[center][h3]LTJG ROY KILMER, CALLSIGN [color=ff4136]"COMMIE"[/color][/h3][/center]
[hr]

He smirked, despite his disappointment— or maybe attempting to mask it. Either way, his litany of complaints that this was how things turned out just when they were heating up was, as ordered, stowed— even as the Shrike ground to a halt in midair. His magazines were dry after the initial run through Gelcastre, and totally spent in covering his ingress to close range. If the Jaegar's pilot managed to shake the radar spike Vulture had on him... he was just about as good as gone. One final parting shot was all Roy had left in the tank, and to that end...

The channel clicked.

[color=ff4136]<<'Till the wheel of fate turns again, Jaeger.>>[/color] 

And clicked away, killing the connection for good. There was a warm, wet, and metal-tasting feeling dribbling down the corner of his mouth. He knew he was going to be short on time before his heart slowed and he had to reckon with the long flight home— best get the most out of what was left from affairs down here while he could.

In a far gentler corkscrew than prior maneuvers, the Shrike inverted and made for the deck, following the jettisoned trophy that his prey had been forced to leave behind. As his course took him level with the watchdog, Kilmer switched to the 101st's exclusive line.

[color=ff4136]<<Commie to all units,>>[/color] he began, maintaining that ever-present radio voice but unable to keep the strain from creeping in at the edges, low and thick with blood. [color=ff4136]<<Appreciate the support.>>[/color] Polite fib. [color=ff4136]<<Enemy unit's left behind a good present for the boys working R&D— it was just Christmas back home, I owe them something.>>[/color]