I didn't want to post a real story until I was certain it was perfect. But now I've decided to throw perfection to the wind and take a wild shot for once. I've had this idea for a Crimson Skies parody for a while now. This is my first real story, so I welcome constructive criticism. Enjoy.
This will follow the Avatar storyline, but nobody has bending except for Aang. This takes place 700 years after the war began.
In the time of benders, the Southern Water Tribe had been but a small village, consisting of little more than a few ice huts and tents, surrounded by a low, haphazardly built wall of snow. But with the loss of bending and the rise of technology, the villagers had to rebuild their home.
What was once a small village at the bottom of the world was now a small city, built on the inside of a crescent-shaped valley. The Crescent Valley looked much like a crater, but with one side collapesed to give a view of the ocean. Buildings were constructed on the valley walls, with an airbase in the center.
The airbase belonged to the Wolfpack: The defenders of the Southern Tribe, led by Chieft Hakoda, which consisted of dozens of warriors, twelve planes, and a single zeppelin. Hakoda's primary duty was to protect his people from the Dragonfire Militia: The Fire Nation's air forces. Today, however, he was planning on intercepting a convoy of FN cargo zeps, which were attempting to slip through the ice fields to the north-east, in hopes of reaching a trading post on the other side of the pole. Bato, Hakoda's radar operator, had detected their approach. He also picked up a large storm approaching from the south-west, and they had no time to go hunting, or make a trip to the trading post before it hit. They needed supplies, as there was a chance that the storm could bury the city. So Hakoda had come up with a simple plan: Take the squadron out, hit the convoy, grab as much supplies as their cargo planes could carry, then leave the crippled zeps at the mercy of the storm while his people waited it out.
Hakoda and his warriors were preparing for the raid at their airstrip, running abreviated inspections of their planes in hopes of getting in the air as quickly as possible. The storm would hit soon, and they need to be back before it did, or landing would be impossible.
Soon, the pilots had completed their inspections and climbed into their cockpits. Propellers began to spin, and the sound of fighter engines filled the air. Hakoda was at the head of the pack. His Faircild F-611 Brigand rolled down the runway, it's landing gear retracting as it lifted of the gound. One by one, each of the Wolfpack planes took off from the airstrip, forming up their leader and flying off in the direction of the sun. A lone figure, standing at the entrance to the hanger, watched as they disappeared on the horizon.
She was a beautiful girl of fifteen, with waist length brown hair tied into an elaborate braid, smooth, tanned skin, and sparkling, sapphire eyes. She wore a fur-lined blue flight jacket with a white sweat shirt underneath, black pants, and high leather boots.. Her name was Katara, and she was Hakoda's daughter.
Katara turned on her heel, going back into the hanger to work on her plane. She had wanted to go with her father, but he said she wasn't ready for air combat yet. So here she was, stuck in the hanger with nothing but sit her cockpit and pretend to fly.
Katara's plane was a Hughes Aviation P-21 Devastator. It had once belonged to Zuko, Prince of the Fire Nation and an ace pilot in the Dragonfire Militia. Hakoda had shot him down once in a duel. Zuko had escaped, leaving his wrecked Devastator behind. Hakoda salvaged the plane, repairing it, scraping off what remained of it's hideous Fire Nation paint job, and made a few upgrades to boot. The heavy fighter now featured Water Tribe colors, and the wings were adorned with the Wolfpack emblem: A shadowed wolf, howling up at a full moon with an old Water Tribe symbol carved upon it's surface.
As she sat on the Devastators lower wing, Katara noticed her brother on the other side of the hanger, who was glaring at her as he tried to fix up an old mini-gyro. Sokka had always complained about their dad giving the plane to her instead of him. According to him, he should be flying the best plane, considering the fact that he's a boy. But the thing about it was that Katara was the better pilot, and that Sokka had already crashed one of their fighters in a flying lesson nearly a year ago.
"So, dad wouldn't let you go with him?" He asked.
"No. He says I'm not ready yet," she replied.
Sokka sighed, tossing his aviation tools back into the toolbox at his feet. "Katara, you don't get it, do you?" He said, walking towards her.
Katara raised an eyebrow. "What don't I get?"
Sokka climbed onto the wing of the plane and sat down beside her. "Dad knows that girls can't fight. That's why their are no women in the squadron. And that's whay he won't let you fly with him," He stated, smugly.
"Oh really?" She asked. "If dad thinks that girls can't fight, the explain why I'm flying this," -she patted the planes fuselage- "and why you are flying THAT," she pointed at the mini-gyro he'd been working on.
Sokka stared at the copter for moment before answering. "Well, you see, dad wants me to learn to fly with minimal armor and armaments, 'cause it makes me a better pilot," he said.
"Okay, then why didn't he teach me the same thing?" She asked, smirking at him.
Sokka remained silent for a moment, trying to come up with a reply. He then looked out the hanger entrance, distracted.
"Wait, do you hear that?" He asked.
Katara listened intently, forgetting her brother's sexist comments. Outside, she could hear something: It sounded like a plane engine.
"Dad can't be back already."
Katara and Sokka jumped off the plane, rushing out of the hanger and onto the runway. Sure enough, a lone plane was coming towards them, and it did not bear Water Tribe colors.
The siblings stood back as the plane approached, and Sokka glanced toward the nearby AA gun anxiously. The fighter did not attack, however. Instead, it flew over their heads, and made a loop, orienting itself parrallel to the runway, before extending it's wheels and touching down on the strip.
As the plane rolled to a stop, Katara got a good look at it. She imediately recognized the gull-like wings, short body, and beefy tail of a Fairchild F-611 Brigand. It was mostly white, with grey markings on the fuselage and wings in the shape of arrows. It had no other insignia to distinguish it.
Katara began to make her way toward the plane, when Sokka grabbed her arm.
"Katara, stop. We don't know who's in that cockpit. He could be dangerous."
"Sokka, if this guy wanted to hurt us, don't you think he would have just bombed us while he was still in the air?" She indicated the 250 lb. bombs slung on the Brigands hardpoints.
Without waiting for a comeback, Katara resumed her approach toward the plane. She came to a stop beside the cockpit, just as the pilot was climbing out. He hadn't noticed her standing beside the plane, or he wouldn't have landed on top of her and caused the both to fall to the ground.
"Ow!"
Katara sat up, rubbing the back of her head. The pilot got up as well, and Katara found herself face-to-face with...
A little boy?
He looked to be a teenager, a little over thirteen, with pale skin, a wide grin upon his face, and the most enticing silver eyes she had ever seen.
"Uhhh... Hi?"
"Hi! I'm Aang," he replied, rather enthusiastically.
"Freeze!"
Aang and Katara looked up to see Sokka pointing a Colt. M1911 at Aang's head.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? And how did you get past our warriors? Answer me!" He flicked off the safety on the pistol, hoping to intimidate him. This was ruined when his siter shoved the gun away.
"Sokka, knock it off. He's probably just here for some fuel."
Katara gave Aang a questioning glance, as to confirm his purpose. "Well, I could use a fill-up. And I need a place to stay for the night, though I don't have any money," he said sheepishly.
"That's okay," Katara replied. "Tell you what: Since your a kid, I'll give you some gas, on the house. And if you want, you can stay at our place tonight."
"WHAT?" Sokka yelled, flailing his arms in anger. "Katara, you can't just let this kid into our house! He could be a spy for the Militia!"
Katara rolled her eyes. "Oh I'm sure he's a spy for the Militia. You can tell by that evil look in his eye." Aang merely grinned and shrugged.
"Come on, let's get your plane in the hanger."
A few minutes later, Katara and Aang had pushed the Brigand into the hanger and parked it next to her Devastator. Sokka was getting back to work on his busted mini-gyro. Once they were inside, Aang removed his helmet, revealing jet-black hair and a blue arrow in the center of his forehead. Katara gasped at the sight of it.
"You're and Air Nomad!" she exclaimed.
"Sure am." He replied casually.
Katara was in shock. She'd been told that the Air Nomads had been wiped out centuries ago, back when there were still benders. How could this teenage boy still be alive when the rest of his people had been wiped out? She considered asking him: But this wasn't the place to talk about that sort of thing, so she decided to interrogate him later. For now she would fill up his plane, and maybe get to know him a little better. There was something about him that fascinated her...
Katara set to work, changing the planes oil, refilling the fuel tanks, and checking it over to make sure nothing was about to fall off. When she finished her inspection, she look up to find Aang sitting on the starboard wing, smiling at her.
Katara raised an eyebrow. "Why are you smiling at me like that?" She asked. His grin vanished, replaced by a guilty face.
"Oh... I was smiling?" he asked. Katara smirked back at him. Sokka, who had been listening on the other side of the hanger, decided to express his opinion.
"Ugh."