deserve to be arrogant every now and then. I mean, Morgoth with bells on, the Humans expect us to be arrogant."

Laughter welled up from Thurall's chest, his shoulders heaving as he managed not to let it out too heavily; it was just so true it was unimaginably funny.

Well, to him.

"Can't let the side down," Thurall grinned, showing perfect white teeth.

The support crew for the YF-100 set up a silk rope around the main hangar door, leaving the doors wide open and the fighter inside very visible. Other members of the support crew were moving dummy weapons into a display on the ground, they laid out both variants of the AIM-112 air to air missile, including the dreaded AIM-112N Craft to Craft Tactical Nuclear Missile. The latter had been removed by the mechanics prior to arival to maintain a fair contest, it wouldn't be much fun if they just started using the AIM-112N's, even simulated.
The upper section to the crew compartment was forward and up, a woman kneelig un the cunard and leaning inside, her behind all that's visible, although covered in her black uniform pants.
A banner was draped off one wing of the TPC-5 transport, it simply stated that the YF-100 was open for observation by the public, and the crew would be open for questions. This was a first, not even the National Airshow in Ur each year got the honor of having a YF-100 display.
Again, a figure clad in the dark armor worn by the YF-100's crew came down the ramp of the transport and walked over to the fighter, over the rope which was to keep people at least two meters from the craft. Cuneiform symbols, in the same dark, almost undistinguishable grey as the writing on the YF-100 on his left breastplate, below it however was a strip of masking tape, in plain English written "Hatuey".
He stopped and spoke to the woman leaning over the craft, "Puabi, have you seen the compitition we're paired against?" his voice semi-distorted, almost mechanic from the filters of the suit.
"No." Came the reply, the woman not getting up from her tinkering in the cockpit, "Why, who are we up against?"
A breif, mechanic, chuckle came from Hatuey, "A fighter-bomber."
The woman got up and turned to face Hatuey, her slightly tanned, white face accented by her green dyed hair, and weird hair-style, as she looked at him in surprise. "You're kidding me?" She said, gaining a simple, and barely noticible head chake from Hatuey, "Why don't they usy give us the match? I mean, this interceptor was designed to hunt down bomber. This is like a sick gift from the gods..."
Puabi shook her head and sighed, then got off the Cunard, pressing the button to close the crew compartment hatch before she jumped down, allowing no one access to the cockpit.
She brushed past Hatuey to the transport quickly, "I'll be right back, gotta wash up." she said to him as she walked past.

While this had happened, the soldiers of the Republican Gaurd unit who had been assigned guard duty had taken up their postsions to watch the entire fighter.
Hatuey just walked to the front of the craft and stoof there in his armor suit, awaiting curious onlookers, ready to answer any questions he could.
Within munutes Puabi returned, jogging over beside Hatuey, in a fresh, black, SpecOps uniform, however she had tied it instead of buttoning it like normal, exposing her tone stomach. She throughly enjoyed showing off her firm, well devloped body, much to the dismay of her Squadronmates. Wearing thin sunglasses she smiled, looking over her sholder, sideways, at Hatuey, "This is so exciting." With the giddyness of a school girl she turned her gaze back the the airfeild and waited. Hatuey merel rolled his eyes inside his helmet.

OOC: Sorry about being late, I've had to deal with a crapload of HW these days. Also been busy screwing around with submarines near the NE USA.

IC:

In the midnight skies above the Chinese mainland, a single C-17 Globemaster-IV trash hauler bearing the Eagle Seal of the Militant Imperium underneath the two massive, fuel-loaded wings began a slow taxi run towards the designated Tyrandisan runway. The landing itself wasn't too bad, although it was a bit more turbulent than what the crew of the big plane was used to, and the men onboard piled out to unload the C-17. Inside its cavernous maws were spare pulse-det hybrid engines, munitions, and scores of other parts, enough to construct a second fighter.

Meanwhile, Captain Kenneth Wexley was busy manuvering his TSF-28 Seraph Air Superiority Fighter to the airport terminal, the bird's massive TC-250-PW-60 engines propelling the fighter at just under Mach 0.3. He was a man who didn't take risks, contrary to a fighter jock's expected persona. Quiet, humble, and generally unassuming, most people thought of him as an accountant or small-claims lawyer at first glance. Behind this facade of detachment, however, was the heart of a killer; Wexley was feared throughout the world for his twenty-five kills attained in a single engagement with his TSF-28D Special Issue Variant.

Uneventfully, the Tyrandisan fighter landed on the runway, its 3D vectored engines gently putting the massive machine onto the cold ground. From there, Wexley simply drove his fighter into the designated hangar, much as a civilian would drive his car into his garage. The cockpit popped open, and CPT Wexley walked down the ladder, then went to the bathroom and shower. After he finished, he put on his fatigues and joined the other pilots while the ground crews loaded up his TSF-28 Seraph.

OOC: Uh, I really wish someone dropped me a telegram about this. I had no idea it started...

IC:

Master Pilot Amber Safa had just arrived with her Su-36 Imperator. She had been flying the plane for over a year now, and even flew the Su-36 prototype. Aside from her ground crew, her Su-36 was practically her best friend. She had married her head machanic six months earlier.

The Su-36 was pulled into a hanger in some air base in Upper Xen. Safa had been briefed but she still wasn't sure where she was. But, that was travel for her. She was never quite clear about her assignments. All Amber really knew was flying and war. In her 10 year career in the Hawks, the Halladi Airforce, she had been in half a dozen conflicts and lived to tell the tail. Her track record was one of the best in the Hawks, with over forty kills.

Her ground crew the labouring over getting the Su-36 into just the right position, except Kahil, her husband. Amber and Kahil were in her assigned room talking, cookingm and kissing. This was one of the first times in the past two weeks they had a decent ammount of privacy and time to themselves.

Amber hadn't been given a schedual yet, but she expected her time with Kahil to be interrupted by a briefing officer of some sort. That wouldn't happen in she was lucky. Just in case she was in uniform. An light olive drab officers uniform with several red stars, crossed hammers, and sickle-hammers all over it. It was much like that of the Soviet Union, with a Halladi flare.

OOC: Uh, I really wish someone dropped me a telegram about this. I had no idea it started...



OOC: Yeah, sorry about that..... :(

The crowd cheered when seeing the Tyrandian and Halladi pilots coming in, though not as loudly as when the others came, seeing the plainness of their landings.

Meanwhile, Klimenti Rokossovsky went: "Let's welcome the Tyrandian Air Force and the Halladi Air Force! Give em a big hand!"

The crowd soon clapped, welcoming them to Qinghai, China.

Col. Stepford approached the pilot from Tyrandis: "Welcome to the Party, we were afraid we were going to have to start with you." She said as she smiled and extended her hand in greeting.

Herman walked back over to the hangar his MiG-41 was in, it had small little paintings of flags, various flags, some Libyan, some Egyptian, many from many nations, at least six hundred small flags painted on the sides of the plane.

He picked up a phone and called an Upper Xen officer, a man who might know something about what was going on. He simply asked, "Hello, this is Herman Von Thaller, when do things get going here?"

Sanislov smiled as she complimented his piloting, kind of tilting his head as though saying 'Yeah, I know.' "Well, thank you. You didn't do too bad yourself, or so Ivan tells me." He glanced to Ivan before returning his hazel eyes to Christina.

Adjusting his five foot ten inch frame, he listened to what she had to say before interjecting as she asked who they were paired with for the first round, "I guess we're in a three-way... Us, ISAF and Tonnissia. I don't know how that'll work, just a three-way deathmatch or what?" He shrugged. He surveyed her aircraft from his vantage point before being drawn back to Christina.

Ivan took this moment to speak up, "So, who are you paired with?" As Ivan spoke, Sanislov was thinking... Hmm... He thought, not bad to look at. Not bad at all. He surveyed her a bit before snapping himself out of it, hoping she hadn't noticed him gazing at her.

Amber had finished cooking now, a small meal. She hadn't eaten in over 8 hours, before that. She, and Kahil, came into the hanger where her plane was being held. She hadn't bothered with much anything when she landed. She imagined some of the other pilots put on a big show, but she wasn't like that. She set a goal and tried her best to achieve that goal.

Her Su-36 was one of the first of it's type. It had been upgraded various times. Despite being a Su-27 upgrade, the Su-36 was based on the MiG-31. Her Imperator A was now clean. It practivally sparkled. A Halladi flag was printed on the back fins, gold stars were on red wings, and the nose had a checker patter on it.

OOC:

http://www.airwar.ru/photo/mig31/mig31bm_s.jpg

That's essentially what a Su-36 Imperator A looks like.

Herman walked back over to the hangar his MiG-41 was in, it had small little paintings of flags, various flags, some Libyan, some Egyptian, many from many nations, at least six hundred small flags painted on the sides of the plane.

He picked up a phone and called an Upper Xen officer, a man who might know something about what was going on. He simply asked, "Hello, this is Herman Von Thaller, when do things get going here?"

One of the representatives from National Armscorp said, "Well, as soon as everybody gets here, Mr. Rokosovssky will give his speech and ask everybody to come to a meeting."

Thurall covered his mouth to obscure the wide maw that sprung into existence as he let loose an obnoxious yawn. It wasn't that he was bored; far from it. The air pressure was just a little different here to what he was used to, was all. He considered taking a nibble on an oxy tablet, but decided against. Might be against competition regs, for all he knew. They were performance enhancing. Allegedly. Some of his lesser colleagues didn't agree on that score, but then, most of the squadron disagreed on most things most of the time. That happened when you lived in close quarters, suffused with the knowledge that you would be the first into a hotspot.

In point of fact, Thurall had seen combat - just a week ago, in the 'war' with Dregruk. That had been an awfully one-sided engagement, once the anti-air units on the ground had been obliterated with stratospheric bombing runs. He had been assigned to the fighter screen for the IDS Vanguard, although he had seen some action in a few sorties sent over the mainland - two recon, one medevac support. He sighed. If only he were allowed to fly his personal bird - a state-of-the-art eXon atmospheric strike fighter.

But the eXon wasn't a jet, and it wasn't for sale. Hence his presence with the Thunder. - Like many pilots in the CAF, he had a contract with Rivette for flight testing when he wasn't on the active list - which he wasn't for the next six months on account of his two sorties and one CAP assignment in the war - but his contract extended to 'public relations flying'; and the board of controllers had evidently decided that this jaunt came under that heading.

He resisted the urge to grumble, a foul mood brewing just beneath the upper surface of glee; he was always gleeful to some degree if he was soon to fly, although he was often equally depressed at the thought that he would inevitabley have to land.

He growled softly under his breath, and glanced around at the various hangars - or those that weren't obscured from view. To compensate, he wandered somewhat aimlessly, although keeping an out for warning signs that might be erected in certain places.

And eventually his feet carried him, inevitably, to a pair of what he presumed were pilots. They did not look like groundcrew. Somehow, one could usually tell, even without uniforms (although he guessed that nudity taboos were in effect in this country, he had no idea for sure, as the intel packets had somehow lacked that information).

They are talking, however; one was a lady, the other a man. On second thoughts, he wasn't sure the second was a pilot - yet he had that set of the shoulders, that "Put me in the saddle and let me fly til' sundown" look that his father had spoken about so often on warm nights out on the porch. He almost turned and walked away - he felt like an alien here, for these were certainly two Humans. He'd never met a Human who wasn't from Iluvauromen, who wasn't immersed in Nenyar culture themselves and thus not effectively different except in species. He was, in fact, anxious - the only times he had encountered Humans from outside the Commonality was when he had killed them in combat.

It gave him pause for thought.

Politeness vanished out the window for a moment as boldness wins through, though, and he greets them both with an easy (if somewhat faint) smile. "Good day," he offers, his racially-normal stunning amber eyes faintly glimmering. Quite literally glimmering, in fact, as the fragile arrangement reflects some light back, even with the second retina safely stowed up inside the occipital sac, ready for deployment at night.

[OOC: ...that would be directed at Stepford and the guy from Tyrandis.]

Turning at the voice, Col. Stepford said: "Oh, hello, I'm Col. Christina Stepford, Mauiwowee, and you are?"

"Thurall, of Ma-tek" (OOC: sorry didn't catch a rank to put there)

"Oh, hey, you're the guys that pulled that number on Dregruk a week or so ago aren't you? - I saw some of the intel reports on your high altitude, precision bombing of the anti-aircraft batteries - pretty impressive score rate. Did you have anything to do with that or are you just a straight fighter jockey like me? Glad to make your acquaintance."

Sizing him up, as she had done all her potential competition as she met them, Christina thought to herself, he looks different somehow, I'll have to keep an eye on him. It's not exactly a 'fish-out-of-water' look, but he's uncomfortable - hmmm

::: Back at Col. Stepford's Plane - The One Hit:::

While the crew finished tweaking the engine system (the computer read-out said fuel efficiency for the after-burners had only been at 94% efficiency as the plane had come in) and polishing every little last smudge of dirt or carbon off the plane - even going so far as to "armor-all" the tires; Captain Klipsch, Col. Stepford's 2nd in command on this missison and pilot of the C-130 that had followed her in, had hooked up an external microphone and speaker to the plane's onboard AI system and engaged it in civilian mode - A favorite trick of his and Christina's at air and trade shows - Civilian onlookers who wanted to know about the plane could just ask their question directly to the plane itself. A laptop computer LCD screen showed a basic schematic of the plane and the AI system, as long as the requested info. wasn't classified, would answer and adjust the picture on the screen to show the questioner the plane's system that might be involved. Civies thought it was just too cool to ask a question and have the plane itself answer them, especially in that Sean Connery, scottish accent that Christina liked, and show them pictures to illustrate what it was talking about.

Like all fighter pilots in Mauiwowee, Col. Stepford had "trained" her AI system to be like a "3rd Arm" for her as she flew. Unlike most pilots though, she had gone further. Most pilots thought of the AI system as just that, a system, that helped like a 2nd crewman might with weapons and control during a dogfight, but otherwise was of no huge consequence. Christina, on the other hand, had gone so far as to have named her system; "One." Like a real 2nd crewman might be to a pilot, "One" was her friend, at least as much as an AI system tied to her aircraft could be. She talked to One about even the most trivial stuff during flights. The people who knew of this trait in her laughed, usually secretly and behind her back, about her "relationship" with a computer. However, she was not alone in this trait, it was just a trait that most pilots who engaged in it did not discuss, because of the fear of being laughed at. However, the I.T. guys, the computer programmers that had created the AI system for Mauiwowee's fighters didn't laugh. They studied Christina's AI system and the system of the other pilots that were like her. And they were constantly amazed.

Like any good AI system, "One" had been hardwired with certain, imutable, unalterable characteristics and solid, known factual information (for example, for this contest, all known information about every plane in the competition had been programmed in, from configuration and speed to known radar cross-sections). Also, like a good AI system, a relational database framework had been created, allowing the system to compare the "known" data to new input and see if there was a "match." However, Mauiwowee's engineers had taken it another step and programmed in a randomness factor and a "search engine" that gave the AI system the ability to "learn" by randomly comparing known and unknown factors and testing "theories" in a simulated enviroment and by having the system "search" these theories, simulated results and known data and comparing them as well. The more the AI system was talked too, the more it was used and the more it did and was exposed to, the greater and more complex it's ability to "reason" and "anticipate" the potentially unexpected became. "One" was the most highly sophisticated and "learned" AI systems in all of Mauiwowee's airforce. Christina didn't even know that. All she knew was that "One" had become not only a "3rd arm" for her as she flew, but "One" had become a "2nd Brain" as well. The incredibly complex "web" of inter-relationships and comparisons carried on Christina's AI system "mind" astounded the engineers who worked with the system. It wasn't quite the "computer" or android "Data" from Star Trek yet, but they could see those lights at the end of the tunnel. More than once "One" had saved Christina's life by altering course, firing a missile or machine gun burst or a targeted EMP pulse before Christina probably would have, just because the system "knew" it was likely to be the correct action according to it's "experience." For most pilots, when their AI systems engaged a weapon, and particularly if it momentarily seized control of the stick and altered the flight path, they were disconcerted, if not down right angry. Christina merely said "Thanks One! We needed that."

For all practical purposes, the pilots in this contest who thought they'd be flying against a really good pilot when they faced off against Christina, would be instead, facing off against a great pilot in Christina, and an extremely good pilot, "One", both at the same time and in the same plane. Some of them might get a rude awakening.

OOC: This is kind of a tag post but i'll rp it anyways

IC:

General Silverman took a deep breath and checked his watch, he was late. Luckily the Valefors hadn't arrived yet, he was hoping to see some more amazing acrobatics from the pinacle of Relic engeneering. He turned his head twoards a video screen showing a replay of the Soviet Block fighter.

"Does that pilot want to kill himself before the competition?" He grunted to himself

He strolled up twoards his box, from which he could get a clear view of the aircraft hangars. It was once again up to him to observe the finest aircraft in the world for Anarresa. He sank into his seat, lowered his cap, and drifted into sleep.

OOC: Sorry for being late, I just got the telegram, don't know why it took so long... This is a tag, ill make a more character oriented one later.

IC:

For a plane that could fly Mach 6+, flying at Mach .8 was like flying backwards.

Not quite. Maj. John "Tom" Thomas knew what backwards felt like, and this was not quite it. Backwards in a Valefor tended to be faster. In fact, it would probably be hilarious if Tom flew the Valefor past the dropships backwards. But rather than tempt fate with an embarassing crash just before an event, Tom decided that the stunts could wait until people were watching. He whipped out his PDA II and began a game of Asteroids, to pass the time. The plane's flight-director software would chime in when they were 15 minutes from the airfield.

The D-15 behind the Valefor chimed in:
"You know, we're late, Major."

"No," Thurall replied quietly, indeed a little uncomfortable - although the lady made things easier. He felt as if he could fall into the usual routine - although something was missing: she was not emitting the usual welcome that he received from his empathic brethren.

"Although I have flown bombing missions, my squadron is usually assigned to recon and air soup missions. - Air soup stands for air superiority. That's the CAF speciality, of course." He says that as if everybody knows that; after all, his airforce is clearly the best in the world. His voice says all that, and more; but its not arrogance, and its not overconfidence - rather its unmitigated, unashamed pride. It's that rare sort of pride, too, the pure sort that's somehow unassuming - the kind of pride that is tempered by equality and fair-mindedness.

Of course, it could still easily come off as arrogant. But in the arrogant world of the fighter pilot, it takes alot to be perceived as really arrogant.

"I'm the second-in-command of Alpha Squadron," he goes on, as if that says it all, "but we did carry out a bombing run once; back in the All Elves War. We tore chunks out of the Enemy's sky furnace, the Dor Daedoloth."

The 'Enemy' is clearly Morgoth of Melkor Unchained, by the reference to sky furnaces. He pauses a moment. "None of this is classified, of course," he adds, going on, "but I'm sure you have your share of stories from the front. You have the look of experience."

He didn't add that the look of experience was usually that haunted expression in the eyes, that image of the pain of the soul that knows it has killed without ever seeing the eyes of the people killed.

A glum feeling threatening to slip over him, Thurall carries on talking: "But enough of that. - Christina is an unusual name; or should I say, is unusual back in the Commonality. What does it mean? My name is derived from the Elvish 'tur', which is power or mastery, and '-alc', which is a Menjdari suffix related to alcari, meaning 'free air'."

"Why thank you Thurall." Said Christina, genuinely pleased that her skill as a pilot had been recognized by another pilot from another country. "Mastery of the Free Air - what a fitting name for a pilot too. My name literally means 'Female follower of Christ' - However, I was named for a Swedish Queen in the 17th Century who gave up her throne in order to follow the religion of her choice - my parents taught me that she should be my example for life - a person must be willing to give up everything in order to stand by their principles. A principle that is unworthy of giving your all too, is no principal at all. The name 'Stepford' means 'devoted' or 'loyal' - 'unwavering in support' So I guess you could say my name stands for 'principaled loyalty.'"

"Very interesting," the Iluvauromeni pilot noted, an eyebrow twitching upwards just a little. "My mother undoubtedly knew I was to be a pilot, even though we did not have aircraft then. Nenya ladies often 'enjoy' the 'gift' of foreknowledge - or rather, the glimpse of foreknowledge. From the apparent aptness of your name, I would hazard the guess that such ability is not limited to Nenyar and Quendi alone," he smiles.

His eyes are remarkably...polite. They do not drift in that distracted manner, seeking breasts or lower altitude body parts. It imparts a rather focused, direct air about the man - if 'man' he can be called - that might otherwise not be noticed. His voice is tinged with a lilting accent, it becomes increasingly clear, but the accent is rather neutral, the words each carefully pronounced but not aristocratically so; his voice rises and falls in pitch, sing-song, melodious, almost reminiscent of the female blackbird singing at dawn - but with an undeniably masculine strength and timbre.

Now curiousity overcomes Thurall; still smiling, head tilting to one side marginally, he asks, "Have you ever met one of my kind before? A Nenya, that is. Or even an Iluvauromeni Human? - For I must confess I have never met a non-Iluvauromeni Human before this day, outside of battle. It is not that my kind are warlike, however - I just have not seen the need to travel very much, and tend to stay away from the areas frequented by tourists in my home city and land."

The Roman Aircaft Co. Enginners fix the X-35F JSF.
"Hustle." said the top Engineer.

A truck pulls the JSF to wards the airfield. All fueled and fixed.

The Test Pilot enters the JSF.
"Lets get ready.", he muttered

bump for al participants.

I'm here
Where is everyone else
?

I'm here too!!

OOC: I know that you guys and everybody else that showed up are here, but TGed everybody else that was late, WTF? Perhaps I should just skip to the briefing, if that is fine.

The folks that didn't show have forfieted - sounds ok, lets get to the contest - next day, pilot reception is over - morning briefing gets under way

IC:
Christina arrived for the 7:00 am briefing, well rested and ready to go. This was the kind of day she lived for. In her mind she could already see the manuvers and feel the G- forces. She wondered how the new pairings would play out since some people chickened out of the contest.

Klimenti greeted Christina and said, "Good day, ma'am, please sit down....there are refreshments."

He directed her to a table, with seating for everybody. It was large, round, and it had a projector on it. The scene looked more like a business meeting than an aircraft competition.

Klimenti then checked the projector and the equipment. And, he prayed that he would make things clear to people, sometimes, he had a bit of a "mushmouth" complex when he spoke.

Thurall arrived with everybody else, or, rather, towards being the last to enter the briefing room. He seems rather calm, rather...centred.

In fact, he was. He had spent much of the the time prior in deep meditation, preparing his mind for the level of concentration he expected to maintain during the briefing. The rest of the time had been spent playing strategic games with the other Iluvauromeni brought along - he almost wished he had brought his foil, but he wasn't sure what the others present would make of seeing his party busying themselves with fencing when there was an aircraft to ensure that was in tiptop condition.

Still, the thought appealed. It would be just a little too smug, though, he decided - not that he had the option anyway.

He takes his seat in silence, and sits very straight, palms flat in his lap. There is a slight curve to his back, however - he is not anxious, but calmly focused. A totally straight back would indicate anxiety. Or, that was what they were taught about the humans. That was why he did not sit entirely straight, even though it was more comfortable to do so; the correct impressions had to be made.

The trio of crew wandered into the room with the table, ready for the breifing.
Quietly they took their seats, looking to the projector, and around the room.
After a moment, Hatuey spoke up in his impaitence, "Will the pairings be re-done with some of the participants not showing up?"

The trio of crew wandered into the room with the table, ready for the breifing.
Quietly they took their seats, looking to the projector, and around the room.
After a moment, Hatuey spoke up in his impaitence, "Will the pairings be re-done with some of the participants not showing up?"

Kliemti said, "Apparently yes.......it is sad, but some persons will have to be rejected from the competition."

Thurall arched a brow, and, with such cool calmness radiating from him, looked decidedly Vulcan. It was the ears that did it. He is, however, of course, Nenya. No green blood here.

"Then I trust there will still be an even number of contestants, or some form of solution to the problem of an odd number. It would be sad for any of us to advance merely by virtue of a BYE."

Christina glanced over at Thurall. Many of her "girlfriends" would have referred to him as the "strong and silent type," but she knew it was deeper than that. He had been more than polite at their first meeting in the hangars and followed that up at the pilot's reception last night. Unlike the pricks from Decisive Action, he recognized her as a true pilot. She respected him, and if she had to lose, he would be a worthy opponent to lose to. However, she contemplated, in many ways, she was his exact opposite. He was calm, calculating and quick to understand a situation and act on that understanding - a mark of a good fighter pilot. However, he did not impress her as a gambler, a risk taker, someone to try the untried. He was Mr. Spock to her Captain Kirk. Rational vs. Flamboyant would be a good description of their differences she thought. He may or may not be a better pilot when it came to technical skill and his plane may or may not be better than hers. When it came to the unexpected, to the gamble, to the sudden, seemingly foolish manuver, she felt confident she had the upper hand. Was that enough to win the day? That was a good question and one that could only be answered in the air at Mach 3 or greater.

OOC: Having trouble getting to my account, this is still UX.

IC:

Klimenti then said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the new pairings....."

He then put them up on the powerpoint.

"Here we are." (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8060316&postcount=122)

bump for VoteEarly, others on the list who flew in.

"But there is one team unpartnered," Thurall noted softly, arching his eyebrows curiously. "How will that be dealt with? It will mean that there is always one team that is not paired. Someone in each round will have to be given a BYE."

Klimenti said, "Sorry about that, there was a printing error, it seems the pilot from Pushka never arrived, thus, the playing field is leveled."

He then said, "So, to begin, We will first hold the Endurance Competition. This will involve a flight from Kashi, in the Xinjiang, to Narita International Airport in Tokyo, and back. There will be no limit on in-flight refuelings, however, whoever can make it using the least refuelings is the winner."

Hatuey began to raise his hand a moment, then just spoke up.
"About how many straight-clicks is it between these two points? And does the entire flight havwe to be under engine power?"

Hatuey began to raise his hand a moment, then just spoke up.
"About how many straight-clicks is it between these two points? And does the entire flight havwe to be under engine power?"

Klimenti said, "The entire flight does not have to be made under engine power, we are trying to simulate real-life conditions as much as possible. As for distance, it is about 4,800 miles from end to end, or about 7,724 KM."

OOC: Don't know the real distance offhand, anybody want to help me wit hthis, thanks!

Klimenti said, "The entire flight does not have to be made under engine power, we are trying to simulate real-life conditions as much as possible. As for distance, it is about 3,000-4,000 miles from end to end, or about 6,437.376 KM."

OOC: Don't know the real distance offhand, anybody want to help me wit hthis, thanks!

OOC: It's 4,800 miles one way, give or take a 100.

OOC: Thanks.

Christina spoke up, "I have another question - are we expected to land our craft in Tokyo or merely reach the airport's coordinates before we turn back for the last leg? And if the answer is that we have to land, will a touch-n-go suffice or does it have to be full power down landing and full power-up take off. Also, will we be required to carry a full weapons load, or can we leave that added weight behind?"

OOC: Hey guys, sorry I haven't been on for some time. Been busy planning invasion/enslaving whole populations/committing mass murder. Will post later.

OOC: Hey guys, sorry I haven't been on for some time. Been busy planning invasion/enslaving whole populations/committing mass murder. Will post later.

OOC: LOL :)

Even without doing the calculations, Commander Grace Lewis knew that this would not be a good event for her and her team from the Democratic Colonies. The F-81 Peacemaker had a range of 1700 miles - probably the lowest of range of the competing fighters. The fuel tanks on the Peacemaker had been radically shrunk again and again during the design process as engineers tried to fit a pair of heavy fighter engines into the Peacemaker's light fighter fuselage. Long range, stealth capabilities, even an internal gun had all been removed from the design of the F-81 so that it could reach as high of a maximum speed as possible.

Grace did the math in her head as Christina asked her question. Grace supposed that by going at less than full engine power she could perhaps strech the range of her Peacemaker to around 2000 miles before requiring refueling, but that probably wouldn't be enough to change the outcome of this paticular event. She would need to refuel atleast five times during the course of the flight - that didn't sound good at all.

Grace raised her hand as she asked a question.

"Mr. Klimenti, will there be any restrictions placed on us if we want to carry drop tanks of fuel?"

Even without doing the calculations, Commander Grace Lewis knew that this would not be a good event for her and her team from the Democratic Colonies. The F-81 Peacemaker had a range of 1700 miles - probably the lowest of range of the competing fighters. The fuel tanks on the Peacemaker had been radically shrunk again and again during the design process as engineers tried to fit a pair of heavy fighter engines into the Peacemaker's light fighter fuselage. Long range, stealth capabilities, even an internal gun had all been removed from the design of the F-81 so that it could reach as high of a maximum speed as possible.

Grace did the math in her head as Christina asked her question. Grace supposed that by going at less than full engine power she could perhaps strech the range of her Peacemaker to around 2000 miles before requiring refueling, but that probably wouldn't be enough to change the outcome of this paticular event. She would need to refuel atleast five times during the course of the flight - that didn't sound good at all.

Grace raised her hand as she asked a question.

"Mr. Klimenti, will there be any restrictions placed on us if we want to carry drop tanks of fuel?"

Klimenti smiled and said, "Well, you may carry two drop tanks, maximum. Again, you do not have to have the engines on at all times."

Christina spoke up, "I have another question - are we expected to land our craft in Tokyo or merely reach the airport's coordinates before we turn back for the last leg? And if the answer is that we have to land, will a touch-n-go suffice or does it have to be full power down landing and full power-up take off. Also, will we be required to carry a full weapons load, or can we leave that added weight behind?"

Klimenti said to Christina: "Well, you are expected to land in Tokyo, and perform any needed repairs. This is a full power-down landing and power-up take off. And we are asking for a full weapons load."

This time Major Ahmad Shub-ad (Puabi) spoke up, calmly looking over the slides as she did. "You say we have to carry a full weapons load, but my aircract is designed to carry a number of air to air nuclear missiles, which we didn't bring for safety purpouses. Would we instead have to carry the regular warhead variant in it's place? Or perhaps just attach some weight into the same area?"

This time Major Ahmad Shub-ad (Puabi) spoke up, calmly looking over the slides as she did. "You say we have to carry a full weapons load, but my aircract is designed to carry a number of air to air nuclear missiles, which we didn't bring for safety purpouses. Would we instead have to carry the regular warhead variant in it's place? Or perhaps just attach some weight into the same area?"

Klimenti said, "Well, you could attach the equivalent amount of weights into that area. That would suffice for this test."

Christina was thinking to herself and doing some math in her head - 4,000 km theoretical range - completely unladen. Now, throw in a full load of weapons, added drag from missiles on the underwing standoffs - She was probably going to have to do some fancy flying to win this one - wait - drop tanks - hmm, good question Grace - that would help, replace two of the missiles with drop tanks of fuel - use 'em and drop 'em - get rid of some weight and drag - every little bit helps - but would that little bit be enough? The idea of unpowered flight didn't appeal though - sure she could do it - but you had to be careful - you'd burn a lot of fuel re-igniting your engines if you didn't do it right - more fuel than you saved by going unpowered. "This is gonna be a close one I bet." she thought to herself. "I'll need all the help "One" can give me."

OOC: See one of the earlier posts in this thread for the description of "One" Col. Stepford's plane and AI system.

Christina was thinking to herself and doing some math in her head - 4,000 km theoretical range - completely unladen. Now, throw in a full load of weapons, added drag from missiles on the underwing standoffs - She was probably going to have to do some fancy flying to win this one - wait - drop tanks - hmm, good question Grace - that would help, replace two of the missiles with drop tanks of fuel - use 'em and drop 'em - get rid of some weight and drag - every little bit helps - but would that little bit be enough? The idea of unpowered flight didn't appeal though - sure she could do it - but you had to be careful - you'd burn a lot of fuel re-igniting your engines if you didn't do it right - more fuel than you saved by going unpowered. "This is gonna be a close one I bet." she thought to herself. "I'll need all the help "One" can give me."

OOC: See one of the earlier posts in this thread for the description of "One" Col. Stepford's plane and AI system.

OOC: Should I factor in my civil war in this equation? Things might get hot.

OOC: Should I factor in my civil war in this equation? Things might get hot.

OOC: Wait, we're having our contest in the middle of your civil war? So maybe "real" combat trials rather than simulations?

Actually, I'd like this thread to "take off" again. It could be a really good one if finished out. It began really well and has petered off. I don't know that I'd run the contest during your civil war though - you might be better off making it happen before your civil war began since this thread did (didn't it?).

OOC: Wait, we're having our contest in the middle of your civil war? So maybe "real" combat trials rather than simulations?

Actually, I'd like this thread to "take off" again. It could be a really good one if finished out. It began really well and has petered off. I don't know that I'd run the contest during your civil war though - you might be better off making it happen before your civil war began since this thread did (didn't it?).

OOC: It did happen pre civil war, so let's keep it that way.

OOC:
Actually, I'd like this thread to "take off" again. It could be a really good one if finished out.

OOC:

I think it could be fun. Who else is still interested? It might be a bit odd with DA not being around anymore though.

OOC:

I think it could be fun. Who else is still interested? It might be a bit odd with DA not being around anymore though.

OOC: Yeah.....it would be fun, actually. I've even got a school friend who wants me to do this. I'm up for it.

OOC: Yeah.....it would be fun, actually. I've even got a school friend who wants me to do this. I'm up for it.

Maybe you should reboot it, have new sign-ups and everything. Mauiwowee and myself are still interested, but the other competitors might not be. We're going to need atleast one replacement for DA anyways, unless we decide to RP his pilot being shot to death or dying of food posioning contracted from a case of bad shrimp or something.

I'd want to carry over my character from the original, but what does everyone think of a reboot? It'd generate new interest, but again, I'd be okay with just continuing this too. Just an idea on my part.

Maybe you should reboot it, have new sign-ups and everything. Mauiwowee and myself are still interested, but the other competitors might not be. We're going to need atleast one replacement for DA anyways, unless we decide to RP his pilot being shot to death or dying of food posioning contracted from a case of bad shrimp or something.

I'd want to carry over my character from the original, but what does everyone think of a reboot? It'd generate new interest, but again, I'd be okay with just continuing this too. Just an idea on my part.

I'd go for a re-boot, BUT it should be made clear in the Re-boot sign up thread that those than sign up MUST go all the way through the contest - They must post that they are willing to continue through the entire RP of the contest or they can't join. Furthermore, once the contest starts, I'd say 5 RL days (max) with no post, and they lose by default and are eliminated from all further competition.

I'd want to carry over my character and plane from the original too, just so I can kick DC's ass in the final round! :D

As far as DA's pilot goes, I think it would be clear that Christina Stepford exposed him as an African-American loving homosexual and his own men murdered him. ;)

Again, I think this was a really good idea and I wish it had gone all the way and I'd like to give it another shot.

[OOC: Apologies for vanishing...let's leave it at saying I've been having 'technical difficulties'.

Anyway, I'm still up for taking part in something along these lines. :)]