[center][h3]LTJG ROY KILMER, CALLSIGN [color=ff4136]"COMMIE"[/color][/h3][/center] [hr] [color=ff4136]<>[/color] came the crowing rejoinder, as close to a 'belay that' as their flyboy could reasonably get away with saying to his two outright superiors. Within the box, Kilmer's hands flew in doubled tempo, clicking off of the secured communications line for the 7th, and back to universal chatter— just in time to hear the cold, desolate growl of his duelist opposite, undeterred by the loss of his long-range armament. Good. [i]Very[/i] good! The Shrike, naturally, stuck to the Jaegar like glue even as it strafed away, trying to build distance and regain its footing. The two beam sabers crashed against eachother time after time, Kilmer refusing to lose his momentum— half the reason the snarling grin had plastered itself across his handsome features was all the hard work he'd done to get in this close, and leverage his bird's agility behind the plasma's cutting edge. Sparks flew, blossoms of azure fireworks that came and went with the wind on high as their blades clashed. For all the cool under fire, Commie was certain he had the Coalition ace on the back foot— meaning it was by no accident. His man would have something up his sleeve to get himself out of the tight spot before he was totally overrun by the Shrike's thrust-to-weight ratio— A flicker upon its form. Then a flash, then a blur, and Roy understood the card he'd drawn. At the barest bit of distance eked out, his prey broke off... And then there were four of it in view, their beam sabers all drawn and casting the shrike in a curtain of their ambient glow. As one, they dove back into the fray, looking to intercept his next strike with a quartet of thrusts of their own, skewering him from his starboard flank— All flickering. His eyes danced about the field, double-checking his work faster than most people could ever process the first thought. Seemed that this gambit hinged on the assumption that Commie [i]hadn't[/i] been on the defending end of Sab's last dozen 'funny ideas' regarding her optical camo suite in BFM and Combat Trials; after three years racing eachother from rack to cockpit, Roy Kilmer might well have been in the running for the Union's foremost expert at picking out tricks of the light, discerning signal from noise. [i]All[/i] fake. Oldest trick in the damn book. If this wise guy wanted Roy looking one way... He hit the thrust, pushing the stripped-down chassis straight up even as his sensors flared, punching out of the trajectory of the holograms— [color=ff4136]<>[/color] And rolling into a tight hairpin, bringing his saber down to meet the [i]true[/i] Jaegar, who had very nearly cored him from the blind angle with his little trick. Like [i]hell[/i] he wanted Vulture up here, this guy had jokes! [color=ff4136]<>[/color] The Shrike's metal sabaton lashed out in a hard mule kick, aiming to shake the chassis, disable the camera, knock his foe off balance again.