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fandomweekly2019-01-04 09:30 pm
samuraiter) wrote in fandomweekly2019-01-04 09:30 pm
Entry tags:
[#001] Base (Space Invaders)
Theme Prompt: # 001 – Second Chances
Title: Base
Fandom: Space Invaders (1978)
Rating / Warnings: PG – No warnings apply.
Bonus: Primary Colours – Yes
Word Count: 740
Summary: A soldier returns to the field to face the enemy.
"I'm going to sound like a cliché," the medic said as she packed up her kit, "but you I don't think you appreciate how lucky you were to get out of that explosion." She paused to double-check all the splints and bandages she had applied. "That's the only time I've ever seen a pilot eject before the unit exploded. If this weren't wartime, you'd be in the record books." She sighed. "I'm going to ask you one more time: You're sure about this? You've got enough injuries here for a discharge – your ticket home. Do you understand that?"
"I do," the soldier said, rising to her feet and testing her balance, "but nobody ever won a war by going home, right?" She looked at the old-fashioned paper map she had pinned to the wall next to her bed. "I ejected at Point A-6. Where are they now? Do you know, or have communications been scrambled again?"
"I probably shouldn't tell you," the medic replied, "but they took Point B-4 yesterday. That means –" She counted on her fingers to check her figures. "– they've got about sixty-one percent of the Moon. Patrols have already been detected close to Earth. We're hanging on here, but ... barely." Her face hardened. "That's why you don't have to do this. We're not that desperate."
"I can still pilot," the soldier said, reaching for her uniform jacket, wincing at the aches and pains as she dressed. All the time, she stared hard at the map, noting the positions of the blue pins that represented allies, the red pins that represented the enemy, and the yellow pins that represented points of contact between them. "Just because we're not desperate yet doesn't mean we don't need every available hand in the field. I'm going. Is there a unit parked here?"
"There is," the medic said, nodding, "but don't say I didn't warn you, all right? I'd hate to see all my hard work go up in literal smoke." She laughed. "It's good work, too. Can't even tell that I was studying pediatrics before I got conscripted, huh? Don't tell anybody." Her face turned grave again. "But, in all seriousness, if you're going, good luck ... if you have any luck left!"
"That's what we're going to find out," the soldier said as she picked up her backpack, ignoring the sting of the stitches along her right shoulder blade. "If you hear anything about them reaching Point C-3, evacuate immediately."
"I know," the medic answered, her voice already fading into the background as the soldier left the infirmary and headed for the nearest unit. "I read the same orders from G.H.Q. as you, remember? I wasn't born yesterday."
It did not take long for the soldier to reach the familiar vehicle, a crude hybrid of tank, hovercraft, and old-fashioned anti-aircraft turret cobbled together at the last minute by the United Nations to face the Invaders – a death trap, perhaps, but the best that could be done at short notice.
"You'll be better than the last one," the soldier said, donning her helmet and checking the pressure on the emergency oxygen supply she had hooked up to it. "I've got faith in you." She shut the hatch and grinned as the screens around her all blazed to life, several of them flickering. "Power supply's a little shaky, but that's fine. It's enough to get by for a little while." One of the screens displayed the same map as the one she had posted. "Point ... C-5? All right." She thumbed the switch for her radio. "Base. Lucky Seven, heading out."
"Roger that, Lucky Seven," a faint voice crackled. "Good luck out there."
The soldier smirked, steering the unit towards the giant air lock separating the domed environment from the lunar surface. "If my luck's bad, I won't be around long enough to care." Already, she could see them on her main screen: row after row of the enemy. No one had gotten close enough to see if they were vehicles, not unlike the one she piloted ... or simply huge monsters. She did not care. As long as they exploded, it did not matter what they were.
"You got me once," she said, releasing the safety on her main gun, "but how many of you did I get first? Let's see how I do on my encore performance."
That day, at Point C-5, according to Base, she earned a high score.
END.
Title: Base
Fandom: Space Invaders (1978)
Rating / Warnings: PG – No warnings apply.
Bonus: Primary Colours – Yes
Word Count: 740
Summary: A soldier returns to the field to face the enemy.
"I'm going to sound like a cliché," the medic said as she packed up her kit, "but you I don't think you appreciate how lucky you were to get out of that explosion." She paused to double-check all the splints and bandages she had applied. "That's the only time I've ever seen a pilot eject before the unit exploded. If this weren't wartime, you'd be in the record books." She sighed. "I'm going to ask you one more time: You're sure about this? You've got enough injuries here for a discharge – your ticket home. Do you understand that?"
"I do," the soldier said, rising to her feet and testing her balance, "but nobody ever won a war by going home, right?" She looked at the old-fashioned paper map she had pinned to the wall next to her bed. "I ejected at Point A-6. Where are they now? Do you know, or have communications been scrambled again?"
"I probably shouldn't tell you," the medic replied, "but they took Point B-4 yesterday. That means –" She counted on her fingers to check her figures. "– they've got about sixty-one percent of the Moon. Patrols have already been detected close to Earth. We're hanging on here, but ... barely." Her face hardened. "That's why you don't have to do this. We're not that desperate."
"I can still pilot," the soldier said, reaching for her uniform jacket, wincing at the aches and pains as she dressed. All the time, she stared hard at the map, noting the positions of the blue pins that represented allies, the red pins that represented the enemy, and the yellow pins that represented points of contact between them. "Just because we're not desperate yet doesn't mean we don't need every available hand in the field. I'm going. Is there a unit parked here?"
"There is," the medic said, nodding, "but don't say I didn't warn you, all right? I'd hate to see all my hard work go up in literal smoke." She laughed. "It's good work, too. Can't even tell that I was studying pediatrics before I got conscripted, huh? Don't tell anybody." Her face turned grave again. "But, in all seriousness, if you're going, good luck ... if you have any luck left!"
"That's what we're going to find out," the soldier said as she picked up her backpack, ignoring the sting of the stitches along her right shoulder blade. "If you hear anything about them reaching Point C-3, evacuate immediately."
"I know," the medic answered, her voice already fading into the background as the soldier left the infirmary and headed for the nearest unit. "I read the same orders from G.H.Q. as you, remember? I wasn't born yesterday."
It did not take long for the soldier to reach the familiar vehicle, a crude hybrid of tank, hovercraft, and old-fashioned anti-aircraft turret cobbled together at the last minute by the United Nations to face the Invaders – a death trap, perhaps, but the best that could be done at short notice.
"You'll be better than the last one," the soldier said, donning her helmet and checking the pressure on the emergency oxygen supply she had hooked up to it. "I've got faith in you." She shut the hatch and grinned as the screens around her all blazed to life, several of them flickering. "Power supply's a little shaky, but that's fine. It's enough to get by for a little while." One of the screens displayed the same map as the one she had posted. "Point ... C-5? All right." She thumbed the switch for her radio. "Base. Lucky Seven, heading out."
"Roger that, Lucky Seven," a faint voice crackled. "Good luck out there."
The soldier smirked, steering the unit towards the giant air lock separating the domed environment from the lunar surface. "If my luck's bad, I won't be around long enough to care." Already, she could see them on her main screen: row after row of the enemy. No one had gotten close enough to see if they were vehicles, not unlike the one she piloted ... or simply huge monsters. She did not care. As long as they exploded, it did not matter what they were.
"You got me once," she said, releasing the safety on her main gun, "but how many of you did I get first? Let's see how I do on my encore performance."
That day, at Point C-5, according to Base, she earned a high score.
END.