I had a quick game of X-Wing (what else) with JY tonight - I took Soontir Fel with Push the Limit, Howlrunner, and four Obsidian Squadron TIE/ln fighters against Wedge with Swarm Tactics, a Rookie X-Wing pilot, and two B-Wings with Fire Control Systems.
I managed to get two turns' flying in formation then I made a critical error and broke my TIE pack in two seperate directions. This enabled JY to get his two X-Wings and surviving B-Wing onto the tail of Howlrunner and Obsidian 5, blowing them outta the sky! This really screwed my game, or so I thought, but luckily Baron Soontir Fel proved he was the best pilot in the Galaxy by going on to survive the game, helping to shoot down both Wedge and the Rookie, and outflying the last B-Wing who managed to K-Turn off the board!
Today I get my Firespray and another Interceptor. I'm excited.
Oh, and the title? Well, I played this while we were gaming:
JY was not best pleased!
And just because I could, have some fiction:
Kinlochan Highway, Aderaband Province, 06:15 Local Time
Lieutenant Posbrak spat a phlegmy clump of dust over the side of the Chimera’s turret and sighed. His little patrol group, Sierra-Five, had left Fort Terek an hour ago, with the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. Since then, nothing but dust and a faint, half-hearted drizzle, that simply made the dust sticky. The dull olive and grey green foliage that ran - thick and miserable in the heat - alongside the highway meant that he was relying on his scanners and the mad Lifeguard Sentinel driver racing on up ahead for even the most basic information about his surroundings.
He upped the gain on his goggles’ built-in magnifier, and raised himself higher in the turret to see what lay ahead. He could just see the curious gait of the old, white-and-purple Sentinel as it loped along half a kilometer ahead, almost lost in the haze of heat, rain and dust. Other than that; nothing. Turning, he looked back along the road towards the rest of the patrol. The crazy Aderaband militia sergeant was sitting, cross-legged, between the heavy stubber and searchlight of his unit’s Rhino, his comrades lounging against the sides of the top hatch, their lasrifles pointing in all directions as they gazed listlessly around them, squinting against the weather and the omnipresent summer dust. Further back still came the rest of his platoon – a single Chimera with seven men in. It was buttoned up, its turret rotated to face the way they’d come. He grimaced.
Not even half way into this patrol and he was concerned about hitting mines on the way back into Terek.
Suddenly, there was a soft plang against the turret hatch by his head, and he jerked back, cracking his spine on the rim of the turret. A bullet! Then - another, whak, into the turret armour, and he dropped into the safety of the fighting compartment, half-shouting, half-screaming into his vox-link, “Contact! Contact! This is Sierra-Five Actual, I say again, contact! Wait one! Over!”