Kashan Lockdown (The Great Escape)

[Truism]

Thing's hadn't gone well for us. As MEC on Kashan 32, we hadn't kept a Havoc in the air for more than 5 minutes, our impotent tanks overcommitted and got owned again and again, and our AA was far more interested in farming infantry than denying areas to Apaches. We didn't even stall North Village, and got pushed off bunkers within the first half hour. I was commanding. Things didn't go well.

I resigned after my two hours of boring glory and kicked back at main while South Village and MEC Outpost fell. Two more Havocs went up, two more Havocs went down in short order. Our base was ringed with assets just over ridgelines, waiting to wtfbbqpwn us. Things were getting tight, things were getting hot. It was time to cut and run.

A few times I'd been involved in curious helicopter debacles, where pilots would decide that flying towards .50's was the best way around them at uncappable bunker flags, or where they'd decide that flares were for the weak - real men try to dodge AA the old fashion way. This time I was flying. This time, things would be different.

The plan? Get out of the encircling US forces, defect to the Ending Screen, claim asylum. Avoid responsibility for my earlier efforts as commander. Step one - get a chopper, and fly it high.

So I'm doing it, with a single squad mate, who apparently had had enough of our squad leader's rage at his APC mate somewhere down the runway. I get to 500 meters, and figure screw it, why not go higher, AA might still see me. My squad mate has a pilot kit, and he's planning on doing some James Bond reenactment at bunkers, so I'm flying slowly towards the middle of the map - my height is now just shy of 700 meters. What the hell sits that high over bunkers when they're not in play? Safe, right?

Wrong.

Slowly, like some shark or something, out of the gloomy fog a shape starts to render. Directly in front of me. Facing me. An Apache. In the middle of no where. Like a man slipping on the only bannana peel in a desert. An Attack Helicopter. With Anti Air missiles. Things didn't go well.

Plan B: My squadmate tries a deep flank north, past the MEC outpost then onwards to freedom. People must have been getting desperate for transport, because the chopper is nearly full. I'm sitting at the back, willfully disobeying the server rules with an AA kit, hoping to take my revenge on that lone Apache. Someone next to me seems to be having similar ideas with a HAT kit. We round the low hills and catch some 50 fire, but manage to get into cover and round the hill. More fire, the pilot loses rudder or something and puts us down out of sight of the Hummer. Then we explode. I think it was the Apache, or maybe a tank. I'll probably never know.

Plan C: A deep flank to the East. Things are getting desperate now. I only have 70 tickets left to avoid my trial for war crimes. I load up my chopper, warm it up, and start my run south, hoping to skirt the edge of the map. Unfortunately, it seems I'm not the only pilot who decided that area was quiet. My bane, my nemesis, my arch rival, Gary Mother****ing Apache is there. Things don't go well.

Plan D: The fan is covered in brown stuff. We're down to 38 tickets, and I'm in the Trasport, warming her up. It's at 30 by the time I take off with a full squad and my team mate. This is our final shot at glory, immortalising ourselves in the ending screen. The plan? Use the ridge for cover, keep it fast, and go straight for the kill. We get going, hugging the ridgeline, hugging the terrain. The first deep ravine has a Bradley in it. He fires, but some nimble flying gets us out of the way. No love for me though, over the hill we used to dodge him is a Humvee. He doesn't see us for a moment, but then my gunners decide in all their infinite wisdom that he should know about us. They fire, he fires, I swerve back onto the bunker side of the ridge to avoid him. I want to stop and rest, but I know I can't. We're in AA country now. The first lock starts and I flare instantly, dropping a second as I bank back right, to the safety of the desert. The lock dies, and I breath a sigh, but the relief is very temporary. We get a lock, and the flares kill it, but then rockets of doom land all around us. A glance at the tickets tells my squad mate I have less than ten tickets left to get to the Ending Screen. I pop my last set of flares and bank back through a shallow valley. The rockets stop, the locks stop - we lost the Apache, I outwitted my bane.

Things are serene. We're less than a hundred and fifty meters out, on the safe side of the valley. We'll make it just in time. My squadmate is giddy with laughter and andreneline come downs. I'm deciding where I should pop my red smoke, and where I should put the chopper down. All is well.

I just prepare to flare for approach, coming in a little faster than would be ideal, and then...


>>You have been kicked and banned for 1 minute as a result of a successful kick-vote or by the decision of an admin. The reason follows below.

>>Kicked to make room for a Tactical Gamer supporting member.


The war crimes must have caught up with me.


/fin

[Ko Samui]

My bane, my nemesis, my arch rival, Gary Mother****ing Apache is there. Things don't go well.

Gary was here! Ash is a loser!

[Pariel]

Well played my friend, well played.