Delta 210
09-06-2007, 06:07 PM
Ok well i was just itching to write a Chromehound fan-fic and decided...I should go a head and try it. Well i did and was wanting to know is this good??? bad??? need improvement???? and should i cont.???
War zone
Hounds
Time: 0300
Date: 12/13/10
Area: on the border of Morskjor and Tarakia
Sergeant Striker’s heart was pounding.
“Jesus, someone from home base respond”, he shrieked through his radio.
Striker isn’t the man who calmly walks out into battle. He fears for his life and will do anything so he doesn’t lose it.
“Sergeant Striker this is home base, what is going on?”
“Heck if I know, normal border patrol, something hit me hard, jostled up my legs, can’t tell if it was sniper or a cannon”
“Sergeant this is home base sending reinforcements to your area ETA… seven minutes”
Somewhere high up on a hill sat on inverse legs a sleek black Hound. Boasting two Sabers’, three rocket packs and two heavy assault rockets, a heavy but highly mobile Hound. The pilot who’s name was Derek caught the entire radio communication. Derek had been the one to deal the damage on the Tarakian Hound.
“Derek, here, I’ve injured a Tarakian Hound while he was on border patrol. You think they’ll buy it.
“Affirmative, a friendly goes down just a kilo from the border of a country that has been on sketchy terms for the past months what do you expect”, came a rich Russian accent.
“Yes sir, Permission to finish the job”, Derek asked.
“Affirmative, then hightail it through the border and rendezvous with us at 1000. Sending coordinates…now”, the screen lit up but Derek was no longer interested. He was zoomed in on the cockpit of the soldier, who was unfortunately, about to die. Just another pawn in the long run. Derek held the camera still, took in a breath. Bang.
War zone
Hounds
Time: 0300
Date: 12/13/10
Area: on the border of Morskjor and Tarakia
Sergeant Striker’s heart was pounding.
“Jesus, someone from home base respond”, he shrieked through his radio.
Striker isn’t the man who calmly walks out into battle. He fears for his life and will do anything so he doesn’t lose it.
“Sergeant Striker this is home base, what is going on?”
“Heck if I know, normal border patrol, something hit me hard, jostled up my legs, can’t tell if it was sniper or a cannon”
“Sergeant this is home base sending reinforcements to your area ETA… seven minutes”
Somewhere high up on a hill sat on inverse legs a sleek black Hound. Boasting two Sabers’, three rocket packs and two heavy assault rockets, a heavy but highly mobile Hound. The pilot who’s name was Derek caught the entire radio communication. Derek had been the one to deal the damage on the Tarakian Hound.
“Derek, here, I’ve injured a Tarakian Hound while he was on border patrol. You think they’ll buy it.
“Affirmative, a friendly goes down just a kilo from the border of a country that has been on sketchy terms for the past months what do you expect”, came a rich Russian accent.
“Yes sir, Permission to finish the job”, Derek asked.
“Affirmative, then hightail it through the border and rendezvous with us at 1000. Sending coordinates…now”, the screen lit up but Derek was no longer interested. He was zoomed in on the cockpit of the soldier, who was unfortunately, about to die. Just another pawn in the long run. Derek held the camera still, took in a breath. Bang.