"We've lost visual on the target. Dipped low and out". The pilot of Echo 337 kept her going smooth and steady. Seemed this guy was going to get away.
"Alright, circle around this block. If we don't pick him up we need to get back to visual range of the Palace. It'd be quite the radioactive hell zone now. Command will need to know how bad things are though". Bastian wasn't feeling any need to keep the chase going past the small check. He'd more pressing events to tend to. Hell, he only went after him since that Sith Lord would probably want him dead for snatching her kill. Glory and all that, she's probably dead now too.
"Incoming"! Pilot pulled a hard right. Darn near ninety degrees.
Bastian's body was slammed against the interior of the ship. The crackling warning scream in his earpiece served ineffectively. No amount of grip would of held on to the handle for support. Not human anyways. Once again they banked. This time the enemy scored hits. One of the troopers was in pieces. Multiple holes clean through the door. "Kark. Pilot, get us level. We'll shoot them from the doors. Can't stay in the air long with them"!
"Affirmative"! Pilot leveled off and the doors slid open. Building surfaces whizzed by faster than the fire from behind them now.
Bastian pulled down his cap tighter as the wind tried to steal it. A quick scrape of the floor he was gun in hand, ready for revenge. No one took kindly to getting shot at; but it did open the favor to return such. As the men took aim out over the edge, only one of either side had a harness. The rest were gripping whatever they could with one hand and holding a gun in the other. Most fired wildly at these swoops. Pilot bobbed around, staying level as ordered, bud if he kept in a straight line they'd be crap quick. Bastian held from firing. His gun had limited ammunition. And he'd already used up much of what he could carry. 50. cal exploding shells may not be of much use for a personal weapon in a protracted fight, but most times when he needed a gun. It was quick, and the target was literally blown away. Aim was taken, his breath froze. One eye closed. Iron sights lining up. Trigger pull. Hammer. Ignition. Rifling spin. Recoil. And the shell traced an invisible line through the narrow skies of skyscrapers. Target hit. Penetration. Shell detonation. One foe no more on their way to kiss the ground for the last time. One down, three to go.