"We are not going to blow up everything," Gerlach purred at Greyson over the comm. Grey wasn't convinced. "Just raising a spot of hell and getting attenti--"

And then the impact hit, knocking the ship asunder. Grey yelled his vain concern, while Grissom wrestled with the controls. Flak pattered against the hull as the airship struggled to turn. The navigator felt himself heating up in his clothes, a layer of sweat threatening his forehead. Had one of the engines been taken out with that hit? He didn't quite have time to worry, as the Dusicyon suddenly dipped lower into the city's skyline to use the buildings as cover. A clever tactic, but not when they were flying at 100 miles per hour. 

[color=darkkhaki]"TODAY WOULD BE NICE!"[/color] 

Greyson's panicked yell was finally met with response as the Dusicyon narrowly pulled up and away from an oncoming skyscraper. Grissom cried back in frustration "I'm workin' on it, ya whiner! The controls aren't responding right! One of the engines must've-" Another interruption, as a blast of flak from the north tore into the bow of the ship. Desperately, the airship climbed up, up, away from the city, and well out of the range of the guns before it was able to bank about again. 

[color=darkkhaki]"That's just it,"[/color] Grey returned fire with his worries, [color=darkkhaki]"One of our engines must've been shredded in the first blast. And that second blast just hit..."[/color] The implications began to sink in with the navigation team when Gerlach barked up over the communications:

"Johannes, Grissom! I've lost contact with--"

Greyson grew a concerned frown with her sudden silence following- the comms were still running, based on the windy feedback the crew was getting over the receiver. [color=darkkhaki]"What? Could you finish that thought for us, please?"[/color]

"Is that...?" Another moment of silence, and then, "Son of a bitch! Navigation, it seems our engineer has gone AWOL." Eyes widened on the bridge, and Grisson pounded a fist on his console in frustration. "I had hoped that our orders to fight to the death wouldn't become quite so pressing, but we're ready to make another pass when you are."

"Very funny," Grissom growled back over the comms. In the span of 10 seconds, the Dusicyon had been turned into a limping mass with a chunk of its guns lost- he had the right to be angry about it. Not to mention how the Captain was going to tear into them if the ship got any worse off. 

Luckily, their break came soon, in the from of Faulkner from the ground team: "Attention, Carson. I have cleared a landing pad for you at the western AA Gun. If you need to touch down for repairs: DOOOO SO! The second and third AA Guns should be dealt with shortly! Faulkner out!"

Before Carson or anyone else could say anything more, Grisson bleated out into his headset, "We're gonna be taking a pit stop at your new landing pad, Faulkner. Not because we have several wrecked Vulcans and a gaping hole in one of our engines, but because our primary asshole qualified to fix 'em decided to [i]hot drop into the field![/i]" A pause for dramatic effect (actually just moving away from the mic to breathe), and he continued, "That's right! Quirke's gone and flown himself somewhere into the city, so if any of you in the ground team find him, bring him to the western gun so I can [b]CHEW OUT HIS STUPID HEAD![/b]"

And with that, the Crimson Dusicyon, still on a wing and a prayer, dipped back down into the fray to fly over the western gun. Luckily, Greyson was able to point out to the pilot that the path tracing from the northern gun was open now, thanks to the Captain's intervention.