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Greetings | Re-Encoded By ᴅᴇᴥᴛᴇʀ [www.MoviezAddiction.Us]
The air wing has a tradition:
rookie pilot gets the ship nobody else wants.
In my flight group, that ship was Lucky Thirteen.
There was nothing wrong with her, technically,
but before they gave her to me, she'd lost two crews.
They recovered the ship and the dead...
or what was left of them.
A ship surviving when all her crew dies is unusual, but twice?
I'd never heard of such a thing before...
or since.
Then there was the matter of her serial number:
-13-02313.
It not only started and ended in 13, the digits totaled 13.
Pilots are a superstitious bunch.
Lucky me.
Fuck.
-She's all yours, Lieutenant.
Rookie's get the leftovers, you know how that is.
Aye-aye, sir.
I took the liberty. Hope you don't mind, ma'am.
Chief Warrant Officer Jack Lee, ma'am. Call sign "Jacko".
Cutter, Colby. Good to meet you.
Hope you're not letting the talk get to you, ma'am.
I'm not the superstitious type, Jack.
It's just a machine.
Well, you're wrong there, ma'am.
-Ships have personalities.
None of them are just machines.
-Thirteen in particular.
Our first op, the enemy attacked one of our terraform stations,
so I'm hauling grunts planet-side to check it out.
They put me in Thirteen in front.
If shooting starts, nine times out of ten, it's the lead ship that doesn't come home.
I tried not to dwell too much on that.
Hen House, this is Lima One Three, confirm LZ is clear. Over.
Confirmed. Watch your sensors.
AWACS tracking two T-28 stealth fighters in your AO, running dark.
LZ looks clear.
The terraformer looks bent.
Let's get this done. Those T-28s show up, we're fucked.
Marines, five minutes.
Condition one rifles.
Condition one rifles!
You know what ship we're riding, right?
It's not a ship, it's a fucking coffin with wings.
Marines, one minute.
First team, you got the ten to two. Second team, you got the two to six.
Third team, you got the six to ten. Good to go?
- Oorah! - Let's go!
You, rear security.
Lima Squadron, this is Henhouse.
Detecting active radar emissions from two T-28s,
bearing 180 on your position.
Marines, fast movers incoming. To cover.
All hands, LZ is compromised.
Return for immediate evac.
-What are you doing, Seven Zero? - Getting the fuck out of here!
You've still got men on the ground, Jockey.
God.
All remaining units into Thirteen, now!
Two squads of enemy grunts in the brush,
and those type 28s are coming around again.
Henhouse, this is Lima One Three. We are a no-go.
Requesting air support.
They're jamming us.
Fifteen seconds to intercept.
Shit, we got one more.
Ten seconds to intercept.
-Not yet. - Wait for me, God damn it!
I got you. Come on.
- Oh, my God! Come on!
Spike!
-He's in. - Launching flares.
- Altitude! Pull up. -Cutter, you got this?
- Altitude! Pull up. - Cutter?
Altitude! Pull up.
- I am shittin' diamonds here.
Guns!
Spike!
Chaff. Flares.
Jacko, take 'em out.
Copy that.
No joy, Cutter. These columns are too dense.
Proximity caution.
Jacko, shoot the columns.
- Cutter, they got a lock on us. - Proximity caution.
Splash one, motherfucker.
- Straight ahead.
Fuck, we're out of ammo.
- Cutter... -I got it.
Pucker factor ten.
-
Come on, boys. First round's on Dave.
I was wrong about you.
-I was wrong about you.
Go!
I flew 19 more combat missions with Lucky Thirteen.
In all that time, not one casualty.
I have to admit, Lieutenant, you've done good for yourself,
even in this antique.
Thank you, sir.
On three separate sorties,
Lucky Thirteen was the only flight-ready ship left at the end of the mission.
You know, there's a pair of new Whiskey Blackhawks on the way.
Feel like trading in this bucket of bolts?
She brought us home safely every time.
Even when ground fire was so thick,
you could step from the cockpit to the ground on shrapnel shards.
I do appreciate that, sir, but she's my "bucket of bolts."
-And she always takes care of me.
After the tenth mission in a row without a scratch,
the other pilots started to mean it when they said "lucky thirteen."
Henhouse, this is Ninja One One Two.
The enemy's right on top of us. Where's our ride?
We're right here, Sergeant.
Thank God.
I'll keep up the suppressing fire. Get your men aboard.
Copy that. Break off contact.
Pierce, get him out of here.
Get in. Hurry. Covering.
Go!
Enemy's regrouped and they're coming in fast.
- I'm in. - Cutter, move!
Roger that.
Henhouse, this is Lima One Three. Ninja One One Two secured.
We're RTB.
Sergeant, how're your men doing back there?
We're good to go, ma'am. That was close.
Fuck!
Shit.
Come on, girl. Just get us through this.
No. Brace for impact.
-Come on! - Altitude! ...up.
Cutter? Colby, you okay?
Yeah, I'm okay. You?
- Rattled, but alive. - We're good.
Contact, two o'clock, 150 meters.
Get those grunts out of here. Get some cover and wait for evac.
I'll warm up the cannon.
I'll cover you until ammo's out, then I'll scuttle.
I'm not gonna let them take you.
All right, boys, on me. Move.
Don't clump together. Keep going!
Lee, move your ass!
Come on, you fuckers!
Fuck!
Fuck...
God, I'm so fucking sorry.
Five, four, three,
two...
She doesn't want to go.
Enemy in sight. Fire at will!
You fuckers, get off my ship!
Get down!
They patched us all up,
gave me the Distinguished Flying Cross for conspicuous bravery under fire.
They gave me one of those new Whiskey Blackhawks.
-It's a fine ship, top of the line.
Still, I'd trade it in a split second
to fly one more mission in Lucky Thirteen.
Lima One Three, we have a visual on you.