Running Red

[Keller]

Dresden; 4 years ago

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The frame of Keller's "Loki" rattled as he throttled up to hasten the process of acceleration, this particular ship had begun to not only show age but reflect slight negligence in terms of maintenance procedure. It had been passed down from mentor to pupil, inheritance handed down to the boy from a veteran of the cause that drew breath no more. If he was honest with himself, Keller half expected to die here.

A boy all caught up in the pursuit of Justice, abandoning the asylum provided beyond the border to come home and protect his fellow man from having to endure the same abuse as his family. A straightforward mission, or so it would have seemed. The Rheinland underworld was remarkably complex and the constant political posturing bolstered by effective propaganda meant that Keller sided with the Hessians and vowed to fight the good fight. This impromptu contractual obligation proved to be rather difficult to adhere to when he was more often than not being ordered to intercept or even extort what he considered countrymen. A particularly proud train captain fought back when one of the red wingmen perhaps became too enthusiastic in describing how he intended to administer justice on the ship's crew if payment was not rendered. His obsession with vocally detailing a mental image meant that he'd neglected to take note of the turret that had turned and put his ship firmly in the line of fire. At least he died instantaneously and was spared suffering. When the second in command took charge and ordered Keller to fire on the commercial vessel and make them pay for killing one of the pack, he made the worst decision possible. He did nothing. The target of opportunity limped away missing several cargo pods, but with all hands having escaped wrath. Keller could not say the same, not that there was much to be said at all when a particularly frustrated man twice ones size decides to apply his helmet onto the face of a stuttering and insubordinate child that could not do as asked. It certainly made residing among comrades awkward at best, with Keller likely to receive continual aggression for his meekness in the field. The Bundschuh of Bruchsal considered it the smallest act of charity to allow the stray dog to use their base as a refuge. Likely the only reason he's alive in the moment and hurling towards danger with reckless abandon, ignoring the warnings of target locks.

The Military would not abandon Dresden without giving their opponents a bloody nose. They were in the process of doing just that, having managed to ambush a supply line which simply could not muster the necessary escorts to repel the flight of four fighters that had committed to gutting anything bearing a Hessian transponder. The dromedary and its surviving escort broadcasted a distress frequency, to which this boy that had already proven himself to be a reliable liability, was the sole respondent. He did accomplish one thing, even if he failed to inflict any damage on one of the Military fighters that had fallen behind only marginally. He had their full attention, with all four fighters turning to pursue him and almost instantaneously causing a breach of his hull. It did however render the more aggressive of their formation open to retribution, and that much they would receive from a cantankerous dromedary and a sabre missing its secondary engine, bleeding an intricate trail of fuel as the surviving escort and its charge retaliated. They would terminate two of the Military fighters despite the critical damage their ships had sustained prior to Keller's messy and anxious intervention. And the boy felt brief respite, as if they had triumphed. Only to quickly realize that the two remaining Military fighters tired of chasing him and had turned around to tie up the persistent loose ends. He was alone here now, with one of the hostile ships on a direct intercept course and the other closing in from the rear. If nearly blacking out every few seconds would not kill him now, then the fighter that intended to charge right for him certainly would.

For the first time in his life, the boy committed to a decisive action and pitched the nose of his ship up, the guns followed with only minor protest. He fired early and generous, spraying the space in front of him consistently enough to cripple the shields of the oncoming fighter. But they returned the favor as well. The absolute smallest margin of error allowed Keller to score a hit on the fuselage, he'd torn into a fuel line and set their engine on fire. But he hadn't given himself a sizable enough window to pull out of the way, unable to avoid the smoldering wreckage that hurled at him with lethal intent. A sickening groan came from both ship and pilot as Keller lost his left wing and had been thrown into a violent spin. As circumstances should have it, the pursuing pilot expected his wingman to pepper such a clumsy and indecisive pilot without contest. Only to be surprised by the sudden appearance of a wounded but mostly intact Hessian fighter that he had not anticipated needing to pull away from at this angle. Attempting to do so only resulted in contact with his wingman's still mobile wreck, crippling the shield barrier and directing him right into the engines of Keller's fighter with a muffled crash.

The skirmish was over, albeit with little in the way of grace. A weary Keller woke from a concussion induced slumber as brief as his hopes of being able to plot a potent intercept course. A cursory glance at his surroundings revealed a fighter quite literally glued to the exhaust chambers of his ship. His engine system report several key failures, chief of which was that one of the units had failed due to how irresponsibly he had burned into action. He had fried one, certainly. But the other, the one lodged into the canopy of his wounded opponent. It could still be restarted. If one moment has ever stuck, it was likely this. There was no stuttering, no hesitation on the basis of ideological superiority or an attempt to hold onto abstract morality. Keller put the remaining engine into a full burn with a deft hand motion, frying an already battered man to a crisp and ripping himself free. Free for the next 1000 standard units until the other engine failed as well and necessitated a tow.

Though when his request for a tow was finally answered, it came with an unexpected level of preparation and readiness. And the course? Vogtland.