Just like it says; this bit was written out of order. It should go just before the attack on Aube.
"Hey, kid," came the voice again, and finally pulled Kira from his dismal contemplation of Strike's dull gray inactive profile looming across the hanger.
"Yessir?" he asked, as respectfully as he could but not really able to hide the fact that he'd very much rather have been left alone with his thoughts.
The older pilot - who couldn't have been more than twenty-five himself but whose shoulder bore the distinctive 'broken S' flash that Kira had been told was accorded to those who had distinguished themselves in the war with the Equatorial Union - walked over to lean against the wall and join him in looking at - or through - the mobile suit. "Conscience?" he asked.
That SAM site had nearly killed him; with a little less luck, or without Strike's phase shift armor, he'd have dodged down away from Buster's fire and right into a missile barrage powerful enough to destroy a battleship. As it was it had still had time to get off the first half-dozen of its ripple salvo before he could bring up the beam rifle and detonate the remaining missiles while they were still waiting in their bays.
Seeing that figure run from the control shack with the flames spreading across their jacket - burning alive - had been the first time it had really pressed home what his loyalty to his friends - to Blaze directly and to the others by keeping this nightmare away from their doorstep - was going to cost.
"Yeah."
He could see the veteran nod out of the corner of his eye. "Looked like it. A word of advice?"
"What?"
"There's only two kinds of things on a battlefield - targets and dead men walking. You can't go issuing pardons, kid. Only god himself can take a soldier off of death row, so don't even think you've got one to give. But every target you miss might cost one of your buddies his."
"I can't hit every one, all the time," Kira heard himself whisper.
"Dead men walking, kid. Nothing to do about it but win the war."
Hm. I just had a thought. I've been feeling almost since I started working on this that it was a little thin - stripped down to its barest bones, with no time or scene for anything but plot. I don't like that; I want to slow it down to a less hectic pace, get deeper inside the characters heads...
Problem is, I'm not sure where to start - maybe I'm just too close to the problem. So I thought I'd ask - what do you want to see? What scenes does it feel like it needs from where you're sitting? What - or who - are you curious about?
Lemme know, 'kay?
Ja, -n
===============================================
"Puripuri puripuri... Bang!"
"Hey, kid," came the voice again, and finally pulled Kira from his dismal contemplation of Strike's dull gray inactive profile looming across the hanger.
"Yessir?" he asked, as respectfully as he could but not really able to hide the fact that he'd very much rather have been left alone with his thoughts.
The older pilot - who couldn't have been more than twenty-five himself but whose shoulder bore the distinctive 'broken S' flash that Kira had been told was accorded to those who had distinguished themselves in the war with the Equatorial Union - walked over to lean against the wall and join him in looking at - or through - the mobile suit. "Conscience?" he asked.
That SAM site had nearly killed him; with a little less luck, or without Strike's phase shift armor, he'd have dodged down away from Buster's fire and right into a missile barrage powerful enough to destroy a battleship. As it was it had still had time to get off the first half-dozen of its ripple salvo before he could bring up the beam rifle and detonate the remaining missiles while they were still waiting in their bays.
Seeing that figure run from the control shack with the flames spreading across their jacket - burning alive - had been the first time it had really pressed home what his loyalty to his friends - to Blaze directly and to the others by keeping this nightmare away from their doorstep - was going to cost.
"Yeah."
He could see the veteran nod out of the corner of his eye. "Looked like it. A word of advice?"
"What?"
"There's only two kinds of things on a battlefield - targets and dead men walking. You can't go issuing pardons, kid. Only god himself can take a soldier off of death row, so don't even think you've got one to give. But every target you miss might cost one of your buddies his."
"I can't hit every one, all the time," Kira heard himself whisper.
"Dead men walking, kid. Nothing to do about it but win the war."
Hm. I just had a thought. I've been feeling almost since I started working on this that it was a little thin - stripped down to its barest bones, with no time or scene for anything but plot. I don't like that; I want to slow it down to a less hectic pace, get deeper inside the characters heads...
Problem is, I'm not sure where to start - maybe I'm just too close to the problem. So I thought I'd ask - what do you want to see? What scenes does it feel like it needs from where you're sitting? What - or who - are you curious about?
Lemme know, 'kay?
Ja, -n
===============================================
"Puripuri puripuri... Bang!"