OOM: waking up
Feb. 22nd, 2010 09:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hallelujahpilot“Chief?”
The darkness is receding.
“Chief, y’right?”
Trudy swallows blood, and for a (brief, entirely selfish) moment, she really fucking wants the darkness to come back.
Her lower leg feels broken, and she is fairly certain that that isn’t sweat soaking her pant leg. Head heavy, neck aching, gravity pulling on the left si-
Oh.
Fuck.
“Chief!”
“Here,” Trudy says, dragging her eyes open. The window has fractures running through it, but the cabin isn’t leaking yet (she’d be dead if it was). The window and her view is sideways, never a good sign. Twisting her arm around to grab a handhold next to the window, she pulls herself straight as she can and peers up at Wainfleet. He’s covered in dirt, with blood running down his face, but if he got himself into the cabin’s back, he can’t be that hurt.
Still hanging onto the handhold, Trudy looks down to the other side of the cabin. Ingrid ‘Valkyrie’ Schmidt lies slumped in her seat, eyes open and blank. Even though she knows, she knows her co-pilot will never answer, she says, “Schmidt. Ing, c’mon, talk to me.”
But the Valkyrie doesn’t move, and her eyes keep staring.
“…Wainfleet, how’s everyone else?”
“Dislocated my shoulder. Walker’s fucked up, rest are dead.”
“...great. Okay, I’m gonna try and raise command, then I need you to help get me out. My leg’s broke-” Trudy stops, stares out the window. “-en,” she finishes, eyes wide.
Samson One Three had landed on the edge of a large field, and she still has an excellent view. This happens to be an excellent view of Jameson’s Scorpion, lying twisted on its side at the other end of the field. This also happens to be an excellent view of the Dragon presently tearing the gunship apart. As she watches, it picks up a squirming figure from the cabin with its mouth, throws it up in the air and eats it.
As she watches, a second Dragon circles and lands.
“...holy mother of God,” Trudy breathes as Wainfleet swears, and with her spare hand, she touches the Bible locket around her neck.
That’s when the radio starts to crackle.
“Samson Three One, do you copy? Samson Three One, do you copy?”
“Shit, shit, shut up,” Trudy mutters, bringing her hand up to her mike. “Command, this is Three One. Be advised, I’ll talk to you after the Dragons have gone, over.”
“Three One, did you mean plural? Over.”
“Affirmative. Two Dragons, they’re…engaged with Scorp Nine Seven, but I don’t want them to notice us, over.”
“Roger that.”
Trudy keeps her hand on the mike. “Walker, Walker, y’hear me?”
“Yeah, Chief.” Her voice sounds high and breathy even over the intercom, which Trudy doesn’t like at all.
“I need you to not make too much noise, the two Dragons are still out there.
“Oh, shit. Yes, ma’am.”
Trudy takes her hand away from the mike and goes to grab her filter-mask. But she doesn’t put it on, not just yet. The light’ll flash a warning if the Pandoran air starts to get in, and no sense in wasting what oxygen she has left.
The darkness is receding.
“Chief, y’right?”
Trudy swallows blood, and for a (brief, entirely selfish) moment, she really fucking wants the darkness to come back.
Her lower leg feels broken, and she is fairly certain that that isn’t sweat soaking her pant leg. Head heavy, neck aching, gravity pulling on the left si-
Oh.
Fuck.
“Chief!”
“Here,” Trudy says, dragging her eyes open. The window has fractures running through it, but the cabin isn’t leaking yet (she’d be dead if it was). The window and her view is sideways, never a good sign. Twisting her arm around to grab a handhold next to the window, she pulls herself straight as she can and peers up at Wainfleet. He’s covered in dirt, with blood running down his face, but if he got himself into the cabin’s back, he can’t be that hurt.
Still hanging onto the handhold, Trudy looks down to the other side of the cabin. Ingrid ‘Valkyrie’ Schmidt lies slumped in her seat, eyes open and blank. Even though she knows, she knows her co-pilot will never answer, she says, “Schmidt. Ing, c’mon, talk to me.”
But the Valkyrie doesn’t move, and her eyes keep staring.
“…Wainfleet, how’s everyone else?”
“Dislocated my shoulder. Walker’s fucked up, rest are dead.”
“...great. Okay, I’m gonna try and raise command, then I need you to help get me out. My leg’s broke-” Trudy stops, stares out the window. “-en,” she finishes, eyes wide.
Samson One Three had landed on the edge of a large field, and she still has an excellent view. This happens to be an excellent view of Jameson’s Scorpion, lying twisted on its side at the other end of the field. This also happens to be an excellent view of the Dragon presently tearing the gunship apart. As she watches, it picks up a squirming figure from the cabin with its mouth, throws it up in the air and eats it.
As she watches, a second Dragon circles and lands.
“...holy mother of God,” Trudy breathes as Wainfleet swears, and with her spare hand, she touches the Bible locket around her neck.
That’s when the radio starts to crackle.
“Samson Three One, do you copy? Samson Three One, do you copy?”
“Shit, shit, shut up,” Trudy mutters, bringing her hand up to her mike. “Command, this is Three One. Be advised, I’ll talk to you after the Dragons have gone, over.”
“Three One, did you mean plural? Over.”
“Affirmative. Two Dragons, they’re…engaged with Scorp Nine Seven, but I don’t want them to notice us, over.”
“Roger that.”
Trudy keeps her hand on the mike. “Walker, Walker, y’hear me?”
“Yeah, Chief.” Her voice sounds high and breathy even over the intercom, which Trudy doesn’t like at all.
“I need you to not make too much noise, the two Dragons are still out there.
“Oh, shit. Yes, ma’am.”
Trudy takes her hand away from the mike and goes to grab her filter-mask. But she doesn’t put it on, not just yet. The light’ll flash a warning if the Pandoran air starts to get in, and no sense in wasting what oxygen she has left.
