The MH-60M flew through the air, the dawn sun breathing new light on it. The black hull of the helicopter would appear as only a speck to observers on the ground, since it was pushing 10,000 feet.

Inside, the six Russians and six Americans looked at one another, contemplating their next move. It had been decided mutually that remaining any longer in the area was inadvisable. Therefore, they had decided to head in a general westerly direction. More than once, Vasilyev looked out the left side to see what looked like a massive city in the clouds, but shook it off as an illusion.

Thirty minutes later, the pilot came over the intercom.

“I see a city eighty kilometers ahead, right next to a massive body of water. Looks kinda like New York, actually.”

“Thanks for the update, Ethan.” The American commander said. “We’ll have to avoid it. Detour south.”

The helicopter banked slightly to the left as it turned, giving them a view out of the right window at the massive city by the water. It was true: From what Sokolov had seen in pictures, it did look like the American city of New York. How it came even close in what was apparently somewhere completely different, he did not know, but he did not care much, either.

“How much fuel do we have left, Sergeant?” One of the Americans asked.

“About sixteen hours’ worth, Ryan!” He replied. “Thank god HQ sent us out with those extra-range tanks.”

“We shall have to set down eventually, you know.” Vasilyev said to him.

The American grimaced. “I know, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

The helicopter tilted forward as they moved faster, causing Sokolov to grip the bar above him tighter in order to avoid falling over. The scenery rushed by below them, the helicopter at around 4,000 feet above the ground. Suddenly, the Pilot – Ethan, that was his name - and Co-Pilot began talking rapidly to one another, before beckoning the American Sergeant forward. The pilot said something, and the Sergeant nodded, before turning to them.

“Gentlemen!” He said. “We have about twenty pegasi to the rear, and closing fast. We are tilting towards the sea to the West in order to avoid collateral damage in the event that we are forced to attack them.”

“What did he say?” Novikov asked, as he did not speak English.

Predictably, Kozlov was the first to reply in Russian. “Some of those fucking winged horses are chasing us, and we might have to gun a bunch of them down. Serves the fuckers right for chasing us.”

“Cut the shit, Kozlov.” Vasilyev said. “At least I know who not to pick if we ever have to lead a fucking diplomatic mission.”

The pilot cut in over the intercom. “Attention, we have another city passing to the right. We also have confirmed radar signatures coming from there as well, numbering over sixty. Estimated time to intercept by both is twenty minutes.”

“We’re fucked.” One of the Americans said, a Private by the rank on his shoulder.

“Shut the hell up, Richard.” Another one of the Americans, a woman, said. “We’ll just have to blow their asses out of the sky if they get too close.”

As much as some in the group would agree with that, Vasilyev was still nervous about ordering the firing of live ammunition. However, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Suddenly, he came up with an idea upon looking out of the front windshield. Moving to the American Sergeant, Vasilyev quickly got his attention.

“American, I have an idea. There is an island around forty kilometers southwest, judging by the area that I can see through the windshield. At least, I do not believe it is connected to the mainland. I suggest we land there.” Vasilyev said.

His American counterpart quickly nodded, and went forward to talk with the pilot. Yet again, the MH-60M tilted to the right, turning towards the island. Vasilyev quickly turned to his next problem: The eighty pegasus ponies, presumably guards, were around four minutes from catching up with them. Thankfully, they were two minutes from the shore of the sea (if it even was a sea: Most likely, it was an ocean).

Three minutes later, Vasilyev was still franticly trying to come up with a plan. Even after crossing over the water, the pursuit had not ceased. Even if they used nonlethal rounds, it would stun them enough to possibly throw them into the water, drowning them. And the twin Miniguns on the side doors were only fitted with lethal rounds. Every second, it was looking as though violence was the only option.

Suddenly, the pilot called over the intercom. “We have two ponies to our left side, no, scratch that, four of them forming up to our left. Fifty yards and steady.”

Vasilyev walked over to the door and clipped a safety harness, first to his uniform, and then to the bar above the door. The other soldiers, of both nations, quickly saw what he was going to do, and started to buckle using the same straps onto the nearest bar. Shortly, everyone in the helicopter was ready.

Vasilyev nodded to the others and started to open the door, gazing out into the bright sunlight of early afternoon to see, as said, four ponies flying a short distance away. Each one of them wore a very small set of golden armor, and was looking right at the helicopter.

One of them edged closer, getting within shouting range. Its mouth moved, and the sound reached Vasilyev’s ears a moment later.

“Stop your infernal machine! You are under arrest!”

The American Sergeant chuckled to himself and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Like hell we will!” He yelled out to them.

One of the ponies pulled something off of its back and pointed it slightly ahead of the helicopter. Moments later, a wooden object impacted the hull of the helicopter right next to Vasilyev, who unslung his rifle.

“They have crossbows.” He said over the radio. “Open fire with the plastic rounds. Stun only.”

With that, he, Sokolov, and Novikov all started to open fire on the pegasi, who were hit numerous times with the subsonic plastic bullets. Each of them started spiraling down towards the sea. Moments later, Vasilyev looked behind the helicopter to see a swarm of dots coming towards them, gaining at a slow rate.

“How long until we are over the island?” Vasilyev asked the American Sergeant.

“Only two more minutes!” Came the reply.

Vasilyev grimaced. “We have four more minutes until our followers overtake us. Apparently, they fell back slightly when we stunned the first four.”

The pilot came over the intercom. “If you want, we can touch down after we hit the area. Find a good-sized clearing in the forest on this side.”

Vasilyev and the American both looked at one another, before nodding. “Do it.”

The helicopter quickly came over land, a vast forest stretching forward on the apparent island. A large mountain dominated the center of it, with several ridges stretching out from it, preventing them from seeing the other side of it.

Petrov looked over the squad, noting most of the men fidgeting with their rifles.

“Alright, everybody. Load the live rounds.” He said at last. “If we have to fight them, at least we’ll be able to do it effectively.”

Vasilyev did not speak up to argue, so the Russian squadmates quickly switched out the nonlethal clips for the ones they had filled with live ammunition. It would be deadly, but a confrontation was looking more and more likely every second.

The helicopter began to slow down slightly and tilt upward. Out of the open door, the men could see a large field, a thousand meters in diameter, stretching out before them. Once the helicopter bounced slightly, signaling that it had set down, everyone in both squads quickly unclipped from the rails and jumped out of the helicopter, fanning out and aiming their rifles around them.

They were not disappointed.

Author's Note

This chapter prepared with some help from Quicksear. It’s his fault that my originally terrible second paragraph was transformed into something befitting a read-through.