The American and Russian soldiers fanned out around the landed helicopter, looking in all directions for the guards that were chasing them.

They were not disappointed.

First one, then five, and then twenty pegasi landed. Sokolov gripped his MTAR tighter, aiming down the Holographic Sight. For once in his life, it didn’t seem as though it would suffice.

“Everyone, lock and load, lethal ammunition!” Vasilyev yelled in Russian. “Let us just hope that we do not have to use it. Petrov, get on the bed of the helicopter and cover the area with your SVU-A.”

The Russian sergeant jumped back onto the helicopter and set his rifle up, putting out the bipod’s legs to stabilize it. So far, the ponies at the other end side of the field were fanning out, coming at them from a 120-degree arc to the side of the helicopter.

“Ryan, get on the Minigun.” The American sergeant said. One of the Americans, presumably Ryan, saluted and jumped back onto the helicopter alongside Petrov, pulling down the Minigun and aiming it at the field of ponies.

Novikov pulled back the bolt on his AK-12 as he finished reloading it with the lethal rounds. Sweat ran down his face, in dread of the coming encounter.

One of the ponies trotted faster than the rest, and came to a stop one hundred yards from them.

“Attention criminals!” It said. “You will be taken in. Do not resist, or we will use force!”

“Like hell we will!” Kozlov shouted in English. “If you come at us, we’ll mow you fuckers down!”

“Yebat’ tvoyu mat’ [Fuck your mother]!” Bogdanov yelled at them when Petrov translated what the pegasus had said over the radio.

“If you leave now, we will not kill you!” Vasilyev shouted across the field.

“Either come peacefully or by force!” The pegasus insistently said.

“What are we going to do?” Sokolov asked Vasilyev, who was standing next to him.

“Shoot if they come closer. We have no choice.” His lieutenant replied bitterly.

The American sergeant ignored them. “If you come further, we will open fire!”

At a signal from the one in front, the ponies started to move forward, across the field. There were twenty of them, with more poised to land behind them. Vasilyev gritted his teeth together, hesitant to give the order, but knowing it needed to be done.

“Squad, fire at will.” He said over the radio.

Instantly, the six Russians, and seconds later three of the Americans (besides for Ryan and the two pilots) started to fire. The results were instant and horrific, as the twenty charging ponies were cut down within seconds, falling to the ground like cut blades of grass. Their golden armor could not even stop the relatively small 9x19mm round from Bogdanov’s PP-2000.

“Get in the helicopter!” Vasilyev shouted. “That was our last chance at negotiation with these… ponies, and they blew it. Strap in and be ready to open fire.”

With that, he and the others, Americans and Russians both, clambered onto the helicopter. The pilots, thankfully, already had the blades spinning, so once everyone was tethered to one of the bars with a safety cord, they pushed the throttles, rising into the air.

“Open fire if they come at us. Goddamnit!” Vasilyev cursed, aiming his AUG out of the side door.

“What the fuck was that?” Sokolov demanded.

“That was them getting their asses handed to them, that’s what!” Petrov replied.

“Pegasi on the left side and to the rear, turning.” The pilot said as he banked the helicopter to the side, flying through the air at an angle, leaving the men inside ample chance to engage. Sure enough, white shapes with bits of gold speckled among them were in the distance, about two hundred yards and closing.

“Permission to engage with the Minigun, sir?” Ryan asked.

“Granted.” The American sergeant said at once.

Suddenly, a BZZZZZZZ cut through the air as Ryan pressed down on the trigger. A stream of tracers cut through the air towards the ponies, cutting a massive swath through them. When he let off on the trigger three seconds later, he noticed a huge part of their formation had been taken out.

Taken out, Vasilyev mused. An easy way of saying that they were either cut to ribbons or wounded and falling, to die on impact with the ground. At least a third of them were gone, leaving their pursuers decimated.

“Where the hell are we headed?” Vasilyev asked.

“South across the island. Once we pass over the ridge, we should have a good idea of what do to. We might find a place we can hide out…”

As they crested said ridge, they stared out of the front windshield at the city that stretched before them.

“… Or we can end up even more fucked than we already were. Great job, everyone.” Ryan said, doing a slow clap.

Ahead of them lay a rather large city. It had a half dozen skyscrapers, and a large number of five-to-ten story buildings. In Sokolov’s view, it looked quite a bit like a city in England he had once seen in a photograph, although the name escaped him.

“Either we go through the city, or we stop here and wait for the guards to catch up.” The pilot warned.

“The city it is. Fly low.” Vasilyev said with a resigned sigh.

The MH-60M continued onward, flying only twenty feet above the treetops, on a direct path for the city.

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one should be out very soon.