“Once in a Blue Moon”
An MLP:FiM Fan Fiction by ARchy4288
Dedicated to my very helpful editor.
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Crash Landing
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Midnight.
Africa.
The Niger Delta.
I knelt down leaning backwards against a barely shoulder-high concrete wall and flipped my NVG’s up against my kevlar as I looked up into the night sky. I took in a deep exhausted breath and slumped down into a sitting position, the heavy duty nylon of my MOLLE pack made a hollow scratching sound as it scraped against the wall, ending with a metallic clack as the extra weapon I had slung behind me rested on the pavement. I exhaled sharply when my rear end landed on the ground, the heat from my breath pooled in my black balaclava making my already sweat soaked face even more uncomfortable. The kevlar I wore made a dull thud when I rested it against the wall.
A small voice in the back of my mind snapped me out of my exhaustion.
Check your ammo!
The buffer of my M16A4 gently rattled as I lifted the rifle up with my right hand and braced the stock against my hip to check how much ammunition was left in it. After a quick brass check revealed a round in the chamber I dropped the magazine and could just make out the outline of the last two rounds in the mag.
Fuck. I thought to myself. Reload.
With my left hand, I slowly tugged at the cover on one of the magazine pouches on my vest, and reached inside only for my fingers to be met with the sensation empty nylon. Then I checked the pouch next to it, finding it empty as well. In the pouch next to that one I found a fresh magazine which I tapped on my Kevlar before slapping it into the rifle's magazine well.
Slow down your fire you moron! You're blowing through your ammunition too damn quick.
Ammo consumption does have a tendency to sneak up on you, especially under the effects of adrenaline, however, even if I was to use up all of the rifle's ammunition, I still had my sidearm and a few extra mags, and a lucky charm of mine, an M590A1, just like the one I carried when I was in the service. I had some extra shells that were loaded in a rig strapped to my thigh and two full bandoliers stuffed somewhere in my pack too, so I wasn't totally screwed.
As I mentally accounted for all of my supplies, my mind began to concentrate on my surroundings.
It was a clear, starry, and relatively peaceful night.
Peaceful that is if you didn't count the sounds of sporadic gunfire occurring at varying distances, those of engines running, boots hitting the ground, and people shouting and screaming off somewhere out in the tropical night; as well as the smells of burning gunpowder, petroleum, and flesh permeating the air, but since it was off in the distance and I wasn't the one getting shot at for now—then yes it was a peaceful night.
The full moon was shining bright—bright enough to make it easy enough for me to see without the aid of my goggles—and the air was warm enough not to need a blanket or a sleeping bag. It would have been a perfect night for relaxing and sleeping under the stars if it weren’t for the predicament that my comrades and I were in. The five similarly outfitted men next to me were either hunkered down against the wall cradling their weapons, or peeking out over the barrier, scanning for any signs of danger; and as I gazed at the full moon, I could see a shooting star streak across the sky. At that moment I tried desperately to make peace with whatever God, deity, or higher power up there that could hear me. I began silently hoping and wishing for protection, salvation, or a quick and painless death if I wasn’t to survive tonight.
My mind then began trying to process what had led up to tonight and how everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. It all started out as what was supposed to be a simple security contract...
******
It was difficult for me finding work after I got out of the Army, but not because of anything I did. I served out my contract and was honorably discharged. Work was just a difficult thing to come by — that is, until an old army buddy of mine called me with a "job offer".
I ended up being part of a group of fifty guys who were hired to guard a refinery somewhere in the African jungle for a French oil company. It was nothing I wasn't familiar with: access control, vehicle inspections, patrols both along and beyond the fence line, and fighting off bandits, guerillas, and insurgents by almost any means necessary.
I guess you could say that made me a “Mercenary”, and in all fairness, it probably did.
I didn't mind though. I have been called worse.
I didn't necessarily "love" doing this kind of work, but at the same time, I didn't hate it either. I was reasonably good at what I did, the money was decent, the job was easy enough, and I was desperate to make a living.
For eight months it had been going as well as could be expected in a warzone. There was some fighting, some shooting, and only two men in our unit had been killed in the preceding months. That all went down the drain about three weeks ago when a sudden and violent offensive was launched by the guerillas all over the country. They succeeded in pushing back the government's military forces and cutting off most major supply lines. This left us stranded behind enemy lines. The company that I worked for did try to evacuate us, but the three attempts they made had all ended with downed choppers and dead crews and they decided not to risk anymore men or equipment. I couldn’t blame my employers for cutting their losses, hired guns are expendable after all; but it still didn't change the fact that we were surrounded, outnumbered, and we had been all but abandoned in a completely hostile area.
It was a mercenary’s worst nightmare indeed.
The guerillas then focused their attention on us. They ramped up their attacks on the refinery, but we managed to hold our own for a good week before they began hitting us with mortar strikes which heavily damaged the refinery's production units, reducing several of them to burning hulks of metal. The workers who had stayed to maintain the plant began jumping the fences and fleeing into the jungle. Inevitably we too were overrun, our numbers had been reduced by more than half, and we abandoned the site, making a mad dash for whatever means of escape we could find.
Despite the world of shit we were in, we did have a few things going in our favor. For starters, we still had a lot of ammunition, so those of us that were still alive weren’t out of the fight just yet. Secondly, we had found a remote airfield that housed an old C-130 Hercules that had been left over from some foreign aid package, and third was one of the mercs who went by the name of Fynn.
Fynn had been a pilot back in his Air Force days and, to quote him, “he could fly anything”.
So we came up with a plan of escaping. Of the dozen of us that were left—Fynn and myself included— Fynn would take half of the guys to secure the plane and I would take the other half to provide security for him and he would pick us up as he taxied out onto the runway.
******
“Aw, shit! Shit!!!” came a panicked whisper from the merc next to me; bringing my thoughts back to the present. It was Dwayne Mason, my old Army buddy. He was hunched over with his elbows braced against the top of the wall, allowing him to steadily aim through the ACOG on his M4.
“What is it?” I asked him as I stood up next to him, pulling my NVG’s back down over my eyes and aiming my rifle out over the dark tarmac of the airfield.
“We got foot mobiles,” he replied pointing off about thirty-five to forty or so meters out, “at our eleven o’clock. One of them keeps popping his damn head out.” I turned my attention toward an adjacent hangar that was near the wall. Indeed there was an enemy soldier repeatedly looking out over the airfield toward the hangar's entrance.
“Do you want me to take the shot?” He asked.
"Hold up," I said as I held up my hand signaling for him to wait. In all honesty, I was surprised that this guy hadn’t seen us or heard us. Maybe he didn't notice because of the darkness, maybe it was because the angle we were at was just out of his sector of fire. Maybe it was for another reason...
The sound of an engine revving up came from the hangar behind us—Fynn had begun to start up the plane.
As the noise of the plane’s engines grew louder, the lone guerilla out in front of us knelt down and readied his PKM covering a group of hostiles numbering about twenty or thirty that emerged from the hangar. The platoon of guerilla soldiers were escorting a ZSU-23-4—a Soviet-made self-propelled anti-aircraft gun. They stopped and spread out once the ZSU got into position.
They were going to ambush and shred the plane as it came out of the hangar. They were expecting us and had waited all this time. I had to give it to them; clever bastards. Fynn would never have stood a chance.
“Oh, fucking shit...” I quietly mumbled as I grabbed Mason, the both of us ducking behind the wall.
I motioned to get the attention of Davis, one of the mercs further down the wall.
I motioned to him that I needed him to unsling the AT-4 that he had and pointed out the beautiful side profile of the ZSU. It was too easy a shot to miss.
Using hand signals I told my stack that we were to cover Davis so that he could do his thing. Once the AA gun was gone, we would bound up toward the plane as Fynn was pulling out. They nodded in ascension. I motioned to my team and we all stood up and opened up on the enemy platoon. Some ran, some froze, and some tried to shoot back.
None of it fazed us. We cut them all down regardless.
Once I actually got started shooting, my nerves calmed, time seemed to slow down and the sounds around me were drowned out as I began to concentrate. The anxiety I had felt towards the unknown wasn't there anymore, and I found it much easier to control my trigger squeeze. I was in the zone. My firing was steady, methodical, yet very rapid. I shot round after round at the panicking group of guerillas in front of us. Every hit one of us scored was indicated by a misty cloud of blood entrails and bits of clothing as flesh gave way to copper and lead.
I felt the bolt lock back which broke my concentration and caused the sounds of the firefight to inundate my ears, and instinctively, I dropped to one knee and in one fell swoop I dropped the spent mag and slapped in a new one. The others on the wall were beginning to reload as well.
"Davis now!!!" I shouted.
Davis knelt up and there was a loud boom and a whoosh as the rocket launched from the tube. The rocket hit the ZSU dead center turning the AA gun into a fireball.
The plane was pulling out of the hangar and beginning to turn onto the runway.
“GO!!!” I shouted as Davis threw the spent tube off his shoulder and bounded off of the wall toward the first bit of cover on the edge before he could get to the plane. The next man after him changed magazines and took off toward the plane, tapping the man next to him as he went. I found myself having to reload again as I provided covering fire for the third man falling back towards salvation. Now the only people left on the wall were me Mason, and one other mercenary named Miles who had an M60E4.
Several trucks full of guerillas drove out of the adjacent hangar, and began off-loading their cargo.
The three of us that were left on the wall heaved grenades out towards the trucks and used the blasts as cover to move to the end of the wall. Once we were there, I motioned to Mason to make a run for it and that the third man and I would cover him. He took off and just as he started out, he jolted sideways as a round struck him in the head. He dropped to the deck like a puppet with his strings cut and didn’t move.
"NO!!!" I shouted as I ran toward his body firing away. I knelt down beside him dropping the empty rifle and turned his body over. He was completely limp, there was a gaping exit wound in the base of his skull, and even though it was probably unnecessary, there was no pulse when I felt for one.
Poor bastard. There was nothing I could do for him.
Miles grabbed my shoulder and shouted "Ramirez, we have to move right now!"
"Get down!" I pushed him aside drawing my M1911A1 and putting seven rounds into a guerilla that was trying to sneak up on us. Once the guerilla's body hit the ground, I helped Miles up and unslung my shotgun.
Enemies were beginning to surround and overrun the airfield, and another large group began hopping and rounding the corner of the nearby wall that Miles and I were running away from. The both of us knelt down and Miles began firing short-ish bursts from his M60, shredding several of the soldiers who had already hopped the wall. I had my M590A1 at the ready and racked the action chambering the first of eight shells in the magazine tube. The first thing I saw in the shotgun's ghost ring sights was a guerilla sticking his head up in an attempt to hop over the wall. I stroked the trigger sending eight buckshot pellets toward their target. The shot hit home and the man's head just disappeared as he dropped back. I quickly racked the slide and fired again and again, felling more enemies, before the gun clicked empty.
I sounded off to Miles, "Loading!!!". He replied, "Got you covered!!!" as he slapped the dust cover shut on his machine gun and racked the charging handle twice. He opened up again as I began drawing shells from the first of two ten-round pouches on my thigh, dropping the first shell into the open breech and then loading the shells into the magazine two at a time. His machine gun quickly chewed through the remainder of his last one-hundred round belt, and he summarily dropped the now useless hunk of metal to the ground. We both looked at the carnage at the wall and then briefly at each other before doing a quick about face and making a mad dash toward salvation.
Miles was just ahead of me when we reached the plane. The engines were growing louder the rotor wash stronger, as Fynn was about to take off.
I threw the shotgun's sling around me and took off in a dead sprint. My legs felt like jelly, my lungs burned, and I was seeing dots due to a combination of exhaustion and dehydration, but I couldn't stop. If I slowed down or, stopped running I was dead.
I stretched out my arms out, grasping at fingers as the plane began to speed up, shouting in frustration. The mercs inside were calling my name and reaching out for me. With the last of my strength I jumped and grabbed onto their outstretched hands. They pulled me in as the plane sped down the runway. I crawled on all fours and held on for dear life to the cargo nets dangling from the red-lit walls of the cargo hold, so I didn’t fly out as the C-130 lifted off into the air.
It took what was left of my strength and concentration to just hold on for dear life.
Once we had lifted off and began gaining altitude however, all I noticed was the wind rushing by me and the loud roar and vibrations of the engines. I lay there cackling like an idiot, overjoyed at the fact I was alive. Miles offered me a hand and helped me onto my feet. I was about to have a seat, when one of the mercs began shouting for the two of us to close the door to the cargo bay.
We both gave him the finger but, I turned around made my way to the control panel. looking relieved at the ever distant scenery below, silently thanking that shooting star.
Then almost on cue, as if fate was giving me the finger, large projectiles began ripping through the plane. Fresh screams of newly wounded and dying men could be heard loud and clear over the engines. I was thrown against the wall as the plane banked hard to the right, deploying flares as it did. A fireball then erupted and tore through the cargo hold, throwing Miles at me. His body knocked me loose from my grip on the cargo net before disappearing forever into the darkness, sending me tumbling out into a free fall. The burning C-130 split apart and exploded, sending pieces of itself in all directions. A small fragment of debris hurtled toward me and I was powerless to stop or even dodge it. The debris struck me on the side of my head, cracking my Kevlar; splitting it— sending it flying off of my head and knocking me unconscious.
Lights exploded in my eyes as I was engulfed by pure white...
******
…The sun hung high overhead, shining brightly and singeing my eyes. I squinted and held my hand out blocking the light.
As I looked around, I found myself standing in a wide open field filled with Bluebonnets and Indian Paints, which formed a brilliant sea of red and blue that stretched out for miles. The warm breeze of a Texas summer blew waves across the wildflower ocean, the aforementioned tide lapping up against my legs. The sky above me was crystal clear and free of clouds.
I tilted my head upwards again with my eyes closed and I stretched my arms out, the combined disorientation and the gently blowing wind all around me made me feel as if I was flying. I gently tumbled backwards and allowed myself to fall onto the soft grass below me, landing like a feather on the ground. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, and my nose was inundated with the smell of pollen and freshly cut grass. Everything was so wonderful I just couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer joy I was feeling at the moment.
Mornin’ sweetheart. You need to wake up, The sarcastic voice of my subconscious said interrupting my euphoria.
Yes, I knew this had to be a dream but, at the same time, it had been forever that my dreams had felt this good. Lately my dreams were nightmares; plagued by ugly indescribable monsters seeking to mutilate my sanity. I knew that I was in danger and that I had to wake up, but at the same time I wasn’t so sure I wanted to. This odd calm I was in, it was both frightening and peaceful at the same time...
My train of thought was interrupted by a prickly sensation tickling my nose.
I slowly opened my eyes to see what had just landed on me, and after undoubtedly looking a bit silly as I crossed my eyes and focused, I was able to vaguely make out the blurry outline of a butterfly.
A beautiful butterfly had landed on my face and gently fluttered its wings before taking off again. I reached out for it and, even though I couldn’t speak for some reason, I was silently begging for it not to leave. That’s when it landed on my index finger and softly fluttered its wings again as I brought my hand down closer to my face trying to get a better look at the bug. I had never seen a butterfly like it before. It vaguely resembled a Monarch butterfly, yet it was a brilliant blue… no, a brilliant sapphire, and it had a neon glow about it as the sunlight shone through its wings.
I smiled and mouthed a silent “Hello there,” as the butterfly stared at me for what felt like hours.
All of a sudden it began to rapidly flap its wings, and it pulled my hand in the direction of the sun, which was now rapidly falling and staining the sky purple and pulled the breeze along with it as it fell. The butterfly left my finger as I sat up, and as my eyes tried to follow the butterfly, I looked on in horror as I saw the field of wildflowers blowing away in a cascade of fiery embers, leaving tracks of charred black ash in its wake all around me as the gentle breeze turned into a powerful gale. The wind blew harder and harder as the sun slipped below the horizon causing the entire world to form into a burning vortex which lifted me straight up off the ground and pulled me in.
I was overcome by sheer horror and desperation, as the back of my mind repeatedly kicked me, trying to rouse me from the nightmare unfolding before me.
As the vortex sucked me in the direction of the sun, I vainly thrashed against the air as I tumbled into cyclone, again trying desperately to scream and wake myself up. But I couldn’t scream. My own breath was stolen from me before I could even inhale. The absence of my voice didn’t stop my mind though, it screamed as loud as it possibly could.
Wake up, Goddamnit!!!
The butterfly appeared before me once again and gracefully flew in front of me. It guided me through the fire storm before turning to face me, floating almost completely still, wholly unfazed by the violent maelstrom going on around us. The presence of the butterfly made me feel more and more at peace. Its fluttering wings calmed the burning vortex, which quickly dissipated and settled. I once again found myself lying down on a soft bed of grass staring off into an endless night sky that was illuminated by the brilliant glow of the butterfly’s wings. The butterfly began to glow a brighter shade of blue as it floated closer to me. Then it flew down in front of me and landed on my outstretched hand. For one brief moment, all was still and quiet.
The graceful creature spoke three simple words to me in a young, soothing, distinctly female voice.
“Wake up child.”
Then the butterfly flared its wings out and exploded in a flash of bright white...
******
...My eyes shot open.
I gasped in shock as the cold air rushed up around me in a deafening roar; my stomach was caught in my throat as I plummeted towards the earth. The wind in my eyes made it all but impossible to keep them open. What I could see, I was only allowed short glimpses of. I could see a green forest below me. I could see a collection of beautiful— almost crystalline buildings surrounding a tall, almost glowing tower off in the distance, as well an otherwise magnificent orange sun either rising or setting against a cloudless purple horizon with the blue of the night lingering above me. The stars glittered like diamonds. As I tumbled through the twilight, I choked on the wind as it forced its way into my lungs. The cold air singed my fingers and ears numbing me to the bone. Thanks to the effect of me tumbling, I was beginning to black out. My breathing slowed, my eyelids grew heavy and closed, leaving the image of that starry sky the last thing I would ever see.
I guess it would be better this way.
Suddenly, the wind died down, the cold gradually went away and my feet were dangling just above the canopy of the woods I was floating over. I was surrounded by a light blue aura and suspended above the trees. Before I could marvel anymore at this strange phenomena it quickly faded and, once again, I was falling. I crashed face first through the canopy, being scratched and cut by small branches before a large tree limb nailed me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. Then there was a brief second of nothing before I hit the ground.
My ears were ringing, my head was pounding, my arm wouldn't move when I tried to push myself up, and every breath I took sent sharp pain cutting through me. The last thing I remember seeing before blacking out was the blurry outline of what vaguely resembled a small horse—A beautiful blue horse which flapped a large pair of wings before tucking them by its sides as it landed gracefully on the ground and slowly walked towards me.
I tried to stand up but a wave of fresh agony wracked my body and I collapsed to the ground again as the darkness overtook me...
******
Princess Luna hurriedly swooped down through the canopy of one of the sparse patches of forest that lay on the outskirts of the Crystal Empire. She hadn't meant to drop that poor creature but it was falling so fast and she was so far away from it, that she could only stop its fall for a brief couple of seconds before it slipped through her magical grasp.
She flared her wings out and tucked them close by her sides as she cautiously approached the groaning creature, which was struggling to breathe. It looked up at her, and even though it was wearing some sort of mask, its eyes were plainly visible. The thing stared at her, silently pleading with her. The creature reached out its—hand—which was cloaked in a glove without fingers, and croaking out a very weak plea for help. It tried to move once more before gasping in excruciating pain and blacking out.
The sight before her was a hauntingly familiar one.
"It can't be..." She whispered to herself, even though she was all but certain that this was the source of the desperate and macabre death wish she heard when that distant old star fell on its own. The one for whom she had commanded her magic to do whatever it would to help.
At the same time though it wasn't possible.
These creatures hadn't existed in Equestria since before her banishment.
Humans had been forgotten by history and were now only mentioned in increasingly rare fairy tales and myths.
Peeling off the strange mask, which wrapped around the human's head like a glove exposing only its eyes, revealed its, or rather judging by the laryngeal protrusion, his face. Despite the nearly two thousand years that had passed since both their species' expulsion from Equestria, and her thousand year imprisonment in the moon, she had never forgotten the appearance of a human nor had she forgotten their basic anatomy and gender differences.
Without hesitating further, she lit her horn and cast a burst of magic straight into the sky, which burst open in a bright blue flare. Almost immediately after she did so, four of her royal guards drifted down through the trees and landed beside her.
She turned to the four armor-clad ponies that formed one of her personal guard details, "Skyhop, Nightshade, make haste to the Crystal Empire. Retrieve a litter, a detachment of Princess Cadence's guards, and their senior medical officer," she commanded. The two saluted signaling their willingness to obey the commands of their Princess immediately and without question. Their bat-like wings, enchanted relics grafted onto their armor, gave them a speed and grace that couldn't usually be achieved by any normal pony. She turned to the remaining two guards, "Sprite, we require thee to return to Canterlot. Notify the remainder of the garrison and every available night Pegasus on our sister's night detail to be on full alert. Midnight, we require thee to inform our sister that her presence is requested in the Crystal Empire posthaste," Luna commanded, her voice quieting as she closed her eyes, "She... She needs to know." The guards saluted and flew off towards Canterlot accepting the tasks they had been given.
******
