Kell is MIA as he has been shot down behind enemy lines.
Location: Outskirts of Paran City and further out.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 577
2237-06-23 - Wilderness near Paran City
The last hit that Kell’s Viper took was not one that anyone would expect to take down a fighter. However, the Colonial craft was already in bad shape from an earlier hit and the round that hit the nose shuts down the systems again.
Instead of panicking, Razor tries to repeat the same procedure he went through before to restart his Viper, going through the switches. But when he hits tries to restart the power, nothing happens. There was no response, even after a second attempt. The problem is, with the seconds that ticked by, his Viper has been moving at a vector and losing altitude. He tries to activate the comms, calling out, “Krypter! Krypter! Krypter!” But there was no reaction and he knows the emergency message did not get out.
The only thing that the young Colonial pilot can do now initiate self-destruction procedures and prepare to eject. The land below is already coming up rather quickly when the survival pack is grabbed. Hugging it against his chest, he reaches down and pulls the ejection lever. Luckily, those who designed the fighter kept the ejection system separate from the main power. The canopy blows off and the seat flies up into the atmosphere.
The parachute activates while the Viper continues its death spiral towards the ground, pulled to its demise by gravity. Without Cylon Raiders chasing him, Kell was able to float safely down to land, the only thing he is able to do is study the surroundings, try to commit landmarks to memory. Then he looks up and the light cruiser is floating ominously above, having left the storm clouds that is dumping rain down on him. Luckily for the extravehicular pilot, the Cylon Capital Vessel is trying to swat the escaping Raptors out of the sky without any luck so it isn’t raining death down upon him.
When his feet touches ground though, Kell doesn’t waste a single second as he is immediately on the move. Since the Light Cruiser is above him, he knows that chances of SAR for him is pretty much nil, which means that he is moving in the direction of the friendly lines. Slinging the survival pack over his back, he draws out his sidearm and checks it. Loaded and ready to go, he begins the long trek towards friendly lines, knowing it will take one step at a time.
2237-06-24 - Wilderness Closer to Paran City
Kell did not stop to rest, walking all night as he treks through the hilly terrain, trying to stay in areas with trees instead of walking out in the more open locales. Though the briefing did say that Paran City was coming under attack, the pilot had hopes that it would remain contested at worst and the Cylons would be fended off with the resupply at best, so there would be friendly forces there to help him return to the Vanguard.
However, when he reached a location with a good vantage point that gives him a view of Paran City, something is very wrong. There is a large number of Cylons in the distance on the ground, the Colonial presence apparently minimal. It seems like the line has shifted and for the worse, his hopes of finding friendly forces dashed.
Instead of falling to immediate despair, Kell mentally shifts the objectives, instead of heading to Paran City, he will continue moving in the direction towards friendly lines. For the time being, he takes cover by a tree, taking a knee while he places the survival pack on the ground. Opening it, he takes inventory of the items available in the pack, counting the ration bars, bottles of water available, making sure the small water filter device is in good order. Everything is part of the survival skills he had learned back home on Libran, now crucial to helping him return to friendly lines. It also keeps him busy so his mind is focused on tasks instead of the veering towards the situation he is currently in, stuck fully behind enemy lines.
However, he knows full well where he is and soon enough, he hears the sounds of movement in the distance that is approaching. Sounds that belongs distinctly to Cylon Centurions. Instead of pulling his sidearm free, he quickly closes the survival pack, slinging it over his back again. Peering around the tree he was taking cover by, he realizes that the patrol is closer than he had initially thought. However, he also knows that since he has a clear line of sight of the Cylons, they would have the same if he displaced from his current location and tried to flee. The best he can do is provide as small of a profile as possible while pressed against the tree, praying that the Centurions would march by without noticing him.
It appears the Gods have heard Kell’s prayers. The heavens open up to the roar of engines from multiple crafts. Colonial Forces aircrafts to be precise, bearing the unmistakable logo of the Timberwolves. As he looks up into the skies, what was worry and almost the lost of hope with the Centurions almost on top of him is replaced with renewed faith.
The problem is that Kell is pinned where he is, any obvious movements will attract Cylon attention. This includes firing a flare up into the sky, starting a fire to raise smoke, anything to signal the friendly forces in the skies would draw unwanted attention as well, and the enemy is much closer than the friendlies are. All is not lost though because the sound and movement of friendlies in the sky also draws the Centurions’ attention. The Cylons are all looking up, some of them pointing their arm mounted light machine guns upward but not triggering any shots, the Vipers and Raptors too quick to track and too far from effective weapon range. This does give Kell the opening he needs to withdraw from the area.
The distant sounds of autocannons roaring to life and missiles hitting home does cause Kell to look back up for a brief second, then he is off. Ducking down, he hurriedly pushes off of the tree he was hiding at and begins putting distance between himself and the Cylon patrol. Each step is one further from danger, one closer to potential freedom and salvation.
2237-07-02 - Picon Wilderness
Progress has not be fast, what Kell had hoped to be a quick trek around the city of Paran and towards the front line has been painfully slow. Front evading Centurion patrols, finding a good vantage point to plot his next course, and ducking overhead Raider flights, it took almost a week for the downed pilot to finally make his way clear of the suburbs of Paran.
Unfortunately, he is also running low on supplies, rations having been used up and the only water left is what he could find to filter. The Libran Viper pilot is also running on fumes in terms of energy, lack of good sleep and constantly being on the move or watching out of Cylons, exhaustion is beginning to creep in. The only bright side is that Kell is seeing less and less Cylon patrols, both on the ground and in the air.
Trekking his way up another hill, he steps through another group of trees before finding a slope downward. Taking out his binoculars, Kell begins scoping out the valley in front of him, trying to recall any landmarks that any briefings may touch on so he can locate himself. He is beginning to feel lost after so many days of constant movements, detours, and evasions.
This time, the Colonial pilot did not do a very good job of checking his surroundings because as he is looking through the binoculars, there is suddenly a sound of weapons being leveled behind him. It is clear that the sounds are close and dread once again fills the Viper pilot. For a few seconds, he remains motionless, his mind scrambling to see if there is something he can do to get himself of this jam. However, nothing comes to mind and he realizes that his time may be up.
Slowly, he raises his hands and arms in the air, a generic gesture of surrender. Almost expecting a robotic voice or just gunshots, he is surprised when it is a human voice that tells him to turn around slowly. When he does, Kell’s eyes widen, seeing a small group of men and women, all armed, with worn out Picon uniforms.
“Colonial Forces?” The patrol leader asks as weapons are slowly lowered, her tone going from tense suspicion to concern as she approaches. Kell can only nod his head, his voice failing him as his arms falls to his side.
“Timberwolves. Ensign Kell Draygo. Was shot down near Paran over a week ago.” He finally identifies himself, the words almost croaked out as he hasn’t spoken in so many days. It is also hard to tell that Kell is a pilot, no longer clean shaven and presentable as an officer, but his worn down Colonial Forces pilot uniform does complete the story.
One of the resistance fighters in the back speaks up, “Annie, I think he might be the one. Message came down on one of the supply drops that one of theirs is MIA. Behind enemy lines.”
The patrol leader glances over her shoulder and then back at Kell, finally nodding her head, “Well, Ensign, you are in luck. You reached the edge of our lines, we can’t get you back home tonight and communications continues to be in the shitter, but there is a scheduled supply drop coming down the day after tomorrow.”
Kell can only nod his head, a smile appearing over the scruffy stubble that has been growing for the past few days unattended. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” No tears but he is close. He will be returning soon.