Mad Dog was Mad Dog. He never considered anything unless it involved blowing something up. Fifteen years ago, he joined the Ravaging Pain Marauders Incorporated, and he had never once regretted it. He tightened his grip on his fighter’s control stick, feeling the smooth worn leather under his grimy fingers, and smiled. He was eager to taste blood in the air.
The deranged man stared hungrily at the mid-sized modified escort-ship, the kind that often followed cargo ships around as bodyguards, as it passed below them through the narrow chasm of Pikeman’s Pass.
“All you disgusting muts, time to pillage,” the marauders’ boss snarled over the comm.
Mad Dog’s fighter seemed to leap for joy. He petted it. It was like him, ready for a hunt. He thought, What easy pickings. Seconds later, a flash of light blinked past his ship, nearly clipping his right-wing. Terry the Terrier’s fighter exploded behind him, and the shock wave blasted into his hull, rattling his bones and teeth nearly out of his body.
“Was that a bracking HEL sniper rifle? Those festering putrites! Where in this banal world did they find one?”
Mad Dog grit his teeth. A moment latter he grinned. Well, he wouldn’t be going down without tearing some flesh off first. He centered the escort-ship in his crosshairs. The rounds he shot off bounced harmlessly against its hull. Several more explosions rocked him. That sniper was horrifyingly accurate with that HEL rifle.
A warning signal beeped annoyingly at him, indicated he had been targeted. Mad Dog banked to the side and spiraled out of the path of a spray of bullets. He swung around, searching earnestly for their source. It seemed the escort’s turrets had woken up. More marauding fighters sank rapidly to the ground. It was exhilerating.
A laser swept past his right. Armor-piercing bullets sprayed his left. A few punctured his belly as he swam and dove in odd angles through the air. His finger was constangly squeezing the trigger, not carring if it resulted in friendly fire. How wonderful this world tasted. The breath that rose up from his lungs came out as a manical laugh. Birds were falling all around him, but Mad Dog felt truly at home.
His grin cracked wider as he noticed two warbikes threading their way through the fighter planes. He peppered the escort again before swinging around to chase after them. This was fun! The warbikes were more manuverable than fighters. His ship ached as it tried to follow their tight corners and sudden dives, all the while, Mad Dog kept shooting.
At that moment, the titan class supercarrier, Bendiga, lent to the marauders from Toulene, launched a warhammer at the escort. From this ship squatting fifty five miles away from the battle, Bendiga’s warhammer ripped through the escort’s kinetic shield. At the same time, it took out several Ravenging Pain fighters. In the next instant, the three bunker class maruader ships came alive, shooting missile after missile towards the escort-ship’s unprotected side. Mad Dog whooped.
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The escort’s turrets fired in despiration, destroying all but one missile, which crashed into its side. The ship rocked violently, and smoke began to billow into the air. The escort launch its own missiles. Mad Dog shot down three as he chased after the warbikes wreaking havoc on the fighters. Two more were shot down by other birds. The three left reached the bunkers, causing two of them to explode. They were now useless.
During that time, Mad Dog managed to finally hit one of the warbikes, causeing it to swerve out of control. He chased after the rapidly descending warbike, only to dodge at the last second as a laser swept past him. If he kept on its tail, that laser would have gone straight through him.
Mad Dog cursed angrily at the HEL sniper as he watched the wounded warbike reentered the escort’s cargo bay. He showered the closing door with bullets, then swooped up once more before the turrets could lock onto him. He looked around him. Out of the two hundred and forty-six fighters they had at the beginning, only fifty-two still remained. Make that fifty-one. He ground his teeth. The escort hadn’t stopped moving during the battle. It had moved almost out of range of the last remaining bunker and most definitely out of range of Bendiga.
With the turrets, missiles, the other warbike, and that blasted High-Energy Laser sniper, it would be hard to take on the escort without missiles of their own. He was especially annoyed with that sniper. As crazy as he was, he knew when to stop when there was no point anymore. It was disappointing. The fight hadn’t even lasted thirty minutes, and it was already over. Mad Dog was not even close to satisfying his blood lust, but still, he sourly made the decision.
“All dogs, heel,” he ordered over the comm. The fighters retreated back towards the bunker, firing a hail of bullets to cover their path. The HEL still manages to take out six more fighters during the retreat.
“Mad Dog!” his boss bellowed, “As platoon leader and vice captain, why have you ordered heel? Toulene will not be pleased when he hears that this escort-ship has not been sunk.”
“Boss. I’m cutting losses. We’ve clearly lost, and we’re maruaders, not soldiers. As much as I love a bloodbath, I hate fighting when I’m loosing even more, so I’m calling it.”
“Are you disobeying orders?”
“Are you trying to kill us all?” An uncomfortable silence stretched out over the link. The remaining fighter pilots figited with discontent.
“All dogs, heel,” the boss finally relented.
Mad Dog growled. The man was an idiot, but he was a strong idiot with too powerful of connections. One day though, one day he would chop off that idiot’s head and take over. Marauders should only listen to one person, the boss, not some bracking outsider.
Toulene better be careful when I take over, he thought as he watched the escort-ship disappear around a corner, otherwise he’ll regret trying to use the Ravaging Pain, and you too, escort. I’ll send you to dust some day soon.