Chapter 2: Of All the Luck...
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          The Blood Wind skimmed a few metres above the water, the
noontime sun bouncing of the metal hull, the waves crashing so
close, Malia could almost feel them in the cockpit. She delighted
in the wind and water rushing past, filling her with the thrill of
true flight.
     The elation faded, however, when she realized she had come
too far north for safety. She could already see the pillars of
smoke rising from the large town opposite: Jidoor. However, she
thought reassuringly, the last I'd heard, the Empire was
retreating, defeated, so Jidoor ought not to be hostile airspace.
Still, best to swing clear. The Spitfire climbed and banked so it
was heading northeast, away from the city. If she had maintained
the course towards Jidoor, or headed back along the Marandan
peninsula, she wouldn't have had any problems. As it was, though,
Malia's day was about to get hairy. Her radio that she thought had
busted began to talk to her:
     "Unidentified Spitfire, please respond. This is the N.I.A
Chimaera requesting your Op. number, and ordering you to return to
your designated convoy position. We repeat..."
     "Uhoh," Malia groaned. She saw the dark forms of airships
appear on her IR scope. Deciding silence was the best option,
Malia didn't respond. The air off her starboard bow shimmered and
pushed aside to reveal the black hull of the Chimaera.
     "What the- Where'd THAT thing come from?" Malia exclaimed.
It was so close, the vortex from its fanjets threw the Blood Wind
for a loop. Malia barely managed to get it under control; any
closer and she would have been shark bait.
     "...Unidentified Spitfire, please prepare for docking
override, stand down and prepare for docking."
     "Eat my exhaust, Imperial" was the curt reply. The bridge
crew found that the plane in question was not going to stand down,
and decided some persuasion was in order.
     "That plane's probably stolen, get some people after it; if
they can't get it close enough for a lock-up, terminate it."
     "Yessir."

                              *  *  *

     Malia found that she was no longer alone in the sky. Two sky
Armor units had launched out of the airship and were opening fire
on her position. The Spitfire's bolt cannons and AB-ZERO vent were
inoperable, one of the things Malia had chosen not to fix. The
problem, therefore, was that the Blood Wind had the offensive
capability of a Sopwith Camel.
     "Never say 'die'," Malia remembered grimly, without much
enthusiasm. Her plane juked and dodged, trying to evade the Armors
flamethrowers.
     Malia had an idea that might get her past the Armors, and
back on the course to Maranda, or some non-Imperial city, but she
had better do it fast. She blew out one of the coolant vents on
her wing, sending smoke trailing through the sky. Her plane dove
for the water, and the Imperial pilots were preparing to notify
the Chimaera that the kill was confirmed, when Malia pulled her
wild card.
     At the last second, she threw the throttle upwards,
preforming a perfect Setzer's Skip, throwing twin waves out behind
her stabilizer fin, and catapulting her plane back up, twisting it
around, and racing it between the surprised pilots. Malia thumbed
her nose back at them.
     Laughing, Malia was nearly thrown through the canopy when
the docking lock-up jolted the craft back towards a yawning bay
on the side of the airship.
     "Ugg, I forgot about him..." Malia groaned, feeling ill.