SIV Endgame: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

SIV Endgame: An Opco Boone Adventure (view source)

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 Tucker
 Lance Corporal i/c of Radio
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 Time slowed. Tucker tilted his head, regarded his commander and winked. Bundie could see his words fighting through the dense atmosphere, wrestling with the cordite and flying clods and sandspritzes. It never made it. It was as if the universe contrived to wrangle disaster where there might be triumph. Should be ''triumph''.
-There was a moment of clarity. A sparkular gleam, refracting a rainbow of hope, then a subsonic dropout as Tucker squeezed. A white hot beam of dynamic IM spewed from that magnificent weapon.
+Bundie bellowed, “Dive!”
+The lad said, “What?”
+“Take cover!”
+Bundie grabbed the lad by his collar and thrust him violently into the base of  the cavity formed by the uprooted smoking stump of Tuckers vaporised palm tree. “Hey!” he squeaked. He cracked his head and woozed.
+There was a moment of clarity. A sparkular gleam, refracting a rainbow of hope, then a subsonic dropout as Tucker squeezed. A white hot beam of dynamic IM spewed from that magnificent weapon. The arcing white light of a 6(a) notice lit the sky. It hit the SIV’s main margin tank and blew a great hole in it. The liquidity exploded, fanning arcing sparks of magnesium glitter into the sky. They hovered for a moment, congealed into balls of liquid lightening, then zapped out, like targeted missiles, connecting to the barrels ofthe other irregulars: first Swart, then Chipper, then Tucker, then Frenchie then the squibs whipsawed at the tree trunk, slashing here, snapping there as if feeling for Bundie and his ISDA.
+Bundie threw his back against the trunk. The lads — battle seasoned warriors all — stood looking at their weapons in mute curiosity
+Frenchie stood staring, in puzzlement, at this odd spectacle, a writhing tongue of lightning gripping on to his master. Frenchie has not seen it, but the levels in his cash tank were dropping like a stone
+“Frenchie! Cut your losses! Shut them down!”
+“Shut what down?”
+“The positions! Cut your positions! Cut them all! There is no time to lose!”
+Frenchie shrugged. “Eh, bien, it’s okay, Mon Cher, I ’ave beaucoup margin.”
+“No, you don't! ''Look''!” Bundie punter to the track strapped to his old pal’s utility belt.
+Frenchie glanced down and double took. “Sacre bleu!”
+ He hollered at Frenchie.
   but they knocked out his ISDAs. The [[Present value|PV]] boiled into the atmosphere.