GTA BFM (GTA Fanfic) - Just a little ficlet to commemorate a GTA mission that we recently played. Dedicated to my buddy Trowa Bratton.

There I was, Two-Thousand-Feet, on the perch, having just completed G awareness and Alpha Checks when I got the call from Blasto Control. "Raven, bogie, north bull five, high, cold. Red Baron, Red Baron."

That was the call to ambush a friendly fighter in the airspace to test his situational awareness and ability to react under stress. I looked down at the MFD and Blasto's datalink fed me a target track right at the appropriate point. I put my radar on standby and slewed my IRST ten degrees to starboard. It was sneaky as shit, but that was my job. He'd have no electronic cue as to my impending attack. Sure enough, a nice infrared image of an F-99 Lazer filled both my HUD and the targeting MFD. He was two miles ahead, cruising northeast, not a care in the world. I thumbed the burner on the throttles and closed the distance in seconds, where I uncaged the seeker head on my AIM-9X, letting it find the hot ass of my victim.


I punched in Channel 9 to simulcast on his frequency. "Raven 21 at your six, Red Baron, Red Baron, Fox 2." I thumbed the launch button and an "electronic" missile left the rail.

The other Lazer rolled left and I could hear grunting over the freq. "Flares, flares!" he called, but it was way too late. He was well within Rne when I fired, the range of no escape. My MFD showed a missile strike where simulated blast and shrapnel would have torn into his turbines, shredding them like soft cheese.

"Fox 2 kill, Lazer, left hand turn, three-thousand," I called as I banked away and dragged south out of the fight. I caught just a glimpse of his cockpit as I sped away. "Jimmy 'Trowa' Netherton, huh? Let's see what you got. Fight's on, fight's on!" I pulled the nose up to gain some altitude when my RWR howled and I saw an electronic spike on the display. "Spike, seven o'clock close, notching, chaff, chaff," I called as I rolled right and pulled the stick into my belly, ducking into his Doppler Notch. I sucked in my gut and panted out sharp breaths, watching the "missiles" shoot past on my RWR. My vision dimmed for a moment as I pulled my Lazer up into the vertical. Jimmy shot by me and I rolled 180 and yanked hard again. The seeker head roamed right onto his fighter and I heard the cue to fire. "Fox 2!" I called, but I knew the aspect angle was too high. Knowing the missiles would not track, I thumbed the gun control and unleashed a deflection shot.


He pulled hard and my cannon rounds blew right past him. He shot by my nose, but I could tell his energy state was low and he was out of smash. I pulled up hard again, bleeding off airspeed and getting above him in a high speed yoyo. As I rolled back on target, there he was, out of airspeed, altitude, and ideas, my targeting reticule all over him, the snake's tail drawing just a little bit of lead. "Raven 21, guns, guns, kill Lazer, on the deck," I called as I banked hard left and streaked away.

He turned right away, pulling lead on me and I figured he wasn't done yet. Again, I pulled the stick into my belly and my RWR shrieked a warning. I rolled 90 degrees, nose down and built geometry on that missile, dropping chaff until my RWR cleared. We were nose to nose for a moment before he streaked by overhead. On instinct, I thumbed the burner and yanked up hard, my vision graying again. As I rolled past the vertical, I could see Jimmy pushing his nose down to pick up speed, his burner bright. I've always wanted to do an Immelmann and here it was as I pulled in right behind him, his heat plume bigger than Texas.


"Fox 2, Fox 2!" Electronic AIM-9's left the rails, rollerons imparting spin, fins banking the missiles right into the target. "Kill Lazer, diving for the deck." As much fun as this was, Bitchin' Betty was letting me know that it was time to go home.

"Bingo fuel…bingo fuel."

I pulled away and rocked my wings. "Raven 21's bingo fuel. Knock it off, knock it off. Join on my wing for RTB. I think you owe me a drink at the O-club."