The radio whirs. A blur of signal messages appears on the radar screen. It looks like a seizing smile. You feel the warmth of the cannon's bracket mount rubbing against your leather boots. The air smells of gun oil. You lower your goggles and peer out over the horizon. A purple mountain lurches in the distance. You know that's where battle station omega is, but you can't see the cannons from here. You bite your lip expectingly. Hoping to see the yellow flash of combat. The signs of struggle are for you the only sign anyone else is alive. But no thunder cracks the sky. All is quiet for now. Maybe you should radio command just to free yourself from isolation.
>>6136159>Best not, stupid way to get a shell dropped on your head. Didn't we pick up a hobby since coming here? If not, we should.
>>6136220You look around the cock pit of the gun turret. By your feet in a scratched red toolbox are the various implements to service the gun. A little further, in reach of your left hand sitting on a lamented desk in front of the radio equipment is 3 large rectangular metal tins. The big mama jama sardine cans. These are of course your M.R.E's, yum! Sitting in your lap is a half-crotched shawl, the orange spool of yarn trails off in the corner of the room like a hara-kari man's entrails. Miyazaki started this shawl for you back at base. She gave it to you to finish between air raids. You wonder when you'll get to see her again. Your eyes glance westward on the horizon. You see the shimmering cap of Mt. Saturnine, the location of battle station alpha, Miyazaki's assignment. You sigh wondering when you'll see her again. If you'll see her again.
*laminated desk
EVENT!!! A sharp crack echoes from your radar equipment like a log exploding on a fire. You narrow your eyes as red dots sing onto the scanner. Suddenly the yellow haze of the skyline is broken by shimmering steel. You grit your teeth. Wasps inbound.
These alien life forms are pejoratively referred to as wasps. They resemble two plates slapped on top of each other separated by a large spinning metal blade. Reminiscent of drones from 21st-century warfare, these flying buzz saws rain death on the battlefield, self-destructing when in range of a target. They are the only enemy "personnel" seen thus far in the war.
Yellow clouds appear on the horizon. You hear the roar of cannon fire. Mushroom clouds puff up on the horizon. They look like sand devils or whisps of smoke, from a slow-building forest fire forming explosive lines in the distance. Row after row of these sand columns pop up, as the battle stations fire off.
>>6136277>Now this looks like our job. Do we wait for radio commands or do we have pre-sighted coordinates for the wasps to reach before we turn that specific spot into an even deeper crater. I'm assuming that this gun wasn't built to be pretty, and with Wasps being the only thing attacking us, are probably meant to be used against them, but maybe I'm wrong and this isn't actually our job. If that's the case, I guess it's time to get some work done on that shawl!
