Nearing the Edge

Chapters

A Brand New Sky
Welcome Home
Guardian Angels
Fear's Power
Unknown Waters (The Grey Pegasus)
Fort Sonza (Silverstein)
Fish out of Water
Geography
Ripped From The Headlines
On Patrol
Laws of the Sea (An A10 Warthog)
Evasion
The Angel's Angels (CptBrony)
By the Princess's Orders (The Grey Pegasus)
The Talk
The Art of Breaking Rules (TNB)
Who Would Reject Help?
Models
Applying Deterrence
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
A Quiet Little Town
On the Receiving Side
Tagalongs
Wardogs
Two Sides of The Triangle
Yankee Doodle
Reshuffle the Deck
Imports
Hostile Stratagem
Overlook
Flying Monkeys
Set Your Rainbow in the Clouds
Reports on Reorganization
When We Meet Again...
Red Flag Part One
Red Flag Part Two
Red Flag Part Three
Over the Edge
Into the Abyss
Academy Attack
Trouble On The Border
The Clock Strikes
Three if By Air
Lead the Way
Bolt from the Blue
Change of Plans (TotallynotaBrony)
Piracy
The Dragoons
Camping Trip
The Diggers
Maiden Voyage (An Iowa Class Battleship)
Of Flankers and Hornets (Lt Rainbow Slash)
Lacera Caelum
Bombardment
Sailing on Frozen Air
Knife Fight in the Capitol
Up Alta Fjord
Running the Gauntlet (TotallyNotABrony)
Dual Impetuousness
Blockade
Convoy
Spiking the Guns
The Brass (TotallyNotABrony)
Harpoons
All Over the Map
Grit Your Teeth and Hold On
Home Free
Shadows
"Situation is excellent; I attack!"
Safe Return
The Exploitation Wave
Flashpoints
Bloc-heads in the Marshalls (An Iowa Class Battleship)
Operation Rammstein
Fall of Canterlot
The Owl and The Nightingale
Brass Royal
Burning Homes
The Free Forces
Et in Arcadia
Shockwaves
Bombing Raid on the Port City

A Brand New Sky

At first glance, the sky seemed to roll on forever, stretching its long blanket of light blue over the horizon. Just as the ocean stretched beyond the horizon, so long as there was no land on the other end, the sky was the same. Indeed, the sky was far more vast, never being spotted by specks of land as the bodies of water. The only exception to that would be the clouds, but most ponies in Equestria, at least most of the pegasi, would not count the clouds, as they could move them out of the way, unlike land.

Rainbow Dash was one of those pegasi that enjoyed a clear sky. There were several advantages to clouds, of course; they could be molded into a variety of shapes she wanted, were easy to hide in, and of course could be used to sleep on, her favorite being a combination of the three. Not to mention being used to control weather, which was a necessity for farmers to grow their crops.

But there was still something mystifying and romanticizing about a wide open sky. It gave her the urge to fly every time she saw it; to go as high and far as she could, to try and see what was on the other side, like a filly chasing the sunset to try and catch its beauty as if it were a colorful butterfly. In fact, when she had been younger, she had tried to do that, only to realize she had gotten herself lost and had to find her way back again.

She never regretted doing that, not once. Even on the rare occasions her parents had become angry or told her to stop, she would always try it again, eventually getting better and better at finding her way. But of course, aside from some new ground below her, the sky stayed the same; big, blue, and open. In fact, to this day, she still every now and then, she would chase the sun, usually just to get the satisfaction of it. But the sky was still the same, with nothing new to explore.

Though she did miss the sense of exploration, it was not a world-ending loss for her. It was still her sky, her home; the same wonderful home she had always soared through. Even if it was always the same, she preferred it that way. Celestia’s Dome was her playground, and she would not trade it for any other place.

Indeed, she had the urge to fly as far as she could at that very moment. The sky was clear, and the sun was dipping below the horizon, giving off it's glow that painted the space above with and orange hue. The filly in the back of her head told her to see if she could go catch it, and she chuckled a bit to herself.

‘I guess I could if I went to Celestia and asked her to hold it there for a few minutes,’ she jokingly thought to herself as she floated in the air.

Even though she knew the answer, she secretly wondered if there really was anything new over the edge of that horizon.

“Nah,” she said to herself, shaking her head as if to shake the thought out too.

She kicked the idea out of her head and turned to another one, feeling satisfied with her work. So what if she was lazy sometimes? What she could do more than made up for it, at least she thought so. It was no secret that did not like doing work, but when she did it, she was the best at it. Everything would be done quickly and directly, something she took a good deal of pride in.

Hovering there in the sky, it looked like there was a lot to be proud of. Well, maybe not all that much; simply moving the clouds out of the way was not that difficult. But to clear the vast area over Ponyville and the surrounding area entirely of clouds, and at the speed she did it, was not a simple task. That, to her, was something to be proud of.

Watching the sun finally dip below the horizon, she stretched and let out a long, satisfied yawn, realizing then just how tired she was from the job. But sleep was out of the question, at least for tonight. Normally she would be heading home to catch some shut-eye, but not on New Year’s Eve. The celebrations tonight were one of those things she would not miss. Between the fireworks and the parties going on into the early morning hours of the first day of the 1013th year of Celestial Peace, she would be getting zero shut-eye.

"Yeah, this is gonna be great!” she lazily said to herself, followed by another long yawn that contradicted the statement.

She had to admit that her body was moving bit more sluggish than she would like. Maybe heading home to sleep would not be a terrible idea. But at the same time, she did not want to sleep through the celebration. She had slept through alarms before when she was exhausted.

Doing a quick circle over the empty skies to make sure none of the smaller clouds had been missed, a clever little idea entered her head. The skies had to be clear over the town so the fireworks would not be obscured, so maybe she could take just one and nap on a cloud. If it was not too high up, somepony would be bound to notice before it started, and then maybe they would yell to wake her up; especially if that pony was a pegasus. And then that would be that; she would wake up, kick the cloud into nothing, and enjoy the show. She really hoped somepony would wake her; she did not want to be awoken by colorful, and dangerous, explosions all around her. However, she was willing to take her chances.

She did a quick turn to the right and started flying south, towards where she last remembered moving any clouds. Going at a comfortable speed, it took about five minutes to find one, floating by its lonesome a short distance from town. She grabbed it with both of her hooves and started moving back towards Ponyville at a much more sluggish pace than before.

As she glided along, her lack of sleep began to catch up with her. Her head hung low a bit, her eyes fluttering every now and then before shooting open again. At one of those moments, with her head staring towards the ground, she spotted something moving slowly up a hill below her.

She opened her eyes up and looked closer. It was a pony, and a pegasus just like her. It’s coat was a very light blue, far lighter than hers; almost pale. The mane stood out a bit, being a full sapphire shade. It was very odd for this pony to be out here on their own; the closest civilization was Ponyville. Odds were that he or she was just off on personal business, but something told Rainbow to check to make sure; nothing lost if the other pegasus was fine.

Rainbow let go of the cloud and slowly hovered towards the ground. The pony on the ground noticed her as she descended, and stopped to watch her. From what Dash could tell, the Pegasus was a mare, and seemed rather indifferent to her arrival. To go with that, at least from what Dash could see, she was not injured either; that took out the possibility of being hurt and unable to fly.

“Hey, you ok?” she asked, landing a few feet in front of the pegasus.

The pegasus opened her mouth to respond, but shut it quickly, as if to stop herself. Rainbow Dash noticed her face and tone changed dramatically, and oddly, in the span of a few seconds. The first look was one of surprise, as if she had met Rainbow somewhere before a long time ago, the next was one of suppressed anger, and the last led back to the way she had been before: disinterested and rather uncaring of Dash’s appearance.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied simply.

“Are you lost?” Dash persisted. “How come you’re out here on your own?”

“I’m not lost, nor am I alone,” she said, trotting past Dash uphill. “I’m just here with a couple of friends, that’s all.”

As Dash’s eyes followed her past and towards the direction of the hill, she noticed two other ponies standing at the top, both of whom were also pegasi. How in the name of Celestia could she have missed them? Though she was droopy-eyed most of the time she was flying over; so it was possible once she thought more on it.

“Oh, alright,” Dash replied, following her a bit. “What are you guys doing out here on your own? Having a private celebration or something?”

“Well… you could say that,” the pegasus replied.

“Cool. You expecting anypony else?”

“Would you stop already!?” she yelled, swinging around with an annoyed look. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Hey, chill! I’m just trying to have a conversation!” she replied with her own irritated look spreading across her face. “Is there something wrong with trying to meet new ponies?”

The pegasus shook her head a bit and came back to her bland look.

“I guess not, sorry,” she said, turning back to going uphill as if she wanted to cut the talk short there.

“Hey, it’s no problem!” Rainbow said, jumping slightly into the air and flying alongside her. “So what’s your name?”

“It’s… it’s not really important.”

“What? Of course your name’s important,” Rainbow said with a smile. “Who would you be without it?”

“Well, I suppose you have a point,” the pegasus responded, remaining silent a bit afterwards, not giving any more information.

“Heh, shy; I get it,” Rainbow said. “How’s about I give you mine first.”

“I know who you are. You’re Rainbow Dash, the Element of Loyalty,” the pegasus remarked as if she were answering a question in school.

Rainbow was surprised; maybe all that bragging she did had paid off in a small way.

“That’s… not the first thing ponies usually say about me… But yea, that’s me!” she replied. “So what’s your name?”

“Nightingale.”

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Dash said, still floating next to her as she went upwards. “It sounds cool; I don’t know many pegasi that are named after birds.”

“Right. Thanks, Dash,” Nightingale replied, stopping and turning to her. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to send you off now; this is a private event.”

Rainbow raised an eyebrow; something in the way she said that made her curious, though she felt she had intruded enough.

“Uh, ok. Well… look me up later tonight if you’re in Ponyville; maybe I could introduce you to my friends.”

“Hmh, I doubt I’ll be anywhere else tonight, Dash; this ceremony is going to last a long time,” Nightingale replied, talking more to herself than Rainbow. “This year’s important to us. We’ve been looking forward to it for a while now.”

Rainbow watched Nightingale say this as she started off into space in the direction of the top of the hill. Her two companions at the top seemed to be rather impatient about her interruption. Rainbow also noticed that there was no other kind of supplies on the hill; no picnic or fireworks or anything that could show some kind of celebration was about to take place.

“Uh, alright! That sounds… cool!”

“Goodbye, Dash,” Nightingale replied, starting back up the hill in a much quicker pace.

“Um… ok. Bye, Nightingale; and try to work on that anger problem!” Rainbow waved to her, receiving no response from the mare.

She took off into the sky again, the unexpected stop and events causing her to forget the cloud, leaving it to float on its own once again. She was not tired any longer; the peculiar chat had knocked that feeling out of her. But there was something in the way Nightingale acted that confused her, especially when it came to her choice of words.

Rainbow knew ‘ceremony’ and ‘celebration’ did not inherently mean the same thing, and the tone she added to it made it sound far more serious than any celebration. And the way she talked about the year; she said it like the year itself held some kind of specific meaning. The more she analyzed it, the more worried she got.

“Maybe I should do something about this,” she said to herself as she flew along. “But what?”

‘You’re just being paranoid, Dash! It’s nothing!’ a voice in the back of her head told her.

“What if it is something?”

‘It won’t be! Just head back to town and enjoy yourself,’ the voice answered. “Are you really going to ruin New Year’s by getting everypony worked up over a hunch?”

“No, of course not!” she told herself.

She stopped with that, resolving to let the matter go. But every now and then, the idea crept back into her head that those ponies were up to something. To her it felt less like paranoia and more like responsibility; crazy things were known to happen around Equestria. She did not want to be responsible for some tragedy.

“Maybe I’ll just go talk to Twilight real quick,” she persisted. “No harm in doing that, right?”

With that decided, she flew back to town at a fast pace. By then the sun had long disappeared, allowing the dark to wash over the land. It was not pitch black though; the town’s lights showed which way to fly towards and she arrive in no time.

She landed rather roughly, and took a minute to find her balance before continuing on towards the library. The ponies in the streets were rather carefree, the only thing on their minds being to finish their specific chores for the celebration in time. And from the looks of the town, decorated in streamers, flags, and other fares, they seemed to be keeping schedule.

She trotted up to the library and started knocking on the hard wooden door. It was answered only a few seconds by Twilight’s assistant dragon. She had to respect Spike’s reaction time for answering, though she expected no less from the hard working Drake.

“Hey Rainbow! You wanted to see Twilight?” he asked.

Spike also seemed to have gotten used to what every visitor came here for.

“Yea, is she here?” the pegasus asked.

“Of course she’s here, you know how Twilight is,” Spike replied. “Come on in, I’ll go get her for you.”

Rainbow walked in and had a seat on the couch while Spike went upstairs. It was not until she sat down that she realized how tired she was again, this time with much more force. She immediately began to fall asleep, not trying to stay awake this time, only to jump back awake from a familiar voice.

“Hey Rainbow! Good work clearing out the clouds,” Twilight said, coming down the stairs.

“Thanks. Can you help me with something, Twilight?” she replied.

“Sure, what is it?” the unicorn asked.

“Do you know if there's anything important about the New Year?”

Twilight gave her a confused glance.

“Important?” she asked.

“Like… does it mean anything?” Dash clarified.

“Well, not off the top of my head,” Twilight said. “Maybe it’s in one of my books.”

Twilight’s horn glowed and a few select books floated over to her, organized into a neat floating line. Each had similar titles such as Great Equestrian Myths and The Years That Pass By and so forth. She quickly flipped through the pages of each, but none seemed to have the information necessary. Finally she reached the last one in line, titled The Meanings of the Years, which was old and tattered. Quickly scrolling to 1013, she found the page’s words were smudged and the paper torn, making it barely readable.

“Let’s see… ugh, it’s impossible to read this,” she sighed. “Hmm… I think this might be ‘Great’… wait no, never mind. This one over here is ‘world’. This looks like ‘move’. This one’s missing its last letter… so it’s either ‘war’ or ‘was’; I think it’s the first one. There’s a trio of smeared pictures at the top; I think two are a Griffon and Changeling, and… I can’t make out the other one, but it’s taller than all the others. Wait, this word looks like… Sombra?”

Rainbow Dash was trying to calm down by flying slowly in a line back and forth in the air when Twilight found the tyrant’s name.

“Sombra!?” she yelled.

“Rainbow, relax. Why are you so worked up?” Twilight asked, setting the book aside, being careful to levitate a marker to keep the page. “Why are you asking about this anyways?”

Dash landed on the floor, only to go into a fit of regular pacing on her hooves.

“I was a little ways away from Ponyville, and I met this group of ponies, well I just talked to one actually, but they were out here all on their own, and the one I was talking to was acting kinda fishy,” she said, stopping and putting a hoof to her chin, trying to remember the details. “I remember she talked about a ceremony, and she said they’d been looking forward to this, or… something. What did it say about Sombra?”

Twilight gave her friend a worried look; it was not like Rainbow to act like this. For a moment she wanted to call Rainbow on playing a prank, but she did not think her friend would go this far or serious with it. Maybe she was hurt or sick? Not from what Twilight could tell; it just seemed like regular paranoia. Regardless, she floated the book back and opened to the previous page, trying to decipher more, but not getting much.

“I don’t think you need to worry, it’s just some old story,” Twilight responded, trying to comfort her friend. “I can’t get much more out of it anyways.”

This surprised Rainbow greatly. She figured that Twilight would react with a bit more care; she was not lying about her encounter. In fact, Twilight was the one that was usually paranoid over seemingly trivial things.

That also made Rainbow ask herself why she was so worried; usually she would think nothing of this. There was just something about that other pegasus, Nightingale, that gave her a bad feeling. She had a bad feelings before, but this one was different. This felt like some massive event that she could not even stop.

“Aren’t you worried even a little, Twilight!?” Rainbow asked. “The book even says it has something to do with Sombra! What if he comes back without us knowing and takes over Equestria? Isn’t that a little scary?”

If Twilight was not sure before, she was now convinced that her friend was paranoid, so she tried to be easy about it.

“Yes, it’s very scary, but I really don’t think you have to worry about it,” she said. “There’s hardly anything to base this off of. And besides, if this year held some kind of event or spell over it, I’m sure Princess Celestia would let us know so we could be sure.”

“I… I-I guess that’s true,” Rainbow replied, finally sitting down shakily. “But still… What about…”

Twilight sat down next to her friend and rested a hoof on her shoulder.

“Rainbow, I think you might be going a bit overboard with this,” Twilight said.

“Well, shouldn’t I be going overboard?” Rainbow asked.

Before the final words even left her mouth, Dash realized just how ridiculous that sounded, and finally admitted defeat.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, Twilight. I just… I just don’t get it! I never get this worried about little things like this!”

“Well, you were afraid before the Best Young Flyer competition, weren’t you?” Twilight asked.

Rainbow had to admit that she had forgotten that little case of jitters, or at least how bad it had been.

“Yea, I kinda remember that now,” she sighed, a bit embarrassed by it. “Thanks for bringing it up again.”

“You’re welcome,” Twilight smiled, oblivious to the pegasus’ sarcasm.

“Uh, Twilight, I didn’t-”

“And remember how I first moved to Ponyville and got scared about Nightmare Moon’s return?” she continued. “The point is that it happens to everypony a little bit.”

Rainbow did not like the second example very much. While it was true Twilight had been paranoid about Nightmare’s return, it turned out that she was right about it. The similarity between the two situations did not help much either. But the overall message got through to her.

“Yea, I think I understand,” Rainbow said.

“I’m sure those ponies were just doing something personal, like a family tradition or something,” Twilight continued, trying to make sure her friend would be alright.

Rainbow looked up and smiled, feeling much better.

“Yea, that makes sense,” she said. “Thanks, Twi.”

Twilight pulled her friend into a quick hug before hopping off the couch.

“Now, why don’t we head outside and join the party before it’s too late?” the unicorn suggested. “It’s only… jeez, one minute to midnight? The fireworks are about to start! Hurry up!”

Twilight ran through the door, followed closely by Rainbow. In in their haste, the two collided head on with Applejack, who was at the door to see if they were going to join them. The three tumbled a short ways until they came to a rest a few feet from the rest of their friends.

“Ow, my head,” Rainbow groaned. “Heh, sorry Applejack.”

“No trouble, sugarcube,” the farmer replied, picking her hat up from the ground. “Just so long as we’re all here, I suppose.”

As the three got to their feet, other ponies began to come out of their homes and into the streets of the small town. They were not worried about the ruckus; their eyes were all directed upward towards the night. The entire populace seemed to be looking forward to the show more than anything else.

“Just ten seconds left!” Pinkie announced to the group, jumping up and down as she said it.

As if the other ponies heard her, they started to count down from ten.

“Ten!”

“Nine!”

"Eight!”

Rarity, leaned over to talk to Twilight over the noise.

“Dear, where is Spike? Didn’t he want to watch the fireworks?” she asked. “I know he was quite excited to see them.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Twilight gasped.

Her horn flashed again and the slightly confused dragon appeared on her back, though he quickly understood what happened.

“Oh, thanks, Twilight! I guess I lost track of the time,” he said.

They quickly went back to the countdown.

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

Almost immediately the sky exploded with colors and shapes. The heavy noise of the combined explosions and other noisemakers all but silenced the many exclaims of ‘Happy New Year!’ from the crowd. Many turned down from the sky show to congratulate their friends and family near them.

Rainbow was a bit surprised by the intensity of the display, having to turn away from a second. But Pinkie reached out and pulled all of them into a tight hug, and her face got stuck facing the sky slightly. Still, after a moment, her eyes adjusted, and she was able to enjoy the display.

“You did an absolutely wonderful job with the sky,” Rarity complemented her.

That thought actually had not occurred to Rainbow yet. She was not responsible for the actual display, but she had made it clear enough for said display to be possible. It had been her job to clear out the sky as much as possible, and she had cleared it completely. That previous sense of pride she had after just finishing returned to her, now with a bit more force after seeing the actual payoff.

“You guys know you can count on me,” she replied to the unicorn with a wide, slightly cheeky smile. “Thanks.”

Rainbow continued to watch the fireworks as Pinkie released them. The massing of so many explosives into such a relatively small area astounded her; this was by far the largest New Year’s fireworks show yet.

It was so intense that she swore she could feel the power coming off of them. In fact, she was sure of it, as the vibrations were starting to be felt. Shortly after that, she realized just how heavy those vibrations were, and that they seemed to be coming from below her, from the ground, rather than the sky.

“Holy cow! What kind of fireworks are they using?” she asked.

Before any other responses could come, there was a strange rattle followed by a deep, far-off crack. There was a rumbling that sounded like a massive avalanche, and the vibrations intensified. Rainbow all of a sudden felt lightweight, as if she were floating without using her wings.

Then, everything started shaking violently, as if the town were being thrown about by some giant. Rainbow fell hard onto her stomach, as did all the others around her. What was odder was that the wind was flying over her ears and body at a fast pace, similar to when she was flying fast through the air or into a heavy gust, and she tried to understand what was happening.

The world felt like it was falling all at once. It was not like a part of the world had broken away and was falling, but as if the entire world as a whole was falling. Just where it was falling, she did not know. All she could do was lay flat down and ride it out.

Looking up above her, even the sky looked like it was moving away from her. Rainbow rolled from her belly to her back, and watched the stars become dimmer and dimmer. For a minute, she wondered if she should follow, that she should try and fly back to her sky. But then that would mean abandoning her friends; something she could not do. She turned back onto her belly, shut her eyes tight, and prayed to Celestia she had made the right choice.

Author's Note

Well, a lot of work went into this. A lot of good people worked on it. I hope it shows...

Thank you for reading. Please leave some kind of feedback as to what you liked, disliked, or any other thoughts. Thanks!

Welcome Home

There was total darkness and a feeling of discomfort, both mentally and physically. No amount of tossing and turning or grunting and moaning seemed to vanquish it. The feeling worsened when he noticed a presence very close by. One he had been hoping to avoid.

“Hey, wake up Cole!”

The pilot did not bother opening his eyes, responding with nothing more than an annoyed murmur. This was followed by him rolling on his left side, facing the wall and turning his back to his comrade. He pulled the sheets closer to him to cover up in his awkward bottom-of-the-bunk cot and tried to fall asleep again, even though he knew that would not be happening.

“Get up man, come on!” the voice asked again.

He knew he would not be getting out of this. Even when he heard the footsteps of someone entering the room, he was kind of hoping that it was just one of the men passing by. If they had come for him, maybe they would have a last minute change of heart and leave him be. But now that the talking started, that belief might as well be another dream in his now lost slumber.

“Alright... what’s up, Runner?” he groaned, turning and stretching out, “,and you’re supposed to call me ‘Lieutenant’, by the way.”

“Sorry, sir,” he replied.

"Or LT," Cole went on, trying to skit around the subject. "Or Looney... look you know I don't care, but why did you have to wake me up?"

“You forget what day it is?”

“It’s New Years,” Cole answered in a bored tone.

“It’s not just a new year, Lieutenant; it’s a whole new millennium,” his friend replied. “You should know that.”

John Cole ran his hands over his head to wipe the crust off of his face and stared at the end of his bed, trying to let his disappointment out in a private manner. Of course he knew what the occasion was, how could he not? They had been talking about it plenty all day, and much of last year for that matter. It was impossible to forget with the constant reminders.

“I know, Jack,” he continued, still not bothering to look over at him with his droopy eyes. “Now can I go back to bed?”

“I honestly don’t get why you’re so… bored about this,” his friend replied, bringing his arms out and shaking them over a small area as if he were describing a physical thing.

“It’s just a number to me, not much else,” Cole explained. “One year’s just like the other; twelve months, four seasons, whatever random events happen over that time. It all goes in the books and then it ends just like any other.”

He was not saying this just to send his subordinate away. Cole believed that years were just years; specific timelines people made to help keep a schedule. And as he grew older he noticed that, though the events were different in each, the year itself remained the same. It would go from winter to spring, then to summer and fall and back to winter. He did not think himself as cynical, and in fact tried to be the opposite, but they all began to blend together.

“I know, but still; it’s the year 2000,” his friend continued. “Nothing interesting about that?”

Cole rested his head back on the pillow for a second, accepting his fate. He knew he had to face what was coming to him. The whole point of the conversation was not about the philosophy of time, or even about the new millennium starting. Jack was here to fetch him for a New Year's party, one he did not want to attend.

“Ok, if I get up and go hang out, then I’m going back to bed right after the clock strikes midnight,” Cole bartered. “I assume you won’t let me go without that.”

“Not me, the Captain ordered everyone in the squadron to join.”

Cole sat up and moved his legs off to the floor, sitting on the bed and looking up at Jack.

“Did he really? I never heard it. Why?”

“Well… I wouldn’t say ‘ordered’,” Runner explained. “More like he noticed you were the only one absent, and asked me to come find you; politely, too.”

Cole shook his head, mainly to throw off the weariness.

“Ah, screw it; I’d rather not take the chance,” he said. “Damn, and I was going to try ordering you off.”

“Pulling rank just to get some sleep? Would you really do that?” Jack asked.

Cole gave him an irritated glare as an answer. He assumed that he could, but he was not entirely sure himself. Either way, it would not matter if the Captain did give such an order. Not to mention an abuse of his position was a slight integrity violation.

“Just wait for me in the hallway while I throw something on.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack replied.

Cole stood up and stretched again, popping his joints and finally getting the feeling of sleep out of his head. Even with a long day of work beforehand, he still felt he would not be left alone. Had it not been for that he might have decided to stay up, he did not mind a good formal celebration when he felt like it, or more often for his friend’s sake.

But from what he gathered this was just a simple get-together, and he had always been a loner. Even with friends as close as family in the service, he was never one for late nights of partying, or much else. That did not translate to a lack of care for them, but more of a lack of care for something he saw as unnecessary and unappealing. For one reason or another, hanging out with people was never really interesting to him.

Turning his mind to another subject while cracking his neck, Cole felt a bit sorry for the way he acted just then. Sure, it was a bit rude to wake up a person whom he knew did not want to be woken, but the ‘Runner’ never really did things just to do them, or without prior thought. He certainly did not do it just for a laugh or some vendetta; he was too scared of repercussions to try that.

That was the odd, almost bipolar nature of Jack Walker. When it came to official business, he was as official as he could make himself, trying hard not to gain any kind of wrath from a superior. Yet when it was unofficial, he acted like everyone was on the same level; as if no one was in the Air Force and they were all just good friends. They were good friends, but the amount ease and relaxation he treated everyone on the off-time was almost uncomfortable at times; perhaps it felt awkward as it reminded everyone what civilian life was like, without such strict hierarchy.

Cole made a mental note as he slipped on his civilian clothes to work on relaxing himself, so as not to get annoyed as easily or often. He assumed no one would bother very much with his attire, at least with the kind of informal, ‘buddy buddy’ celebrations the squad usually had. They were still off work, technically, so comfort came first to him when it could be afforded.

He did not figure anything too special for the squadron’s usual New Year parties. A regular white t-shirt and a black set of shorts did fine. Jeans might have looked better, but it still got rather warm at night where he was stationed, and tonight seemed to be particularly hot for some reason.

'Should I get my jacket?' he thought before going. 'Everyone else will probably have theirs.'

He reached over and grabbed his leather fighter jacket, threw it on, and took a look at himself in the mirror. As much as he wished he could keep the shorts, anyone with a brain cell and eyes could see how ridiculous it looked with the long jacket. He reluctantly pulled them off and dragged the set of jeans over his legs, buttoned them up, and ran a belt through the loops, making his appearance more acceptable.

As he turned to walk out he caught a glimpse of his squadron’s patch ironed on the right of his jacket. Unlike most pilots, who would feel proud at the sight of their unit’s logo, Cole felt a sense of sadness most of the time. It looked cool, he could say that much, but that was probably the best thing he could find about it.

The bottom of the circle held the name ‘1st Tac. Ftr. Sq.’, a shortened version of the unit's official name: ‘1st Tactical Fighter Squadron’, while the top held the squadron’s nickname: ‘Eagles’. The addition of the word ‘Tactical’ to the usual wording procedure of Air Force squadrons did add some meaning to the squadron’s mission, what little there was anymore. To Cole, it was just another word for ‘failed’.

“Just another failed experiment, left to die,” he said to himself with a heavy sigh. “Left out here in isolation to die.”

The idea of the Tactical Fighter Squadron had come into rather recently, as the Air Force, basking in its success during Operation Desert Storm, decided to try out a new idea. Many squadrons in the branch were assigned one type plane and given the mission that plane was designed to do. A squadron that was given the A-10s, planes specifically made for close-air support of ground troops, could logically be expected a strict schedule of ground support missions. Ones with air superiority planes like the new, deadly F-22s would be going against enemy fighters. Supplementing those kinds of planes and units were the multiroles, ones like the F-16 Fighter Falcons that could be outfitted for a variety of missions. They were not the best at anything, but they were close to it in many areas; being effective and easier to produce, their large numbers formed the backbone of the Air Force.

Then one day, someone in a high up command position somewhere wondered if people could be trained it that regard too, since pilots often flew many different planes over their careers. It was rather simple in the basics; get some good pilots and train them to undertake any mission, and assign them to a general-purpose squadron. So rather than have a group with the job of clearing the skies and another with the job of bombing and so on, there would be squadrons that could do all of them, eliminating what was perceived at the time as wasted resources; something people did not like in the post Cold War world.

Though the word ‘Tactical’ was nothing new; the Air Force had a few squadrons with the name ‘Tactical’ attached during the Cold War, but the meaning had been different. There lay another big difference. The Air Force had always been keen on renaming their units with fancy sounding words time and again. But the Tactical Corps was entirely new. The squadrons were not old units that were reactivated and renamed; they were raised specifically for that purpose, and coexisted alongside those that were already running. They had no prior lineage or history; all of that began now.

But the names and new units were not the problem; the real problem came in the form of a rather big fault that was found after it was underway, and a rather obvious one in hindsight. Despite the apparent brilliance of the idea on paper, the ‘revolutionary’ geniuses behind it made the fatal flaw of, somewhat ironically, following the tradition of restricting each squadron to a single aircraft type. While that normally would not prove a problem, as there were many planes in the Air Force that were able to play multiple roles, the test makers also set impossibly high standards across the board, some of which were impossible for the planes and men to match.

The first group of jets used for the squadrons were planes designed with the idea of specific roles in mind, and no amount of training could change that. The 1st Tactical was the first of the new Tactical Corps, and was given the famed F-15C ‘Eagle’ fighter jet, which was the where they took the name ‘Eagles’ from. The F-15 was designed as a pure Air-to-Air fighting plane, so even when they excelled in that area, they suffered greatly in the other areas as a consequence. Air-to-Ground missions did not meet expectations, and Air-to-Ship was even worse.

Despite the bad start, the higher-ups, and more importantly the politicians funding it, had put pretty much all their eggs in the basket of the Tactical Corps. Rather than allow several aircraft be available to the few squadrons to allow for better output on missions, they decided to make several more squadrons, using each as a test bed to see which aircraft could perform to their expectations. Several new units were created haphazardly overnight, some being large in number and a few even being a single plane, to see if any plane could do what they wanted to the degree the desired.

The philosophy of the Air Force is that flexibility is the key to air power, and the same is true for any situation. But, as much as one may despise the other, war and politics tend to go hand in hand. Too much money had been placed into the experiment to stop it, as it would only embarrass those who advocated for it. And in their attempts to fix the problems it faced, enough bureaucratic tape and been strung to thoroughly handicap any chance of success it had. The political advocates and higher-ups in the military refused to give up, from embarrassment or stubbornness, respectively.

The pilots themselves came close at times, with the multirole aircraft performing the best, as many predicted and tried to tell the commanders. The F-16C and F-15E worked well against most all works, but all the same, they were still below the impossible requirements. They even purchased a few planes from the navy in their desperation, but they still were not up to what was wanted. In the final days, the F-22 Raptors came the closest to passing the test; but the last exams based around anti-ship operations were still below standards.

It was all for naught; no one plane was able to meet the required expectations, at least not to justify the continuation of the program. Rather than simply lower the test requirements to a reasonable level and accept what they could get, it was finally canceled, and seen as failure and a massive waste of resources. The only thing that came out of it was a bunch of relatively normal squadrons with some extra training.

“Everyone is laughing at us,” Cole sighed. “Hell, even the normal guys in the Air Force don’t think much of us.”

He dropped the bad memories and kept walking, going out the door and meeting Jack in the hall.

“Hey, you ready?” Jack asked, leaning against one of the white walls.

“Sure, where is it again?” Cole asked.

“Just down the hall a little ways,” Jack answered. “Come on, it’s about a half hour till twelve.”

As Cole followed him down the hall, he found himself looking out the windows as they passed by, showing a sandy island and an ocean layered with darkness. His squadron was based on Midway Island, one of a handful of small islands out in the Pacific that the U.S. had controlled for over a century. Other than the military base present and a famous battle in the Second World War, Midway was little more than a stereotypical deserted island. Being assigned here was part of the reason he felt the Air Force wanted to forget about them, sending them off to a place not very many knew about.

If the project had done anything, it had produced a group of well-trained pilots, and even if Congress or the project's heads did not want to see that, the waste-watchers in both the military and in the political field did. It was bad that the project had, officially, been declared a failure, and Congress saw it as a huge misuse of money, but it would have been worse to just throw all the good men and equipment in the trash. That would have only been a bigger loss, and everyone agreed enough had been squandered already.

So, rather than decommissioning them, the Air Force treated them as regular squadrons, relatively; but that would not wash away the embarrassment. Each of the squadrons was deployed out to some far-off place that was virtually unknown to the populace, so they would not have to be used. All of that training, technology, and time added up to the Corps playing garrison duty on the most insignificant places America had. Though the name of Midway might have been spotted in some history books, few back home could point out its exact location on a map.

“So, John… you ready for the computers to break trying to figure out the date?”

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Cole asked, turning his attention from the window to him.

“The Y2K problem? That idea that the computers can’t count to two-thousand, or something,” Jack explained. “Supposed to cause the apocalypse.”

Cole chuckled a little bit at the idea.

“Oh yeah, I remember hearing about that."

“You don’t think it’ll really happen, huh?”

Cole stopped for a second on that. Admittedly, anyone who said the apocalypse was imminent would not be taken too seriously, unless they had evidence harder than diamond. Though the idea of a computer problem was slightly more realistic than some of the others he had heard; slightly, but not nearly enough.

"Course not, we have geniuses to fix that,” Cole answered. “I’m sure they’ve predicted that if a couple of numbnuts like us can understand it.”

“Yea, that’s true,” Jack agreed with a grin. “And then there’s all those people saying it’s just because it’s the new millennium; y'know, just crazy people in general.”

“Well I’m sure that when the year one-thousand came around people were freaking out then,” Cole answered. “You aren’t really worried about the world ending, are you, Jack?”

Walker’s eyebrows rose a bit in surprise.

“What? Me? No, man, I’m fine; no need to worry!” he replied happily. “Just trying to converse is all.”

The response seemed a bit odd, but Cole could tell he was not totally lying; he knew Runner long enough to tell.

“Well, alright. So how much farther to go?” Cole asked.

“Uh, its right… up… here,” Jack said, looking at each of the similar doors. “Let’s see… just three more down.”

They moved down to the door, though it was hard to miss with the noise coming from inside. Other than the usual talking, someone had the radio cranked up high, blaring out 80s music, mostly rock. Cole guessed privately as to which pilot’s idea that was. Jack pushed the door back and entered first, with Cole following him.

Upon entering, he noticed most of his squadmates were immersed in their own conversations and actions. Jack went off to find the Captain and inform him, though that was probably unnecessary, leaving Cole on his own. He did not get any kind of rousing, synchronized welcome, but Cole was not a fan of them anyways. He preferred to simply enter and exit without any fanfare, and keep it simple. It’s how he liked doing many things in his life. Only one of the pilots noticed him immediately.

“Hey, Lieutenant! I didn’t expect to see you here!” the nearest one said. “You want something to drink?”

"No thanks; I already feel like I’ve got a hangover,” Cole said over the noise, folding out a chair and taking a seat next to him near the table holding the food. “How’ve you been, Hoover?”

“The usual,” Hoover replied, taking a long swig of his drink before continuing. “Just looking forward to retiring this coming March. I think it’ll be good for me to get back into the civilian life.”

“How so?” Cole asked.

Hoover stared into space for a minute before taking another swig and answering.

“I don’t know, be honest; I’ve just got a feeling,” he explained. “Don’t get me wrong, the service was nice and all, but everyone’s got to move on to something new. Hell, your time should be up right after mine, huh?”

“I think I’m going to stay,” Cole said plainly.

Hoover looked at him with a bit of surprise, though it quickly went back to normal.

“Huh, really? I thought you’d be itching to get out of here, what with how bad you beat yourself up,” he replied.

“I know, but I want to stay; I want to make something useful out of this unit, something that would make it important,” Cole explained, looking down at the floor in a sense of disappointment mixed with determination. “Something that’d make us worthwhile.”

Hoover simply shook his head and patted Cole’s leather jacket on the shoulder.

“Lieutenant, you know that wasn’t your fault,” he said, trying to help his friend. “Some idiots decided to see if they could get a bunch of planes and people to do things they just can’t do, that's it.”

Cole simply shook his head in disbelief.

“I know, but it could work in a way; like that big normal Wing did in the Gulf,” he said, referring to the 366th Wing, a unit that was made up of multiple different squadrons. “If we just trained well enough, and got the planes, we could do what they did on a smaller level. Some planes in the squadron assigned to ground, some to air, and the like. Maybe that would do something, wouldn’t-”

Hoover’s rather large hand came down on his shoulder again, this time a bit harder.

“John, the grand experiment’s over,” he said in a consoling tone. “Just let it go; we’re just another squadron now.”

Cole shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, exhaling a long gust.

“I… guess you’re right, huh?”

“Yep,” Hoover said, taking a final chug to finish the can. “Sorry, man.”

“Like you said, it’s not our fault, right?” Cole replied, as if he were not too sure of the answer.

“That’s right, that’s just right!” Hoover replied, just a bit tipsy. “Now why don’t you relax and enjoy yourself?”

“Sure, thanks Hoover,” Cole replied.

Cole got up, folded up his chair and a bottle of water, and moved through the room to the other side. The last part had been a lie, if only just to end the conversation there. Cole did not feel like talking about it much more, mainly because Hoover was right. It was not their fault, nor anyone’s in the squadron, but they were not going to do anything special for the rest of their days.

Laying out the chair and slouching down again, he looked out the only window in the room, right next to where he set his chair. Admittedly, he thought he might be able to have some fun, but the first chat had sent him into a small bout of depression. The only thing he felt like doing was staring out the window into the night sky.

If anything gave him comfort, it was the sky. Growing up he had always wanted to run up and touch it. He wanted to be able to fly like a bird; or, better yet, a superhero. And when the stars came out over their country home, he would stretch his hand out as far as he could to try and grab them. It all seemed terribly silly, looking back.

'But maybe not all that silly,' he thought, opening the water and taking a drink. 'I did get to fly. I got to do what men aren’t supposed to do by nature.'

That reminder did make him feel a good deal better. When he was a kid he always wanted to just jump up into the sky and fly off to see what was over the horizon. Now, he could do that and go beyond. Back home he always loved to watch the sunsets with their beautiful colors painting the sky like a canvas. He had gotten the chance to see it from the air, at an equal angle, actually go into it, witness that small miracle up close. At least he could do that, and he could not be more grateful for it.

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

In his thoughts he had forgotten where he was and what time it was; he felt a little forgotten since no one bothered to wake him from his daydream, but he figured that was his own fault.

“Five!”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Happy New Year!” the pilots all yelled, hoisting their respective beverages in the air to a toast.

Cole joined them from his seat, raising the bottle and then lowering it to his lips. The celebration made him smile more. Though he felt bad for the squadron’s failure, he was still friends with everyone in the squadron. It was more than that really; they were family. Each of them was like brothers, and he would be up there fighting with them no matter what. Come hell or high water or anything in-between, he would watch out for them, and he knew they would do the same.

“Hey! Happy New Year, LT!” Firebird, one of the pilots in his own flight, yelled, pouring a bottle of Champagne on his head. “You didn’t think you could get away, did you?”

“Ah, what the hell, man!?” Cole replied, switching between laughing and coughing.

Firebird held up the empty bottle next to his triumphant grin.

“One for the Captain and each flight lead! Enjoy!” he said. “Want me to break the bottle over your head, too?”

Cole forced himself to calm down and reached up, grabbing Firebird’s shirt and dragging his head down to try and dump the half-empty water bottle on it. Though he did not get it up far enough, and his target actually grabbed it out of his hand. Cole sighed in mock disappointment; he was a bit jealous that Firebird had such good reflexes, better than most in the squadron, as well.

He would need to get his clothes washed, including his jacket being steamed, but he could worry about it later. He got up and went to the long food table, grabbing a handful of napkins. He leaned over and shook his head furiously for about a minute to shake off the excess, then ran a few napkins over his face and head, easily drying his short hair. Sitting up, he felt a bit dizzy, with the room seeming to shake a bit.

But something was a bit off, mainly the people; the pilots all seemed to have gone quiet. The shaking was continuing, and by this time Cole guessed that the dizziness had worn off, and it was not that. Something was making the ground shake, but what? He ran a mental checklist of what could cause such a thing to happen.

'Did a plane crash or something?' he wondered to himself. 'Was it an earthquake or thunderstorm? They’re the only natural thing that could cause disruption out here.'

The shaking finally stopped, and the room was quiet enough to hold a funeral. Even the radio had gone silent for the event, leaving the perplexed crew to begin wondering what was going on. A few seconds after the shaking stopped the lights in the room flared and then went out, leaving the room pitch black except for the moonlight shining in its line through the window. Cole could not help but think of the apocalypse event Jack had spoken to him of.

“Huh… shit,” he said to himself, more out of genuine worry than anything else.

Even if it was not Y2K, something big had just happened; the radio came back to life to give some clue as to what. He quickly jogged out the room and into the hall, to see if anything else was happening they could not see; there were a couple others from other rooms also trying to find the source, but nothing that actually indicated it. Peering out the window, most of the outside that he could make out looked ordinary as well. He turned and poked his head back through the door, being answered by a grim message from the radio.

“-a tsunami warning is in effect for the Midway Atoll,” a human voice warned. “Please seek immediate cover; we will be playing the EBS’s tsunami warning message on record. Direction is believed to be from the northwest; large wave expected to strike Peale island anywhere from an hour to two hours. Good luck.”

Everyone in the room had already been told what to do and where to go, but many of them still began to panic, hurrying out the door past Cole and down the hall in one direction in a state of semi-organization. Being out in the middle of the Pacific, it was not impossible for Midway to receive a Tsunami threat, but it also was not common either. Usually, it came from Typhoons that gave prior warning days in advance, and gave a chance to pull the personnel off the island. None of the pilots ever thought they would have to suffer through one, and some started to get a little too nervous.

“This the Armageddon you were talking about?” Cole asked Jack, who was the last one out.

"Don’t joke about that, you bastard!” he replied in a suppressed anger while the group moved down the hall.

'So he was a little scared about that,' Cole thought. 'Poor paranoid guy; though I guess I don’t have a whole lot of room to talk.'

As the troop moved farther south to find a higher point in the island, what little height there was on the flat place, Cole started to wonder what caused the tsunami. An earthquake was the most likely reason, but it must have been close or powerful to make the lights go out and shake as it did, which made little sense. And the timing of it, on this day, right after midnight, it felt a little too much to be coincidence. He did not want to start jumping to wild conclusions, but he felt that something was not quite right; and he felt he would find out what soon.

Author's Note

I tried to find a good balance between reality and imagination around the project. I don't think it's too far out there, in terms of probability.

Guardian Angels

The chattering, groaning, and other noises of Ponyville’s residents stirred Rainbow Dash from unconsciousness. She moaned and gurgled a bit, squirmed a bit on the ground, and opened her eyes. Almost immediately afterwards, she found herself being yanked onto her hooves by a concerned Applejack.

“You feelin’ ok, Dash?” she asked, looking over the pegasus for any injuries.

“Yea… I… I think I’m good,” she stuttered, blinking her eyes a few more times. “Where’s… where are-”

“Everypony else is alright,” Applejack cut her off, “At least everypony we can see and find right now.”

Rainbow tried walking forward a bit, but her legs felt doughy. She tried trotting in place for a warm up, and slowly began to move forward, getting her balance and control back. Once that was done, she nodded to Applejack that she was alright, and she in turn led her over to her four other friends.

Looking around, Rainbow was pleasantly surprised to find that there was no serious damage; much of it looked like it was caused by the commotion of panicking ponies. The remnants of the party were thrown about in the streets, and a few buildings had broken windows, and a few carts were broken, but it was not as bad as she had feared. Most of the ponies were busy trying to clean things up or find out what had happened.

Rainbow and Applejack sifted through the mess until they reached their four friends, grouped together a short ways away. They had varying degrees of worry on their face, with Fluttershy’s being the worst. Twilight seemed more curious than worried, talking with the others; if anypony knew what was happening, it was her.

“Twilight, what happened?” Rainbow asked, drawing the group’s attention.

Each gave a quick, half-hearted smile upon knowing Rainbow was ok.

“I’m not too sure, but I’ve got an idea,” Twilight responded, her face turning to worry.

Rainbow immediately knew what she meant.

“The tale about Sombra?” Rainbow asked.

“The one you told me about,” Twilight confirmed. “That’s the only thing I could come up with.”

Rainbow’s previous fears returned for a moment, now that they were confirmed.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“I’m not too sure; it’s still just a theory, but it’s all I have to act on,” Twilight replied.

Rainbow stopped and thought for a moment, trying to remember any details about the myth; she still did not want to believe it, but reality was creeping in. She remembered from the book the pictures of a Griffon and Changeling, and some other creature, meaning they may be involved. ‘War’ was another word that stuck in her mind rather well. None of it sounded good.

“I’ve already sent Spike back to the library to find that book again, so I can look at it a little more,” Twilight continued, “and to get some paper and a quill to write a letter to the Princess. I think she knows something happened, but some kind of information would be helpful.”

“Anything we can do?” Rainbow asked, speaking on behalf of the group.

“Yes, there’s a few things you can help me with girls,” Twilight said, moving a bit to face the group as a whole. “Rainbow, you fly around and see if you can find anything that could help us.”

“On it!” Dash replied immediately.

She flared her wings out and shot into the air with one powerful swoop; she did not want to waste any time. As she got into the air, she noticed her wings were a bit stiff, but she forced them to keep going. In no time, they were back to normal, and she was flying through the air at her regular pace.

Dash decided to get to a high altitude to help see a wider area. She also decided that she would cover as much ground as she could in search of the unusual. Things seemed relatively normal in and around the town, so she decided to go a bit farther out. Even then, there was no evidence to indicate a major catastrophe, and it became clear that her hunt was not going to be easy. Turning south, she moved far away from Ponyville, trying to find something to give her answers.

January 1st, 2000
0634 Hours
Midway Island

John Cole had never witnessed a tsunami before, and after his first experience he honestly did not think they were all that horrible. Watching the wave of water wash over the island was frightening, but it seemed to have very little power behind it. As soon as it hit the beach it reduced drastically, and though the initial areas were hit with a heavy force, easily enough to flip vehicles and flood buildings, it lost it's push drastically, reaching the other end as little more than a weak wash. Something told him this was not to the scale of average tsunamis; at least he assumed so from the damage reports he had seen from others on the news in the past.

The worst part was that virtually every light on the island went out immediately as the generator was washed, making the atmosphere itself far worse, leaving the blackness undisturbed. For a moment he thought the whole island was going to sink, but it was nothing more than inexperience talking. Soon enough it had passed, and

The damage to the island facilities was unknown, but at least everyone in his squadron was alright. They had gone up into the highest floor airfield’s control center, along with dozens of other pilots, mechanics, and others who could get there in time. It got pretty crammed, and, again showing his naiveté on the subject Cole became afraid that the building might collapse between the weight and water. But it remained standing through the entirety of the event; though when it was over, the air control team chose to vacate the building just to be safe.

Coming down from the building with shoes soaked and feet splashing on the puddles of water, Cole surveyed the damage. Debris was strewn about everywhere across the field and runway; some man-made, some natural. He even noticed one of the squadron’s F-15 jets, the one closest to the shore where the wave hit, lying upside down outside of the entrance to its hangar, smashed and unusable; whether it would be fixed or scrapped was yet to be seen.

The repair crews had to get to work, and the pilots were ordered to assist them, listening to whatever to ground crews told them. Cole was going to go with the group but the Captain held him up for a minute. After talking with one of the repair crews and the island’s base commander in private, he returned to Cole. Rather than assist with clean up, he ordered Cole to meet him in whatever was left of the briefing room in about an hour.

Cole spent that hour heading back to the squad’s quarters to see if everything in his locker was still there, as a fair amount of water gotten in there. The bunks there were strewn about rather wildly, with the mattresses and sheets lying lazily on the wet floor. He opened his locker, and was happy to see that by some miracle everything was still there. He then realized that all of it was soaked, which would be a bigger problem for some items than others.

The worst were the three paperback books he kept inside. Hunt for Red October and Ivanhoe were both ruined. He had a copy of Arabian Nights he had been meaning to read. He still planned to, but not with this one. Each would have to be replaced with a new copy, and that could take a fair amount of time in this part of the world.

“Of course the submarine book would get ruined by water,” he chuckled, finding a temporary relief in the irony.

He tossed the novels back into the locker and shut it, heading out of the room. There was still a good amount of time left, so Cole decided to tour the immediate area and look at the devastation. There never was much to do on Midway; now there would be even less. All of the buildings had some sort of damage to them, either from the water or from the debris it carried striking them. Some of the weaker trees near the front beach had been torn up from their roots and thrown onto the ground, and the damp sand also made movement difficult.

With the time killed, he went to the briefing room, which had also been drenched a bit. He was the only one there; even the Captain was a little late, and it felt odd being alone. He tried to take a seat in one of the chairs only to get the unpleasant reminder that they were also wet, making him jump back up. He was not used to a situation like this, where virtually everything was damp to such a massive degree.

He decided to just stay standing, leaning up against a wall to relax, which was only wet up to about the knee. It was another half hour before the Captain actually arrived in the room. As he walked in, Cole got off of the wall and stood up straight at attention, giving him a salute. The Captain waited until he got down to him before he returned it, allowing Cole to relax.

“Captain,” Cole greeted simply.

“Lieutenant Cole,” the Captain replied. “Sorry for being late; this incident runs deeper than we thought.”

"It’s not a problem, sir,” Cole assured him.

“Well, I’ll get right to it; not too much to show you, we don’t have a ton of info on what happened,” the Captain explained. “You might have to dig into your imagination for this one, if you can. Yesterday, a few minutes after midnight, multiple satellites detected something big falling into the atmosphere, something really big.”

“A meteorite, sir?” Cole asked.

The Captain shook his head.

“Too slow. Whatever it is, it fell sluggishly, at least compared to asteroids, and we believe it was the cause of the wave that hit us last night,” he continued. “Tsunamis have also been reported all around the area; Alaska, Japan, even some on the west coast in Oregon and Washington; damage sounds light for what it is, but nothing's very clear right now. We’re trying to get eyes on the impact zone to see what’s up, but there’s only been one satellite run overhead so far. I got some pictures back from it.”

He handed Cole a set of several photographs, and the Lieutenant studied over them. Each one looked similar, in that they all just seemed like overhead pictures of some kind of green farmland. There was not too much difference or specifics; a few buildings here and there, but that was about it.

“These are right, sir?” Cole asked.

“That’s what it seems; a large amount of land in the middle of an area that shouldn’t have it for miles,” the Captain confirmed. “But we need to confirm it; get some human eyes on there. We’ve already got people from all over scrambling to get there, but we’re the closest.”

“So they want us to go take a look?”

“Not ‘us’, Lieutenant; just you,” he explained. “As much as I’d like to join you, or do it myself, your bird is the only one that the mechanics can fix up enough to fly, for now at least. And I have to stay around here to help. But I know I can trust you on this, Cole.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied.

“You won’t be alone the whole time. There’s an AWACS coming down from Hawaii that should rendezvous with you on your way there. They’ll give you a good eye to rely on, and you relay anything you find up close to them. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” Cole answered.

The Captain gave another salute, causing Cole to return it immediately.

“Good luck, Lieutenant.”

The Captain dropped his hand and left the room, with Cole following shortly after him. While the Captain turned right and moved down the hall, Cole turned left, going in the opposite direction, towards the base’s Life Support Shop. It contained all the clothing and material necessary for a pilot to have during a mission, so he would have to go there first to get dressed up.

The amount of work that was put into simply getting ready to get into the plane was excruciatingly precise. Cole likened it to putting a tuxedo on before a wedding, only your life quite literally depended on the clothing. One of the men there gave Cole a freshly cleaned suit, and it seemed that cleaning it had proved a good deal more difficult than usual. He had to admire that the base’s crew was working hard just to get the normal things back into order.

Cole had to start by stripping down to his boxers, replacing his jacket and old clothes for an olive drab green flight suit, zipping it up tightly until it reached his neck. He took a minute to fill the jacket’s many pockets with dozens of little items that may be needed during the flight, or if bad went to worse, surviving an ejection. When everything was accounted for he slipped on a pair of flight boots, followed by a pair of Nomex flight gloves over his hands, completing the inner gear.

The shop crew then assisted Cole with dressing for the second layer of clothing. An uncomfortable G-Suit was put around him to help prevent passing out during heavy maneuvers, along with a dry suit, in case of having to bail out over the water. Next a skull cap of cotton was fitted on his head, followed lastly by the helmet. A few quick tests with the oxygen hose were done to ensure it worked, and he was finally done.

With the suit finally complete, Cole could head out to the flight line and finally get into his aircraft. Moving across the runway, Cole could see a large number of repair crews looking over the runway; some were clearing it of debris, others looked over it for any kind of damage that could disrupt takeoff or landing. Mechanics were working on several sets of seemingly undamaged fighters parked in their hangars. The farthest one was his plane, and had the most men inspecting it.

“Hey, is it ready?” Cole called to the closest mechanic.

“Yes sir! Don’t worry, we’ve checked her over; she’ll fly as good as a kite on a windy day,” he replied proudly.

“I hope so; I don’t want to die from an engine flame out,” Cole replied. “What about the rest of the squadron?”

The mechanic shook his head in frustration.

“Some are in better shape than others, but none enough to send up right now; the only reason yours was fixed this fast was because it was parked farthest from the wave,” he said, sticking his thumb in the direction of the Eagle. “Don’t get me started about how frustrating the salt water’s making things.”

“Don't worry, I won't. I need to get going,” Cole agreed.

“Damn right you do; let me get you strapped in.”

Cole went over to his F-15C, climbed up the steps, and plumped down into the small pilot’s seat. The plane was already warmed up and running, on account of the flight crew’s testing it. The mechanic assisted Cole in strapping into his seat, firmly holding him against the chair.

“We already got it armed. We stuck a couple of extra fuel tanks onboard, since we don’t know how long you’ll be out there,” the mechanic explained. “Rest of the layout’s normal; Sidewinders and Slammers.”

“Thanks,” Cole replied simply.

He thought for a minute if he should get some kind of air-to-ground ordnance, but ignored it; the mission was reconnaissance, simple as that. The clear canopy of the aircraft came down and locked against the body, sealing him in the tiny cockpit. The repair crewmen gathered up their equipment and quickly got out of the way while Cole did a quick check of the cockpit to ensure everything was as it should be; all of the gauges, bars, lights, and other tracking systems looked in order.

“Control this is Eagle Three-One, requesting clearance to taxi,” Cole called over his radio.

He realized the control building was probably not being used, and wonder where they had set up the secondary flight control center.

“Control to Three-One, Runway One is open. You are cleared to taxi,” the Air Traffic Controller said on the other end of the line.

“Copy that Midway control, Three-One taxiing to Runway One for takeoff.”

Cole realized the voice on the other end was not the same that he usually heard, and feared for a moment that some misfortune had fallen on the regular guy overnight. He quickly focused on driving the plane as it rolled out from its hangar and into the rising sunlight, now beginning to light the whole area. The plane moved slowly as it turned left to line up with the long runway that stretched over the sand.

“Three-One in position on Runway One. Do I have permission to takeoff?” Cole reported to the control team again.

“Three-One hold position so we can do one last check of the runway, copy?”

“Copy; holding.”

Cole waited another five minutes before he heard back from the radio.

“Three-One, you’re clear for takeoff. Wind is five knots out from the east. Skies are mostly clear with some scattered clouds off to the northwest. Good luck, over.”

“Three-One copies, taking off now,” he replied.

Cole moved the throttle on his left forward, and the two big Pratt & Whitney engines began to move the plane forward. It moved faster and faster down the runway, gaining more speed with each passing moment. When the required speed was met, he pulled the control stick back towards him, lifting the nose, and then the rest of the fighter, into the air.

The sensation of pressure came back to him as he left the ground. As the tail left the surface, he could feel gravity tug him back in protest, demanding he return to the ground. The landing gear retracted into the aircraft, and after climbing to about 30,000 feet, he leveled out and turned to the northeast.

“Three-One takeoff complete; no problems, from the looks of it,” Cole reported. “Course set and moving.”

“Good copy, Three-One; set rendezvous time with AWACS should be one to two hours. Hope you can find something, out.”

Cole hoped he could find something as well, but that would be in time. But now began the tedious journey of monotony that was a cruise over the Pacific. Other than a few clouds spread about randomly, there was nothing. The silence on the radio only made things worse, as there was not even anyone else in the air to talk to. It was enough to drive some people over the edge.

Even ships seemed to be absent below him. The long blue sky over him seemed to meld into the vast blue water below him, and it started to become disorienting. Time also stretched out, and one hour felt more like two or three. Cole figured he had entered some kind of temporal vortex where he would be stuck flying forward forever. No doubt he was still a bit fearful over the end of the world possibility, though it had reduced to nothing more than a very minor annoyance.

Finally, something did happen that reminded him he was not in purgatory. A light flicked on to show one of the big Conformal Fuel Taanks hanging under the wing went dry. Cole looked back to see the tank as if something would happen, or as if something was wrong. Though he knew nothing would, so he just sighed for a minute, wishing for an end to the monotony.

“That was fun,” he said sarcastically to himself. “Guess it’s back to staring.”

As he looked back towards the front, he did notice a slight change, a long line of something coming over the horizon. As it got closer, he confirmed his suspicions: it was land, and a lot of it. He did a quick reference on the map and looked at his own position to make sure he was correct, and that he did not just fly all the way to Alaska.

"You’re not supposed to be there,” he said, staring in curiosity. “So where in the hell did you come from?”

Flying even closer, he saw that it was no mere island, either; the green and brown stretched far over the horizon.

“Hello, does anyone copy? Are there any United States Air Force units in the vicinity?” someone on the radio called.

“This is Eagle Three-One, out of Midway,” Cole responded. “Identify yourself; is this the AWACS, over?”

“Affirmative, this is AWACS Spyglass out of Hickam, over” the operator in the large plane, some ways away, confirmed.

“Solid copy, Spyglass; it’s nice to have someone else out here, over.”

The Airborne Warning and Control System, often shortened to AWACS, was not a combat aircraft like Cole’s fighter; its job was focused on information and warning, as the name suggested. This model, the E-3 Sentry type, was little more than a renovated Boeing 707 with a massive rotating radar dish shoved on top that looked somewhat ridiculous, but it did its job well. The powerful radar on the Sentry could see far past the one on Cole’s Eagle, giving him a much better lookout and prior warning.

“Interrogative, Three-One, have you found anything yet, over?” the AWACS operator asked.

“Affirmative, Spyglass; I’ve discovered a large landmass that isn’t on my map,” Cole reported, looking down as his plane moved from the water to the ground. “I’m feet dry at this moment, over.”

He waited a bit longer before a response came.

“Three-One, ingress over the land and conduct a recon; call back if you spot anything. Spyglass will stay on station to warn of any contacts, how copy?”

“Good copy, Spyglass; Three-One is moving on. Will report if anything is spotted, out.”

Rainbow Dash had spent the whole day flying over the countryside, and had found nothing out of the ordinary. She had talked with several different ponies, all of whom had similar experiences, but nothing peculiar overall. She figured it would be best to return to Ponyville and report to Twilight; odds were that she had found out what happened already.

Flying through the air at a normal pace, she noticed something different, something she had no experience with before. There was a far off sound she did not recognize, one that seemed to be coming closer and closer. She did not know what to think of it; it sounded like some creature let out a long, continuous roar and it was echoing through the land. Or like a faraway rumble of thunder that did not stop.

She stopped, began hovering where she was, and started to twist and turn, looking all around her for the source of the noise. As it came closer, it sounded as if it were coming from the sky, so she directed her stationary search efforts to there. After looking about for a minute, she found what she believed to be the culprit; something moving fast, high above her.

Her immediate reaction on instinct was to follow it, which is what she did, flying straight up to match its height and then moving to catch up with it. She quickly noticed that she had also never seen anything quite like it before; it was larger than any griffon or pegasus, but much smaller than a dragon. Another possibility came up in that it was actually some kind of contraption, but she still could not tell.

“Should I be following this?” she asked herself. “What if this thing is a minion of Sombra, or caused whatever happened last night? I don't think it's looking for friends.”

“Come on, you can do it; you’re Rainbow Dash, for Pete’s sake!” a voice in her head reminded her. “You can outdo whatever this is. Besides, you need something to take back to Twilight.”

“Yea, that’s right,” Rainbow said with a new determination.

She flapped her wings harder, and was soon flying next to the object and able to inspect it closer. It did not look or fly like any kind of bird .The wings attached to its body were not even flapping; it seemed to just be able to fly straight along. She also noticed there were no feathers on its body. Other odd attachments were two large holes at its rear, two more small wings on the back that were locked in a vertical position, and several stick-like objects of different sizes that were attached under the body and wings, along with a very large canisters of some sort that hung under the right wing.

The last of the oddities was a large bubble, up at the front. Flying up to it, she found it contained the biggest surprise yet; a creature, sitting inside in what looked like a seat of some kind. It seemed to be looking over and working on several unknown things, giving the impression that this was indeed a machine, and the creature was actually controlling it. Watching dumbfounded, the being glanced over to its right and noticed Rainbow with a bit of a jerk.

“Uh oh,” she said to herself, unsure of what was to come next.

Instead of attacking, the creature moved something up over its face up, showing Rainbow the eyes and part of the face; it also meant the alien was actually wearing a suit. The creature seemed not to have any kind of hair or feathers either, and rubbed one of its appendages over its light skinned face before looking back in confusion. Rainbow was not sure of what to do now.

She noticed the creature did something; it waved with its appendage at her, as if to be waving hello. That also showed that it did not have hooves like her, but it actually had hands, like a minotaur’s; perhaps that was what the thing was related to. Rainbow responded in kind waving her hoof at it, hoping it meant the same thing to them.

“Uh… hey!” she said, not sure if it could hear her.

The being seemed to be rather content, and brought the hand down. She watched as it looked at her, then went back to looking at something unseen in the bubble, then back to her; perhaps he was reading something inside, but she could not hear. When it was finished, it looked back at her and brought two of its fingers up in a ‘V’ shape.

“Ok… I can’t really do that,” she said, looking at her hoof, then back to the creature. “It’d better mean something nice, though.”

She looked back at her hoof once more and then held it up a bit, to show the thing that she did not have fingers like it did. The creature started to grin, then its eyes shut and it's head shook in what Rainbow assumed was a small, controlled bout of laughter. Dash felt a bit offended, as if the alien were laughing at her for something she did not have, but did not take it personally; in fact, she began to chuckle, too.

“Hehe. Alright, alright, I guess its a little funny,” she said with a grin, shaking her head a bit. “Well, it seems kinda cool; doesn’t look like it could hurt anypony. Maybe it is looking for a friend.”

As she brought her head back up a bit, she noticed something else coming up towards both of them, and fast, too. She quickly recognized it to be another pegasus, but something seemed a bit wrong; there was a kind of darkness around it. Its fur was black, and its wings looked as if they belonged to a bat pony; though nothing else seemed to show it was a vampiric, it just seemed like a normal pegasus. Its mane was a short grey, and as it came closer, she saw something in its eyes. The bright red orbs gave off a feeling of anger, and borderline insanity. Something told her that, unlike the creature, this pony meant harm. She did not want to jump right to that conclusion, but the idea of caution came a bit too late.

“Hey, you alright?” she called out to the pegasus.

The dark looking pony did not answer; it kept shooting upwards until it rammed into an unsuspecting Dash.

Cole could not believe what was happening to him. He thought that he had gone honest-to-God insane when he saw a bluish, pegasus thing fly up next to his fighter. But, after removing his helmet’s visor and for a brief moment to rub his eyes a bit, he confirmed it to be real. What’s more, it had waved back to him, showing it was intelligent.

He had a hard enough time believing it, and telling the AWACS found it even odder. But regardless of what either thought, it was right there, plain as day. He did not know why he decided to use the peace gesture next, as if they knew what I meant, or that they would be able to respond, but he found it comical at least, and the horse did, as well; that was perfect in his book. His feelings of content and wonder were replaced by shock and urgency when another pegasus rammed into his new friend.

“Oh damn!” he yelled.

“Three-One, what is it?” Spyglass asked. “What’s that horse doing now?”

Cole watched the blue one fall for a bit before regaining control, but the black one did not seem to be giving up as he tried to ram again, only to miss. The blue one tried her own attack, punching the black Pegasus in the stomach, but the dark one did not seem fazed, grabbing onto its target and giving it a heavy into the head, and then the back. Again, the blue one fell before flying again; this time it fled from the dark one, which pursued furiously.

“Spyglass, some other horse just jumped the first one; I think it’s trying to kill the one I met,” Cole reported. “It just jumped out of nowhere and it’s chasing the blue one now. What’s the call?”

The AWACS did not respond at first, giving Cole time to think. It could just be a simple predator and prey situation of nature, but the blue one seemed to be rather intelligent, and it made sense that the attacker was intelligent, too. Would that mean so kind of murder attempt? And could he allow that, if so?

“Three-One, you were there to see it, and you have a better idea of the situation than us,” the AWACS reported. “This is your call, over.”

Now Cole had even more to worry about. If these things were intelligent, would that mean they had countries of some sort, and these were two different nations? What if he did the wrong thing and enraged this new alien species? Should he do anything?

And if he did decide to intervene, what if he shot at the wrong one? What if the blue one deserved this? Something about it told him the second was not very true, but did that mean he should intervene at all? No trouble would come from doing nothing, but he did not want a crime to go on if he could do something about it; he would not be able to sleep at night knowing someone, or something, was dead because he did nothing. He wished he had more time to go over his options, but as the two horses flew farther and farther away, he knew he had to make a decision; and he said the first one that his instinct told him was right.

“Three-One, moving to engage attacker, over!” he decided.

Cole nosed his aircraft down and pushed the engine throttle forward to catch up with them.

“Understood, Three-On. Interrogative, you need anything from us, over?” the AWACS asked.

Cole thought for a moment.

“Keep an eye out for anything else that might be coming on from a range,” Cole responded. “I’d rather not be interrupted, how copy?”

“Good copy, Three-One; we’re not seeing any other contacts. You’re clear to engage, over,” the AWACS notified.

His F-15 had three weapons to use; the close range heat-seeking missiles, the medium range radar-guided missiles, and his guns. The small size of the target, the distance, and the unknown time limit told Cole the guns would not likely do the job, and missing would lose his crucial element of surprise. The heat-seeking Sidewinder missiles under the wings did not search out any heat source, it was designed to track the infrared radiation that jet engines emitted against the plane's metal; since these things probably did not have jet engines, that option was out immediately. That left him with one option, the radar-guided missile.

Powerful radar could detect even small birds, and since these things seemed to be almost as large as a person, tracking them seemed possible. The long missile attached to his Eagle’s belly was the AIM-120 AMRAAM, an acronym of Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile; more often the pilots abandoned both for their preferred nickname, ‘Slammer’. It tracked a target by the radar, making its range longer, and more accurate.

Working with the radar, Cole tried to get the plane’s targeting computer to find the right one. He had to be careful not to accidentally target the first one, or both, and hit it by accident. However small the chance was if both were designated, he did not want to take the risk; there was no sense in being reckless. Cole saw a green box appear around the second horse, which was beginning to catch up to the wounded blue pegasus.

“That’s it, engaging now. Will notify when bandit is down, out,” he announced.

The F-15 began to close the gap with its target much faster than the dark pegasus did with the blue one. In a matter of seconds, Cole was within range for his Slammer, and began the aiming process. Cole’s green targeting reticle, also a green box, but standing on its corner, appeared on his Heads-Up Display, and began to move itself towards the box. Before the two could connect on the HUD, the blue pegasus up front turned sharply to the left; the aggressor followed, zooming away from the targeter, as well.

“Shit!” Cole grunted.

He immediately eased up on the throttle and hit the air brakes to reduce his speed. He pulled the control stick far back and left, and pressed down on the left pedal to help the fighter turn. As the Eagle swung in its hard left turn, Cole could feel the G-forces at work, making him a bit light headed, and causing the G-suit to tighten, to help restrict the blood’s movement. In a couple of seconds, he leveled the plane out, and went back to aiming the missile.

Time seemed to slow as the dark pegasus got closer, and the targeter came closer to its target. Cole continued to make minor adjustments to the aircraft to achieve the lock for the missile he needed. It seemed to last forever, though in reality it was not even a full minute of the targeter doing its dance near the box.

Finally the targeter moved over and stayed on the black horse. The two combined and turned into the red death box Cole was looking for. At the same time, a continuous ringing came from his helmet, signaling to him the same thing the box told his eyes; the lock was complete, and the missile was ready.

“Eagle Three-One; hard lock!” he announced.

He moved his finger over the trigger on the stick and pressed down.

“Fox three!”

With that code call, the Slammer dropped a few feet from the fighter before the rocket ignited, propelling it forward. It flew straight, the computer chip inside making adjustments for its flight path. The missile turned and moved as needed to keep up with the target. Cole mentally said a short prayer that the missile would fly and detonate as hoped.

The two pegasi were totally unaware of the missile launch, and continued to fly in a line. The Slammer, flying at Mach 4, quickly began to close in with its target. In the space of a second, the missile caught up to the black pegasus and rammed hard into it perfectly, followed by the detonation of 50 pounds of high-explosives in the warhead. When the smoke cleared, the small target ceased to exist, both on radar and in the world.

“That’s a kill!” Cole yelled in exhilaration. “Let’s see you try that again, you sonava bitch!”

Cole realized that he had never been more thrilled in his life; he did not think it possible. He quickly returned to reality, and looked for the blue horse that he was trying to rescue. After a moment he spotted it, hovering a short ways away. Despite being hit hard, the pegasus seemed to be in good shape, as it quickly flew up close to his canopy, as it had done when they first met.

Cole looked at its face and could tell a few things just from the expression. It seemed to be in shock and surprise, not just from the attack, but more from the rescue. It continued to stare at him with some cartoonishly big eyes, but Cole could tell it was thankful. That alone seemed to cement his belief that it was an intelligent being; it cared, and it showed it cared.

Still wrapped up in the thrill of the fight, Cole came to another realization; he was a hero, at least to this thing, and it felt damned good to be one. He brought his fist up and down once in a miniature fist pump in the cramped space, which seemed to bring the pegasus back to reality. He showed off a bit more with a mock salute, bringing his palm next to the side of his head and popping forward in one quick motion. He was not usually one for boasting, but the euphoria got to him a bit.

He continued watching the pegasus, and saw a grateful smile come over it, as well. He could see it moving its mouth as if to form the words ‘thank you’ over and over. He got the message easily, and came to understand that he alone had probably set a course of action for who knows how many years ahead. And beyond that, it looked as though he had just made a new friend.

“Thank you, thank you,” Dash kept saying, trying to make sure the machine’s pilot understood.

Her body and head still ached from the blows the surprise attacker had done to her. It made her rather angry deep down; if that dark pegasus had not jumped her so hard, she would have run him into the ground. She was also a bit angry at herself for allowing it to happen, but most of it still lay with the ambusher.

But that was right after he died. Admittedly, she was a bit scared from what happened; though she thought she could usually handle it, she was not entirely sure how that chase would end. That was then replaced with shock from power of the massive explosion that had occurred behind her, and that it had caused her attack to totally vanish. The machine’s flyover shortly after led her only to the conclusion that it was the new creature’s doing. That, in turn, led her to the feeling of thankfulness she felt now.

As she kept watching and talking, the pilot raised the thing on the helmet covering the eyes, causing her to stop talking. It simply nodded its head, showing it understood. Replacing the cover, it waved its hand again, this time in the form of a goodbye; Dash waved her hoof in return. The alien turned its head forward, and dropped his contraption into a dive, doing a quick roll in what Dash had to guess was a celebration.

That made Rainbow realize something; whatever had happened, it wasn’t entirely bad. Certainly that pony’s attack on her spelled bad news, but these new creatures did not seem to bring aggression and terror. There were new friends to be made with this new event, and she felt they would need as many as they could get.

Author's Note

Well, I guess it's not the worst first contact ever. I wanted to give you guys some action to make things interesting. let me know what you thought of it.

Fear's Power

January 1st, 2000
1740 Hours
South of the Aleutian Islands

As the day began to enter its final stage, the sun began to sink away, casting its glow over the cold waters of the northern Pacific. The winter season cast a chilling Arctic breeze across the long, freezing ocean. Despite the month, the waters were rather calm today, with visibility being unimpaired by weather and the waters sitting relatively idle, compared to their later months. Only the unnatural, man-made object churning its way through created a disturbance, breaking the peace hanging over the area.

The U.S.S. Spruance, the lead ship of the destroyer class of the same name, was getting to be an old lady. Launched back in 1973, the sturdy old ‘tin can’, as destroyers were nicknamed, was nearing the end of her lifespan. Having spent most of her life in the Atlantic, she was transferred to the Pacific fleet early in the previous year to serve out the last of her long service. Despite her 27 years of service to the Navy, she was simply too old, and was unlikely to hold her own should she come under concentrated attack by a more modern unit.

The same applied to the rest of the Spruance class. With the newer ships coming out with more advanced weapons systems, the older destroyers were rapidly becoming obsolete. Even when a few were selected to receive upgrades and extend their lifespans, the leader included, it was only a delaying move. It was only a matter of time before they were all decommissioned and scrapped, but this mission of exploration would be a suitable way to top off the boat's career.

“It’ll be a nice spot in the history books,” the destroyer’s Captain commented to his subordinate next to him, as the two stood on the bridge, “‘The U.S.S. Spruance: first ship to discover a new land, and meet new life.’ Doesn’t that sound interesting, Commander Blake?”

“That would be nice, Captain, but there is the chance we won’t meet any new life,” the Commander replied, “Nor do we know if we are the first ship. Ships from pretty much everywhere are converging. So it’s possible we won’t be the first.”

Captain Keith sighed a bit in disappointment. The first piece was implausible at best, considering how big they hypothesized the landmass to be.

“You really need to drown my hopes that quickly?”

“No sir, just stating the facts,” Blake replied.

“I know the facts,” the Captain stated. “I just want to dream a bit. This is a big day for us, for everyone.”

“Sorry, sir,” Blake apologized. “But I’d be a little more concerned with how anyone is still here. With something of that size hitting us… we should have been wiped out before we knew what was going on.”

“You’ve got a point, Commander, but I don’t exactly have the answer for it.”

“I know sir; I’m just saying we should take that into account.”

“We are taking that into account,” the Captain replied in an annoyed tone. “That’s why we’re going there, to try and find out.”

Blake did not seem to have much of a response to this, and kept quiet following his agreement of ‘yes sir’. He was not content at all with that answer, but he knew he was not going to find it in the Captain. He kept his discomfort to himself, allowing the Captain to return to his own interests.

Standing on the Spruance’sbridge, Keith watched the horizon in anticipation, as he had done for the past few hours. He had grown up reading in awe about the brave explorers like Columbus and Magellan; it was what made him take an interest to the seas. Though he never thought that he would actually become an explorer like they had, journeying to discover new lands. Perhaps history would remember him as that, if anything; he would certainly enjoy such a reputation.

But if this was to be the New World, what did it hold for him to discover? What kind of plants and animals and other resources would it hold? And most importantly, what were the native inhabitants of the land, and how would they receive him? All these thoughts and possibilities kept his mind busy with thinking and planning for most of the journey.

'I’ll find out soon enough what you hold for me,' he thought, looking at the horizon, 'and I bet I’ll blow your mind clear out of its skull with what I have to show you.'

Another thought entered his head after that: what other units were in the area that command knew about? He had been told to expect all kinds of contacts, as each branch was scrambling what they had to investigate, but what about foreign vessels? What about civilian shipping? The prior planning showed none along the route, but that may have changed over the past several hours they had been away. It would be best to find out.

“Commander!” he called suddenly.

“Yes sir?” Blake responded, jumping a tad.

“Get me an up-to-date report on all vessels and aircraft in our area of operations; we need to know who else is out here.”

“Aye, sir.”

Blake turned around and moved across the bridge and out of the room as the Captain turned back to stare in anticipation at the ocean. There should not be any kind of civilian shipping in the area, as much of it had been restricted and the Navy had sent out a message warning others not to get close, but it was important to check. No doubt some wild-eyed adventurer would be going regardless, one that did not have the protection of a destroyer. His concentrated stare only lasted about a minute more before it was interrupted, this time by another crew member.

“Captain, surface contact, bearing two-zero-two, right ahead of us,” one of the radar operators reported over the radio from his position inside the ship’s Command and Control center. “Moderate size, but unable to identify yet.”

Keith quickly shuffled over to the radio to respond. He was becoming impatient with the waiting, and a little anxious, too. But how could he not be, considering what was going to happen? In only a matter of time before they would be entering a real first contact scenario. That only happened once.

“Copy, that’s great to hear! Anything else you can tell me?” he asked, betraying his excitement.

“Not picking up any radar, or any kind of sensor onboard,” the radar man continued.

“Is it moving?” the Captain continued, trying to gather the details.

“Yes sir, they’re moving in our direction. Speed is ten knots.”

“Keep watching; let me know if they do anything odd,” Keith ordered.

“Aye sir,” the radar man replied, closing the radio continuing to focus on the dot on his screen.

The Captain stood up from his lean over the radio and stretched a bit before noticing Blake had returned from the CIC. He must have also noticed the contact, as he looked to be more on-edge than when he left. Still, he kept his composure, giving a greeting and salute and waiting for Keith’s response.

“Commander, do you have the update yet?”

“Yes sir, right here” he confirmed.

“Well, what does it say? What are we dealing with?”

“Command reports no known civilian aircraft or shipping in the area. A submarine was in the area earlier, an Ohio that was already out on deployment, but it hasn’t reported back yet. They want us to… keep a lookout for them, just in case,” Blake said with a touch of worry in the last piece. “Units from other nations are likely operating in the area, but it is unknown if any are really there. No one has reported anything yet. ”

The Captain walked over to look over the report himself. If ships from the navies of other nations were in the area, then things could become a bit more complicated, depending on whom it was. That also meant the contact that was on the radar could be a vessel from another navy, as much as from the new land. But if the CIC had reported correctly, and the contact had no sensors, it was unlikely to be a modern warship.

“Sir, do we have any orders concerning how we should react to… new life?” Blake asked.

“Non-violent, for now,” the Captain answered, deciding on the most sensible choice. “Of course that could change if they start acting aggressive. And we need to report back as soon as contact is made. Other than that, nothing particular. We use our own judgment.”

“How do you think they will act?” the Commander wondered, a bit jittery over the ideas of what could go wrong when contact was made.

“Peacefully, I think. They’ve got no reason to attack us,” Keith responded optimistically.

“And what if they do?”

Keith stopped for a minute, trying to think of an appropriate answer, but could not find one.

“Well… I’m not sure. Fight back I suppose,” he said simply. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, if we come to it.”

Blake shook his head a bit in a mixture of worry and disappointment, as Keith returned his attention to the horizon.

“I’m sorry sir, but I think you’re rushing into this a bit… haphazardly,” he claimed, attempting to remain respectful to his superior.

“I’ll note your worrying, Commander, but I’m afraid that I don’t see why such a thing is bothering you,” the Captain replied, focusing again on the water. “Unless you’ve been watching a bunch of alien invasion films lately.”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance we could be sailing into a battle.”

“A fifty-fifty chance? Based on what, Commander?” Keith asked with a critical tone, turning back to him. “You worry too much about the improbable; we’ve had no indication that there has been any kind of hostile action towards the United States. Besides, we can’t just stop because of the chance of a fight. That’s what this ship was built for.”

“I understand that sir, but I still believe-”

The conversation was interrupted as one of the lookouts on the bridge excitedly reported a finding.

“Ship sighted, sir! Directly ahead!”

The Captain immediately broke off the conversation and ran over to the watcher’s position on the bridge. He tried looking in the direction he stated with his own set of binoculars, but only saw the dot coming closer and not much more. The lookout was using a much more powerful pair, and could see much farther compared to regular ones.

“Can you identify the nationality and make?” Keith asked.

“I can’t see any recognizable symbols or flags, sir. But, it does appear to be a sail ship of some kind,” the lookout replied.

“Alright, keep watching it,” the Captain ordered before turning to the man behind the ship’s wheel. “Helm, keep this course and speed.”

Before he could reply, and before Keith could give any further orders, the radar operator spoke up with another report of his own.

“Two more surface contacts, Captain. They’re a ways behind the first one, but they’re closing in quick.”

Again, the Keith had to shuffle over to another side of the bridge, where he felt he should just stay at, but could not help trying to catch a glimpse of the ship to find out something else about it. If it was wooden, then it had to be from some other world; no modern navy used wooden vessels anymore. And if civilians had stayed clear, as ordered, there was no other possibility.

“Can either be identified?” Keith asked, wondering if they were similar and possible allies to the first.

“Only one of them,” the man reported back. “The farthest is confirmed to be a ship of the People’s Liberation Army Navy.”

Keith’s eyebrows went up and his eyes opened wide, surprised by the new arrival.

“The Chinese? The hell are they doing this far out?” he replied.

“Not sure, sir. We’re trying to contact them now.”

That did worry Keith a bit. Was there some reason specific reason the Chinese had come out this far? Had they already made contact with the newcomers and investigated their world? And if so, what did they tell them, and what did they share? That one inclusion added a whole new pile of questions and problems that needed to be solved.

“Get working on it and get back to me if you find anything,” the Captain ordered, leaving the radio before the sailor on the other end could respond.

“Lookout, anything new?” Keith asked, before noticing the wooden ship had moved closer to the Spruance.

“Plenty sir. The vessel does seemed to be armed; looks like some type of frigate,” he reported, still observing the ship through his binoculars. “You might want to take a look at the crew, sir.”

Once again, Keith pressed his own set of binoculars up against his eyes and was given a much different sight than before. The crew of the frigate did not look even remotely human. Many of them looked more like small horses, or dogs even, and each seemed to be a different color, with the tone ranging anywhere from very bright to dim and dark. By the way they moved about, they seemed to be rather intelligent, of course they would have to be in order build and operate such a large ship.

“I’ll be damned,” he said to himself before chuckling a bit at the seemingly impossible. “Have they tried to contact us yet?”

“Yes sir. Looks like they’re using flag signals,” the lookout confirmed. “I think they’re just spelling out ‘Hello’ right now. They're waiting for our response.”

“And we need to respond,” Keith stated quickly before turning again to his Commander. “Blake, get a man down there with flags and respond immediately!”

“What should we tell them?” he replied, asking the obvious.

“Just say ‘hello’ back and take it from there,” Keith ordered immediately. "And make sure he doesn't say anything dumb."

“Aye, Captain.”

As soon as Blake had left, his spot was taken by Lieutenant Commander Bailey, the head of the ship's fire control team based in the CIC.

"Evening, Sir," he said with a salute, gaining the Captain's attention.

Keith returned it quickly, allowing his subordinate to relax. Bailey’s timing irritated him a bit, though he did not show it. He wanted nothing more than to examine the alien vessel thoroughly, and keep track of what was happening on the deck; partially to ensure things went smoothly, and partially to indulge in his curiosity. Regardless, he had to deal with what Bailey had first.

“Sir, I wanted to come up to see how things are coming, and to ask for instructions,” the Lieutenant Commander said, getting straight to the point. “Is there any kind of procedure you would like me to follow? Do you want me to set up a fire plan?”

The Captain was taken aback by the question. He saw no need to, and tried to think of a quick response to emphasize this. However, he could not, and had to admit in the back of his head that fighting was a possibility. But it was still a very small one, one he did not wish to build on. And his prior discussion with Commander Blake sapped most of his will to debate his reasoning.

“Do you think that will be necessary?” he queried, wanting Bailey’s view on the situation.

“I’m not too sure, sir. I hope it won’t, but we should be safe,” he stated. “But it’s up to you, sir. So what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t think the actual contact is going to see any bloodshed, so don’t worry about that,” Keith decided, not fully sure on his decision. “But… be prepared for things. Make sure your team runs smoothly, and everything operates as it should.”

“Aye, sir,” he responded, heading off the bridge back to his post.

With that, Keith was finally able indulge in his curiosity and began examining the frigate with his binoculars. He noticed that, every now and then, one of the horses would show some extra feature, either a set of wings or what looked to be a horn on their head. At first, Keith wanted to guess they were some kind of evolution from the horses on Earth, but the inclusion of what seemed to be pegasi and unicorns added another element to the mix, at least if they did the same things the fairy tales said they could do.

The ship itself did not look to different from an old human sail ship. It was interesting to see that their technological level seemed to be rather behind, but on a seemingly parallel course with humanity’s. The ship’s armament consisted of cannons, but he did not see a single firearm amongst the crew, mostly just swords or spears. They must be close, if they had the gunpowder to use cannons; maybe they just had not thought of it yet.

“Captain, I’ve got an invitation from the ship’s crew,” Blake said, breaking his concentration.

Keith jumped a bit, as he had not noticed the sailor return to the bridge, but quickly regained his composure.

“They’re asking to meet us, including our Captain, and are willing to come aboard our vessel if we accept their invitation,” he reported.

“Is that all, Commander?”

“Yes sir, that’s all they’ve told us for now.”

“Alright, tell them the there’s no need; we’ll be heading over to theirs,” Keith replied confidently before looking over to another sailor and giving an order. “Get a RHIB and a guard team ready to go.”

“You’re going over there!?” Blake said, a bit shocked by this move.

“Yes I am, Commander, now go signal the other ship,” Keith ordered.

Blake continued to stare at Keith for a time, shocked.

“Sir, this seems like a terrible idea. We don’t know what could-”

“Christ, enough,” Keith groaned, turning to another sailor. “Swanson, go down there and tell the Seaman with the flags to respond with my message that we’re going to pay them a visit.”

“Aye sir,” the sailor said, walking off the bridge as Blake watched in concern.

“At the very least we could-”

Before Blake could finish, the lookout on the bridge called out again, this time a bit more urgent.

“Two new vessels; one’s another frigate coming from the same direction as the first, and it looks like the crew is different from the first,” he reported quickly. “The Chinese vessel is also in visual range to starboard.”

“Aggressive moves from either?” Keith asked first.

“Not that I can tell sir. The frigate seems to be moving in our direction, but the Chinese are keeping their distance. I don’t think they want to get involved.” the man answered, turning his gaze from one to the other before settling on the Chinese ship. “PLAN vessel identified as Luda class destroyer.”

“Any type specifics?”

“I can make out the pennant number… One-Six-Six.”

“Has anyone made contact with them yet?” Keith asked. “Anyone?”

“Aye, Sir!” another sailor replied after a period of silence. “We’re in radio contact now. They say they’re just on patrol. They’ve made contact with the vessel closer to them apparently. That’s all we’ve got for now.”

It was odd that the Chinese destroyer had not been spotted and reported ahead of time. More than likely their mission was the same as the Spruance, to explore the new land. Perhaps it had already been in the area before the continent fell, and was just moving there because it was closest. That made the most sense, as any Chinese ships would have probably ran into it sooner than the Spruance; from what they knew already, the Luda would have had to sail around the continent to get to where it was now if it had come from China.

“Sir, destroyer number One-Six-Six is named the Zhuhai; she’s one of the newer types to come out in the last decade. More advanced than the original makes,” another man answered from the other side of the bridge.

“Sir… I believe the other vessel is a different nationality than the first,” the lookout said. “It’s a frigate, but the crew is different.”

“How so?” Keith asked.

“You… may want to see for yourself, sir,” the lookout said, offering his more powerful binoculars to the Captain.

Keith took them and looked out towards the vessel. He could tell how easily the lookout had noticed the difference in nationality, and in the crew. As he said, the sailors on the new ship were quite different, as none of them looked even remotely like horses. It was an odd sort of race that he had never seen before, nor anything quite like it. He had trouble describing it, but it looked as though God had taken a lion and merged it with a hawk. It was very bizarre sight.

“It’s an entirely different race from the first,” Keith said in a state of awe. “What are those things?”

“I think they’re called Griffons, sir,” the lookout said. “They’re supposed to be fictional, though; I only heard about them in stories like the Greek myths. I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“I don't see much of a choice since I'm staring right at them,” Keith replied in a mumble, studying the other frigate.

“Sir, should I cancel the meeting?” Blake interrupted, staring at the Griffon-run vessel over the Captain’s shoulder.

Keith turned away from the window and began to move across the bridge.

“I don’t see why we should,” he retorted. “We’ve got no beef with any of these new aliens, and they have none with us. They shouldn’t do anything.”

Blake continued to stare at the Captain, his anxiety growing ever so steadily.

“I need to get going; there’s a meeting to attend,” Keith continued. “Commander, you’ve got the bridge while I’m away. Just keep everything in working order until I get back.”

“What about our Rules of Engagement?”

The Captain figured that Blake would ask such a thing from the way he had been acting, but he kept it simple, hoping he had more common sense than to do anything too foolish, and that nothing would go wrong during the contact.

“Nothing specific for right now Commander, just the basics,” Keith replied putting emphasis on the last three words. “Don’t shoot anything. If the Spruance comes under attack then you can return fire; but only at the aggressor.”

“Is that it, sir? We haven’t even contacted this new frigate and their race yet. What if they’re hostile?” Blake asked, continuing to think of the worst possible outcomes he could create in his mind.

“Then we’ll find out soon enough, and I trust the Spruance can take care of a wooden frigate without any trouble,” Keith responded. “Like I said before, just keep everything in order until I get back. Keep in contact with that Chinese vessel and ask them what they’ve seen so far; they may be able to help us a bit. But under no circumstances are you allowed to shoot at that new frigate in anger, understood?”

Blake stood there for a while, dumbfounded, before he finally replied.

“Yes… sir.”

“Good. You have the bridge, Commander; take care of the ship,” Keith ordered.

With that, the Captain stepped off the bridge and made his way down to the deck, where the RHIB and a team of guards were waiting. That left Blake to deal with the Spruance and what little had to be done. A quick check with the radio confirmed that there was little new information from the Chinese. The lookout reported the Zhuhai was sitting comfortably where she was, not doing anything suspicious, sailing along relatively close to the Griffon frigate as it continued to close with the horse frigate.

Blake continued focus mainly on the new boat run by Griffons. The appearance of a Chinese boat could be written off as coincidence, but something about the other new vessel struck him as odd. Something just was not right about the way it acted, trying to close the distance so hurriedly with the frigate run by the horses. To him, that was an aggressive move.

“Commander?”

Blake recognized the voice as belonging to the fire control officer.

“Lieutenant Commander Bailey, is there something wrong?” he asked, not bothering to turn and recognize him.

“No sir; just came to report to the Captain on some repairs and get some updates. Do you know where he is?”

“He left to attend a meeting with our new friends,” Blake replied, using the term lightly. “I’ve been left in charge until then.”

“That’s a good sign,” Bailey commented. “Maybe things will turn out better than expected. Assuming the negotiation doesn’t turn sour.”

“Maybe,” Blake repeated, thinking of other situations. “Until then, I’m keeping things alert.”

“Speaking of which, did the Captain have any orders for the R.O.E.?” Bailey asked, remembering his job on the vessel.

“We can only return fire if fired upon; nothing else,” Blake answered in an uneasy tone. “But like I said, we need to be attentive, or else things could get bad.”

Something about that did not settle well with Bailey. There was a feeling of distrust hanging with the last part of Blake’s statement. Yet at the same time, the actual choice seemed more like a move of caution, rather than one of paranoia. It worried him, but not enough to actually speak against it directly; instead, he chose an indirect version of asking why.

“Sir, you mind if I ask you something a little personal?”

“Go ahead, Commander,” Blake agreed.

“Have you ever been in a combat situation?”

Blake took his time to put his response together before answering.

“You’re curious about my decision?” he guessed correctly, continuing on before Bailey could answer. “No, Lieutenant Commander, I haven’t. But I have heard many a story from my Army friends of them waiting to be fired upon, and the first shot taking someone out. Some of those guys weren’t the same; they felt like they could’ve done something. I don’t want to be in that position.”

“Ah… I see,” Bailey lied, not knowing where to go after the Commander saw through his question. “Thank you, sir.”

“And I assume you haven’t either?”

It took a few seconds before Bailey realized he was talking about experience, an answer he assumed was obvious.

“No, sir, I haven’t seen any. I just want to be thorough in case we do, so we don’t screw up.”

“Sounds like we’re on the same page then.”

Bailey begged to differ; he did not enjoy such a comparison. It was true that he was attempting to prepare for the worst, but he could do so without turning into the aggressor himself, as Blake seemed to be doing. There had to be a limit to such things, one that, he felt, the Commander was walking the edge of.

“So, let’s act on that to make sure we don’t screw up,” the higher ranked sailor enigmatically ordered.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Lieutenant Commander, sound battlestations,” Blake instructed the third-in-command, not looking away from the Griffons.

“What? Commander, Captain Keith ordered you not to-”

“I know what he ordered, Bailey! This is just a precaution,” Blake shot back, still keeping to himself. “The Captain told me not to shoot first, and I don’t plan to. I’m just being careful. Now go!”

The Lieutenant Commander, and most on the bridge, looked at Blake for a bit before returning to their jobs as Bailey ordered the crew to their battlestations and returned to the C.I.C. Blake did not count this as disobeying an order; no order was given stay at this alert level. And if either of those new aliens tried anything, he would be ready for them. This was the right thing to do; he just knew it had to be.

'Why are the Chinese here?' he thought. 'What do they have that’s this far out?'

The logical part of his brain tried to say it was only a coincidence, but evidence seemed to pile up against that. Why had they appeared close to the Griffon ship? That pointed to some kind of secret alliance; though it seemed a bit ridiculous, it could not be impossible. Why had they not come up in the previous report on activity in the area? Had they just been missed?

“Have we gotten anything else from the Chinese destroyer?”

“Yes Commander, just now they were asking about our RHIB. They said they made contact with the Griffon vessel earlier. They’re a step ahead ‘cause they already sent a party to it.”

“Have they? Alright, thank you.”

Blake went back to watching the water. He noticed the tiny RHIB speeding across the water towards the first frigate. He quickly checked on the other two boats, both of which were doing the same thing they had been doing. Nothing seemed to be changing at all; perhaps he was going a bit too far with such wild accusations.

As he sat there watching everything unfold slowly, he could not remove the thoughts from his mind, which continued to enhance his anxiety. There had been no reports of the Chinese destroyer in the area beforehand. Had they really just been missed? What were they doing all the way out here? Their apparent previous contact with the Griffons only exacerbated his worries.

His eyes focused on the Griffon frigate, which had made a sharp turn to the Spruance’sport. Almost as soon as they were parallel with the horse’s frigate, tiny puffs of white smoke began to pop up along the width of the Griffon frigate, signaling that they had opened fire; from the direction it was facing, they seemed to be targeting the horses. Many of the cannonballs splashed into the water, but at least two hit the first frigate, sending shattered wood into the air and ocean.

'They’re shooting at the ship the Captain’s going to!' he thought to himself.

The RHIB stopped and sat in the water for a moment as the second salvo sailed out from the Griffon’s guns. A few more cannonballs hit their target this time, and a few more flew past. One of these came down hard in the water, unnervingly close to the Captain’s boat. The impact rocked the RHIB, and the water spout shot up high over them. Other than being thoroughly soaked from the seawater, none were injured; it was the final push Blake needed.

'That’s close enough for me! One of them could hit his RHIB, and I sure as hell won’t let that happen!'

“Enemy vessel firing on the RHIB! Target that frigate!” Blake shouted into his radio, speaking to the CIC room. “Prepare to fire Harpoons!”

On the other end, Bailey, who had been keeping track of the situation through the room’s displays and computers, was stunned by this. Not so much that they would have to start shooting, but at the order of using the Harpoons. Their deck gun was within range, and could easily deal with a wooden frigate; using missiles seemed like a waste. To add to that was the problem of not directly targeting the Captain or the Spruance.

“Sir, does that count as being fired upon?” the weapons operator near him questioned.

“I’m not sure, but that’s not the only problem,” Bailey replied, instead choosing to question the Commander through the radio. “Sir, why do you want us to fire missiles? Our guns can easily deal with-”

“We’ve only got one gun, and it’s going to take a few shells to kill that thing, the gun rounds will pass right through the wood! A missile won't! Have it detonate on contact!” Blake angrily interrupted, not happy about the minor interrogation. “I’d rather waste ammo than waste time; if we waste time, we risk losing the Captain.”

“But if our shots are accurate it may cease-”

“I am not risking this! I want that thing dead! Not crippled; blown out of the water!” Blake yelled as more shots were heard, and splashes were seen. “Damn it, they’re shooting at the Captain! Bailey, you fire that missile now! Before he gets killed!”

“Damn it Blake did you forget the Chinese have men on that ship!?” Bailey shouted. “Do you want to get them killed to!?”

“That’s their problem! We’re not aiming at them, but that ship is aiming at the Captain! I’m not sacrificing the Captain for them! I’m not you hear me!? Shoot before the RHIB gets hit! Damn it do it before I throw you overboard!”

Not wishing to argue any longer, and guessing there was no ground for a moral refusal, the Lieutenant Commander agreed.

“Yes sir,” he complied in a somber, somewhat irritated voice, before turning to one of the men of his team, seated at his computer. “Fire one!”

“A-aye sir! Weapon away!” the operator stuttered, a bit unsure of the situation himself but not enough to stop him.

Even as the RHIB, only being about halfway to the horse’s frigate, turned back towards its home, a Harpoon anti-ship missile flew out of the destroyer’s launcher. There was a roar as the rockets ignited and shot the missile out over the sea, towards its target, leaving a cloud of smoke and an eerie calm. It was at this time one of the lookouts announced the Chinese vessel was moving at a faster speed, and closing on the Griffon frigate. Blake looked over and noticed the Zhuhai racing across the water towards the Griffon vessel.

“Moving to help your new friend?” Blake whispered to himself. “Too late. Don’t try anything.”

The Harpoon had moved close to its target by now. Flying over the sea, the missile shrieked in and crashed onto the targeted warship, near the stern. This was followed shortly by a large explosion that ripped the back of the ship clean off, while the bow almost immediately began to rise into the air as the ship began to sink.

“Enemy frigate destroyed,” the C.I.C. reported.

The Zhuhai continued to move closer, presumably to rescue survivors. Blake felt relieved at this point. The fighting had stopped, and they had killed the aggressor without any problem. No doubt he would be in some trouble, but the Griffons had shot first. And they had put the Captain in a dangerous spot. That should be enough to justify a response.

The same feeling was not shared by everyone in the C.I.C., particularly Bailey. The Chinese were not hostile, and they had just sunk a ship that had their sailors on it. That ship may have been putting the Captain’s ship in danger, but the Americans had still killed some of their men. Everything had starter out well and looked like it would end well, and one decision from Blake had turned the situation into a nightmare.

“Commander, the Chinese are asking why you fired on the frigate,” the radio operator announced.

“Tell them the Griffons were putting our Captain in danger, so we acted accordingly. Tell them we will cease fire.”

“Yes… Sir.”

“Commander!”

Blake turned to see Bailey, who had run up from the CIC to meet with him.

“Well done, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Well done!? Blake we just blew up a ship with Chinese sailors on it! We could have killed them!”

“Better theirs than ours.”

“No one had to die at all! You’re going to start a fight between us!”

“I-I didn’t want to lose our men!”

“You’ll start a war!”

“Blake!”

The Commander turned fearfully to see the Captain, back from his short boat ride, standing at the doorway to the bridge, his uniform drenched. Before Blake could speak a word in defense, Keith charged across the bridge right into him. Grabbing Blake by his uniform, Keith threw him against one of the bridge consoles, pinning him there.

“What the fuck did you do!?” Keith snarled, shaking him as he did so. “Why did you shoot at them!?”

“They were… they shot first… they almost hit you!” Blake babbled, unable to gain a good grasp of his speech.

“You sank a ship of an unknown race! Why did you interfere like that!? First contact with them and you kill them!? Why the hell did you do that!?” Keith went on, getting angry as the crew on the bridge watched. “What is wrong with you, you son of a bitch!?”

“I didn’t… I… there can’t be… it can’t happen.”

“Captain Keith,” the Lieutenant Commander spoke up.

“What?” Keith interrupted angrily, obviously not happy with Bailey either.

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,” he explained, not losing his composure as his higher-up had. “The Chinese had apparently made contact with the Griffons beforehand and sent some men to the frigate. They were still on board when the ship was sunk. We think they’ve been killed.”

Despite still being angry, Keith was bewildered by this. Destroying an alien vessel during first contact was bad enough in itself, but killing members of the Chinese Navy, even unintentionally, was overwhelming. Beyond starting a war with a new species from an unknown nation, they could start a war with China, as well.

“You bastard!” Keith growled, staring at Blake in his fury.

“No! It couldn’t have happened! It didn’t happen!” Blake cried, squirming on the ground.

“I think he’s starting to lose it,” Bailey observed.

“I don’t care if he is! He’s not getting out of this without a court martial!” Keith replied. “Bailey, get someone to lock this idiot up!”

“Aye, Captain,” he complied, calling for a pair of the ship’s Marine guards.

Keith tried to calm down, and looked back at the water. The Zhuhai had reached the area where the Griffon frigate and had come to a stop as it plucked survivors from the ocean. There was a general grim feeling among the American destroyer that none of those survivors would be the Chinese that had been onboard.

'Where the hell do we go from here?' Keith wondered.

Author's Note

Well, I tried to make sure this chapter wasn't tedious to read and still interesting; though I worry about it a bit. I'll try to improve and fix things, or keep doing them if they're right, but I do need to know what's good and bad.

So, please leave some kind of feedback in the comments, any at all will help. Thank you for reading.

(Also, I'm not trying to give the navy a bad rep. But someone's got to be the screw-up; not the navy particularly, just this guy in the navy.)

Unknown Waters (The Grey Pegasus)

Baltimare Harbor, Eastern Sea
January 1, 1013
0400 Hours

Gulls were cawing.

Bells of the coastal and maritime sort were ringing.

"Dammit, Tide, why the hay does it have to be us?"

Captain Starry Skies was not usually an irritable mare, especially when it comes to orders. Especially when it comes to orders supposedly directly from the Princesses. Frigate captains in general were not usually irritable ponies.

Whether paradoxically because it came from the Princesses or just because she hadn't had any sleep after a rare bout of fantastic drinking to celebrate the new year, it wouldn't matter, because the dark blue pegasus was going to sail out whether she liked it or not. At least she had her lieutenant to drag her to the ship.

"I don't know, Star," Lieutenant Low Tide replied, rolling his eyes. "Maybe it's because we're in a strategic position on the eastern seaboard and you're the captain of the R.E.S. Constellation, the fastest and most heavily-armed frigate in the Royal Navy?"

"Don't remind me," Skies groaned. The duo of officers continued walking briskly along the docks, headed for their own. The majestic ships of gracefully curved wood and woven sails were the finest in the Royal Equestrian Navy. Skies wished they'd put some steam ships to use though. After all, they had trains. Why not steam ships?

Nonetheless, Equestria more than managed with their sailing ships. And the two had reached their own, barely visible in the lantern light. Painted with the hues of the deep blue sea and ocean skies was the R.E.S. Constellation, one of six of Equestria's latest frigate class. It wasn't really much of a frigate by older ratings, being considerably heavier armed than older frigates, but it wasn't a ship-of-the-line from ages ago either. It was a nice balance that allowed Equestria to sufficiently project their power with utmost haste when necessary.

As the two stopped before the gangplank, Tide looked over to the mare. "Well, if you don't want me talking, here's the letter itself." The blue earth pony took an envelope from the inside of his coat and handed it over to his commanding officer.

Most of her weariness from the previous hours shaken off during the walk, Skies headed up to board her ship just behind her second in command.

"Captain on deck!" Tide called once she had stepped into view of the sailors. The crew saluted their captain on the call.

"At ease. Return to your work." With that, Skies headed towards the captain's quarters in the rear, where she would at once begin her work begrudgingly. "Lieutenant, manage the sailors, get us on a course out."

"Aye, captain." Tide separated from her and went about his task.

Skies, meanwhile, closed the door behind her. Her quarters, lit by only light coming in from the row of windows at the rear, was not at all lit in the early winter morning. Lighting a lantern with her dragonfire lighter, Skies sat at her desk and read the message.

To Captain Starry Skies of the R.E.S. Constellation,

Although it is early in the morning and no doubt celebrations of the new year are going on, we believe that all have felt the odd occurrence this morning. While my sister, Celestia, coordinates with her student on what they might find out, I have been put in charge of actively searching for answers through everything at our disposal.

Strangely, I do not feel the same connection with the moon any longer. Therefore, I will not risk observing the world through it. Alas, I can not divulge any information about our land that you may already know of, nor any information that will aid your mission. I will, however, warn you that we have felt strong magic at work.

Should there be trouble or danger beyond Equestria's borders, the task has been placed upon you, as well as other ship captains, to patrol the waters that you are ordinarily assigned to. Take a small squadron of ships and sail out immediately.

As you may have ascertained from the directness of this message, there being no time to pass through the petty procedures of the Admiralty, this matter is most pressing and I place my trust in all of our captains to take upon this task to the best of their capacity.

To you, specifically, Captain Skies, as a commander of one of Equestria's six most important frigates, I understand the weight of the task I have placed upon you, but I shall wish the best upon you. I hope that, if anything should occur, you shall not find yourself in danger.

Best of luck,

Princess Luna

"... Fantastic."

:::::

The January air was cool, and it would be even colder once they set out. Skies stood at the helm. "Lieutenant Tide, what ships are available to join us on our patrol?"

"Sister ship Equestria, 36-gun Vanhoover, and 24-gun Timberwolf. That's Equestria over there," Tide pointed to another ship, light flames appearing on deck. "Looks like they're trying to keep warm"

"Let's do the same. It'll be cold, at least until the sun comes up."

Unicorns flashed signals to each other, and soon, the four Equestrian ships were sailing out of Baltimare Harbor. The crews aboard all the ships were busy as they managed their boat. The sailors worked fervently as they worked the sails, managed supplies, and even just checked the cannons. No one was expecting to be sent out that particular night. Only after sailing for a bit did the sailors get a break.

"Lieutenant, remind me of our ship's armament after our refit at Buckston?"

"We managed to pack 52 guns onboard the last time I checked, Captain. Somepony managed to pack two 32-pounders up there." He motioned towards the bow. "Enough to give trouble a run for their money."

"Mm," Skies hummed in agreement. The ship rocked in the sea, waves crashing against the sides of the boat. Wind washed across the deck. "Somehow, I don't recall the sea being this rough so close in."

"Feels like we're already far out in the Eastern Sea."

"How strange..." The mare paused as she thought about her mission again. "Lieutenant, this might seem a bit crazy, but... about that magic... do you think it did something to the world?"

"Uh, pardon me, Captain?"

Skies leaned on the wheel. "In the detailing of our mission, Princess Luna mentioned very strange magic acting throughout Equestria. How much do you think it did to the world? What strange disaster do you think awaits us?"

"I'd... rather not think of it."

"Imagine, if suddenly, because of some crazy magic, the world just changed around us."

Tide was naturally bewildered at the suggestion, and although he didn't want to entertain the thought, he wasn't one to put off his captain's normally reasonable, good judgment. "Do you think that's the case?"

The captain shrugged. "We've got a whole patrol to find out."

:::::

When the sun came up, nopony expected it to suddenly get considerably warm. Not amazingly hot, but considering it was still January, it still seemed a lot warmer than it should have been.

Tide noticed his captain shifting strangely as she held the helm. "Captain, something wrong?"

"I've been sailing since I was a filly, Lieutenant. This isn't the Eastern Sea."

The lieutenant was taken aback by such a bold statement. "Isn'?" he emphasized. "Are you sure?"

"Completely."

"Then... where are we?"

"I don't know."

Tide began looking at the ocean around him ominously, unsure of both Skies's statement and what to do next. "So... now what? Should we tell the others?"

"Yes. Immediately. Inform the other ships that I don't believe we are actually sailing in the Eastern Sea. Remain on alert for anything strange."

Tide did as he was told, delegating the task to a few pegasi. They flew off to the other three ships with their captain's message and returned with a mix of doubt and agreement.

"Have the gun crews start drilling. I want to be prepared if we encounter anything dangerous," Skies ordered. Her lieutenant again left her to delegate the task. Meanwhile, she stood silently at the helm, thinking about her own statement.

If this was not her sea, then where were they? Did they sail out of Equestria, never to return because of some strange portal? Did the world around them just change, and instead, be attacked and not return for incapability to fight back against whatever did? Perhaps the griffons across the sea were also on edge, and strange things should occur afterwards.

Truth be told, if her best case scenario involved finding griffons, things were very strange indeed. Not that she had anything against griffons—one of her father's close friends was a griffon. But hoping for griffons in some ponies' eyes were incredibly unusual indeed. Not to mention hostilities between them always seemed to rise.

"Captain, anything else?" Tide had returned from his task. Amidst the creaking wood of the ship and the ruffling of the sails, she could her the gun crews on the deck below preparing to begin their task.

"Check our stunsails. If trouble should find us, I'd rather run."

Again, Tide left her to send her message to the sailors. It was at that moment that she looked up and saw a strange shape flying far above. She thought she heard some sort of thunder-like clap as it passed by, but she wasn't sure about it between the sounds on the deck of the ship and her own nerves possibly imagining things.

On the lieutenant's return, Skies immediately left the helm to him and began asking around if anyone else saw the object above. She received confirmations from her own ship, and again from crews of the other ships she flew to. Aboard the Equestria, the captains had a meeting.

"What do we do?" Equestria's captain said, putting up the most obvious question for all to answer. "Unless we're all somehow hallucinating, it's headed for Equestria, and we don't know what it is or what it intends to do."

"We'll send a report," Skies said. She placed her dragonfire lighter on the table between them. "Then we'll continue our mission."

"What about encounters? I'm worried about the capability of our ships to handle any aggressors. I fear the case where we won't be able to," the Timberwolf's captain said.

"Then we'll have to hope we can approach them diplomatically," Vanhoover's captain answered. "But in the case of that happening, which one of us would want to take upon that task?"

"We could have some dice tell us."

"Aye." Equestria's captain put his face in his hooves as he leaned on the table. "A fine idea, but too reckless. We need a pony fit for the job, not randomly picked from the lot."

"Then the question is which of us would be the best to handle such a diplomatic meeting," Skies said.

"Indeed it is, Captain. We shall discuss each of our traits now and come to a decision afterwards."

For Skies, it already felt that the task was laid upon her. As a filly, she was exposed to the griffon culture through her father's friend, as well as visiting the land a few times. It wasn't much, but it was the fact of dealing with another race that meant something.

During her life in the academy, she pursued the study of other cultures. As an officer in the Equestrian Royal Navy, she would doubtlessly encounter others in her work. There was also her first assignment as a lieutenant. Aboard another frigate, Pranceton, she had traveled to Saddle Arabia with Princess Celestia on board, no less. She remained aboard that ship for a while, traveling again to Saddle Arabia on numerous other occasions. Sometimes as protection for merchant shipping.

And battle, whether skirmishes with another navy or pirates. She'd had a few brushes with them as well. Constellation had endured its share of combat, its strong construction proving its worth every time.

And lastly, she was the only pegasus.

To her, she felt that the result of who was going to be chosen was inevitable.

:::::

Somewhere in the Ocean
January 1, 1013
1812 Hours

Messages were coming through to them through dragonfire. There were already strange reports of new beings. They were now, most assuredly, dropped into unknown waters. Skies wondered where their easterly heading would take them.

"Ship sighted!"

One of the lookouts had finally brought them to the moment they were all waiting for. Skies flew up herself to take a look through a telescope.

What she saw jarred her. It was a metal ship, not unlike one of the newer steam ships being proposed. Except even sleeker. It did not appear to carry cargo, but instead its deck remained mostly clean, bar a single white object sticking up from its bow, a superstructure that seemed to blend with the ship, and what seemed to be smokestacks. It had a flag on a mast, and Skies could identify the colors of red, blue, and white. She presumed it was the flag of its nation of origin.

Another meeting was called on Equestria.

"Captain Skies, I believe it is almost time for your task," one of the captains said.

"Yes, yes, I think so. We should see if the ship will respond to signal flags."

"Equestria is the closest ship. I'll have it done right now." He sent for a pony to attempt communication.

"We'll need to approach this with caution. Should we send along unicorn marines or leave it to pegasi?"

"If hostilities should erupt, I don't know what you will encounter. Unicorns would be good, however, if you shall need to retreat, they will slow you. Unfortunately, that would leave you with the pegasi, in the interest of minimizing casualties and expediting our squadron's retreat."

Skies nodded. They shouldn't get overconfident about the abilities of magic. Not in a tenuous situation as such.

"Captain!" a sailor called out. The unicorn ran up to them. "Or, rather, captains, the ship seems to have responded with our greeting. We have informed them that we don't seek hostilities, and they have said the same. What shall we do next?"

The three other captains looked to Skies, and she looked back at all three of them. "Never before have I felt such fear," was all she could say. She turned to the unicorn. "Have you introduced ourselves? Have they introduced themselves?"

"Not yet. Shall we?"

"Do so," Equestria's captain ordered. "Send, 'This is the Royal Equestrian Navy ship Equestria, 52 guns, shall we send one of our own with assurance of safety?"

The four captains watched as signal flags were brought up and down, sending their message. The wait was tense. There was a pause as the other ship seemed to think over its message. They received the reply shortly.

"This is the United States Navy ship Hopper.

Then another pause.

"... guided missile destroyer, we will receive one of your own aboard to open talks."

"... What in Equestria is a guided missile destroyer?"

"A warship, I presume." They turned to Skies. "It's up to you now."

Understandably, she was hesitant, but it was her duty, and she flew back to Constellation to prepare to board the other ship.Tide approached her. "What should we do in your absence, Captain?"

"Prepare the stunsails, just in case. Get the gun crews ready, although I don't think it would do much good. Get me some marines to accompany me."

When they set off, the sun, no longer able to assume it was Celestia's, was nearing the horizon. As Skies flew closer to the ship, she could begin identifying some recognizable features, which were essentially just smokestacks and windows. There was a large '70' painted on the bow.

Everything else was so alien. Even the new beings on board. They were like minotaurs, but thinner. Primates, it seemed. Yet so much more advanced then them.

"Please come aboard on our stern deck," a loudspeaker instructed her, jolting her in surprise. She looked to the stern, where there was a large open area. White lines were painted on like rune lines for a spell. Skies saw that the meeting party was congregating there.

Skies and her few marines hesitantly stepped down close to the edge of the stern deck.

They faced their other-worldly counterparts quietly. In both groups, members were shifting glances at each other, unsure of what to think. They were all shocked to silence.

The one in charge stepped up first to speak. "I'm Commander Peters of the United States Navy. On behalf of my crew, I welcome you to the U.S.S. Hopper."

Skies stepped forward to reply. "I'm Captain Skies of the Royal Equestrian Navy. Thank you for receiving me."

Peters knelt down and held his hand out. Skies lifted her hoof up, and the man slowly grabbed it and shook it in greeting.

First contact was going over swell. Both crews, however, seemed like they wanted to break the ice first.

Or glaciers, as it may have felt like.

"Our race is identified as humans. What about you?"

"Equines," Skies answered. "Then, within those, we have pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies."

The Equestrian party received considerably more stares after that statement. Peters nodded slowly. "Are there any... other beings we should know about?"

"On this route, we would normally encounter griffons, in the land to the east of us."

The human nodded again. "But according to our satellite information, the only land east of here is the North American continent. Directly east is either the United States or Canada."

Skies fell silent. The world she knew was no longer.

Peters could see the shock on the Equestrian's faces, which were strangely as expressive as humans. "Should we... talk about something else right now? Until you feel comfortable enough to begin discussing the overall situation?"

Skies nodded in response. She sent off one of her marines to report back that everything was going well so far. Then she began trying to converse casually. "The ship that hailed you was the Equestria," Skies said. "However, I'm the captain of its sister ship, Constellation."

"We haven't encountered sailing ships in our world for nearly a century and a half," Peters replied. "At least, not as naval vessels."

"We still have Constitution, sir," one of the human crew members said. "She's still commissioned. That's got to count for something."

"It's a historical ship," Peters explained. "Constitution is the oldest commissioned naval vessel afloat in the world. She's just over two hundred years old right now."

"That is... impressive. Constellation is just barely three years old."

Peters looked at the squadron of four sailing ships in the distance. Hopper was closing the distance quickly. "I'm not sure you're going to be needing them much longer."

"I got a buddy that went on Constitution's first sail in a while, three years ago," the same sailor from before said. "Said the experience was like nothing other. You said your ship was one of those bigger ones?"

Skies nodded. "Equestria is the one closest, but Constellation is essentially the same ship. They're the best heavy frigates we have, which is why they sent us to patrol the waters."

The humans started talking amongst themselves. "You think Old Ironsides could best one of them?"

"Don't know. They look exactly the same."

"Any sailing ship is going to look the same to us these days."

"Maybe to you. You ever actually visit Constitution? She's also a heavy frigate, and looks exactly like it."

"No. But I know we have a U.S.S. Constellation sitting in Baltimore."

"That was the one they weren't sure if it was the original Constellation, right?"

Skies was getting confused listening to the argument. "Wait, what ship in Baltimare?"

Everyone's conversations stopped dead in their tracks. "No, Baltimore. It's a city."

Skies nodded incredulously. "Yes, well, Baltimare is one of our cities. We just left there this morning."

The humans started talking between themselves again. "Baltimare. You've got to be kidding."

"You sure they scrapped Constellation?"

"What are you talking about?!" Skies said. She understood that everyone was on edge, and they were just relieving it in casual conversations, but it seemed that it was having strange results.

"Nothing," the sailor chuckled. "We're just wondering if you happen to have one of our old ships."

"Well I watched my ship get built on the Baltimare dry docks... so I'd say no..."

"... Baltimare dry docks? Are you sure? Do you have, say, any ships built in some place called... Fillydelphia?" the sailor suggested, still trying to grasp that this was all real.

"Equestria was built there. The first ship of our type was built in Buckston. Anything else?"

"... I'm done."

"I'm sure I'll see more interesting ships get built in our docks after this..." Skies looked to Peters. "Speaking of, Commander, what exactly is a guided missile destroyer?"

"It's one of our modern warships," he answered. "They're sort of similar in role to your frigates. Hopper is part of a new class that's not even a decade old. She was commissioned herself just three years ago."

"I suppose I should just wait until later to understand your ships."

"Considering our ship in service named Constellation is a massive aircraft carrier, I think it would be best that you did. Should we use this as a transition into discussing the situation at hand? I've been getting reports here and there about contact with your kind, and I think we should add our own meeting to it soon."

"It's only our future that rests on these impressions. Let's begin."

:::::

R.E.S. Constellation, Western Pacific Ocean
January 1, 1013 CP/2000 AD
2005 Hour

Skies was settling back in her quarters. Tide was leaning against the wall.

"So all went well?"

"We didn't make any enemies."

"I guess that's good."

"For encountering a warship, which, by the way, is incredibly lucky, we also didn't have any shooting break out. Everyone kept their heads straight."

"That's also good."

"I was given a brief overview of their world. It's amazing that we ran into a warship in the first place, instead of, say, a commerce ship. Actually, the entire situation is amazing."

"How so?"

"Well, considering a large landmass of completely new beings just appeared in the middle of the ocean of a world with a single dominant species, I'm frightened of the geographical, ecological, sociological, and et cetralogical ramifications of the situation."

"Everyone really has it bad, don't they?"

Skies looked around her room. "I don't think we're going to be seeing much more of this in the near future."

"We're shoved out of the age of sail. They're introduced to magic. Some things will stay the same though." Tide walked up to his captain and placed a hoof on her shoulder. "I'll stick around with you. Equestria will always need a good navy and good sailors."

"And should other things stay the same, Equestria might need to put them to use. There was a report of a griffon skirmish with an Equestrian ship earlier. The humans told me."

"And we received a message confirming it. But don't worry. Sail or steel, you've got your crew and that'll never change."

"Maybe the gun crews. Not sure what the rest of them will do. Probably have to go back for a few years of training." Whether Skies was being humorous or serious, her tone didn't hint at it.

"As long as they give us a shiny new ship made with Equestrian hooves, I think we'll be fine."

Author's Note

I actually just visited Constitution in the beginning of July. And apologies for the generally uninteresting chapter.

(P.S., these are Grey's notes, as will be for all guest chapters. So this is Grey speaking, not Eagle. Just thought Id make that clear.)

Fort Sonza (Silverstein)

January 3rd, 2000
Near the Changeling border.

The wind chilled air and the stale gray overcast shadowed the land beneath it. Everything was still, except for the occasional clanging of metal and the rumbling of hooves in the distance. The walls were tall and gray, like an intimidating giant pining for an adversary to challenge it. The four corners of the fortress encased the town of Sonza, and all of the ponies within it.

Western Karalia always seemed a bit gloomy this time of year, the sun only making marginal appearances when the clouds broke. The small ponies of Karalia did not mind the state of their homeland, however, they wouldn’t complain if they had gotten a bit more sun like the Equestrians did.

A small, brown earth pony stood on the edge of the western wall, and scanning the landscape below him, binoculars in hoof. He huffed; the rolling green hills that swallowed the sight from his emerald eyes would be covered in black today. The young officer had heard about the changelings making a move to capitalize on Karalia’s scattered defenses, but he wasn’t expecting them to arrive so quickly.

“Blast it all. I don’t even know what happened.”

A massive earthquake and the reporting of strange occurrences on the outskirts of the border had thrown the public into a panic. The public order had gone from tame to rowdy and unpredictable in such a short amount of time. He didn’t even think that something like that was possible. Only two days and chaos had spread through the country like a super virus. Karalia’s armies had to split to keep the public order in many different areas of the country.

After all, the talk of possible rebellion was not something humorous to Karalian ears. All that was probably just a rumor from the more extremist ponies out there trying to push their own agendas. He prayed to Luna that was the case.

Blaze snorted at the thought.

He knew that Karalia’s strength lay in its cohesion and this panic had taken that away with such ease.

“A scattered Karalian Army is a foal without its mother…of course they would attack now.”

He jumped down from the ledge and tried to find a comfortable position leaning on the wall despite his armor. He hated how restrictive it was but dared not to complain when he remembered how many times it had saved his life.

His moderately plated armor was painted black, with sky blue bands circling the ankles of all of his legs. The black Stahlhelm on his head had a single blood-red stripe flowing the entire length down the front of his helmet diagonally, letting the enemy know that they were fighting an officer.

The young soldier smirked at that fact. Karalians were not very subtle ponies when it came to combat. A loud, confrontational, and tiny Karalian preferred to fight an enemy out in the open, to test the enemy’s power and brains. The changelings, however, were the embodiment of subtlety. It was their nature. He guessed that these clashing cultural aspects may have helped fuel the rivalry between the two.

His two pila throwing spears and his shield were leaning against the wall, waiting to be used. The Karalian saber he received when he graduated from the Officer Academy was resting in its sheath, which was clipped to his right hip.

“They always seem so surprised when they realize that they’re fighting a left-hooved pony.”

As the thoughts of the coming assault ran through his mind, he could see a moving sea of black washing over the hills.

One of his hooves twitched.

They were here.

“LT!”

He dropped his binoculars and turned to face one of the second lieutenants under his command.

Flaretail had been part of his cohort for over a year. The dark gray pegasus mare was trotting up to him, a light smile on her face. Her dark blue mane was divided by gray streaks, complimenting her purple eyes.

“What is it?”

“Those archers in Cobalt managed to get their hooves on a few ballistae and also got their arrows fire-tipped. Bugs hate that shit!” she reported with glee.

Blaze Silverglow nodded in approval. He knew first-hand the wonderful effect of flames on a changeling.

“And look at that, they’re coming!” Flaretail added, leaning over the fortress wall.

The stomping of hooves from behind them caught both of the Karalian ponies’ attention. Silverglow recognized his other second lieutenant immediately, leading the Fourth Cohort up to the fortress walls.

A small, yellow unicorn was leading them, trotting up the steps with large shields on their backs. The ponies were arranged in ranks of five, wearing nearly the same armor as their officers, minus the blood stripes. All of them followed the small unicorn stallion to the top, halting in front of Blaze and Flaretail.

The Twelfth Flexible Infantry Battalion or Black Clover Battalion was mostly made up of earth ponies and a few pegasi and unicorns like Flaretail and Thunder Coy. Most of the other pegasi went into the Karalian Pegacav and the unicorns were typically reserved for artillery and archer duty with their sister battalion, the Sixty-Eighth Cobalt Battalion.

The cohort was forty ponies strong, including the three officers. The ‘Earlies’ or Early Legionaries were at the front, were they would either become experienced or die. The moderately experienced troops were in the center and the hardened veterans made up the rear.

Cohorts were expected to be organized this way, to create new veterans while preserving the older ones. Karalians felt it necessary to use up their more ‘expendable’ forces first before committing their more ‘valuable’ troops.

When he noticed the familiar faces of his troops, he could sense the uneasiness about them. It was obvious and he could feel it permeate throughout his own body as well. A subtle sense of dread beckoned to him but he brushed it off like a fly on his shoulder.

“Hi Coy Coy!” Flaretail greeted as she waved to the other second lieutenant.

She hovered above the unicorn, patting him on the head.

“Did you get all of them? And are the civilians evacuating?” she asked.

The unicorn shook his head up and down, causing his blond mane to bounce and cover his blue eyes. Still unable to see, he sniffed Flaretail’s hoof for a second before licking it.

Blaze smirked and trotted up to his oldest friend and hugged the silent unicorn for a second. Thunder Coy had been with him since the Academy, and the two had been inseparable since. The fact that only he could read Coy’s sign language may have had a hand in that.

“Good job, Coy.”

As he released Thunder Coy, he heard the whistle of arrows overhead. All of the ponies gazed up to see specks of orange zooming overhead in an arc. He could already hear the loud and obnoxious cranking of the ballistae preparing to fire. Just then, several other cohorts of ponies were rushing up the stairs to the wall.

“Only us and the Cobalt Battalion? What happened to the Auxilia units? Did they retreat or did Dicer order them to protect our flanks?”

Looking down onto plains and hills outside, Blaze could see what he had feared. He sighed, scanning row after row of changeling invaders. In the sky above them, he could see that changelings had already deployed their cavalry element. His eyes were mesmerized by the sheer force at which the enemy had arrived. His stomach churned as his heart sank.

“How many ruddy changelings showed up?”

He felt a hoof tap him on the shoulder.

When he turned to see who it was, a second volley of flaming arrows were launched from within the walls.

He noticed that Flaretail’s face had tightened up. She nodded at her superior as her gazed turned to the Fourth Cohort. Silverglow nodded back to her, trotting towards his ponies. Thunder Coy moved out of his way, giving the first lieutenant a clear path to the rest of his troops.

Every single one of these ponies was at least two years older than him; some even had him by a decade. When he reached them, he couldn’t pick out a single smile in their formation. In the back of his mind, he had known that morale had dropped considerably since the earthquake. They all probably had homes, family, and friends in other units that they were worried about.

Taking a deep breath, he knew he couldn’t blame them.

He cleared his throat, knowing that all eyes would be on him for the next few minutes. He could hear the stomping bug-hooves of the changeling army inching ever closer. He silently prayed to Luna that he would have enough time to complete his speech.

“Things seem pretty shitty, don’t they? Bloody earthquake, and bloody changelings right after it. Normally we’d have a full army to take on the changelings, but instead, it’s up to fifteen hundred Karalians to stall for time while our main forces regroup and the civilians escape. Less than half of a Legion should be more than enough for the enemy. A thousand of those Karalians are us. The Black Clovers. I’ve known for a while that you are much more than just soldiers. I’ve never since any better ponies than you, not at the Academy, not in another unit, not anywhere. You are unlike any other ponies I’ve met, you are so much more. Unique in more ways than one.”

Silverglow swallowed as he took a quick breath. He could hear the screeching of changelings being hit with projectiles and the sounds of Karalian ballistae releasing fresh bolts.

“You’re my family, every last one of you. I love you all, but you knew that already, didn’t you?” he nodded in confirmation.

He noticed that the other cohorts were forming up for battle on the wall. The other officers were taking charge of their own troops, lining them in ranks of five to guard the walls. Ponies poured in from the rest of Black Clover Battalion, organizing and readying themselves for the upcoming fight.

“Today we stand alone, against a changeling force numbering in the tens of thousands. From what our scouts could gather, we are outnumbered by at least twelve to one,” he pointed out slowly pacing back and forth, facing his troops.

Arrows from the Cobalt Battalion continued to fall onto the approaching changelings. He could hear the hisses and cries of individual enemies being struck by the flaming projectiles.

Blaze glanced at the invaders and smirked back at his troops.

“Looks like the enemy will need reinforcements.”

Not a single peep from his troops, not even a smile. They stared at him, a few of them stopping to cough.

“Dammit, that usually works.”

“I know that we all have loved ones that we worried about. I hope my mother makes it out of Karmaden in time. If you need any motivation to fight, it should be for them. What will happen if you are unable to protect them? Have you given that any thought? That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To protect what we love?”

He saw a few pairs of eyes widen with interest, following their pacing commander to and fro.

“Better.”

“If we do not fight here and stop these changelings, who will? Who here is going to stand up and tell these cheese-leg bastards, no?! No! They will not take our homes! No! They will not farm our families for their own needs! No! They will not take our country from us!”

He huffed as he took a breath to gather himself.

“If for some reason, they do succeed. If for some reason, they completely destroy Karalia…then they will pay the price in changeling blood first! For every enemy hoof that steps onto our land, I want a bug head mounted on this wall! Show them that even though we are few and scattered, we’re still the same Karalians that slaughtered their ancestors by the thousands and pushed them back for over two hundred years!”

A few of the ponies nodded in agreement and he could see some of them tighten the grip on their pila.

“Getting there.”

“Remind them why they fear us! Show them that Karalian ponies never were and never will be pushovers! Stay together and stay with me! Help each other out if you can and cause the enemy as much grief as you can! Be that annoying tick that doesn’t leave them alone! And whoever gets a kill count of at least ten changelings gets a bottle of my finest wine!”

A few of the ponies in the formation chuckled, and he saw many of the Karalians crack smiles.

“Good.”

“Now, every time we storm into battle, nerves may get to you. For the veterans, you already know what I’m talking about. Fear may try to make a home in your heart. Enemy intimidation will try to get under your skin. But while you’re hacking away changeling limbs and you suddenly find yourself on the moon, the beautiful Princess Luna holding you in her wings and showering you with kisses…then fear not! You are in Paradise and you’re already dead!”

Ponies in the cohort burst out in laughter and smiles, lightening the mood of the entire unit. The lieutenant turned around and noticed that Flaretail and Thunder Coy were smirking as well.

“That should do it.”

Blaze unsheathed his saber and lifted it to the sky.

“To me Black Clovers! Karaliana!”

The entire Fourth Cohort cheered and started banging their pila against their shields.

“Karaliana!” they all replied.

He trotted back over to the wall and snatched up his own shield and pila, hooking his right hoof into the shield’s grip. He yanked both his pila out of the shield grip and kept one in his free hoof, dropping the other on the ground next to him.

“Field Commander Dicer!” an officer from another called out.

An aged unicorn stallion trotted down the west wall in front of the Black Clovers assembled there, inspecting their battle lines. His personal bodyguards consisted of two pegasi majors, which were hovering above him at all times.

The seasoned gray unicorn appeared to be in his fifties, a white beard dropping from his chin. His tired lemon eyes scanned the ranks of his battalion, every soldier frozen in place once they saw the officer’s blood stripe on his helmet.

As Blaze caught sight of him, he rejoined his cohort. He took with the front rank with the less experienced troops, while Thunder Coy took the third rank and Flaretail joined the last rank with the hardened veterans.

“Black Clovers!” Commander Dicer bellowed as he stopped in front his troops, back to the advancing changelings.

“It does my heart good to see that my soldiers arrived here ready for a fight!”

All of the Karalian ponies rattled their pila against their shields in response.

“For three decades I have fought this changeling menace, slaughtered dozens of them by my own hooves and I have never lost! No matter the circumstances, I don’t plan on starting now! If I didn’t have my Black Clovers by my side, I may have been apprehensive about today, but to my good fortune, you are here!”

Once again, his Black Clovers continued banging their spears against their shields.

“Captains and lieutenants take command of your cohorts, answer only to me! Keep your formations tight, your pila ready to be thrown, and for Luna’s sake…don’t get separated from each other! Karaliana!”

The entire western wall erupted into cheers as a fresh volley of flaming arrows and ballista bolts soared over their heads and towards the field below them.

“Karaliana!” the entire battalion shouted in unison.

The changeling ocean had advanced within a half mile, their cavalry squadrons circling in the sky, slowly forming into wedges. The infantry picked up their pace from a walk into a trot, their own cavalry shadowing their movements.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Dicer remarked, staring down the approaching enemy.

He noticed something shoot up from within the enemy, casting a lime-green trail as it gained altitude. His trained and experienced eyes knew immediately what was coming next. The changelings always did this, and, to his knowledge, it never worked.

Typical.

“Bug bolts!” a captain cried out.

Arrows tipped with a green sludge flew through the air and began to arc down, approaching the defenders on the wall.

“Form testudo!” Blaze yelled.

He knelt down and held his rectangular shield up at an angle, allowing the soldier behind him to drop her shield on top of his. The motion was mimicked by the rest of the soldiers, the front rank forming a wall and the rest forming a roof with their shields.

The rest of the defenders followed suit and brought their shields to bear, overlapping each other in their own testudos. Some bug bolts bounced off of the shields while others stuck to them, thanks to the green gunk that covered the arrows.

Once the last of the bug bolts had fallen, a volley of flaming arrows from the Cobalt Battalion further back answered the changelings’ fire. Unlike the unsuccessful bug bolt volley, some of the arrows found their targets, dozens of changelings dropping from the first few ranks as a result.

Despite the continuous barrage and the ineffectiveness of the bug bolts, the invaders pressed on, hoping that vastly superior numbers would win the day.

Silverglow watched on as the enemy advanced at a moderate pace as his troops behind him were busy plucking the sticky changeling arrows off of their shields. He recalled seeing a changeling taking a flaming arrow to the chest and also managed to catch a large ballista bolt tear through a changeling and even punch through the body of its comrade behind it, killing both of them.

He had to admit, despite the excellent job that the Cobalt ponies were doing with the barrages; it wasn’t going to be enough to stop the attack. The flaming arrows were thinning out the first few ranks of changelings and even striking beyond that, which lightened the feeling of dread in his chest.

“The first wave probably won’t be that bad then.”

Every time bug bolts were fired, testudo was called, the Karalians returned fire, and the changelings continued their push. Blaze had lost track of how long this went on. From his estimates, it could have been hours, but he knew that his mind liked messing with him.

“Ready pila!” Commander Dicer called out.

The brown earth pony snapped himself out of his thoughts and re-adjusted the throwing spear in his left hoof, preparing to arch back and toss it. He knew that his troops behind him were also doing the same.

He gazed down the walls and scanned for potential targets. Plenty of enemies were in range and he also saw that the changeling air cavalry was lingering back in reserve for some strange reason.

The enemy was a lot closer now.

He could see the effect of Cobalt’s barrages, the fields below strewn with the bodies of changelings, arrows and bolts sticking out of them. Small fires burned through the low grasses, causing some of the enemy to hiss in annoyance as they took care to march around the flames.

“They had to have taken at least a few hundred casualties by now,” Blaze thought, trying to reassure himself.

“Wait for the volley!” Dicer ordered, his sword raised to the sky.

A few seconds of silence passed before the snapping of bows and ballista filled the defenders’ ears as a rain of projectiles fell onto the enemy once more.

“Now! Launch pila!”

Blaze threw his spear as far as he could, aiming for the center of a changeling formation that was dangerously close to the wall. He could see the other pila from his soldiers trailing his.

Following the arrows and ballista bolts, the throwing spears came crashing down onto the enemy, causing the depleted first wave of changelings to turn tail and run.

“First wave routed! Yes!” Flaretail cheered from the rear rank.

To the Karalians’ dismay, the second wave held strong and the rest of the enemy forces were unfazed by the routing first wave. They had hoped that the breaking frontline unit would cause havoc and lower the enemy’s morale, but to no avail. Also, the second wave easily recovered the distance lost by the retreating changelings.

“Ready pila!”

Blaze noticed that a regiment of elite, Queen’s Hard Shell Guard made up the fourth wave of changelings. He could recognize them easily; they were the only changelings that wore blue-painted helmets. They were probably the hammer blow forces after the first three waves had soaked up the Karalian arrows and tired out the legionaries. He really hoped that the evacuation would be complete before he had to fight them.

He had faced them before and they nearly killed him. Despite killing dozens of changelings himself, he was only able to best two Queen’s Guard in the past. The third overtook him and was about to chomp down on his jugular before Thunder Coy and Flaretail saved his life.

That was one memory he wished his brain didn’t keep. Also, he had lost count of how many times his friends had gotten him out of trouble.

“Launch pila!”

He chucked his second and final pila at the fresher incoming wave of changelings. He smirked when he saw the hail of throwing spears descending into the enemy ranks, followed by more arrows and bolts from Cobalt.

He cursed under his breath.

The projectiles were doing good damage and where disrupting the enemy’s formations but the impact wasn’t going to be enough. Enemy casualties were heavy already but the sheer size of the enemy army made that note futile.

A resonating clanging of metal against the stone walls broke him out of his train of thought.

“Grappling hooks!” another officer warned.

Officers from many of the cohorts drew their swords and began to slice apart the ropes that held the grappling hooks in place. However, fresh volleys of bug bolts forced them to stop and retreat back into the testudo formations.

The changeling cavalry finally made their move.

Charging from the sky, several thousand changelings armed with spears pined toward the fort, aiming to attack the defenders from above and give the infantry the chance to climb their ropes without interference.

They swarmed forward, dozens of black wedge formations dotting the sky, growing in size from the eyes of the defenders as they drew closer. The spears dropped, tips pointing straight at the fortress as the cavalry picked up even more speed.

Cobalt Battalion opened fire on this new enemy threat but the volume of incoming cavalry was too great to have an effect. They were moving fast, hoping to reach the defenders before the next arrow volley.

To the young lieutenant’s dismay, he could see that the changelings had brought a lot more air cavalry than they normally would.

“Balls.”

“Brace!” Dicer boomed, other officers echoing his command.

The flying wedges slammed into the first cohorts on the wall, the Fourth included.

“Shields up!”

Blaze drew his saber and leaned into his shield, feeling the vibrations of the metal making contact with a spear tip. He pushed the shield forward violently, bashing the changeling on the other side in the face. He exposed the entire left side of his body, lunging at the recovering enemy with his sword.

As the blade broke the changeling’s exoskeleton, he tightened his control on the hoof-grip of his blade, ramming it in farther. The changeling cried out in shock, not even realizing that it had been stabbed in the side. As the Karalian retracted the blade and brought his shield back up to deflect another incoming spear, the stricken changeling fell to the floor squirming in agony.

Green gunk was now covering his sword, much to Blaze chagrin. The substance had a tendency to effect the blade’s movement and speed.

A second changeling soared in at a bad angle, but the changeling didn’t react in time to correct the mistake. Blaze noticed an opening in the changeling’s posture and brought his sword down with a diagonal slash. The blade tore through its collar bone as it passed by, crashing into a group of Karalians ready to finish it off.

He stayed with the first rank of soldiers, their shield wall doing its best to hold back the enemy. As the second rank was ordered to do, they had their swords drawn to stab any changeling that tried to jump over the shield wall.

The sounds of spears banging against shields and the grunts and screams of combat filled his ears, reminding him of past battles he had fought. He hoped that most of those terrible sounds of death were coming from changeling throats.

A spear went through the foreleg of the pony next to him in the first rank and embedded itself into the ground. The stallion cried out as his leg was now pinned to the ground. A second changeling spear stuck him in the chest, bringing him down. Another pony from the second rank moved up to fill in his spot.

Several spears hit Blaze’s shield at once, causing the small pony to tumble backwards and drop his shield. Two of his soldiers helped him up and a pony from the second rank moved up to close the gap he had made.

Back here, he could see the battle much more clearly. He took a peek at the situation in front of him.

With all of the ponies occupied defending from the enemy cavalry in tight formations, the infantry were able to climb up the grappling hook ropes with little to no resistance.

That split second nearly cost him his life, if it wasn’t for his peripherals. He parried a spear with his sword, knocking the attacker off-balance. The changeling crashed into the middle of the cohort, about to be gutted by the Karalians inside.

It was now that he realized that he couldn’t find his shield. Without it, he was extremely vulnerable, even with the other shields around him.

It was common knowledge that a Karalian soldier without a shield had a very short life expectancy.

He had to get it back.

“Open up and let me through!” he yelled to the first rank.

A middle-aged stallion turned around and looked at him like he was crazy.

“But sir, there’s too many damn spears out there! You’ll look like a changeling yourself if we did that!”

“I need to get my shield!”

“LT’s fucking mental!” a mare yelled, bashing her shield against an enemy.

“Fine! Then maybe we could push our line to the wall. We’ll cut some of those enemy ropes and I can get my shield. Better?”

Blaze turned around to give the order to the rest of the cohort and noticed Flaretail hovering above the rear rank, slitting a changeling’s throat with her sword. She let the body drop before she acknowledged him.

“We’re pushing to the wall!”

“I’ll relay!” she responded.

He looked to his ponies and the ponies that had heard him talking looked back to him. The feeling of synergy between the unit was flowing through all of them as they could all read what they were about to do.

“First rank, push!” he yelled to the ponies at the front.

“You heard him, let’s go!” Flaretail shouted.

Thunder Coy stomped his hooves in agreement while hacking a changeling in half with his floating sword that was glowing with his light blue magic.

The Karalians grunted and pressed as hard as they could with their shields, advancing to the wall and taking stabs at changelings if they had the chance. The weight of the changeling cavalry was great but it was not consistent. This gave the ponies an advantage in strength, allowing them keep moving forward despite the pressure and clattering of spears and bug bolts against their shields.

It was not long before they reached Blaze’s shield, which was only a few feet ahead of where the cohort originally was. Still, they pushed their way to the wall, hoping to stop the enemy’s infantry units from scaling it. If they could stop the infantry from climbing into the fort, then the changeling cavalry would be stranded on the walls without support.

“It’s a good thing that the enemy is too stupid to use siege equipment. Or perhaps they didn’t have time to bring any because of their ingenious lighting strike offensive? Doesn’t matter anyway.”

He picked up his shield, the feel of having his foreleg hooked into it reassuring him.

The cohort behind the Fourth had taken its original position as Blaze’s cohort advanced.

Changeling cavalry groups had broken from their wedges and were now trying to attack in an unorganized frenzy. They slipped in between cohorts, trying to pierce the Karalians’ large, rectangular shields with their spears. Some the changelings lost heart and began to fly away, but the majority stayed behind, trying their best to occupy their enemy until the infantry arrived.

When they had reached the wall, they found that a few other cohorts had the same idea.

As Blaze left the shield wall to cut a rope, he found a changeling on the other side of it, almost all the way up the stone wall. The changeling hissed unnaturally at him as it continued to climb up to meet him. The hiss made a cold chill go down Blaze’s back, making him shiver momentarily. He cringed and bashed the changeling in the face with his shield.

“Not today,” he whispered as he watched the changeling fall to the ground, landing on its comrades.

A spear took a stab at his head, reminding him that the battle was still going on. He ducked under the spear tip before it could connect and batted the spear away. He plunged his sword into the owner’s chest before they could react and followed up with slash coming down their shoulder and out of the opposite hip.

Another changeling fell next to him, probably killed by one of his ponies. He could see that more and more of the cavalry were pulling back and also that the flaming arrows and ballistae were doing their jobs quite well. The grass on the field below them had a few larger fires now, which disrupted the enemy’s advance.

He knew that if he could just cut these ropes, he could buy the civilians a lot of time and maybe even give his own troops some time to escape.

Also, he wouldn’t have to fight Chrysalis’s elite guard either.

“The evacuation is complete! All forces are ordered to retreat in an orderly fashion!”

Blaze turned around as he finished slicing another rope.

“Who in the moon said that?”

He noticed a courier pony wearing armor that was a lighter version of his own charging up frantically and yelling like his life depended on it.

“Retreat now! We need to regroup with the rest of the Second Legion! Pull back now! Cobalt will provide cover fire!” the courier explained.

Silverglow then looked around to notice that at least half of the enemy cavalry had retreated already. He nodded to the courier and turned to Flaretail, who was hovering over the courier.

“I’ll relay it!” she said, reading his mind.

A young mare screamed as an unarmed changeling sunk its fangs into her foreleg. Blaze trotted forward and stabbed the changeling from behind while two other Karalians finished it off by slashing it simultaneously.

“Pick her up!” he ordered as the two stallions nodded and dragged the wailing mare into the formation.

The thud of bug bolts hitting the walls, shields, and ground were resonating all around them and other cohorts.

“Form testudo!” Blaze ordered.

“It’s time to retreat anyways.”

The ponies of the Fourth Cohort then brought up their shields and overlapped them, making a mock tortoise shell for the entire cohort. Slowly, they started marching backwards, still facing the enemy as they retreated. A few enemies tested their spears against the testudo with no effect, so they flew off to fight elsewhere.

Blaze galloped up to meet them, after finishing off a straggling changeling with a quick swipe at its throat. He hopped over the dozens of dead changelings that he and his cohort had killed and a few Karalian bodies as well. He frowned at the sight, hoping that none of those belonged to his ponies.

He could see his troops staring at him as they moved, pining for him to catch up. It would be only a few seconds before he reached them and they would all withdraw with the rest of the battalion. He heard the whistle of bug bolts, so he turned around briefly to deflect a couple of them with his shield.

Getting home to Karmaden and checking on his mother would probably be his first priority, if he had the time. Then, the entire army would probably come together to rid the changelings of their lives, once and for all.

“I hope that the army is actually going to be able to come together. We won’t be able to handle the bugs all split up like this.”

Pain jolted throughout his body as his shoulder seared as if it was on fire. He cried out in surprise as an unknown force knocked him to the ground, his shoulder burning with immense paroxysm. His mind shut down as the pure feeling of agony coursed throughout his entire body. There was no time to react, or even think about what just happened.

“Wha-”

His head slammed onto the stone floor of the wall and knocked him out cold.

“Blaze!” Flaretail cried out worriedly, being the first to react.

The ponies of the Fourth Cohort were appalled as they watched their lieutenant get hit. For a second they just stood there, frozen in shock. During that moment of silence, confusion set in. Silverglow had just been cut down, the tail-end of a changeling cavalry spear sticking out of the back of his right shoulder.

Flaretail left the formation with all haste and flew over to the unconscious body of the small brown earth pony, and tried to pick him up. Being a small pony herself, and exhausted from all of the fighting, she wasn’t able to move him herself.

“Come and help me pick him up dammit!” she barked at the soldiers.

Two stallions left the testudo to assist Flaretail with carrying their leader, dodging bug bolts all the while. Once they got to the lieutenant, all three of them team lifted him back to the testudo formation.

“Pull back! I’ll take command for now!” Flaretail yelled to the ponies as she reentered the formation.

They continued to retreat, pulling back to the stairs as their shields continued to deflect bug bolts. The missiles fired from Cobalt Battalion rocketed over their heads, convincing the remaining, unsupported changeling cavalry to pull out of the western wall.

“I’m coughing up our territory to changelings and running from them in battle…I don’t care if this is part of the plan, shame will be mine forever,” Commander Dicer lamented from within his own testudo formation.

The entire battalion was pulling out of the soon-to-be empty Sonza fort-town. A lingering feeling of dismay amongst the Karalians blanketed over the mood of the moment. They were abandoning Karalian territory to the changelings. This had not been done in the entire two hundred years that they had been fighting.

Thunder Coy whimpered as the other soldiers were still reeling from what they had just witnessed. Many argued with each over whether their lieutenant was still alive or not. They wondered why the lieutenant didn’t sling his shield across his back like he normally would in that situation.

“Did you see who threw that spear?” a stallion asked.

“It wasn’t one of ours,” another pony replied.

“Is LT dead?” a mare asked with a concerned tone.

Flaretail sighed as she watched one the soldiers carry the bitten mare on his back and another doing the same for Blaze.

“I sure hope not…”

________________________________________

Morning light seeped through the blinds, ushering in the warm radiance of the Equestrian sun. It kissed Blaze’s face, causing his eyes to flutter. He groaned as a residual sting emanated from his shoulder, attempting to discourage him from making any further movements. As he came to, he lifted his head off his pillow and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Blinking a few times, he scanned his surroundings and tried to ascertain where he was.

It was a small room.

The walls were a pasty white and the ambience of the early glow of the sun made him feel warm and at peace. He noticed that there was a wall to his right, from which the light entered from its window. There was a bed across the room from him. From what he could see, the older stallion was already staring at him.

The stallion’s piercing red eyes unsettled the lieutenant for a split second, nearly making him shiver. Judging from the height and body type of the green stallion, he could see that he was a fellow Karalian.

“Definitely not from my cohort though,” he thought.

The green stallion blinked.

“I was wondering when you were going to come to,” the stallion said with a deep baritone voice.

Blaze coughed.

“Are you a Black Clover?” he asked.

The other earth pony shook his head.

“No. I was with the Thirty-eighth Portelance Battalion up near Keplo.”

Blaze’s eyes shot out in disbelief. He had heard that name many times before.

“Portelance? You’re an Urban?!”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

The brown earth pony was lost in thought. Urban Legionaries were the most elite ponies in the entire Karalian Army. He knew that they were especially potent when fighting in cities, hence their name. Not very many Karalians get an opportunity to serve with them.

“Wait…Keplo? You can’t be serious. Did the enemy really push that far?” he asked with concern, already knowing the answer.

The older stallion frowned in disappointment.

“The city was in complete panic there. Most of our units were miles away from each other. We didn’t last very long,” the Urban said solemnly.

Silverglow’s heart sunk.

“Blasphemy!”

Keplo was a port city that was at least a hundred miles from the changeling border. Changelings haven’t pushed that far in the entirety of Karalian history. Suggesting that the enemy had finally crossed into Karalia was unheard of. For so long, the ponies of Karalia had been convinced that to suffer defeat against the changelings was impossible.

“What about Karmaden?”

The Urban soldier shook his head and stared downcast at his bed. He readjusted his injured foreleg to cover the bandage around his waist.

“Bugs burned it to the ground. Solana, Versay, Varvoka, Aubrey, Sonza, Kalinigrad, Fort Grenzer, Rubinelle...all of them under the enemy. Any and all Karalian honor is lost. Yes, we should all be ashamed of ourselves but I’m angrier at the enemy. The least they could have done was kill us. At least then we’d still have our honor, but no, the bastards denied us of that too,” he said, malice and hostility seething from his lips.

Blaze froze as his mind went blank. His stomach churned as his lips quivered. Suddenly, he felt nauseous. Emotion overtook his entire being as he could feel his eyes begin to water.

“Wha-fuck! No! Ruddy! Bloody! Impossi-fuck!”

He couldn’t accept it.

He wouldn’t.

His home…gone?

“Are you alright?”

His thoughts turned to his mother. Surely, she would have to have gotten out in time. She probably would have headed to the capital.

“If the capital is still there…”

Karalia was gone.

It was simply too much for his head to handle.

All expression drained from Blaze’s face, and his body went cold.

His unresponsive mind burst into a flurry of thought, trying to understand what was being told to him. He couldn’t compute anything. It was all too much too soon. He cursed himself for his curiosity. Surely, this would have been one of those rare occasions where ignorance really was bliss.

The older soldier’s face dropped as he realized what was going on.

“Oh…”

Blaze looked up and took a deep breath, wiping his tears away from his eyes. He tried desperately to regain his composure and even managed to sit up straight.

“No it’s…alright. Tell me more please.”

The Urban gave him a sympathetic and skeptical look. The elite soldier gazed out of the window, biting his lip. He turned back to the young officer and sighed in preparation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he lied.

The elite nodded.

“Alright then. I don’t really know how to say this so I’ll just say it. You’re or rather we’re in Equestria.”

The overloaded young lieutenant fell back onto his pillow, covering his ears and face with his blankets. He didn’t want the Urban Legionary to see the tears fall from his cheeks so they soaked his covers instead.

His shoulder ached harshly but he didn’t care. He had learned enough already.

In his Equestrian hospital, the small Karalian stallion wallowed in misery, discomfiture, and disorientation. Within his own personal turbulence, he realized that he didn’t even know if his cohort had made it. This only made him worse; it felt as if it was one thing after another with no end in sight.

He whimpered as moisture continued to fall from his eyes.

"Revenge."

Author's Note

I know that some of you are a little confused right now about who these ponies are and what's happening but please give it a chance. If you have any questions for me, please PM me or tell Eagle. Thanks.

Fish out of Water

January 5th, 2000
1815 Hours
Canterlot, Equestria

The sun began to sink again over the horizon, for the fifth time in this new world, preparing to hand its job over to the moon. On a balcony near the top of Canterlot Castle, a pure white alicorn watched the glowing orb set, in a state of despair and sadness. Now, every time that sun set, it reminded her of how impotent her control had become. Not long ago, it gave out a feeling of satisfaction of another well-done job; no longer did it give that happy, satisfying emotion.

Princess Celestia stared at the sun for what felt like forever. Back when she could lift it into the air, she did it through a unique way that made her the Sun Princess. Rather than take control and move it with her horn, as unicorns would do to move things around via levitating, she actually shared a connection with it. She did not move it; she ordered it to move, which many saw as the same thing, but never to her. That connection was not present any more; this was not her sun.

“Still no luck?”

Celestia recognized the voice of her sister and shook her head without even looking over to her.

“I was afraid of that,” Luna said, moving next to her sister and watching the sun finally disappear. “I suppose there is no real point in trying anymore, then?”

“There is always a point, sister, even if it cannot be seen,” Celestia replied, the hopeful words being betrayed by a hopeless voice. “I know there is a reason, but I cannot see it.”

“Perhaps it will be revealed in time; we should focus on what we can see,” Luna suggested.

Celestia hung her head, though she knew Luna was right.

“Maybe if we answer some questions, the answers to others will reveal themselves, as well,” Luna continued, trying to get her sister to move.

“I know Luna; thank you for reminding me,” Celestia said, sprouting a small grin and hugging her sister. “Is there any reason you needed to speak to me, or was it just to try and cheer me up?”

“Both, actually; Princess Cadence has arrived, but I figured you would not be able to speak with her unless your mind was in the right place,” Luna explained.

Celestia was grateful that Luna was trying to help her, especially since her sister was right; recently she found her mind running off and worrying on problems that were less immediate. But what caught her attention was the arrival of her niece from her empire in the North; as least what used to be the North. She, and Twilight Sparkle, were the most immediate matters that needed to be focused on.

Celestia got up from her spot at once, with a more serious face than before, and began to move off of the balcony and into the hall, with her sister following. Walking through the castle, the halls looked as regal as ever, shining gloriously with stained glass and tapestry providing color. The biggest change was in the guards, as their activity and number had near tripled, and they seemed to line every last corridor.

She did not mind it much; as Luna told her, there were more important things to worry about. What had happened to Equestria, and her whole world, was still not known. But, as reports had come in over the past few days, it was clear that they were no longer where they were supposed to be. That much was certain, but virtually everything else was not.

How they got here, for one, was a matter of confusion. The biggest problem was the strange invasions coming from the wastes of what was once the far North; from the way the sun rose and set, that would now be the wastes of the East. At least they were the wastes, for they had seemingly turned from uninhabitable, cracked, frozen land into green lands of plateaus and plains, and life overall; life that was unsympathetic with Equestria and the other nations around it. She had formulated a theory on this, and Cadence’s words would be the final puzzle pieces Celestia needed to create a clear picture of the situation.

The two entered into the throne room, where both Twilight and Cadence were waiting. Both had worried looks on covering their faces, both for the same reason of not knowing what was happening. Though Cadence was probably far more concerned with her husband leading the Crystal Empire’s military against the unknown enemies. Celestia wondered how much they had told each-other already.

“Princess, can you tell us what’s happening?” Twilight asked immediately, eager to find out what was wrong. “Do you know how to fix things?”

“Calm yourself, Twilight,” Celestia ordered. “I may be able to provide an explanation, at least; but first I will need Princess Cadence to explain what is assailing the Crystal Empire.”

Celestia looked over to Cadence, who nodded and began explaining immediately. The day after the event, Cadence had sent a frightening letter to Celestia concerning her nation. In it's confused, panicked, and broken style, it gave the message that an invasion was taking place by some new type of ponies that she had never encountered. She had learned a bit more since then, and was now here to explain that.

“Our invaders look like ponies, but they are… twisted, corrupt… angry,” she explained, quivering a bit with the last word. “None of them shine like the crystal ponies, they are all dark. The worst have black coats, with their manes grey, and angry red eyes. Some are different, with different shades, sometimes different colors and looks... but they're mostly similar. At least from what we've seen so far.”

“That’s the same kind of pony that attacked Rainbow,” Twilight added. “They must be the same!”

“They also seem to be separated into unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies as we are,” Cadence continued, wanting to finish so her aunt could give an answer. “Also, the pegasi’s wings seem to be similar to a bat’s, but there’s nothing else I could tell you other than that. At first I believed them to be connected to Sombra in some way, but that could not be the case.”

The white alicorn sighed a bit before answering, Cadence's word's finally validating what she feared.

“I am afraid your assumption was correct. These are the ponies of Sombra,” she confirmed. “Long ago, Sombra wanted to seize control of the Crystal Empire to enslave its ponies to mine for dark crystals, and he attempted to raise a nation and army out of the divided tribes of the Northern Wastes to seize Equestria for himself, but he was never powerful enough. He needed the specific kind of black magic of the dark crystals to gain such power, but he never got to that point, as Luna and I banished him. The ponies that are attacking the Crystal Empire now are that army, Sombra’s Shadow Ponies, the opposites of the Crystal ponies, and Equestrians for that matter."

"The Shadows!? How did-"

Celestia raised a hoof to silence Cadence, and prevent Twilight from starting, who was hoping to ask her own set of questions.

"They were few in number, inhabiting the frozen lands, and followed Sombra as their leader, with many seeing his methods as the answer to their troubles. Most of them were banished from the lands in the same fashion as Sombra; only a scattered few remained in the farthest depths of the wastes, or those that broke free. The hostile ones were never in large enough number to attempt attacks. Magic was not as strong with them, especially without the crystals; none of them had the ability to resurrect their allies, and none of the banished were powerful enough as Sombra to take a form in this world as he did when he haunted the Crystal Empire. Now both have returned.”

“B-But how did Sombra return!?” Cadence asked, shocked at the revelation. “And how did he get this army? Does that mean they already took the dark crystals from my Empire?”

“My friend Rainbow told me about some ponies performing a kind of ritual. When I researched it, one of the books talked about Sombra,” Twilight suggested.

“That would be the only possibility I can think of,” Celestia agreed. “There is an old tale that states of a way to resurrect ponies of such power, so long as there is a powerful part of them remaining, and the pony conducting the ceremony is of great power themselves. It is known that part of Sombra’s horn survived."

"But how was the army raised with him? And how did they acquire that power?" Cadence asked again, persisting the Princess to get to the more disturbing part.

"I am not sure, Cadence, but the ritual was clearly strong enough to bring the Shadows out from their banishment," Celestia surmised, here tone changing a bit from grim to puzzled. "It would be possible to bring them back, and in far greater numbers, if the conductors of the ritual acquired a large amount of dark crystals and used them in the ceremony, as well as being well-versed in those dark techniques. But what strikes me as odd is the pony that would do this.”

Celestia was not talking to anypony in particular at this point, merely recounting and thinking out loud.

“The pony doing this could not be a mere servant. Just like the dark crystals, this pony would require a large amount of a specific kind of dark magic; something similar to the kind that revolved around Nightmare Moon, though I thought it was destroyed along with that evil entity,” she said.

At the mention of Nightmare, Luna looked down a bit in disappointment; she still carried some mental scars from that long, horrendous experience of the ages she spent forsaken on the moon, with nothing more than a vengeful wrath to accompany her. Despite what she had told her sister, she was also worrying a good deal over the whole experience. She missed her old moon; though on the bright side, the new one was just as pretty, and did not carry the ‘Mare in the Moon’ symbol on it, at least what remained of that dreaded symbol.

“So, Sombra is trying to take the Crystal Empire and its ponies to gain more power with this new army?” Twilight asked, attempting to put the pieces together.

“He has no immediate... necessity for the Crystal ponies, or the Empire. Though he could certainly use the crystals, he has the main tool needed for the job,” Celestia explained gloomily. “He cannot be stopped from creating the army, we can only fight the army itself now.”

“So Cadence can use the Crystal Heart to destroy him again,” Twilight said, suggesting the obvious. “Or my friends and I could use the Elements of Harmony, if that will do anything.”

“I’m afraid it is not that simple, Twilight,” Celestia said. “The Elements only work on evil entities of extreme power, such as Nightmare Moon or Discord. These Shadow ponies, though evil they may seem, and may be, are not on the same level. They are not just mindless followers, they are normal, logical thinking beings; at least the logic they have in their minds. Their devotion to Sombra and anger against the Crystal Empire and Equestria takes up a large part of their personality, but they are more than that; they fear, hope, they even love. They are not mindless minions, in fact many see Sombra as a great leader.”

“So the Elements wouldn’t work on them, because all of them aren't evil enough,” Twilight repeated, ears drooping. “Then how do we beat them?”

“Conventional means is the only option,” Luna spoke up, feeling as though she should add something to the discussion. “In other words, a war.”

“And it is a war we are having difficulties with,” Cadence added. “These Shadows are moving steadily through the Crystal Empire, and the Griffons and Changelings seem to be active against our neighboring states, as well.”

"And we can't even use the Elements on Sombra himself?" Twilight asked, still lingering on the most decisive weapon she knew of. "He has to be bad enough."

"You would have to go through an entire army to get to him before you could use them," Celestia pointed out, "and even if you got to him, we do not know if the Elements would work properly. This new land is affecting our magic, especially on the higher levels. I doubt they would work properly."

Twilight sat down on the floor, too depressed and angry to really reply. She hated not being able to do anything while others were in trouble. Even if it was not direct, even if it was just trying to find an answer, she wanted to help. But just then she thought of an idea that could help.

“What did the tale have to say about transportation?” Twilight asked bringing up the second-biggest problem Equestria, and the world in general, was having. “I mean, it’s obvious we’re not on our old planet; the stars don't even line up right.”

“That is a bit clearer,” Celestia said, though unsure of what her pupil was getting at. “There is another spell that I specifically know of that could be combined with the first in the same ceremony. It also requires that powerful dark magic, but if they could do the first, it is no surprise that they could do the second. The spell is meant to transport to another world, but why they would do that is beyond me.”

“Maybe they did it to remove your powers so they would have a greater chance to defeat Equestria,” Twilight suggested. “At least over the sun and Princess Luna’s over the moon, and whatever else got affected.”

“Oh... y-yes, that does make sense,” Celestia replied, a bit embarrassed to have not thought of that. “Well in that sense, they succeeded.”

“But they failed somewhere else, somewhere they didn’t think of!” Twilight exclaimed, throwing a hoof into the air in a sort of eureka moment. “The planet itself!”

Celestia and the others stared quizzically at Twilight. They were not sure of just what the unicorn as getting at. The planet was what was hurting the Princesses, taking away their greatest powers. How could the losses this world caused outweigh the gains that it provided them? Before any of the three could ask, Twilight quickly explained what she was talking about.

“Well, not exactly the planet, but its inhabitants,” she clarified. “These aliens we’ve contacted, well I guess we would be the aliens, but these… humans, I think they’re called, seem to have incredibly advanced weaponry, far beyond anything either side has. I’ve heard they even saved one of our ships from a Griffon attack! Maybe we can work out some kind of deal with them and they could lend assistance to us; at least to give us some technology to use ourselves.”

Celestia thought heavily on this; she had an original plan to try and fix things, but maybe Twilight had a point. These new creatures were powerful, but since she did not know exactly how they acted, it was more of a heads-or-tails chance. They could possibly help, but if they were unwelcome to visitors, they could possibly attack Equestria. Either way, her original plan still sounded the best to her and most just. Twilight may be unhappy at the missed chance to study a new being, but it was for the best.

“I am sorry, Twilight, but I cannot drag the natives into this, not when there is a chance to undo the damage,” she glossed in a simple tone. “As I said, the second spell of transportation was known to history, and as such there is a spell that has been hypothesized to reverse its affects, though it has never needed to be used. But, if I can spend some time working on it, I may be able to get the spell to work. If it does, we may be able to get back to my home planet. I would regain control of my powers with our sun, and Luna with the moon, and we should be able to put up a good fight with Sombra and his allies.”

The way Celestia worded the plan gave a bit of worry to Twilight. She said they could ‘put up a good fight’, but she did not say they would win. Was Sombra and his army really that powerful? If they were, at least conventionally, then it would be wise to gain more power in that area. If they only had a chance, but there was a species with incredible technology that could help them win here, then maybe they should at least ask; even if the humans did not want them here, they could try Celestia’s spell afterwards. It just made a bit more sense to her to try and work with them to defeat Sombra.

“Princess, shouldn’t we at least ask the humans first?” Twilight suggested. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? We could come to some kind of deal with them.”

“No, Twilight,” Celestia answered sternly. “This can be handled on our own. It is not necessary to request their assistance.”

“I know it’s not necessary, but there’s nothing wrong with-”

“No Twilight!” Celestia cut her off sharply.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before Celestia breathed deeply and hung her head in disappointment.

“I am sorry, Twilight; this is my fault,” she apologized. “I knew about this spell, only a bit but I still knew. I made the assumption that it was impossible to conduct it. And even with that knowledge, I failed to inform you, my trusted student, so that you might have noticed it ahead of time. I… am sorry; I took a chance and now the world is paying the price. The blame is all mine.”

Another unpleasant quiet covered the room, this time lasting almost a full minute; it felt like much more, and was far longer than any of them wished for.

“This is not their war,” Celestia said softly, breaking the silence. “We came to their planet, and brought all our problems with us. I will not drag them into this fight, they do not deserve it. To have their own killed, to waste what they have, all for an alien’s war? A war we could have prevented? I will not let that happen. We will not ask them to fight for us, and we will not deal with them. To even open up to them could cause relations to begin, and if that happens our enemies may attack them anyways, for fear that they may come to our aid. We simply cannot allow that.”

It made a bit more sense to Twilight, now that Celestia would explain it. Why would the natives want to fight an alien’s war to begin with, or even have it on their planet? Though cutting any contact with them felt a bit much, she understood how Sombra, as well as the Griffons and Changelings, could be savage in their battles. If the humans showed even the slightest idea of allying with Equestria, they would attack them with everything they had. Even if trade was established, they would sink every native ship headed to Equestria, and might even go and attack the harbors they came out of, to stop the supplies from reaching them.

“So… how long do you think it will be until the spell is ready?” Twilight asked.

“It could be a long time, Twilight, as nopony has ever done it before,” Celestia replied. “If we are lucky, though… it seems we lack that a bit, it could be done in several months. Realistically, it could take a few years; at worst… I may never be able to gather every necessary piece. Still, I do not wish to see the innocent beings of this world dragged into our conflict. We must try our best alone.”

“That’s very noble of you, auntie,” Cadence spoke up, rather disappointed at the decision and the gloomy outlook of the situation.

“It is the right thing to do,” Celestia said simply. “You should return to the Crystal Empire now. They will need your leadership to see them through this, and time is not our ally.”

“I… suppose I should,” Cadence sighed, though not moving until Celestia moved over next to her.

“I understand this is difficult, but you must go and help however you can; we must move quickly,” she said, giving Cadence a quick, yet tight, hug. “I will contact you if I find anything that may be of assistance. Now go!”

“O-of course! Good luck, auntie!” Cadence replied, quickly trotting out of the room.

As Cadence left the others, moving down one of the hallways towards the exit, she slowed down again. She knew Celestia was right in her reasoning, but that did not make her feel much better. Even if it was done to protect the humans, Cadence felt that her aunt may have underestimated Sombra and his allies. They may hold a spiteful grudge against Equestria and the Crystal Empire, but a tyrant like him would not stop after that. If she knew anything about Sombra, it was that no amount of power or land would be enough. He would continue his conquest far beyond their borders, until the whole world would be under his hoof.

“I know auntie Celestia wants to protect these natives, but… it may not be her choice,” Cadence said to herself as she exited the castle and entered the placid night outside. “These humans may be dragged into conflict, whether they, or we, wish to or not."

Author's Note

Well, I hope this explained some things ok. I tried to make it sound interesting and important, so that it didn't sound like a pointless exposition chapter, while trying to keep the sense of urgency. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it.

Please leave some feedback, telling how you felt, if you liked it or not, etc. Thanks for reading!

Geography

General Eugene Little,

Since the landfall incident, we have worked constantly using all sources available to determine the nations that make up this new continent. Finally, after direct communications with those on the continent, we have been able to procure some maps that have given us a clear picture of what nations make up this land. Though it is basic, this will give an accurate view of these new nations to the world, a map that we can present to the public. We unfortunately do not have any further details to bring at this moment, hence the short nature of this letter. However, we believe that further details will come over time. Attached below is a map of the area which, as per requested, may be presented to the public in a statement this evening.

Sincerely,
-Colonel Solomon Leevi, USAF

Author's Note

Alright, so I know this map isn't too detailed, but I wanted to give you all a bit of an idea as to what it looks like and where everything is so you're not lost. The map itself is done by TNB, and it's a fine piece of work that I'm thankful for. I hope you all enjoy this, let me know if you've got any questions and what you think.

Ripped From The Headlines

The following are front-page excerpts from the newspaper The Baltimore Star chronicling the events of five years.

The lines are drawn; new countries spring onto the map-January 10th, 2000

With the initial shock of the new continent’s landfall starting to wear off, the world begins looking for answers involving the new aliens. One of the most asked, especially among politicians and military leaders, is how the continent is divided. Various maps have made their way to the outside world, but the most common seems to designate at least five major nations on the continent, and a plethora of smaller ones.

The largest, and closest to the U.S., is the Kingdom of Equestria, taking up most of the eastern part of the continent. The Crystal Empire lies next to it, wedged in the middle of the continent and surrounded by smaller states. The last three lie on the Western end and run north to south, respectively. Those are the Griffon Empire, the Shadow Empire, and the Changeling Empire.

In another fascinating separation, many of the nations seemed to be based around specific species. The most populous species on the continent seem to go by the name ponies, and different kinds inhabit several nations. But many others seem to be based around a dominant species, such as small republics made up of Zebras and Minotaurs. Information is still being gathered, but this is what is known to be true as of now.

All of these belong to the new continent that has come to be known as ‘Arcaia’, sitting in the Central Pacific, and is closest in size to the continent of Europe. From what is seen, the continent seems to be rich in a variety of resources and different species spread out across the land, many of which have never existed on Earth before. Scientists are still attempting to meet and study these new species, but it is proving difficult.

No new neighbors? Equestria opts for isolation-January 12th, 2000

Earlier today, the ruler of the Kingdom of Equestria, Princess Celestia, stated that her nation is to be isolated from the rest of the world, save for other nations on the Arcaian continent. No talks will be held with other figures, and no trade or other forms of contact with outside nations. The same seems to apply to the nation’s inhabitants, as they are not allowed to leave the continent and travel, or even contact, human nations.

When asked why she decided to take this route, the Princess only stated that it was ‘for (humanity’s) own good’.

“We are fighting a war that does not involve you, or your world,” Celestia said during the announcement. “This is for your own good. Please do not become involved, and we will try our best to resolve this situation on our own.”

Western nations open talks-January 29th, 2000

Contrary to Equestria’s choice of isolation, the western nations on the map, the same ones that are at war with Equestria and her allies, are taking a more social approach to the situation. The Shadow, Griffon, and Changeling Empires have all attempted to interact with the outside world, to varying degrees.

The northernmost empire, the Griffons, have been the most cooperative, beginning talks with several nations and offering trade deals. Many of the visiting officials have commented positively on the Empire’s outgoing nature in contrast to Equestria’s cold shoulder; though the empire below them, The Shadow Empire, has been slightly less welcoming, and the southern Changeling Empire is even worse, all three have agreed to open relations with nations of the world. Despite having sunk a Griffon naval ship during the first week of contact, the Griffon Empire has reached out a friendly hand to the United States, forgiving the tragic incident.

“It was a confusing situation, and it was unfortunate that it led to the worst possible outcome, but we are willing to put such horrible misunderstandings behind us, and look to a brighter, more cooperative future,” The Griffon King stated during a speech welcoming the new American ambassador. “In fact, we should have suspected it, as we had knowledge that Equestria had planned such an event to deceive us, turning us against each-other.”

What the King was speaking of, and one of the more interesting aspects, is that all three of these nations are currently in a state of war with Equestria and their allies, and all three nations state that it is necessary. According to them, the Equestrians originally intended to invade and conquer Earth, which is why they were teleported here. But the three western empires disagreed with the warmongering stance, and are attempting to stop them.

“The Princess is right about one thing, this is not your war,” the Griffon King continued. “There is no need for you to become involved in it. Save your resources and lives; we will handle these invaders.”

No retort was received from the Equestrian side.

United Nations refuse new continent’s membership; states go unrecognized- February 8th, 2000

After weeks of debating, the United Nations has reached the decision that none of the nations on the new continent will be recognized as official political entities. The main argument against their joining is that, because the continent is not of Earth, and that it entered randomly and without any kind of forewarning, it does not inherit the same rights as already existing lands on Earth. Though the U.N. stated that, over time, the nations could be admitted, it would take a long period of work to complete.

Both the U.S. and Chinese governments, both of which lobbied to admit the new countries, remain quiet and have not made any kind of response to this. Nor has any statement come from any of the nations on the continent. Public reaction seems to be mixed to negative.

Is a new Great Depression coming? Economy begins to drop-March 28th, 2000

GDP growth fell sharply today as a long-predicted downturn hit the U.S. economy. The sharp drop has led to many people to begin to worry about the state of the economy and how to get it back on track. Several fear that the job loss rate could possibly worsen; if not now, then late in the decades. However, many state that this is simply paranoia, and that an economic depression is not likely to occur, and that the U.S., and world, economy will be righted given enough time.

Spruance to be decommissioned; tensions with China rise-June 11th, 2000

Despite the Navy revealing intentions to increase the lifespan of some of their older vessels, it was announced late yesterday that the destroyer U.S.S. Spruance is set to be decommissioned and scrapped immediately. The destroyer, and its second-in-command, have become infamous for enticing the Zhuhai incident, has been undergoing test to determine what went wrong that day. There was no general agreement among the inspectors, though the overall problem seems to have come from human error. Even though she passed a target practice exercise earlier in the month, the destroyer is set to be scrapped. The remaining ships of the class of the same name are to be decommissioned as well, and will be placed in reserve.

“One of the more recent issues investigations have found is that parts of the ship's targeting computer can go haywire. It is not acceptable to allow a ship with a flawed and dangerous targeting system to continue its service,” the Department of the Navy explained in their announcement.

This decision was met with scathing responses from China’s government, who claim that this was done only to cover up the incident and destroy evidence. Despite the U.S. government issuing several apologies and offered a full compensations for the families of the victims, which was fully accepted, the Chinese government demanded the Spruance and the second-in-command responsible for giving the orders to launch, who is already set for a trial, and the rest of the crew, to be handed over to Chinese authorities. This was immediately denied by the U.S. government, despite multiple Chinese threats and aggressive moves in the Pacific directed at U.S. bases and units in Japan and South Korea.

James takes majority! Republican dark horse to become the 43rd President-November 8th, 2000

With ballots closed and counting complete, the polls confirmed that Republican Party candidate David James will be the winner of the 2000 Presidential Election, winning by nearly 10% of the vote. James, who was largely an unknown in the political arena, quickly gained popularity following the Zhuhai incident. His first large ‘jump’ came from his response to the Chinese demands to turn over the destroyer and crew responsible so that they could enact the justice themselves. James made a passionate speech defending the U.S.’s justice system, and trusting them to make the best choice, while sharply criticizing China for their threats and warmongering actions.

James has since based his platform around standing against China’s aggression while also creating allies out of nations in Arcaia. One of his largest pushes is for defense increase against China and other ‘aggressor’ nations, including a massive expansion proposal for each of the military’s branches, which will more than likely pass.

Upon receiving word of his victory, Mr. James tiredly stated: “I suppose I’ve got a lot of work to do; better get to it.”

Western nations unite; military union known as ‘Arcaian Defense Bloc’ forms-July 18th, 2001

As the war on the continent continues to rage, the spokesman for The Shadow Empire, Prince Boca, announced that the Shadow, Griffon, and Changeling Empires would unite into a military grouping known simply as The Bloc, which is to be based around ‘better military cooperation’. This new Bloc is expected to focus greatly in coordinating the three nation’s war against Equestria.

Terrorist plot foiled!-September 12th, 2001

Today, the Federal Bureau of Investigation announced that they successfully thwarted a major terrorist attack aimed for U.S. soil. Few detail have been released, but what is known is that, two days earlier on September 10th, a group of friends met in a town in Maine. The group reported a man acting rather suspiciously, and called the police. Once they arrived, they found currently undisclosed evidence that led to both being arrested, and interrogated; further searching of their residence discovered, what was stated as ‘sketchy hints pointing towards an attack of some sort in the very near future’. As more details were uncovered, the FBI and other agencies sent out an alert and began an immediate operation to discover any other terrorists.

“There is no need to panic, our people are on high alert across the country and several other terrorist suspects have been apprehended,” the Bureau’s Chairman stated. “We are still searching, but any attack has been stopped.”

President James also released what details are known of the attack itself, which state that there was to be a wave of airliner hijackings, and usage of those airliners in attacking unknown targets.

Regardless, the announcement seems to have unleashed a wave of public paranoia over the attack. Despite both the President and several security agencies stating that it was to be carried out by ‘an extremist organization based in the Middle East’, many have come forward with theories that go far deeper. The most popular seem to state that the organization is funded and trained by China, seeking revenge for the loss of its naval vessel, while other’s claim it is a plan of isolationist Equestria’s attempts at conquest, as it still has not broken its silence. All of these theories have been immediately dismissed by the president.

“This is nothing more than fear flying out of control,” he stated. “There is no need for these, as no official evidence states any kind of outside connection. Tragedy has been averted, and for that we can be grateful.”

Industrial Revolutions. Western empires modernize alongside a wave of immigration- October 9th, 2001

As the Bloc advance east begins to slow to a crawl, all three of the empires have begun major state moves to modernize their military, and society in general, in every way possible. Over the past several months, factories and other modern buildings have begun to appear. Long highways are beginning to stretch over the nations, and even some commercial planes are being landed at airports. Though it is expected to be some time before this can translate in military modernization, it is an important first step in getting to that point.

Along with this comes a large wave of immigrants entering the countries, mostly in the Griffon Empire. Though the majority of the immigrants come from Asian nations, it is a very mixed bag, with people from all over the world traveling for a variety of reasons. Some of these reasons are searching for new opportunity, wishes to start over, looking for something new, and any other reasons these immigrants can think of. The empires have noted this as a crucial element in the push to industrialize.

Indeed, the speed of the modernization has come as a surprise to many, being far faster than any have predicted, or even seemingly possible. Yet, at the same time, this is being kept a complete secret; construction sites, factories, and other industrial areas are being kept out of the public eye, and are run by tight state security. The reason for this has been stated to preserve the Bloc nation's 'military and economic abilities; which make us unique and provides (us) with excellent possibilities for profit.' This speed has left the whole world astonished.

President James cuts trade with China; opens talks with Bloc-January 2nd, 2002

Following the large economic scare and China heftily increasing the prices on their exported goods, particularly towards the U.S.A. and our allies, President James has announced today that he will drop virtually all trade deals with the People’s Republic of China in search of a more ‘economical and efficient’ partner to supply cheap goods. Though many seem to criticize James for this semi-sudden move, their claims seem to be rather dulled by the announcement that followed shortly afterwards that many of the dropped deals with China have been reached with the three nations of the Bloc.

“We greatly welcome the chance to enact such lucrative trade with the western nations,” Prince Boca, spokesman for the Shadow Empire stated. “We will happily provide America’s material needs, and welcome the opportunity to fully test and apply our fledgling industry; as well as an excellent chance to build our treasury.”

Others have greatly supported the President’s decisions to choose the Bloc over Chinese-made goods. They have pointed out that, in addition to Bloc-made goods being far cheaper, they are also of greater quality. And the greatest positive for the U.S. is that, since these nations have not existed until recently, America owes them no kind of debt, allowing the States to ‘start over’ from zero again.

The One-Year Bust-February 16th, 2002

It has been known that the Changeling Empire had the least amount of technologically advanced industry when President James signed the specific trade agreements with the Bloc, and consequently received the least in terms of deals. Months back, the Changeling Queen announced a massive nation-wide advancement program, spending much of the country’s talents and resources to achieve the goal of catching up with its two higher-up cohorts to their north.

Economist Casey White spent a month touring the country, looking over and examining the Changeling’s efforts. Apparently, despite the heavy push focused exactly on the subject of greater modernization, the effect seems to do little more than waste the Empire’s time and resources.

“It was the oddest thing I’ve ever seen; almost like a whole country was put into slavery for no real purpose, not unlike the Great Leap Forward,” she stated during an interview. “They did not bother to send anyone out to study economics or technology in the human world, nor does it seem they did any real research on it. Rather than use factories encompassing a few skilled workers, each sort of… community, or grouping, has their own set of minimal tools to attempt to create products, cheap or otherwise.

The military checks on them three times a week, making sure that the requested amount of a product has been produced; in addition, the town’s police force will oversee that work is being done diligently. Most of the time production is being met, but no one wants to buy it. Across the whole country there are these odd communities of ghost towns filled with nothing more than abandoned equipment and useless pig iron.”

Bloc accused of war crimes-February 20th, 2002

The Arcaian nation of Saddle Arabia has, for one month now, been under the occupation of the Griffon Empire. Recently, reports of various crimes, such as looting and vandalism, though few have actually been accused. The most shocking are claims of mass executions of political prisoners and other specified targets.

The biggest evidence in support of this is the release of photos of what appear to be a large group of about twelve corpses, with Griffon troops looking over them. However, it is impossible to determine if it is artificial or accurate, though tests so far are slightly leaning in the faked side. The Griffons have stated that this is nothing more than a deception campaign concocted by the Equestrians to turn public opinion against them, though many are beginning to have their doubts.

The Equestrian Black Market and the truth about the Bloc-May 5th, 2002

Despite Princess Celestia’s stern stance on total isolation, there are many ponies in her kingdom that attempt to escape into the human world, and many humans who wish to enter Equestria. Though it is difficult to do so, a few have succeeded. This paper actually got the chance to interview an escapee that just recently finalized her papers to become a U.S. citizen.

“The biggest reason I wanted to move here was… well, all the stuff there was to see,” the undisclosed pony stated on life in her former homeland. “Here and there I’d see ponies go by with something odd from the Human world, like a phone or some books, and it was always interesting. Every time I saw somepony with something from the outside, it was different and amazing.”

Because of this, the Equestrian black market has become one of the largest, and most profitable, underground sellers in the world, particularly due to the high prices set on common goods. Books, as our guest stated, could range into a monetary worth of hundreds in dollars, while common phones can range in the thousands based in Equestria’s monetary gold. Other extremely popular and rare items, such as human music and cinema, as well as anything able to play these, can range between the thousands and millions, while the rarest artifacts, computers, are usually well into the millions.

The interview continued into what life was like in Equestria for her.

“It’s not at all bad, really; not as good as around here, but it’s not horrible,” the undisclosed pony stated on life in her former homeland. “It really isn’t this terrible monarchy or dictatorship, things were very fair, and most everypony I knew was content, at least before the war started. Things were normal until Sombra came and began invading our allies, and our military went off to fight him.”

This was the most interesting part of the interview, as she stated that Sombra was not the kind, welcoming ruler he was presented as, while Equestria was the true victim. Though this is nothing new, as many of the Equestrians that have escaped have made this same claim, it is another attack in the mounting list against the Bloc as the public begins to sway towards Equestria’s favor.

Changeling Empire conquers The United Republic; experts question Bloc’s motives-December 2nd, 2002

After three months of hard fighting, the Union of the Two Lands, usually shortened to ‘The United Republic’ or ‘The Union’ has fallen to the Changeling Empire, with the last of its military, government, and thousands of refugees fleeing east. What makes this conquest peculiar is the amount of eyebrows it seems to have raised.

The Union, from what can be gathered, was a very isolated nation on the southern coast of Arcaia, and tended to keep to themselves, and had nothing to do with either side in the conflict, yet all the same, the Changeling Empire invaded. Many in the military have called this an unnecessary act of aggression by the Changeling Empire, with the consensus being that it was nothing more than a land grab. Though the Empire has stated that The Union was planning a pre-emptive strike, almost no evidence for this has been provided, and the claim has been met with jeers. Conversely, following the invasion, Equestrian military units were sent over to assist the Union, further showing that Equestria seems to be on the just end of war.

Economy pulls up-April 8th, 2003

After three years, the world’s economy has begun to grow again. Many economists point to the arrival of the Arcaian continent and the opening of trade with some of the nations as being an important piece to the economy’s rebound, while others stated that the economy righted itself. Regardless of what fixed it, this has led to worry over the economic state in the future, and many in the government are seeking ways to stave off possible collapse in the near future. One of the larger steps being taken is an attempt to better regulate the housing market, with some congressmen pushing to ensure homes are sold to those who can afford them.

Arcaia’s War continues; Bloc seeks victory via Russian technology-January 3rd, 2003

Despite several Bloc victories over the past years, the group’s advances have slowed to a crawl, particularly in the Crystal Empire, where Crystal and Equestrian troops have managed to halt the Shadow armies just outside the capital city. Though this may not last long, as the Shadow Empire spokesman Prince Boca announced that the armed forces of the Bloc will be fully modernized soon.

In an announcement in Russia’s capital city of Moscow, he stated that, with the Bloc nation’s monetary savings rather large from the trading over the course of the past years, the three nations would equip themselves with Russian weaponry, including some of the most modern designs that have been built. In addition, it was stated that several product license deals had been made, allowing the Bloc to manufacture their own stock of these weapons.

“I am confident this will finally give us the edge required to defeat these invaders and end this war,” the Prince stated.

The Russian President seemed rather pleased with the sale, as he spoke in an interview with a Russian news agency afterwards.

“Our economy is in horrid condition. But, we are no longer in a Cold War with the west, and we have no need to keep such a massive amount of weapons. What better way to solve these problems than selling it off to a nation that actually needs them,” he stated. “I think it is an excellent example of a Russia that is moving towards capitalism and democracy.”

Bloc war crimes revealed; President cuts trade ties-March 15th, 2003

With the new military technology, the Bloc seems to have taken the upper hand in the war, but that may not be a good thing. Yesterday, late at night, a video was released of Shadow Empire soldiers gunning down at least five prisoners of war on the Crystal Empire front. This seems to confirm the claims of war crimes that have been launched against the Bloc, and they have received heavy backlash for it from the international community. Though they claim to only be executing ‘soldiers who have been of great trouble, in not only attacking our troops, but civilians,’ this has only garnered them heavier criticism.

The worst has come from the United States where President James has cut virtually all trade agreements after a reportedly heated private conference between the President and the Shadow Empire’s Prince Boca. The President stated that he would turn his search for such goods to South America, and that repeated atrocities would lead to sanctions against the bloc.

“We will not do business with murderers and belligerents!” James stated angrily later in the day. “Such slaughter will be met with justice!”

Many of the President’s opponents have criticized him for the crimes. Because of the President’s agreement to open trade, he also built up the Bloc’s wealth to the point of modernizing their military, which in turn caused the killings to happen. Had the President looked further into the Bloc’s motives, it is possible this could have been avoided.

Bloc purchases Russian battlecruiser and aircraft carrier-March 18th, 2003

The latest and largest buy for the Bloc in their shopping spree of modern military technology has been made by the Shadow Empire, which purchased an Ex-Russian battlecruiser of the Kirov class and an Ex-Russian aircraft carrier of the Kiev class. It is stated that engineers of the Empire will modernize and modify both vessels to meet their standards. Though this greatly enhances the Bloc’s seapower, it is still lackluster in comparison to the United States Navy, which is already hard at work designing a brand new class of carriers.

China works alongside Bloc, nations unite into military league-April 9th, 2003

The shocking announcement was made mid-day today that China and the Bloc have entered into a military agreement based on ‘mutual defense of interests in the Pacific Ocean’ and allowing them to base units in each-other’s territory. These came about from the now virtually frozen U.S.-Chinese relations and the souring of the relations with the Bloc over the past years. The joining of these two presents a major problem for the United States and her allies.

As many political and military analysts have pointed out, this would give China a hand in the continent, should Equestria and the other nations fall to the Bloc. Such a power play would not only give China control of the Central Pacific and heavy influence around the entire sphere, but it would also provide a jump-off point for an attack against America, or even a possible invasion.

The James Administration has yet to comment on this, but another increase on defense spending is expected. News of this has sparked a large amount of discontent with the American people, and the public, so far, seems to be urging the President to do something to respond to this move, and keep the continental U.S. safe from attack.

Bloc reveals home-built warships-April 11th, 2003

Two days ago, the Bloc released a propaganda picture showing their latest capital ships sailing out of harbor together, the aircraft carriers Tornado and Twister, both of which seem to be of the Kuznetsov class, more advanced than the previous Kiev class that was purchased earlier in the year. But the most frightening part of this is that both seem to have been built in the Shadow Empire, rather than purchased or built elsewhere.

The reasoning behind this is that Russia has built two carriers of the Kuznetsov class, one they retain and one that has been sold to China. Both of these have been confirmed to be under their respective owners, meaning none have been sold to the Bloc. This was confirmed by the Shadow Empire, which stated that both were based on the Kuznetsov design, and classified as ‘medium aircraft carriers’. Though the U.S. Navy has claimed these to be false, video seems to prove that the Bloc is capable of building capital ships.

“It would be foolish to believe that we are handcuffed to Russia as a supplier. We can create weapons ourselves,” the official report stated on the end.

Canada to purchase aircraft carrier-April 25th, 2003

With heavy militarization in terms of the navy on both sides, and the northern Pacific becoming increasingly hazardous, Canada has decided to purchase a capital ship of its own in the form of an Aircraft Carrier. This carrier, which is set to be christened H.M.C.S Presence, will be based on Great Britain's Queen Elizabeth Class of aircraft carriers, of which the U.K. is planning two. This will make the Canadian Navy much more powerful, and giving it far more reach and ability to protect its vessels and sovereign waters. This will also be the first Canadian carrier since 1970.

Russian and Chinese leaders meet to discuss electronics; trade deal with Russia set to be reached-May 6th, 2003

Russian and Chinese leaders met yesterday to discuss ‘economic and resource factors’ and have reached a conclusion for a massive new trade deal, which is set to commence soon. The agreement will take advantage of China’s massive ability to produce smaller electronics and other cheap products, which Russia is looking to exploit. The size of the deal will see a large amount of Russia’s new-found wealth go towards this deal, and in turn giving China a fair amount of income.

This has come as a major scare to many in congress, as the money that Russia has made selling weapons to the Bloc will now go to China, fueling their weapons programs. It was initially predicted and hoped that most of it would be spent on the Russian infrastructure, but it seems that interior renovation will only take up part of the bank. Hopes that Russia would also use it to replace their sold weapons systems with more advanced units were also largely unfound.

Australia to build new battleship-May 11th, 2003

In an odd turn of events, the Australian Navy revealed that it had reached a deal with the Navy of the United States to build a new battleship. Despite the battleship now being outdated by aircraft carriers, the two Navies have decided to move forward on the plan, and it has been agreed that the vessel would be based on the famed Iowa class, and would be built from the keel up in a specialized harbor facility that has been kept from the public for some time. The reason for building this seems to be based around the knowledge that the Bloc, now growing more hostile towards America and its allies, has been building a large number of battlecruisers of their own, to the point where it is feared they will charge through aircraft, while their own air force gives cover, in attempts to engage targets in surface warfare.

“It’s still unclear exactly how many heavy ships the Bloc has, or how they are able to construct them so fast, but their numbers seem to indicate that they will be sufficient to close the range, while our aircraft are distracted,” the Australian Admiral of the Fleet explained. “We’re largely worried about heavy enemy vessels raiding the sea lanes between Australia and the Americas. And since Australia has no Aircraft Carriers, and our budget is too restrained to afford a major one, this would be our best option. Regardless, we are looking forward to having a powerful ship at our disposal.”

It was also stated that the battleship would utilize modern defense and missile systems to better defend itself from aircraft and missiles, as well as to increase its attack range. Still, several in the Australian navy have criticized this move, stating it would be better to spend the money on smaller, more numerous cruisers or destroyers with equal strike range, or simply more aircraft that can be placed on the continent.

The Australian government has stated that the battleship would be ideal for escort and guarding the sea lanes between Australia and the United States. The H.M.A.S. Sydney, which is slated for launch some time in 2010-2015, will be the first ‘battlewagon’ under Australian command since 1927, and the first to be built in the world overall since the Russian Kirovs in 1977.

Are the ‘big guns’ making a comeback? U.S. Navy announces new class of battleships-June 19th, 2003

Only a few months after the Australian Navy announced their plans for construction, the United States Navy has announced that it will be building an entirely new class of its own. According to the Navy, the Australian deal was done partially as an experiment to see if bringing back battleships in a meaningful position was feasible. Now that the Australian’ construction is going ahead full, and with the reveal of yet another Bloc battlecruiser, bringing the total up to six known vessels, the Navy has decided to begin construction early, and release the news to the public.

“It’s clear to us that the days of long lines of battleships with massive guns firing away have long passed, we’re looking for them to take on a role as an escort now; a massive weapons platform to help defend our aircraft carriers from surface and air attack, as well as to provide the traditional heavy gunfire support to our ground forces” The Secretary of the Navy stated during a press conference. “We are not making these in massive numbers, only in the amount we believe we will need to help escort our carriers.”

Details of the class were released shortly after the conference, stating that the battleships will be built as a brand new class from the keel up, and based largely on the last class of battleships the navy planned, known as the Montana. Unlike the Montana, which was designed during World War Two, these are explained to be far more modern with up-to-date technology and systems, including nuclear power and long range missiles that increase the ship’s range, defense, and lifespan, among other things.

The release went on to explain that only six of these vessels will be built, three for the Pacific Fleet and the remaining three for the Atlantic Fleet, as the vessels will be too large to pass through the Panama Canal. According to the Navy, the class itself and three of its units have already been named, with the overall class being named for the state of Washington, and the first three named Washington, Colorado, and New York; the remaining three have yet to be announced. Along with these new names comes a new classification; as the battleships employ large amounts of long-range strike missiles, they will be given the designation ‘Guided Missile Battleship’ and the hull lettering of ‘BBG’, the first in U.S. Naval history.

China militarizes; spending on defense increases-August 29th, 2003

China has announced that it will begin to increase its military spending, particularly in the Navy, to counter that of the United States. Though this was not unexpected, it comes with heavy fallout against President James, as much of the money that Russia has sent to China came from the Bloc nations, which in turn was used by the U.S.

“The President’s decisions have led to funding our enemy!” one of James’ most vocal opponents, Senator Ulrich Gulliver of Massachusetts stated. “He bought products from these warmongers, who used that money to buy guns. And now that money is also going to America’s biggest threat, so that they too can buy guns to point at America!”

Ghosts come back to haunt; original designs from the Bloc are launched-April 6th, 2004

Some frightening photographs were released last week, showing an aircraft carrier and battlecruiser of the Shadow Empire, but these seem to be far more unique as they did not match the ship identification of any known classes of these vessels. This has led many to believe that the Bloc has constructed a new class of warships that appear to be an even larger threat than the previous designs. Despite the Bloc’s attempts to keep them under wraps, details have leaked out showing that they are indeed formidable foes.

“From what we can tell, the battlecruiser seems to be based partially on the Stalingrad class, a Soviet design that was planned at the start of the Cold War, but was never built. The Carrier looks to be taking after the Soviet Ulyanovsk design, which was started towards the end,” the Secretary of the Navy explained thoroughly in an announcement concerning the vessels that took place yesterday. “Closer analysis shows that they are equipped with missiles, close-in defense systems, and all the other necessitates of modern naval warfare, including some we’ve been unable to identify yet. These are the greatest threats against the Navy right now.”

Further information that was leaked out earlier today seems to classify them as the most advanced capital ships in the Bloc’s arsenal. This continues to fuel a fear in the United States of an abnormally fast-growing Bloc navy. These new vessels, along with the dozens of smaller destroyers, frigates, and cruisers that are being noticed, are continuing to baffle intelligence gatherers. It is not known how these nations, especially ones that have just recently discovered the potential of modern technology, are able to build warships at such a fast pace. The military has been looking into this for some time, but the secret seems to be well-hidden.

The ‘600-ship Navy’ makes another push-July 6th, 2004

Three month after the discovery of the Bloc’s new warship classes, and one month after the death of former President Ronald Reagan, the U.S. Navy has announced a massive program designed to expand and advance the navy, by ordering several new warships; a virtual re-start of Reagan’s 600-ship navy. Many older ships, including the Oliver Hazard Perry Class frigates, will undergo overhauls to extend their lifelines; the original ‘flight’ of the Ticonderoga AEGIS cruisers, which were built without the Vertical Launch System and were scheduled to be decommissioned this year, will also continue their service.

In addition, the older Forrestal and Kitty Hawk Class aircraft carriers, rather than going ahead on their planned decommissioning, will be placed in reserve, meaning that they will not conduct operations currently, but will be on hand in case they are needed. Along with these older vessels will be the two Iowa Class battleships the navy has been ordered to keep in reserve under the National Defense Authorization Act of 1999, which forced the navy to maintain the Iowa and one of her sisters, the Wisconsin, in case they were needed. However, it has been stated that these reserve units may not be used at all, due to the mass of new vessels coming in to take their place, which the President described as ‘the meat of the program’.

The ‘meat’ has been designed around building newer ships to complement the older ones. Several new Ticonderoga Class cruisers and Arleigh Burke Class destroyers, which comprise the majority of the vessels in the Navy, are set to be built. In addition to this, construction of the Washington Class battleships and the Gerald R. Ford Class carriers will be stepped up, with the lead ships of both predicted to be in launched in 2010. The last piece comes in the form of the Zumwalt Class destroyers, which are envisioned to become the new backbone of the navy within the next one or two decades. This comes alongside the advances of other programs, such as Aircraft Company Lockheed Martin’s Joint Strike Fighter program, which will be vital to the Ford’s air wing.

“We’re doing this to show that America, and the world, has no need to fear from these new conquerors,” the Secretary of Defense stated in his speech on the announcement of the project. “The United States Navy is still the most powerful force on the planet, and we will show our enemies that it is a mistake to challenge us.”

This announcement has brought both calls of praise and criticism on a massive scale. Many state that the economy cannot handle such an endeavor, especially with the expected rise in production costs of the Washington and Ford. They state that, in attempting to beat China and the Bloc, the United States will suffer the same fate of the U.S.S.R. , in that it will be unable to afford such massive military spending with the debt skyrocketing and the economy collapsing.

However, supporters of the program state that the size is necessary to deter both China, which has continued to build up its military steadily, and the Bloc, which continues to launch new ships at a fraction of their regular building time, using still unknown techniques and/or technology. They state that, if the military does not improve, the United States will look weak, and become susceptible to outside pressure and subsequent attacks, stating that if it does not fall to the economy, it will fall to foreign imperialism.

Regardless, President James has stated that he will continue on with the program.

Allies advance; other nations join The States in military spending-July 14th, 2004

With the United States and the People’s Republic of China locked in what seems to be a growing Cold War, two of America’s closest allies, Australia and Canada, are following its lead of militarization, though to a far less back-breaking degree. For while the American economy has begun to suffer from the constant spending, both of the after mentioned nations have attempted to reach limits within their boundaries. Other nations close to China, such as Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea, have also begun arming themselves against aggressive Chinese actions.

The United Kingdom is now following these actions as the Royal Navy has stated that they will increase the production of the Queen Elizabeth Class carriers to have them available for the year 2010, alongside the American Navy’s new carriers, while the current decommissioning dates Invincible Class carriers have been pushed back. Along with this, the Navy has ordered a handful more cruiser and destroyers for escort.

The U.K. seems to be the only European nation following the United States’ lead, with the general consensus for the rest of the continent largely being the opposite, in that one half-century of paranoia and M.A.D. is enough. Most seem to see the Arcaian War as a Pacific affair, and do not wish to get involved, with the nations of Germany, Spain, The Netherlands, and other NATO nations stating they will only join the U.S. in war if the U.S. itself is attacked, in accordance with prior NATO ruling. In the meanwhile, most of Western Europe seems to be content with their de-militarization proceeding on schedule; especially in light of Russia’s selling of a large amount of their military equipment to the Bloc.

President James reaches out to Equestria; denied summit with leaders-August 14th, 2004

As Equestria’s military position grows grimmer by the day, their leader continues to refuse any proposals for outside assistance. Despite the American President’s continued offers, Equestria continues to try and face the Bloc virtually alone in its near-impossible struggle. Yesterday, President James sent forth another suggestion; this one, unlike the others, directly implied military assistance.

“I would like to offer my hand in support of Equestria’s noble cause,” he stated. “I understand that the challenges of this new world may be difficult, but we want to help you. Whatever trouble you are having, we will assist you in finding a solution. Your nation is in deep danger of coming under the iron hand of tyrants, but my nation was founded against that. Together, we can prevent this, and make our world safer.”

Despite the capitol of the Crystal Empire falling to Shadow Empire armies the day before, Princess Celestia still refused, replying simply with “Thank you, but we cannot.”

The President has attempted to ally with Equestria for some time now, attempting to break their isolation, and ensure they remain independent. Beyond the most obvious reasons of keeping a nation free from hostile rule, an independent Equestria, especially one allied with the United States, would create a buffer zone on the continent, and a counter to the union of the Sino-Arcaian Security Pact. It is hoped that, once Equestria itself comes under attack, the Princess will agree to accept the United States’ proposal.

U.S. Military continues to build up strength as the Bloc makes aggressive moves-September 3rd, 2004

At the unveiling of Lockheed Martin’s F-35 ‘Lightning II’ fighter jet, the aircraft delivered for the Joint Strike Fighter program, President James stated that, despite having to cut back on several of the planned projects, the military’s advancement program is ‘on course’ and ‘doing very well’. Already, several units in the Army, Air Force, and Marines have been re-activated, or being raised newly; and in the navy, several new vessels are being constructed and launched. Despite the costs for the building of these new ships being high, especially in terms of the new Ford Class carriers and Washington Class missile battleships, the planned launch date for their class leaders is still set to be sometime in the year 2010.

At the same time, the economy has begun to feel the effects of the massive mobilization, and the President seems to be taking the heat for it. Despite recent Bloc incursions into American air space and waters near Alaska and Hawaii, and the deployment of most of the newly raised units to these states, as well as the west coast, most of the public seems to view the advancements as going too far. In spite of several impressive American military displays of power, the popular opinion of the President has now dropped to under half, and is nearing 40%. A large number of analysts and politicians predict that he will not win re-election in 2004.

Bloc attacks American ship!-October 20th, 2004

Late last night, at 5:44 AM, Hawaiian-Aleutian Time, the U.S. Navy container ship M.V. Cape Ray was attacked by aircraft of the Shadow Empire’s Navy while sailing in international water not far from Hawaii. As the vessel was sailing, she was attacked by aircraft that seem to have come from an aircraft carrier of the shadow navy, and was left disabled after a missile hit. The American carrier U.S.S Enterprise quickly moved to assist the vessel, launching its own aircraft to defend it. This did lead to a confrontation which, after an American fighter was shot down without warning, the U.S. pilots fought back, and shot down four MiG fighters for no further losses. The crew of the first American plane shot down, one of the famed F-14 ‘Tomcat’ fighters, was successfully rescued; as was the Cape Ray. Onboard, 15 sailors were killed from the attack.

The Shadow Empire claimed that the Ray had entered Equestrian waters, and was moving to give supplies to the Kingdom. It was further stated that a blockade would now be in place against any vessels attempting to leave or enter the nation. As the Ray was officially in international waters, the international backlash has been harsh against the Bloc. Along with this is the public’s view of the Bloc dropping to the lowest stages yet, while support for the military’s expansion has increased. President James gave a speech later, urging Americans to stand together behind the military.

“We will not allow our countrymen, our brothers and sisters, to be murdered by dictators! We may have suffered loss, but we have also shown that we are willing and able to fight back!” the President stated in a press conference concerning the event. “I am here to ask you, the people of the United States of America, to stand with one another in these hard times, and to support our brave men in the line, our family at arms; we must stand united, and in that unity we shall emerge victorious, in a safer, freer world.”

Name controversy hits Navy; cheaper alternatives come to board-November 1st, 2004

A volley of criticism was aimed at the Navy recently after the announcement was made on the names of the final three planned battleships. Two are slated to be named Arizona and Oklahoma, after the two battleships that were sunk during the attack on Pearl Harbor, while the third is set to be named California. The Navy has claimed that it is in tribute to the lost ships and the men who died with them, while opponents have claimed that it is actually disrespectful, and have only been chosen due to a wave of jingoism that seems to have swept over the nation following the attack on the MV Cape Ray.

But these may never even be able to launch at all. The costs of building the battleships has risen sharply, and discussion has begun on possibly cutting a number of the ordered vessels. Some members of the Navy have come forward with plans for a cheaper, less heavily armed and armored battlecruiser design to take the place of the last battleships.

James pulls through, holds position in office-November 3rd, 2004

Despite the heavy criticism received over his term, David James has successfully defeated the opposition, though by a small amount, to be re-elected as President of the United States. Many cite the attack on the MV Cape Ray, and his response to the event, as the biggest benefactor to this. James has stated that he is thankful of the American people for giving him a second chance, and will continue to build the U.S. military and defend American rights and interests in the face of growing opposition.

Large fireballs seen over Bloc skies. Many suggest possible super weapon-December 20th, 2004

For the past several weeks, there have been reports of rumbling and flashes of light from the airspace of the Shadow Empire. Though this was initially believed to be Shadow troops manipulating the weather, and causing massive lightning storms in practice for their supposed use against Equestrian troops, it seems that this is not the case. A few cameras that are in Equestria, which have certainly made their way there through the growing black market, have documented strange balls of fire, in what looks to be a massive, yet contained, explosion in mid-air. Some have predicted this to be an Bloc superweapon in testing, designed to clear the skies of pegasi, but there is little evidence available.

Crystal Empire falls to Bloc; Equestria retreats forces and stands alone-February 17th, 2004

With the modern armies of the Bloc striking critical blows and now advancing at rapid rates, the Crystal Empire, Equestria’s most powerful ally, has been completely overrun, with its officials and military units retreating to Equestria. Following the decisive victory by the Shadow Army at the Battle of Beryl Field, the Crystal armies have been broken, and are unable to mount any kind of defensive operation. This leaves Equestria as the only major nation to stand against the Bloc.

The Equestrian military seems to recognize this, as after the battle all Equestrian military units were pulled back into Equestria, leaving the few remaining nations left standing to their fate. Already reports have been received of defenses appearing along the Equestrian border and civil drills being run behind the lines. In addition to the Equestrian military, the remnants of several other nations’ militaries, including the Crystal Empire and the Karilian Republic, are present in the country and are reported to be under Equestrian command.

Equestria takes in exodus of refugees-February 28th, 2004

Following the Princess’s decision to pull all Equestrian military contingents back to the Kingdom, there has been a massive exodus of citizens or all kinds, both refugee and military, east towards Equestria. These come from every nation, save for the three that are part of the Bloc. Crystal ponies, Zebras and Karilians are just three nationalities that make up part of the millions that are running east however they can with whatever they can carry, trying to escape the Bloc’s forces. Several photographs and videos from illegal cameras inside Equestria have surface, with some of the more aweing coming from pegasi high up in the air, taking pictures of massive groups and lines that stretch on for miles. Despite Equestria’s apparent struggle to provide for all of these refugees, Princess Celestia has, unsurprisingly, denied international aid from the U.S., the Red Cross, and several other groups. Despite the difficulty, it does seem as though many of the refugees that are healthy will enlist in the exiled forces of their respective nations, giving Equestria some form of reinforcement.

U.S. Economy suffers from military’s advancement program-June 19th, 2004

As both the Sino-Arcaian Pact and the United States continue to build up their militaries in expectation of a confrontation, the American economy begins to come in danger from the constant spending of the administration. The predicted collapse of the economy that many have predicted seems to be arriving far sooner than expected. Despite this, with the recent conquests by the Bloc and China’s continued militarization and cooperation with the them, many also agree that the U.S. has little choice in the matter, being caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Nuclear weapons would be the only way we could wipe out our enemies in one swoop, but I would rather not resort directly to that,” President James stated during a press conference. “Furthermore, we should not only be able to win a nuclear battle, but a conventional one, as well.”

When asked what he planned to do to ease the pressure on the economy, the President stated that he would bring an end to the most expensive and most problematic of the navy’s three programs, the Zumwalt Class destroyers; this reduces the planned amount from 32 to only 3 to be delivered in 2010 alongside the larger programs. In addition, the Navy will sell off all Spruance Class destroyers that are not currently equipped with the Vertical Launch System for their missiles. Even with this, economists still believe that it will not be enough to stave off possible collapse in but a few short years. To make things worse, no nation has expressed interest in purchasing these vessels yet.

Their Finest Hour or Their Final Hour? Bloc begins bombing Equestrian cities-August 1st, 2005

With the Bloc’s armies begin to gather on the border, the Air Forces of the three nations have launched a massive bombing campaign aimed at defeating Equestria via bombardment before the ground war even truly begins. Large waves of bombers have begun targeting cities such as Baltimare, Manehatten, and the capital city of Canterlot, aiming to break the moral of the Equestrian population. Many cities have suffered great damage, and some civilian casualties, with fire outbreaks being common.

The Bloc’s tactics may succeed, as the Equestrian Air Force has been unable to effectively counter even one of the raids. Many are made up of ex-Russian bombers, escorted by MiG or Sukhoi fighter aircraft with modern missiles, which seem to be able to easily defeat pegasi in battle. On the other side, the pegasi that are fighting them are still only equipped with spears and arrows, and have only been able to defeat a handful of aircraft. President James has warned the Bloc not to enter Equestrian air space or territory; but, beyond increasing the number of patrols near Equestria’s borders, there is little that can truly be done.

With Equestria’s cities being destroyed, the enemy’s armies massing at the gates, and the Princess’s continued denial of outside support, things truly look grim for everyone. It should only be a matter of time before the Bloc’s armies re-organize and invade the Kingdom of Equestria. And, should it fall, the Sino-Arcaian Pact will have a clear window to attack the United States. It can only be hoped that they are repulsed in some way.

Author's Note

Well, guess I have some explaining to do:

First, 'The Baltimore Star' is just a newspaper I made up; I didn't want to run a risk with real newspapers. Better safe than sorry, for me.

I do want to apologize if I offended anyone with involving 9/11's removal in this timeline; I simply did not see a guerilla war in the Middle East as practicable in this alternate timeline with what is planned. It also frees the U.S.'s attention from that and more towards the Pacific and the new Cold War that's begun; and I figured, with what happened, that if the attacks occurred, it would drag China and lord knows who else into all kinds of chaos. I'm also sorry if it seems I 'Deus Ex Machina-ed' it out, but many of the other ways I created seemed even more Deus Ex-ish, or more offense in some ways. Again, I truly do not intend to offend anyone from this, and offer my sincerest apologies to those who were; I do hold the utmost care for those that died on that day. I hope you can forgive me if you were insulted.

With the battleships... I put an Australian battleship in there, I had to think of something... But, I did base it (as stated) on the 600-ship program and how the Iowas were re-commissioned due to the Kirovs. And no, I'm not bringing the Iowas back, at least not alone; we all know they're simply too old at this point to rely on solely, especially seeing as how only two of the four could have been active at this time. A modern class would be the wiser option; considering we can make Nimitz carriers, I think it's feasible to special make a handful.
In terms of the naming, I chose Arizona and Oklahoma mainly as a sort of satire; a kind of example of how extreme patriotism can grip a nation similar to the whole 'Freedom Fries' deal back in '03, though on a bigger scale. The naming is based on that idea of upping the moral by harking back to such tragedies. That idea of 'America just got attacked, so we should name these after some other U.S. ships that got sunk so people will remember them and fight in their memory'. As with 9/11, I didn't mean to offend anyone and I'm sorry if I did; it was only meant to be a sort of commentary, and they won't play a big role in the story overall.

I'll admit I'm not too great at the economy, but as with 9/11, I felt it too significant to leave out. I kept it relatively short because I didn't want to put anything too stupid and screw everything up. I hope I've showed it in a believable form.

No, Russia isn't going to be a hostile nation in this.

I've been told the fast modernization and militarization for the Bloc over the course of about 4 years to this size is unlikely; but, like the articles mentioned, it's not done fully through regular conventional human means. There is magic at work in it, but it is not known exactly what or how; it's meant to be a small bit of mystery. Apologies again if this, along with the other things, seem to fall from the line between realism and fantasy and too heavily into one camp.

But, thank you for reading! And especially thanks for your patience! Please leave a comment giving feedback, it's always nice to see that people care. Thanks!

On Patrol

August 10th, 2005
0745 Hours
Along Equestria's Southern Coastline

“Eagle Zero-One to all birds, approaching coast; expect visual within five Mikes. All Eagle Flight leads report status. How copy?”

“Eagle Two is on your wing, Captain; over,” Runner reported from his post next to the squadron leader’s plane.

“One-One copies; all aircraft in Alpha Flight running as needed, over,” Firebird reported.

The Captain looked back over his shoulder. Runner’s jet was stationed on his right side, at about 5 o’clock, a short distance away. Further back was Firebird’s Alpha Flight of five, organized in their own V formation a good ways behind them. He turned his attention back to the front and waited for the rest of the squadron to report in from their unseen positions. He did not have to wait very long.

“Two-One, Bravo Flight copies; all Eagles flying fine, over.”

“Three-One, Charlie Flight solid copy; all fighters are green, over.”

There was a short, but unexpected, period of silence.

“Eagle Four-One, you still trailing the squadron, over?” the Captain called through the radio, not getting an immediate response. “Dart, report, over.”

“Sorry, Sir; took a bit longer than usual to sound off,” Dart, the flight lead, finally replied. “All jets of Delta Flight are good Eagle One.”

“You sure, Dart? Everything look good?”

“We’re good, Captain.”

It had been 5 years since the Arcaian continent had abruptly dropped into the Pacific; 5 long years that did not feel near as long as they should have been. Yet those five had been filled with enough events and to make them real; militarization, tensions, and general war being at the forefront of it. In the complex, convoluted maze that made up the political motions of the past years, the end result had roughly come out to the two sides of the giants standing on the opposite sides of the Pacific, or three as Equestria still saw it.

For Cole, those 5 years had come with only one major motion in his personal position as a fighter pilot. The Captain had retired on schedule, shortly after the landfall position, leaving the leadership position vacant. Cole had been chosen to fill the position; actually, he had volunteered, being the only one to do so. Others decided not to put in their own recommendations for their own reasons, and the squad ended up with another Captain in command, rather than the usual higher-ranking Major that runs a normal squadron; but, then again, this was not a normal squadron.

Over the past years, the 1st Tac’s primary mission became one of a sort of ‘first line’ unit, still being stationed on Midway and ready to react to any kind of immediate threat from the Bloc. More recently, that had come in the specific mission of interception scrambles; taking off upon the notice of a Bloc bombing raid on the hapless Equestrians, usually from the Changelings, as they were the closest. Cole found it somewhat ironic that the virtual ‘fat’ of the Air Force had come to such a big role; though, at the same time, the ‘fat’ was the most expendable part of any system.

“Ok, keep in reserve Delta. And watch over the AWACS, out,” Cole ordered before turning his focus to the AWACS Sentry far behind them. “Casino, Eagle Flights are nearing the coastline. Time to target is ten Mikes. Anything on long range radar, over?”

“No major contacts moving in your direction, Eagle Actual,” the radar operator replied in an unsatisfied tone from the long tube that was the aircraft’s body. “Large formations of bogeys are on radar, but far off to the west and moving faster. Looks like another empty net, over.”

Officially, the Eagles could not fire on the Bloc formation unless fired upon, but there were a few tricks. Sometimes showing up next to the formation in strength, or better yet in front of it, could possibly deter them. Also, since the entire Arcaian continent was an official warzone, the U.S. stated that any major combat force that ventured far enough into international waters would be intercepted by a U.S. unit and escorted back to the battle zone to prevent civilians from getting caught in the crossfire. Only if they violated U.S. territory, or shot first, could the American pilots shoot back.

“Copy, but we still need to check the area. We’ll proceed to the coast and look over the damage, copy?”

“Copy, Eagle Actual; we’ll notify if anything else shows up, out.”

The first three flights were spread out in a long line parallel to the Equestrian coast, with each being positioned at a certain point. The fourth flight in the squadron, Delta, drew the job of hanging back as reinforcement and guarding the AWACS today. Each flight was spread out with several miles between them, in order to catch any loose units or stand a better chance of catching the formation, so there was no visual on the rest of the squadron for Cole beyond Runner and Alpha Flight.

The minutes passed quickly, and soon they could see the Equestrian coast, devoid of any kind of aircraft. Smoke plumes were rising into the air, and some pegasi could clearly be seen flying at different altitudes, but there were no machines in the sky. It was the final confirmation of what the AWACS, and Cole’s own radar, had predicted earlier; the Changeling bombers had already retreated.

“Sky is clear over here, no bogeys in sight,” Cole reported. “Anyone else have anything new to report, over?”

“Bravo is clear, over,” the second flight reported further down the line.

“Charlie’s A.O. is cold, over.”

“Eagle one copies; wait one, out,” Cole replied, going back to the AWACS. “Casino, Eagle One can visually confirm zero contacts in the area. Do we have any new orders, over?”

“See if you can get close enough to the Equestrian coast to take a damage assessment. But don’t risk anything if Equestrian units attempt to intercept, and don’t fly over their ground,” the commander in the AWACS ordered sternly. “And don’t stick around too long. If things get too hot, you evac out; we don’t need an international incident with these guys, too. How copy, over?”

This was nothing new to Cole, or the squadron, either. Periodically, after trying to catch a raid, they would be requested to survey the damage done to the target for intelligence. Usually, it would be after a heavy raid, such as this one had been. Only two times before had they been intercepted by pegasi of the Equestrian Air Force and actually turned back, and that was when they were just starting the mock-counters to the Changeling bombers; now, they were almost as un-apposed as the Bloc raiders.

“Solid copy, Casino; we’ll report when we’ve made contact. Let us know if anything appears on the radar, over,” Cole replied.

“Copy, Eagle; Casino out.”

With that, Cole returned to the squadron to inform them of the new set of orders.

“Alright, Eagle One to all flights; continue to the coast and report on damage and other findings. Delta, stay with the AWACS and remain on standby, understood?”

Just as before, each of the four flight leads sounded off, indicating that they understood.

“Alpha copies.”

“Bravo copies.”

“Charlie copies.”

“Delta copies, on standby.”

With everyone following their orders, it was now reduced to passing the time between flying to the coast and observing the destruction. As with all long flights, there could be moments of boredom, but Cole could not afford to day-dream. He had to keep his eyes open for any contacts that may come up, pegasi or otherwise. Usually, Cole’s active imagination would help ease the pain in a taxi flight, but risks could not be taken for this.

“Captain, how much longer do you think it’ll take until the Equestrians let us start helping them?”

Runner’s voice surprised Cole a tad, but he was still able to respond immediately.

“What makes you think they’ll accept it at all, Eagle Two?” Cole asked in return.

“We can’t really believe someone’s this hard-headed, right?” the wingman replied. “Maybe once a ground invasion’s started or if they’re at the gates of the capital. Then they’ll start calling for help.”

“By that time it might be too late.”

“Not for us,” Firebird interjected, still at the head of his flight, and still hanging back behind their planes. “We’re the fastest around; easily faster than any of those cats with wings!”

“I doubt they’d send average fliers against us, Lieutenant,” Runner replied in a much more official tone now. “They’d probably send jets against us.”

There was a shallow sigh before the Alpha Flight leader responded. Firebird, First Lieutenant Desser, never did like being corrected in that manner; it was not so much the response he got, but more at his own wording, making it sound like he overlooked the obvious. It was not that he was dim, or forgot that the Bloc had aircraft; he just had a bad way of putting things that made it seem like that, to him at least.

“Yea, I realize that Lieutenant,” he replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. “I meant that even with fighters, we’d beat ‘em to hell and back with ours. This baby’s got a hundred-to-nothin’ kill rate. You can’t argue with those numbers.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy this time-”

“Cut the chatter,” Cole interrupted tiredly.

He did not immediately use a stern tone to correct them, as he did not think it was necessary; his men were wise enough to know to stop after he ordered them once, thankfully.

“You all keep your eyes open, I don’t want anything getting the drop on us,” Cole reminded the pilots. “Remember that it should always be the other way around.”

“Understood, Captain,” Runner replied.

Silence followed, unbroken by any kind of report or comment, as the planes flew closer to the Equestrian coast. Each of the pilots must have been wondering what they would find; whatever it was, it would not surprise them. Each had been on enough patrols, and observed enough bombing sites, to develop a resistance to shock. Whatever they saw would be slightly new, but the same overall picture.

Soon, a small sliver appeared on the horizon, which began to expand in size. Coming closer, they saw crooked lines of black moving into the sky; smoke plumes. Large ones bellowed into the sky, flowing west with the breeze, while smaller ones entered their view. The radar, like a crystal ball, had been right, as it usually was. A truly massive raid had taken place, easily one of the largest.

Things gained more detail as the pilots closed in. The bomber’s target had been a town, not a large one, but well-sized. From the number of collapsed houses that could be spotted, it had been much larger about an hour ago. Black holes and random glowing fires dotted the landscape in an around the town, making it looked like someone had spilt paint on a painting. Just why the Changelings targeted this town was unknown to the U.S. intelligence, but more than likely it was a terror attack, similar to those reported in the months before.

There was not much to tell other than a good deal of the town destroyed. They were too high to spot any ponies on the ground itself, for which Cole was secretly thankful, as he was not in the mood for seeing a shattered body in a pool of blood, even from 10,000 feet. What they were able to see were small groups of pegasi watching them from the clouds a short ways off, almost as if they were studying the fighters. Though Cole and the others knew they were probably there to wade off any American jets that came over Equestria proper.

“Pegasi spotted, twelve and ten o’clock,” Cole reported. “Let’s not provoke them. Flight; follow me, eighty degrees turn west. Straddle the coast, copy?”

“Understood, lead,” Desser reported. “Guess they don’t want us here.”

“No, they want us; we’re just not allowed,” Runner replied, threatening to start the conversation again. “I bet they’d love some help, but they can’t have any.”

“Bravo flight, Charlie flight; anything on your end?” Cole called over the radio, keeping to his mission.

“Nothing to report from Bravo’s sector, over.”

“Charlie’s area is clean sir, over.”

“Actual to Casino, large sections of nearby town damaged from bombing,” Cole reported to the AWACS. “Damage to specific structures is unknown. Unable to move closer due to guarding Echos. How copy, over?”

“Copy, Eagle One, no further actions required for now,” the air commander in the long tube that made up the Sentry’s body replied. “Your squad is cleared to RTB; report in if anything else comes up along the way. Casino, out.”

“Alright, all Eagles RTB, copy?”

Even as each flight lead reported in the affirmative again, Cole simply turned his jet around and commenced the journey back to the southeast, with the rest of his group following in suit. This one mission had tipped him over the edge a bit. It was one of the largest raids Midway had picked up, and they had succeeded in hitting their target, from the looks of it. His squadron was not even fast enough to intercept them, much less turn them back. Only four times over the years had the squad actually caught the attack force, all of which were made up of the older and slower Tu-16 ‘Badger’ bombers, and only once did the bombers actually turn around, mainly because it was a few days after the MV Cape Ray had been attacked, during which the Bloc lost aircraft.

It was in the irony of Firebird’s claim of being the fastest that the squad was, on the overwhelming majority of times, too slow to catch their possible targets. It was not necessarily the squad’s fault, nor did Cole or the higher-ups blame them, it was that the actual probability of interception was incredibly low. None ever truly expected to make it to the Bloc force in time; only on the luckiest of days would they actually visually spot one of their aircraft.

Even though they had to keep trying, Cole felt it was somewhat pointless, and jokingly imagined strapping one of the booster rockets that launched the space shuttles on to his Eagle to make it there in time; or rather, the plane would be strapped to the rocket. Regardless, it made him grin a bit, though not enough to kick out the feeling. He did not outwardly show his dismay beyond a few unhappy grunts, keeping every word on it internal, but covering it up did not mean it was not there. And it remained for another ten minutes until the AWACS operator called in again.

“Eagle One be advised, radar shows a single contact moving west-to-east along the Equestrian coastline. Small and low speed; can’t be a jet. Can you get eyes on, over?”

Cole was amazed by the turn-around he had with his luck. It already seemed like another failed interception, and now there was a bogey moving to where they had been, still quite close to where they were now. Why the contact was flying in that direction, though, was unclear. Still, he was now looking forward to finding out.

“Copy, Casino. We’ll move to intercept right now,” Cole replied quickly, his tone holding a small dash of happiness. “We’ll be a low on fuel, though. Can you get a tanker over to us, over?”

“Affirmative, Eagle One. We’ll have them waiting. Report back when you make contact, out.”

“Ok, we got a chance to catch a bogey, but we’re low on fuel,” Cole declared firmly to his squadron. “Bravo and Charlie flights are to continue to base. Delta, stay with the AWACS. Alpha is to maintain position right here for backup. Eagle lead and Eagle Two will go after this one.”

“Getting the fangs out, Captain?” Runner quipped. “Or talons in our case.”

The little comment brought Cole out of his mental luck-induced euphoria and back to what reality, and what the rules of combat stated. ‘Fangs out’, the pilot’s slang for getting excited for combat, explained just how he felt, and he knew it was not right as of yet. This was not a war yet; it was close to it, but not just yet.

“No, not yet Jack,” he responded quickly, breaking the radio formality a bit. “Like I said, we’re not looking for international incidents.”

“It feels like we are,” Runner replied in a somewhat matter-of-fact tone, though not enough to be disrespectful.

“I know it’s a tight line to walk, but we don’t have many options. Let’s just follow orders and respond to the situation as needed. There’s nothing we can’t deal with.”

“Copy that, Actual; I’m with you.”

The two lead jets did an immediate turn-around and headed back towards the coastline. The F-15s of Alpha Flight halted their southern drive and began flying in a wide circle, waiting to be called to action. Cole increased the Eagle from its cruising speed of 570 miles-per-hour into 920, breaking into Mach One and entering the supersonic state. Runner did not notice at first, and had to fly a bit faster to catch up to his leader; it was clear the Captain really wanted to catch this bogey.

“Alright, we’re closing in. Keep your eyes open, Two; he’s right in front of us,” Cole stated rather confidently.

“Understood sir, I’m tracking,” Walker acknowledged. “Contact maintaining current speed and heading, altitude is Angels Five. It probably doesn’t know we’re in the area.”

Angels Five, the code wording for an altitude level of 5,000 feet; it was unlikely to be a fighter or a heavy bomber.

“Let’s get this guy, Runner; now we can show what we’re capable of!” the Captain boasted determinedly. “We’ve got a second chance; we’re not blowing it this time!”

Far above the ground, the Changeling flew at a comfortable pace through the sky, his black outer shell contrasting against the blue and white. He moved along the coast, using it as a guideline, to move to his target. His job was to come in after the bombing raid to asses just how much damage it had done, and if the necessary objectives had been complete. It had only been employed recently, as the Equestrian Air Force had been not only grounded, but forced into virtual hiding by the fighters of the Arcaian Defense Bloc.

It had been scary the first few times, as he was unprotected; a few other assessors had been jumped and killed by pegasi who were hiding and got lucky, but those had been reduced greatly. Now on missions it would be a comfy, uneventful sailing to the target area, give it a good look-over, and return home. It had almost become boring, though seeing the broken ruins of Equestrian cities was a satisfying part of it.

The smoke from the raid’s target started to appear over the horizon. The Changeling wished now and then that he had gotten a position to a bomber; it would have been a wonderful time to fly a TU-160 in formation to a target, especially if that 160 were built in the Empire and not imported. But, he understood, or rather the hive helped him understand, that each mission was important in a war. He might not be able to actively kill the enemy, but at least his reports helped his allies to kill more. It would be a lie to claim that such war was not personal; but, at the same time, not much in the world was impersonal either.

The dark, boredom-induced thought and dreaming got to him too much. The Changeling quickly lost attention, and for far too long, until a noise caught his attention and dragged it from the daydream pool. Nor was it the notice of a noise that was slowly getting louder, the noise was right on top of him. With a light, short gasp and widening of his eyes, the Changeling’s dark head began to dart in every which way to find what was obviously a jet aircraft. He quickly found the culprit.

“There’s a Charlie!” John Cole jumped a bit in his seat on seeing the little black dot. “AWACS Casino, Eagle One; we’ve visually I.D. the bogey as a Charlie. Naked, no aircraft; doesn’t seem to be armed, how copy?”

“Copy, Eagle One. You are allowed to attempt to turn back the bogey and close the distance if you have to. But be advised that you are not authorized to fire,” the AWACS ordered. “Do you understand that, Captain? Do not fire, copy?”

The emphasis put on the last order led Cole to assume that they had noticed how happy he was on receiving the orders to turn around.

“Uh, c-copy Casino; we’ll hold our fire,” he said, stuttering a tad at the start. “Moving to intercept Charlie and turn it around; we’ll notify with an update on the situation in a bit, over.”

He then shifted his focus to his wingman.

“Runner, you stay here and keep an eye out if anything else appears; watch my back. I’m going to buzz him to shake him up a bit, over.”

“Copy that, Eagle One; on overwatch, over,” Walker replied.

Cole was actually in a very favorable position for this, being a good ways above and ahead of the Changeling. All he had to do was nose his craft to the left until he was going in the opposite direction of his target, then angle it down until he was set to just miss the Changeling. As he began to move down he noticed the Changeling had sped up and started to climb, and was now coming directly at him.

“Oh, so you want a game of chicken, Charlie?” Cole thought to himself. “You wanna joust? Well, let’s see if you’re a knight.”

The unexpected turn of events had shaken the Changeling badly. Running into a pegasi would have been bad, but running into an American fighter jet was even worse. For a minute, he had hoped they had not spotted him, but it became quite clear they had. Then the idea popped up that the Americans would leave him be and not attack him; however, that seemed to be crushed as one of them began to dive directly towards him. He had to do something, but he did not know what, nor did he have time to think of what to do. So, he instinctively rose to meet his opponent until he could think of a better plan; it had not occurred to him that said plan would not come, like looking for a nonexistent piece of bread before starving to death.

Being a Changeling, he was linked into a sort of hive mind; he could not directly communicate telepathically, or anything that drastic. The but there was a feeling connection; others could somewhat feel what he did, similar to what the humans called ‘I’ve got a feeling’ or ‘I’ve got a hunch’ based on nothing but what they feel, so they knew he was scared. And likewise, the connection to him began to order his own train of actions and thoughts from the control. The mind served to influence his instinct and his hive instinct told him to charge. On the other hand, his survival instinct told him to run.

Time slowed slightly for him, but not enough to make it easier. The distance closed, the jet screamed loudly and did not pull up, his own body did not deviate from the course, and his eyes were locked on the plane. Inside of his head, the civil war continued; with the ideas of staying and moving making no ground. While that happened, another part of his brain continued searching for a better solution.
Finally, the moment came to make the final decision. It was clear that he could not defeat the jet; perhaps by ramming it, but that would take his own life as well. At last, he broke, and decided to dodge, trying his best to angle down to fly under the plane. He decided only a millisecond too late.

“Shit!”

Cole had expected the Changeling to break away, and was caught off guard by its determination. The Eagle, too, had attempted to dodge late in the charge via a left bank. The Changeling still struck the craft, and in the unluckiest way possible. Striking the nose would have hurt the plane, but this had outright disabled, possibly even killed, the plane. Its body had flown directly into the air intake opening to the left engine, and thoroughly jammed up the works. The intake, as the name implies, allows air to be fed into the jet engine; the engine itself is usually strong enough to take expected impacts, such as birds or dust, but something of this size was not stoppable.

There was a sickening grinding sound and the left engine slowly stopped altogether. The craft was still banking hard when it happened, and the bank turned into a full spin. Cole was fazed from the hit, and did not fully know what was happening. It was only after a few seconds of theorizing that he looked back and noticed that his Eagle had lost about half its power.

“Of all the damned places to hit, I get that unlucky weakspot!? You bastard!”

He quickly reserved his angry rant towards the Changeling’s mangled corpse and began to try and right the plane. He was spinning left and going down in a steep angle, and applied the opposite force needed. He pulled the flight stick back and to the right as far and hard as he could; it did slow the spin significantly, but did not stop it or the dive. He followed it up but pushing down on the right pedal at his feet, adding the yaw to help, which finally stopped the aircraft’s role at an odd, leaning form. The fall, however, was not letting up.

“There’s got to be a way to fix this,” he thought. “No way can I let this thing go down.”

“Eagle One, what’s happening!?” Runner’s nervous voice called in his helmet. “Captain, SITREP!”

Cole did not respond immediately, he was too focused on trying to find out how to save the aircraft. A pilot does not bail unless he’s absolutely sure the expensive bird cannot be saved; to many, that realization did not come in time, and many a time the Captain had gone down with the ship. If he bailed without even trying to fly back, he would not be looked at the same by anyone.

“Eagle One, Casino; give us an update, over.”

Again Cole kept to himself, looking over his options. There were not many possibilities. The Eagle could make it home with one engine, but things did not fall in place properly for that. The dive continued, unchanged, and at such a low altitude. To add to that, his fuel state was near zero; even if he did pull out by some miracle, he would have an even harder time trying to re-fuel from a tanker.

“Nothing,” he said to himself.

“Eagle One, please repeat. Please acknowledge, over,” the AWACS called again.

Cole realized suddenly that this would not end well in either way. He could not pull out with such low fuel and at such a low altitude. If he bailed, the only land he could go to was Equestria, where the likelihood of capture was rather high; and if he was, God knew what kind of treatment he’d get. Internment, probably, but who knew what else. It came down to this; punch out or get his ticket punched.

“One is punching out!” he called through the radio before preparing himself.

The water below was coming close, but he had to make sure the aircraft was level; shooting out to the left or right, rather than straight up, ran some risks. He applied all the remaining pressure on the yaw pedal, but it only made the aircraft drift right, rather than turn. Letting off a bit, he pushed the flight stick up so it went from bottom-left to middle-left, and pushed against it with both hands. Sluggishly, the plane responded, and rolled slowly until it was straight.

Now Cole could, regretfully, leave. All at once he brought his feet close in as his hands shot from the stick to the handle right in front of his seat. Pulling out, the canopy of the aircraft blew off entirely, exposing the pilot to the blasting wind outside. Moments later, with the ceiling out of the way, the small rockets under the ACES II ejection seat fired him straight upwards, and out of the aircraft.

Everything after that handle pull was automatic. He hung in the air a bit until the chute automatically deployed with a satisfying tug. The force of being shot out, at an altitude of nearly 1,000 feet, left Cole in a small daze. He recovered in time to see the plane hit the water hard, and begin to sink to the bottom. It saddened him, and he looked for the positives to it.

“Well, at least the bad guys won’t get it; not at the bottom of the ocean,” he said to himself. “At least… I hope they can’t.”

Cole continued to float down, and attempted to adjust his fall so he would not hit the water. After a short ride, he impacted the soft sand on the edge of the beach, with the chute following right after. As soon as he got up and on his feet, the training kicked into gear like instinct.

“No doubt someone saw that,” he said to himself. “If they did, they probably saw me, too; gotta get moving either way. Last thing I need is to get dived on from the air by a pegasus like some hawk's coming at me.”

He unhooked himself from the chute, and did a quick look over of his suit to make sure he had everything. Satisfied, he did a quick look around to make sure that he was alone for the time being. There was at least one part of the situation that benefitted him; a large forest that spanned along the coast for a ways, just behind the small, narrow beach.

“That’ll make hiding easier; guess I’ve still got a little luck left in me,” he said, staring at it. “Let’s see how long it holds out.”

With that, he gathered his belongings, left the beach, and ran into the sanctuary of the thicket.

Author's Note

Thank you guys for being patient; had to push hard to get this one done for today.

Next is the first chapter of An A10 Warthog, so that should be much faster.

Leave some feedback as to what you thought. Thanks for reading!

Laws of the Sea (An A10 Warthog)

August 10th, 2005
1140 Hours
South of Equestria

The U.S.S. Boxer, and an escort Arleigh Burke-class destroyer were approximately fifteen nautical miles off the Eastern coastline of the Acarian continent, where a classified mission was currently taking place. Despite the significantly superior armament of the American ships, Captain Jack Williams was definitely nervous. He was hoping the pararescuemen would hurry up and finish this mission up, before he would end up having to shout at the Royal Equestrian Navy to get them to pay no attention to his ship.

To improve the odds of them being able to claim they were in this area for a peaceful reason, the destroyer, the U.S.S. Howard, was going to head further off the coast in the meantime. While the Boxer had no choice but to sit in uncertain waters until the team came back. The captain knew that under no circumstances, could he leave the pararescue team behind. Sitting on the bridge, he heard a radio call come back, from the helicopter that had left with the rescue team.

“Boxer, this is Padre One. We’re coming in for a landing.”

At this the captain walked over to one of the radio consoles, and picked up a handset. As he did this, all of the other personnel on the bridge didn’t even consider responding to the HH-60, and knew that they wouldn't be doing anything until after their captain spoke to the pilot.

“Padre One, do you have Prancer?”

“Negative. Prancer is Oscar Mike on foot to the target.”

Williams groaned and moved away from the console, as the control officers cleared the helicopter for landing on the deck. This was exactly what he was afraid of; more delays.

It was less than ten minutes after the helicopter landed back on the American ship, that one of the Boxer's radars picked up a ship moving straight towards the Boxer, from the north. Williams immediately began ordering his officers to get an ID on the ship moving towards them, to figure out if it would react in an immediately hostile manner. It didn’t take long for them to figure out from both its speed and size that it was in fact an Equestrian Coast Watcher patrol boat, a branch quite similar to the American’s own Coast Guard, but couldn’t get a name or class.

On the bridge, an officer hailed the Coast Watcher ship via VHF Channel 16, but the Equestrians didn’t respond. To the captain, it seemed that they may not be using radios thanks to their nation’s isolationist policy, however, that seemed like it would be a little bit too far. So, the captain decided that if the Equestrians were there, they would most likely end up responding, so he told the officer to keep at it.

“Equestrian Coast Watcher vessel, this is the U.S.S. Boxer, we have no hostile intentions, if you intend to contact us, respond immediately. Break.”

The American captain sighed, as this hailing was repeated again. He had been at this job for a long time, and had seen his own share of action against smugglers, pirates and other hostiles on the high seas. When he was growing up in Seattle, he’d been around ships of all sizes, and had decided that with the world going the way it was around the late 1980s, he felt that becoming a US naval officer was a good route for him. But, after all the incidents he had seen, he really would prefer not having to deal with any of the ramifications of any confrontation, even a peaceful one.

After the eleventh time repeating the message, the ponies finally had their own response. “Boxer, this is RECW Orange Sunset, we want to figure out exactly what you’re doing in our waters, without prior permission.” It was noteworthy that this radio message came in when the boat was about three nautical miles away. And, at this declaration, the captain decided he needed to speak to them.

“Orange Sunset, this is the captain of the U.S.S. Boxer. For the record here, we’re fifteen miles out. Everything twelve miles, or more, out is in international waters as established by the United Nations convention on laws of the sea.”

“Boxer, we are aware as to what the UN,” the pony said those two letters in clear disdain, “believes the definitions of naval territory to be. However, Equestria’s policy has always been fifty nautical miles. I’m sure you understand that.”

The Equestrian vessel continued traveling closer to the American ship, two and a half nautical miles at this point. “Orange Sunset, what exactly do you want?”

“We received a report from one of our pegasi about one of your helicopters flying into our territory. We are unsure of the motives behind this move, and we would like to find out.”

“Orange Sunset, why didn't you state this earlier?”

“We just got a report of a helicopter flying towards our country, from about where you are now.”

The American sighed. He knew he had to stall their arrival, for at least as long as it took for the HH-60 to head back out for the team. "Orange Sunset, you are aware that under US Navy Rules of Engagement, if you get within 350 yards of this ship, you will be fired upon, correct?"

The pony offered no immediate response to what was clearly a threat. While the pony at the other end was no doubt working up the courage to come up with some form of retort, the line was completely empty. Or it was, until another individual using that channel popped up. "This is the Equestrian Trader Vessel Autumn Breeze, we're in distress! One-hundred twenty miles south of Baltimare! Can anyone assist? Oh sweet Celestia, what is-" The voice on the other end of the channel was cut off with a piercingly loud, static-filled sound that the captain recognized as machinegun fire.

"Autumn Breeze, this is the Equestrian Coast Watcher Vessel Orange Sunset. We're sending a pegasus to investigate what is going on at your position. Can you hear me?"

There was no response from the trading vessel, as the crew of the American ship had already anticipated. The American captain knew that it was a blessing that the Equestrian ship would be distracted, but he also knew that if they went to help in their current state, they'd all inevitably die. Sighing, the captain made the choice he knew he would regret the least. "Orange Sunset, this is the U.S.S. Boxer, from what we can make out, it sounds like that vessel was attacked by machine guns. I can't recommend going in there unarmed."

"What exactly do you recommend then?!" the pony was clearly panicked at this point, so much he could clearly hear that through the radio.

It was as this message came in, that the ship's XO, an officer named Richard Cox, entered the bridge. As he did so, he took off his cap. "Sir, a seaman on the flight deck said he spotted a modern patrol boat off our port side. About four or so nautical miles off. I'm getting a feeling they're not here to go sightseeing."

The captain moved away from the radio console, then sat down in his chair as ran his right hand through his hair. He mumbled something and then addressed one of the men using a radio. "Say that the U.S.S. Boxer will be moving out to rescue a civilian vessel."

The flight operations officer on the other side of the bridge looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. "Sir?"

Williams nodded "Send a Sea Hawk and a Cobra. Of course, make sure there's an Search and Rescue team on the Sea Hawk."

The officer nodded to his superior and then began the process to send the two helicopters out for the mission.

"Guardian One, this is Boxer, report status, over."

"Boxer, this is Guardian One, we're approximately two nautical miles to the reported position, I can see two small ships in the distance, they are both right next to each other, over."

"Guardian One, what's it look like is going on down there? Can you get a look yet? Over."

The helicopter's gunner looked down the FLIR display in front of him.

"Uh, definitely looks like they're boarding the shipping vessel. Appears to be a Bloc military ship, presumably a patrol boat. I see a Russian fifty caliber on the bow. How copy? Over."

"Solid copy, Guardian One. Try to make radio contact with the Bloc ship," It was obvious from the tone of the radio operator's voice he wasn't expecting there to be this far into Equestria already. What made it more shocking, was that the small ship didn't have much in terms of range, so there had to be a Bloc land presence close-by, or at least a destroyer siting off the coast.

"Roger," the pilot said back to the command vessel, switching over to a maritime radio frequency, he began talking to the patrol boat in question. "Bloc patrol vessel. This is a United States Marine Corps helicopter, accompanying a United States Navy Search and Rescue mission. This is a response to a call from the Equestrian civil vessel Autumn Breeze. We come in peace. Please state your intentions, over."

From the FLIR, the gunner could barely make out individual crew members of either vessel, but did notice that the civilian ship was taking on water. Before the gunner could tell the pilot what happened, a surprisingly long 11 seconds after the Americans called the Bloc vessel, and a crew member responded in English, but it was apparent English was not his native language. "American helicopter, this is none of your business. This is between us and the Equestrians."

"Bloc patrol vessel, please state your intentions," The pilot of the helicopter knew that he couldn't decided to engage them, even if the bastards had slaughtered civilians, thanks to the ROE that was already in play.

"We already know you won't shoot at us. Leave, before we make you."

Suddenly, AH-1's gunner watched that the machine gun on the Bloc ship had begun shooting in the direction of the Equestrian civilian vessel, no doubt just to make a point to their American would-be rescuers. The gunner repeated what he saw verbally, so that the pilot would have an idea of what was going on. As the situation continued to unfold, the pegasus that the Equestrians had sent out earlier finally showed up. Or at least, that's when the Sea Hawk pilot noticed him. With this new arrival, the Navy pilot reported the arrival of Equestrian authorities onto the scene of the distress call.

Unfortunately for the pegasus, the Bloc vessel spotted him before he realized what the ship actually was, and a burst of green tracers cut into the air towards the pegasus. This first burst missed the pegasus, but it did cause him to stop in midair and begin to turn around. Then, the second burst was let loose, but this time at least some of the high-caliber bullets intercepted the Equestrian. As the pony's lifeless corpse fell towards the water, the Marine pilot decided that he should call the Boxer back, and see what kind of orders that the Captain had for him.

"Damn it. Tell the helicopters that we are going to assert the rescue of the Autumn Breeze, and crew, as our priority. If we back off, it'll arouse suspicion as to why we're here," Jack said to the radio officer, who had just reported what the situation looked like with their 'distraction'.

Cox, who was also on the bridge, turned to speak to the captain, "I'm not sure how much longer we need to be here, we've got a report they're less than a mile out from the crash site, and their helicopter has already left. We don't want to be here for longer than we have to."

Williams nodded, "Really doesn't seem like a good idea to call them back right now, though. This is political posturing at its finest. We aren't going to allow a small Bloc ship to make a fool of the United States Navy."

The captain nodded to the radio-man again, and he relayed his CO's message.

"Americans go. Or we shoot you down."

"We are requesting you leave the civilians. What are you even trying to accomplish here?"

The gunner could see a crate get thrown from the shipping vessel and onto the patrol boat. As far as was visible on the FLIR, the Bloc sailors were intending on getting some spoils from their war. "They're looting the fucking ship!

The pilot shook his head, then radioed the Boxer again. The response he got was expected, the ROEs still had to be followed, and all of the other standard lines. It took only a couple more minutes for the Bloc vessel to start up its engines and sail off, in the opposite direction of the American helicopter. Right as the pilot was about to radio back what had happened, the Boxer radioed them back. "Guardian One, Caregiver One, return to the ship now. We are leaving these waters, we can't stick around here much longer."

At this, the pilot knew he needed to let the Boxer know what happened, "Boxer, this is Guardian One. The Bloc vessel just left, we could attempt a rescue of the crew of the Autumn Breeze if needed, please advise, out."

"We'll let the Equestrians know, but we need to go now."

The pilot sighed. "Copy that, we're RTB. Out."

Author's Note

Eagle: So things were a bit busier than I thought; and getting the flu isn't really helping much. So sorry about not keeping to the set timeframe; I'll get the next one out as soon as I can, but things just got a lot harder around here.

Also, I still am ill, and the worst of it was yesterday when I was transferring this chapter over to the story, so if you notice any errors or missing parts, please let me know.

Seriously, get your flu shots kids; this sucks...

Evasion

August 10th, 2005
1530 Hours
Southern Equestria

It had been close to midday when Cole landed on the beach after ditching his stricken bird. Floating down like that made him feel helpless, like a young child getting lost away from home. Even the ground felt more inviting to him, as he could not fight back in the air. When he landed and started his new little adventure, the sun was just starting to fall to the west.

With the glowing orb of warmth and light moving away, Cole charged his way through the forest, arms cradling his supplies wrapped in the parachute like a newborn child. He had no idea as to how close the Equestrians were to him, if any at all. If he had to guess, at least one or two Ponies had witnessed the crash, and his ejection. How close they were was anyone’s guess, so the first order of business was to put some distance between him and his landing site.

He spent most of the time looking around, searching for any possible stalkers. Even though Arcaia had been on Earth for five years, it was still partly unclear as to what creatures were intelligent and which were not. Some seemed on the same level as the regular ones on Earth, more or less, but some others seemed smart enough to at least act dumb, but inform Ponies, or whoever their friends or masters were, on what they saw. Though the ones in that odd middle stage, the main point was that they could present a problem.

“Last damn thing I need is some magic hound tracking me down,” he said to himself before realizing something and slowing to a walk, turning his head back for a minute. “Oh Christ, I forgot to cover my tracks!”

In his rush to get out of sight, Cole had forgotten to change or cover his footsteps in any way. Though they were not as visible in the forest, the sand on the beach left clear markings to the direction he was going in, and any search party could use them as a vector to his general direction. Shuffling a bit, going in odd directions, anything could have messed with him, but he had done nothing. The steps in the sand acted like an arrow pointing right at him.

“Damn it, how can I be this stupid?” he asked himself, struggling not to raise his voice too high. “Yea, helluva lot of good that evasion training did. How am I this forgetful?”

He shook his head and looked up at the sky. Through the trees, he could just barely see the sun setting. That, along with the recent discovery of his mishap, pushed him to the point of exhaustion.

“Screw it, I’ve taken enough turns to prevent a straight track,” he said, trying to comfort his worries. “This area is thick enough anyways. Good as any; probably better than a few. Now what else did I forget?”

Though the last statement was sarcasm directed to his own foolishness, it did remind him of an even more important task that had slipped his mind in the rush through the woods: his rescue beacon.

“Ah, right, right,” he mumbled, fumbling around for the tiny device.

Now the question came as to whether it should be used or not; the answer to that was rather easy. Just as a rescue team could use its signal to home in on his location, so could a search patrol. But, of course, that search patrol would also need to be able to track the signal, and Ponies still did not have radios. There was the slight chance of one of them having such a device in their possession off of the black market, but the odds of that were rather slim. It was also possible for a Changeling patrol to hear it, and go after him, as he was near the border from what he could tell. But this, too, was such a minute threat that it was pointless to even consider.

He turned the beacon on, set his bundled possessions down, and did a short scouting of the area, thinking first about where he should stay. He spotted a large ridge a short ways away, only about half a mile, where the forest and foliage became even thicker; something he did not think possible without re-classifying the forest as a tropical jungle. If he could get on top of it, it would give him a good view over a wide area; as well as a landmark that he could relay to rescue whenever it came.

Grabbing his equipment, he hiked over the increasingly rough terrain to the ridge. Shuffling down a small knoll, he was confronted with a nearly vertical wall of rock, towering in front of him as a daunting obstacle. There was no discernable way of climbing it, and the only way to the top of the ridge was to follow the wall until it depressed enough to go around, and then climb up from the back. Cole was considering doing just that until his shadow, stretching across the ground in its long fashion, warned him that his few remaining hours of daylight were running out.

“Alright, well… guess I need to stop. If I could just get up that damn ridge… maybe I could find a better hiding spot up there,” he said, discussing the situation with no one. “No, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to be sleeping exposed, even if it is up there.”

He set down his parachute again and looked over the area. To his luck, he found a small depression in the ground up against the wall, a sort of large, narrow hole in the ground, with a fair amount of foliage in the front for cover. It would prevent throwing a silhouette against the rocks, which was good enough for him.

“Nice,” he grinned, walking back to pick up his belongings and carrying them back to the hole. “Ok, shelter, camo, sanitize; in that order.”

Those were the last three steps he would have time for in the day, and the most important. He had a little bit of food and water with him, enough to last through tomorrow if he was conservative, which he planned to be. He handled the shelter immediately, or what passed for it, taking down small branches and other pieces of the forest to fashion into a small makeshift ‘roof’, while the bushes and trees around him formed a sort of wall. It took the rest of the daylight to arrange everything to look natural, as if nature had made it, but it was needed; and it all meshed together as the darkness settled in.

“What time could it be?” he wondered.

“Time enough to finish your work,” his conscious told him.

“No, not that much,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “At least the personal camo can wait till morning, I’m not going anywhere. But I need to get rid of some things.”

One of the biggest rules taught to him was to abandon anything that was not needed, and to dispose of it properly. He’d already stripped down to just his suit, and went about organizing the few pointless items he had with him into its own pile, the biggest piece being his flight helmet. He moved a short distance from his temporary home, dug a shallow hole in the ground, and placed the helmet in first, followed by the other items. Pushing the dirt over with his hands, Cole felt like he was burying a time capsule. In such a vast expanse, it was unlikely anyone would find this; but what if they did? Not necessarily a search party, but maybe just some lucky campers. What would they think of the find?

“They’d probably want to make some money off of it,” something in his head guessed.

“I’d hang on to them,” Cole said.

“Of course you would, they’re yours. You love this stuff.”

Pushing some leaves over the now buried material, he returned to his refuge, and settled down for the last part. He dug an even smaller hole in the ground, and piled some twigs and dry leaves into it. He needed a fire, but the flame had to be concealed and small so there would not be too much smoke. The entire scenario felt coated in hopelessness and primitive looks.

But, the situation was not as bad as it could have been; it was always a possibility that this could happen to a pilot, and the necessary pieces of gear were available. He was not some stranded tourist, he was trained to survive in the wild; but why go through that work if you could avoid it? More precisely, why spend your precious time and mental stability trying to start a fire when you could do like he did, and bring a small lighter in case of this?

“You wouldn’t, that’s why,” he said with a grin, flicking on the tiny flame and lighting a single twig, which he dropped in the hole.

When he was sure the small fire was going, he killed the lighter and stuffed it back in his pocket, with the other hand diving into another. While the first returned empty, the second pulled out a small pocket knife. He sat in front of the fire, cross-legged, head hanging a bit so as to not hit the protective ceiling. Now came the difficult part of clearing his slate, and the most important.

Being a soldier, Cole’s flight suit had several patches on them, identifying various different things; understandably, they had to come off. The first piece that would be his ranks, which could just be taken off, followed shortly by his name patch over the left side of his suit, which had to be cut off. Legally, he was allowed to tell any captor his name, rank, and serial number but he assumed the Equestrians did not know that; perhaps it would give him some kind of expendable leverage if he was captured and interrogated. Cole was careful not to rip open the suit itself, slowly taking off his personal identification. Once that was off, he put the blade to the United States Air Force logo on the right, which came off just the same.

Next was the squadron patch, covering his right shoulder; it, especially, had to go. He took it off and stared at it for a minute, studying every detail; the squad’s name running over the top, the eagle running smoothly over, with the red, white, and blue tail curling almost all the way back around, the large star in the middle surrounded by the many smaller ones. Complex designs were always a little obnoxious, but they always looked like art; at least this one did.

The last patch was the American flag over his left shoulder. Rather than take it off, as he had with the others, he hesitated, staring at it for a bit. It, in particular, was rather dirty and torn from his journey.

“Should I really burn this?” he asked himself. “I’m not supposed to even drop a flag, much less burn one.”

“Really? It’s a patch, not the real thing,” his conscious spoke up. “This is a matter of survival, I’m pretty sure you can be forgiven for this situation.”

“I know, I just… don’t really want to.”

“You know damn well you have to; stop being melodramatic.”

“I’m pretty sure that if I get caught, they’ll be able to tell I’m American, flag or not,” Cole argued, grazing over it again.

“What do you think they do with old, worn-out flags? Shove them in a shredder?” the other side argued. “It’s not like this one’s going to be used again.”

Cole looked at the patch again; between the dirt and the small scratches, it would not be used on another flight suit again.

“Yea… fair enough.”

Just before he took put the knife to it, he remembered a vital part of the rules of prisoners.

“Remember to ensure that some patches, especially the flag, remain intact,” the instructor warned. “Should your uniform lose all of it’s identification, then you lose the rules that come with it. Should you be captured, the enemy will have the right to execute you as a spy.”

“Damn my memory, all that mental anguish for nothing,” he said, pulling the knife away. "Ah well, I knew I was right. Just had a hunch is all."

He looked to the miniature flag again.

"Yea, right," he sighed, once again disappointed in his own failures for such vital details.

Grabbing the other three, he dropped the patches into the pit, adding a few more pieces of tinder to fuel the fire. They began to burn up, and Cole resolved not to worry over such things in the future. There were certain points, to him, that just required common sense for an answer.

As the fire burned, his mouth stretched open and let out a quiet yawn. It must have been dark for at least three or four hours by now; but, with the way time played with his mind when he was either busy or idle, his estimate could be way off. It would be important not to sleep in too late so he could get moving as early as he could when the light returned, but he could still do a couple of things.

Maybe he could set up some primitive alarm system with twigs and branches to give him a little security while he slept. Or, along those lines of making some type of system, build traps for some food; or just scavenging for food in general. Oddly enough, he was not hungry at the moment, despite everything that had happened and all the work he had done. He decided not to worry about it and see if there was still time to do anything worth doing.

“Alright, what time is it?” he wondered, bringing up his hand to look at his wristwatch. “Let’s see, it is currently Oh… shit.”

The clock’s tiny hands were still, not moving a bit, still stuck on Oh-Fourteen-Thirty-two; Two-Thirty-two. He could not remember the last time he saw the once-shining watch ticking. It may have been struck by something along the journey.

“Great… just fantastic…” he mumbled, the frustration of everything coming to a peak. “Just had to add this. Everything going on isn’t enough; I had to lose my damn watch. Son of a bitch! This… ugh.”

He grunted a bit more, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath; the cover of his eyelids reminded him of how tired he was.

“Screw it, I’m going to bed before anything else bad happens,” he said. “Maybe some PJ or Crow’ll come pull me out before morning.”

He kept the prospect of salvation via Pararescue Jumper close as he lay down. The makeshift bed of dried leaves was surprisingly more comfortable than he predicted it to be; though that was not by much overall, being dried leaves. The parachute served as a makeshift blanket, which he wrapped himself around like a cocoon with his head barely sticking out; he found that added to the comfort.

It was rather humid out, but that did not bother him much. The Southern part of the States was drenched in humidity year round, usually to the point where Cole would joke that half of the Atlantic was just sitting in the air they breathed. He had grown up with that in his lungs; though that did not mean he enjoyed it.

As he tried to go to sleep, he began to think, his mind running faster now that everything had calmed down. It was an annoying habit of his, being unable to sleep because he could not stop thinking over things. What had happened today, worrying about what would happen, and other random thoughts began to enter and exit.

“Happy thoughts equals happy dreams; keep positive,” he reminded himself. “Think about how much better you’ll feel when you’re finally out of this. And writing up a damned report as to why you lost a multi-million dollar plane. Ugh.”

Not finding as much comfort in the prospect of returning home as he hoped, Cole decided to mentally review the day’s events to help drive him to sleep.

“I wonder if that Changeling counted as a kill,” he thought jokingly about the now-pulp Charlie. “That’d be funny if it did.”

Such thoughts continued on until he finally dozed off into slumber.

“Keep looking! Make sure the search is thorough!”

Cole heard the words in his sleep. Even though he knew what they meant, he still hesitated on opening his eyes, or doing any other kind of immediate movement. The first thoughts were the obvious sources: either an Equestrian patrol or his saviors. The volume of the command, which ringed through the wooded area, dreadfully ruled out the latter.

The pilot’s eyes slowly opened, revealing nothing more than the protective leaves and branches of his camouflaged shelter, and the smoking ashes of the miniature fire in the dirt hole. He half expected to see some light coming in through the holes, but there was none. It was still dark outside, but not as pitch as it had been. It must have been sometime early in the morning, close to sunrise.

Cole made sure to make as little noise as possible as he got up, slowly moving the parachute and kneeling on the forest floor. His gloved hand moved up and pushed some of his all-natural home to the side. The movement needed to be slow and quiet, and it was annoyingly long before an entrance was opened. To his luck, nothing was in the little crater he had slept in; though he did not expect them to be either. He thought of retreating back into his lair, but something in his mind told him to examine what was going on; if the pony patrol was sticking around, he did not want to stay there and have the Rescue Jumpers run headlong into them.

Crawling out on his belly, he remained motionless for a bit to make sure he was not spotted yet. Nothing seemed to have stopped or changed in pattern. There was a fair amount of rustling close ahead from the search efforts, and the voices continued unhindered.

“Make sure this place is totally clean! Check every little twig and rock for a hiding spot!” a young voice ordered, probably the patrol’s commander.

The voice was rather young, indeed, for a commander; it reminded him of Dart’s in a way.

“Sir, you don’t think a Human can hide under a twig, do you?” another voice asked in a rather honest way. “I’ve never seen one, but I don’t think they can do that, can they?”

“N-no, of course not! I meant a hiding place for evidence; the Human may have dropped something, or left some kind of trace!”

Cole personally begged to differ; he had made sure that his area was free of any markings of unnatural interaction. Unless they picked the exact location where he buried some of his equipment, and dug down a short ways, they would find nothing. He also refused to believe the commander’s claim; evidence was a good excuse for the catch, but by the awkward tone of his reply, the pony obviously meant the initial type.

Still on his belly, Cole crawled forward, towards the edge of the hole, aiming for a wide tree trunk to hide his head behind. It took about a minute, a tense, heart-stopping minute, before Cole stopped just in front of the tree, most of his body still angled inside the crater, hidden by the ground. He remained quiet, and beyond the normal chatter, none of the Ponies seemed to have noticed him. He took a shallow breath through his nose, and relaxed a bit before moving to the next step.

His head poked slowly around the side, only enough to give him a view. Standing there, almost thirty yards from where he was, was a group of ponies in armor, clearly part of Equestria’s military. A light brown one could be seen in front of the others, with all eyes on him. From his words and movement, what little Cole could pick up, he seemed to be the commander; though nothing on his uniform stood out from the others.

“Is that understood!?” he said, raising his voice and confirming Cole’s suspicion.

“Yes sir!” the group answered.

“Then get to work!”

The group split up and began to individually comb the area. Cole counted fifteen of them, including the leader. Thankfully, none moved directly towards him, but a couple came closer in the general direction. Thirty yards seemed like such a short, precious distance to John; and now it seemed shorter.

“Can’t fight this entire patrol,” he thought to himself, immediately ruling out the first option before he spent too much of his valuable time dwelling over it. “Way too many; and it could cause a political problem. So, stay or leg it?”

Cole’s distress beacon was still active, so there was a chance rescue would pull him out; assuming they found their own way around this group of hunters. If that was his choice, then he could simply hide out in the shelter; it did not stick out too much, at least not enough to inquire the curiosity of a careless eye. Only these were not careless eyes, they were actively hunting for him; and if one lucky pony stumbled across his hideout, it would end there.

The second option was to run, or to maneuver to escape somehow. Of course this ran the risk of being spotted if he was not careful, and if there was a pegasus in the group, he would not be able to escape. But, it would be good to get out of the patrol’s search area, for obvious reasons. It was not the first time Cole had to make tough choices, and it probably would not be the last; but, that did not make things much easier.

One of the closer Equestrians to his left turned, and started searching closer to his position. Fate’s clock started ticking down, and he had a serious decision to make. It did not look like the patrol was going to leave without checking every corner. If he started moving now, he could backtrack and move back towards the beach. Assuming those areas had already been investigated, it could be safer, and it could bring him closer to his possible rescue.

“Ok, I’ll double back,” he thought, keeping his eyes on the closest soldier.

Now one of the faults of his location choice came about. Much of the crater was surrounded by shrub or bush, giving it the extra concealment, but fewer exits. Moving through them would make far too much noise. The only clear way out of it was where he was laying at the moment, and the area in front of him was devoid of cover.

He would have to wait until none of the ponies were looking in his direction, then crawl away to a safer area. Time continued it’s slow, painstaking march, Cole continued to watch the nearest Equestrian, occasionally diverting his eyes to find the others. For what felt like an hour, nothing seemed to move.

Suddenly, there was a loud shout from one of the ponies that made Cole jump. For a moment he thought one had seen him, but after a couple of seconds he realized it was their commander, calling for them. Cole did not fully hear what he ordered, but the entire search seemed to shift left a good deal.

Cole watched as all of them stopped and trotted, at varying speeds, past him. The closest one, what looked like a unicorn, moved just about ten feet from his face. His heart felt like it stopped, and he froze completely; squinting his eyes to the point of barely being able to see, hoping to keep his pupils from being noticed.

Finally, all of the search party had moved off; not out of eyesight, but far enough to encourage Cole to finally move. Slowly, sluggishly, he motioned his right arm and left leg slowly, hovering forward just over the Earth, setting down, and carefully pushing forward one stroke. He stopped and shot his eyes right to see if his advance had been noticed. They all seemed preoccupied with their own sectors to comb over.

He moved forward again, and again he checked the ponies, and then restarted the process. After the fourth time, he was out of the crater entirely, still unseen by the troops. The procedure now became one fluid, smooth process. As he moved, he passed the axis of the group, and began to move away from the entire area.

“You see that?”

Cole froze, unwisely, in the middle of another motion, leaving his right leg and left arm angled oddly; he quickly brought them back to the ground.

“What?”

“Over there,” one of the ponies said. “Does something look odd to you?”

“We already searched that area,” his ally replied tiredly.

“That’s what I mean; it looks like something’s there that shouldn’t be. Can you tell?”

“No, my eyes are too tired,” the second searcher replied. “The only bizarre thing to me is how you’re this awake.”

“Let me go take a quick look,” the first said, ignoring the comment.

Cole was worried about being spotted, but turned his head back all the same. The unicorn was moving back towards him. Everything was coming down to this, and his mind began to race for options. Very few were available.

“Should I just take-off or stay? Shit, what now!?”

The pony closed the distance quickly, but stopped at an awkward, leaning tree a short ways away. He looked around the trunk, noticed a small pile of rock, and turned back to his comrade. Cole stared, astounded, breathing heavily through his nose, his eyes wide and brows raised in shock.

“Nothing right here, but I’m still going to do a quick check!” the unicorn called.

“Now man! While his back is to you! To the trees over to your left!”

Cole did not bother stopping to think. He immediately pushed upwards, and was soon on his feet, moving much faster. If there was a chance to lose them, it would be now. If he could move into a thicker part of the woods, it would be easier for him to lose them. Assuming they even noticed him, which he knew they would.

“There!”

“What!?”

The unicorn swung around, and noticed a bipedal creature darting into the darkness.

“Backscatter, catch him!” the commander called.

Cole did not get far before he began to move sluggishly. A second after that, he began to feel tired, then downright exhausted. He could not tell why before he caught a glimpse of his hands. There was a blue aura flowing around them. He had failed to count in the unicorn using his magic as he began to lose consciousness.

“Damn, that… that just ain’t f-fair!”

Author's Note

Thank you for being patient guys. I pressed a lot of time together to get this out for today. I hope you enjoyed it. If you catch any possible mistakes, please let me know and I'll try to correct them ASAP.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment telling me what you thought; I really do enjoy the feedback. And everyone have a good Veteran's/Remembrance Day.

The Angel's Angels (CptBrony)

August 10th, 2005
1300 Hours
South of Equestria

The sun was low to the sky as Senior Airman Anderson Cobbler and Airman Pedro Mendoza looked out over the deep blue waters of the Pacific, casting an ominous orange glow over the seas. The sun’s reflection in the water was bright and linear, like a spear piercing the eyes. The American airmen knew there was trouble ahead.

“So how about this freaky continent?” Pedro asked. “What do you think it’s like, Andy?”

“Not a clue,” Anderson replied. “I don’t know what this could mean for us, either. And I won’t break my brain trying to figure it out, either.”

“Sounds smart,” Pedro said.

The two men watched silently over the waves toward where they knew there was nothing they knew. They had been called on to act as a potential rescue team, callsign Prancer Two, in case a recon flight over the new land was shot down or experienced technical difficulties and the pilot had to eject. They were trained for every scenario; every scenario except potentially invading an unknown, unallied, complete mystery of a nation or region.

Anderson and Pedro were well experienced, with seven and four years in Combat Rescue respectively. They were both young men, in excellent shape, though maybe not as large as some other guys from other special operations units. Their PJ training had made them quick-witted, adaptable, and capable of overcoming anything in their way so that others may live.

They were told that recon flights were a regular thing over this new land, and they were constantly ready. Sort of. There were two teams of two PJs each, one for morning rescues, and one for afternoon. Midnight to noon, noon to midnight, every day of the week. That’s the way it had been since Vietnam.

“Prancer Two!” a voice shouted over a speaker. “Prancer Two, report to the bridge immediately!”

The men looked at each other and nodded.

“Show time,” Anderson said as they started running.

“Giving our best performance, every minute of every day,” Pedro added.

The pair quickly ran to the bridge, now eager and hyped up for a rescue. Whatever the situation, wherever it is, it’s always exciting to get called on a rescue. They had to run into the ship down narrow halls, barely evading the sailors working on the ship, and climbed several flights of stairs to get to the bridge.

When they arrived at the bridge, the men saluted their current commander, the Captain of the ship, and stood at attention. They remained that way until the Captain returned the salute, and brought his hand down, allowing them to relax. He then began to explain the situation to them.

“When the Admiral said he wanted a couple of you guys here, I wasn’t about to argue,” the ship’s Captain, Williams, said. “And it looks like it was a good decision. We’ll be needing your talents here.”

“What happened, sir?” Pedro asked.

“We appear to have encountered a strange situation,” the Captain said. “The pilot of an F-15 Eagle was flying a mission near the Equestrian coastline. According to satellite imagery, there was some kind of Changeling that was flying farther than it should have been.”

“A Changeling?” Anderson repeated.

“That’s what it looked like. The F-15 pilot was already low on fuel, if the timing of the crash was any indication, and from the images, it looks like the little bugger got sucked into his air intake.”

“Oh, man,” Anderson said.

“Yeah. The plane went down, and we know the it crashed here,” Captain Williams turned to a table to his left, which had a map on it, and pointed at a spot in the coastal waters off the land. “But we know that our pilot didn’t stay inside it. He had an emergency beacon active, but when he hit the land, the signal became weak and spotty.”

“But he’s alive and moving in the forest,” Pedro said.

“Probably, if his training worked. And I’m sure it did,” the Captain said. “Even if he wasn’t, you two would still be going in there anyway.”

“So do we have any idea what the situation is like on the ground?” Anderson asked.

Williams shook his head.

“Not really. Normally, we would send in SEALs and SWCCs to do strategic reconnaissance, but you two need to do this rescue now. So it looks like you’ll be our first real boots on the ground here.”

“Man, these things we do,” Pedro commented.

“When did he go down?” Anderson asked.

“I wouldn’t have called you now if he went down hours ago,” the Captain explained. “He’s moving through some forest right now. You two need to get out there and find him.”

The airmen stood at attention and saluted. “Yes, sir!” After that, they left the bridge and made their way to the helicopter pad.

All their rescue gear was at the helicopter pad, and they brought everything that they might need: medical kits, machetes for cutting through brush, their helmets and visors with HUDs and special optics, their weapon loadouts, small sets of climbing gear, smoke grenades for marking locations, and important navigational equipment and a locator to find the lost pilot’s beacon. They also brought their utility combat knives, good for fighting or rescuing.

When they were all set and ready to go, the helicopter took off from the pad, ascending vertically a short distance, and flew away from the ship. The men looked back at the familiar, shrinking mass of metal, and watched it until it was no longer in sight in the darkness as night fell over the seas. Soon there was nothing but the black Pacific churning under them.

The ride in the HH-60 Pavehawk, Padre One, which had also been assigned to the ship, was going to be short, so the men had to take the time to make sure everything was just right. The helicopter would drop them off as close to the beacon as possible, hover high enough to avoid potential rocket fire or small arms fire, and leave when either the men came back with the downed pilot or fuel ran low and it needed to go back to the ship.

Sitting in their seats, the men were checking every last clip and strap on them. They each had their M4 and P226 firmly attached to them, though they weren’t totally sure about actually using them. There were a lot of variables here, and these small items had the potential to make or break the United States’ position here.

The speakers in the helicopter cracked to life.

“Thirty Seconds!”

Anderson and Pedro checked their weapons for safety, made sure their medical gear was secured, and sat tight. Thirty seconds meant they had just been approaching land, and were probably over it by now. The pilot must have seen a decent-sized clearing where he could let the men fast-rope down.

Soon, right at the thirty second mark, the helicopter tilted back and then back forward into a steady hover some distance over the treeline. He came over the speaker and told the men to go. Anderson and Pedro opened the doors of the helicopter, hooked onto the ropes, and slid their way down.

As they went down, they looked around. The forest they were in was incredibly thick, and the presence of this opening was a bit odd. There were others like it as well, all about the same size and scattered randomly throughout the area. The men gave it little thought as they went down to the ground. On the ground, the men disconnected from the ropes and moved away, toward the treeline.

“Padre one, this is Prancer two-one, how copy, over?” Anderson said.

“Prancer two-one, this is Padre one, I read you. Do you have eyes on the pilot?” Padre One asked.

Anderson and Pedro looked around.

“Negative, Padre One, no eyes on. We will begin our search and hit you up when we get new details, over."

“Copy, Padre One is on standby, out,” Padre One finished.

Anderson looked out into the forest. “Welcome to the jungle,” he sang quietly.

“Not much in the way of fun and games,” Pedro said. “How’s the beacon holding up?”

Anderson checked the beacon locator.

“Ah, I got nothing,” he said, only to have it blink into life moments later. “Wait, wait, I got something.”

Anderson pointed the beacon locator toward where it said the pilot was.

“He’s... far.”

“How far?” Pedro asked.

“Pretty freaking far,” Anderson replied. “Several kilometers in that direction.” He pointed out into the forest.

“The helo can’t wait long enough for us to get out there and back,” Pedro said.

“Seems like it’s that way every time,” Anderson said. He clicked his radio to talk to Padre One. “Padre One, this is Prancer two-one, do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Prancer, over,” Padre One replied.

“Pilot is several clicks out, too far for you guys to wait. Recommend you wait back on the Boxer while we go and search, and come back after a while to pick us up, over.”

“Copy that, Prancer two-one, we’re buggin’ out. Good hunting, out,” Padre One said as it turned and left.

“So I guess we’re alone out here,” Pedro said. “Stuck in unfriendly, unknown territory, looking for a guy who might not have long for us to get to him.”

“Looks that way,” Anderson concurred. “Let’s move. The sooner we have him and we’re out of here, the better.”

“I copy that,” Pedro said. “I much prefer the idea of going home after everything is done.”

The pair started quietly walking through the forest in the direction of the beacon, keeping their steps a slight as possible and their weapons’ laser sights off. In the darkness, they were forced to turn on their Night Vision to navigate the forest. Without them, they surely would have hit trees and made all kinds of compromising noise.

They walked a long distance through the forest. The moonlight, as it was now well into the night, failed to penetrate the dense canopy of the forest, and it was near total darkness. Anderson and Pedro kept their eyes open for movement in the green of their Night Vision and their ears open for anything other than themselves.

Anderson, out in front, stopped.

“You hear that?” Pedro asked from behind.

“Yeah,” Anderson whispered back.

In the distance, they could hear a cluster of noise coming from a single location. It almost sounded like voices, but the way they were garbling each other, it was hard to tell from a distance. The men exchanged a glance, noded, and started moving toward the source of the sounds.

It took a few minutes with their further slowed movement, but they reached the source of the noise. What they saw would have struck them silent if they had been talking. There were several ponies in front of them, around a fire, talking in a hushed tones that the men couldn’t catch. Some had jagged horns on their heads, while others had wings on their backs. They all had razor sharp swords, long bows, and metal armor, and neither man was in any mood to lose an arm to these things.

They hid behind a bush, it’s foliage giving only a visual barrier between them and the ponies. If an arrow came flying in their direction, the leaves were not going to stop it. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

“What’s the plan?” Pedro wondered.

Anderson thought a bit before responding.

“Our man is to the northeast of here, past this encampment,” he said. “We’ll go around, and then continue on our way.”

“If they’re hostile?” Pedro asked.

“We can’t start any fights here,” Anderson said. “Can’t risk taking even single guys out. We have to stay hidden at all costs.”

“Damn,” Pedro swore. “Roger that.”

Prancer Two went around the encampment and continued toward the pilot’s beacon. The noises of the encampment still sounded strong from behind, and as they went on, the men noticed noises coming from other areas. They were coming from other clearings, the ones they had seen scattered around, filled with these ponies that must have been curious about the F-15 that went down, and tasked with finding it’s pilot. It was a scary thing to think about, but PJs don’t think about what’s scary; only what needs to be done.

They made their way to a road or path in the forest and stopped next to it, behind the trees. Anderson looked out to the right, Pedro to the left. Down the path, Pedro saw a group of ponies coming toward them. Luckily, they did not see the Jumpers just yet.

“Down!” he whispered.

Both men dropped to the ground and lay completely still. Minutes later, along the path, more of the Guards walked by, mumbling and talking to each-other in a semi-quiet fashion. They held torches and were armed with swords, spears, and a single crossbow. Anderson and Pedro looked up when the patrol was well beyond them and watched it from behind until it disappeared into the dark.

“I guess they have patrols,” Pedro observed.

“They do,” Anderson said. “They are, without a doubt, a lot more intelligent than I took them for a few years back.”

The two rose from their hiding spot and continued on their way. The forest was once again quiet except for the random noises of critters and far-off ponies. It remained that way for a short time until Pedro spoke up again.

“Do you think the Changelings purposely took down our jet?” Pedro asked.

“As menacing as they physically appear to be, I won’t let that make me judge them,” Anderson remarked. “That said, they might have. And given how it happened, they might not be our biggest fans right now.”

“Greeeat,” Pedro moaned. “How far to find our fighter friend?”

Anderson checked the locator.

“He’s about half a click further north through the forest.”

They continued on, but throughout the rest of the forest, they encountered other patrols searching in the darkness. The men couldn’t take any chances; if they were searching in this kind of dark, they must have had good night sight, and so the men took cover behind trees any time they heard a patrol. Some of the patrols didn’t carry torches and were much quieter than the one they saw on the path, so they had to listen hard.

The duo crept slowly through the brush, listening, when a bit of rustling to their side attracted their attention. Both men stopped dead in their tracks and stared intently in the direction of the new noise, weapons up and ready if everything went wrong. The rustling became louder and more intense, and even in the dark, they could see movement. Anderson took a knee and lined up his sights on the bush, and Pedro slowly moved sideways to get a second angle of fire.

A moment later, the location of the rustling exploded with motion and a small badger came sprinting out. Anderson and Pedro tensed up for a brief moment, but didn’t fire, and as the animal ran off, both men felt a wave of relief wash over them. The two relaxed and lowered their weapons.

“We’re good,” Pedro whispered.

“I think I heard it over this way!” a voice in the distance shouted.

Pedro dove backwards into a bush and Anderson fell flat against the ground and rolled, thinking, “Crap crap crap crap!”

After a few tense seconds, a patrol came rushing through, carrying a torch to illuminate the way. Their razor sharp blades glowed ominously in the orange light of the flame and their armor shone a bright hue of gold. From where Anderson rolled to, he could just see some of his reflection in the blade.

“That direction, I still hear it!” one of the patrol ponies said.

With that, they kept on running after what the men knew to be a rodent, thankfully not noticing anything odd in the area they just exited. When they were all gone, both men moved away from their hiding spots in the bushes and regrouped. They were not sure what the patrol was chasing, them or the pilot, or maybe they had heard the animal.

“Let’s keep moving. I don’t think it would be very good if those guys were to find us, if those swords were anything to go off of,” Pedro said.

“You’re telling me,” Anderson said.

As they came up on the location of the beacon, the PJs were forced to crawl through brush to avoid being seen by hostile patrols not too far away. Thanks to them being quiet, and the patrols being far noisier, they were able to sneak up to see where exactly the beacon was. Slowly, and carefully, they crept inch by inch towards their target.

Just before they got there, there was a loud rustle, some more shouting, and then silence. Both men, at the first noise, once more dropped and took cover; but there was nothing else around them. Once they were sure there was no patrol in their vicinity, they regrouped and headed in the direction of the ruckus. It took only a minute to get there, and through the trees they observed what had happened.

They did not like what they saw. Ahead of them, they saw the man whom they could easily guess to be their Airman lying on the ground with a blindfold and bound hands behind his back; the beacon was laying on the ground behind him. The ponies around him were celebrating their capture with little nods and bumps of hooves, and once finished, they started pulling him off into the forest to bring him to God knows where.

“Padre One, Prancer two-one,” Anderson reported.

The radio crackled to life after it’s long silence.

“How copy, over?” the response came.

Anderson silently cursed to himself before returning to the radio.

“Target is in someone else’s nest. No rescue imminent. We’re moving extract back to the Boxer, over.”

“Copy, Prancer two-one,” Padre One acknowledged.

“Dammit,” Pedro said, looking on.

“Let’s get out of here. We need to report this to Captain Williams,” Anderson said shaking his head.

As the capturing force escaped into the darkness, curious about what had fallen from the skies, they were left untouched by the two men who had silently watched from the side. It killed the PJs to leave their man behind, but in the face of such a massive force, they had no other option. It is better to live and fight another day when a rescue is possible than foolishly attempt an assault on an enemy army.

Author's Note

Eagle: Sorry it's taken so long; I've been busy, but hopefully I can get some stuff done over the break. I also had to rush my usual editing process, so if you see a mix-up or something out of place, let me know and I'll fix it ASAP.

Thanks for reading, and please leave some feedback; its appreciated by me and the guest authors.

By the Princess's Orders (The Grey Pegasus)

August 12th, 2005
0949 Hours
Eastern Pacific Ocean

Ocean waves crashed by outside.

Wooden timbers creaked quietly.

Captain Starry Skies looked around herself. Wooden walls. Wooden frames.

Every time she examined her surroundings, she became irritated. Five years ago, she had wistfully looked upon the walls, expecting a new ship in her future. A new ship that she would have grown accustomed to and eventually became at home in, just as she had with Constellation.

Except it never happened. And for the past three years, she no longer felt comforted by her familiar ship. She was frustrated. And at times afraid. Equestria's enemies were milling about outside their borders with technology from the humans. The enemy had spared nothing in the attempt to wipe out the Equestrians, but the Equestrians had not done the same. Instead, she sat inside the heavy frigate, once the pride and glory of the Equestrian Royal Navy and now... technically still was, but with no true way to fight the enemy.

Sure, Equestria had a few patrol vessels for border purposes, and even that was accomplished through extreme pressure on the brass to ignore obviously illegal purchases. But for any true combat ships, Equestria had done nothing. At most, they had upgraded the wooden ships with some menial modern modules while retaining their barely adequate armament.

"Captain Skies, you are requested up on the deck."

The midnight blue pegasus sighed as the message came through the intercom, one thing they had bothered putting in the ship. Dropping a hoof and her weight onto the intercom's button, she replied a weary, "Acknowledged."

Slowly, she dragged herself off of her cot and onto the wooden floor. Her hooves landed with a solid thud. Putting on a coat, she made her way to the door out of the captain's quarters.

Exiting the door, she was still under a roof. With all of the new things the Equestrians were inevitably learning, the navy had requested that roofs be built over the mid deck and most of the stern deck, where she made her way to. It was an abomination, she thought. The ship was beautiful once, but now, now they were trying too hard to cling onto the past whilst trying to deal with the present.

Or rather, the Princesses were. Many officers with functioning brains had wanted to switch over to modern ships for the past few years, after the sentiment for their canvas sails had worn off. Even the Admiralty were leaning towards modernizing, for the logical reason of it being the only way they could continue to perform their work as a navy.

"Captain Skies."

Skies blinked. It was Lieutenant Low Tide, standing around a chart table. Around the makeshift room there were a few other ponies, notably a few working radios. "Yes, what is it, Lieutenant?"

"A patrolling pegasus notified us of an unidentified, unscheduled ship passing by here," the blue earth pony tapped on the map on the table, "heading with a bearing west. Reported to be a private vessel. We're the nearest ship in the area and they want us to intercept and investigate."

Skies just sighed again. "Alright. Get it done. How long until we close the distance?"

"Given the last reported location and heading… one hour, forty minutes."

Skies nodded. "Notify the gun crews. Ready a boarding party."

Tide leaned on the table and looked at his CO, and evident from his relatively bored expression, as he had done a few times in the past. "Same routine?"

"Same routine."

:::::

Patrols were nothing new for them. Patrols for pirating and smuggling were nothing new for them. Even when they first arrived five years ago, it was nothing new to them. But in the new world, it was just so... unfulfilling. But Skies swore to serve the Princess, which was a swear to serve her ponies, and if this was how she was to perform that duty, then she had to live with it.

Skies was below decks, wandering in the first gun deck. They still held the same cannons that they came to the new world with. Skies wished they could at least have pressured for some marginal upgrade. Maybe an armament upgrade. Get some old field pieces from some other country. Of course, that would also involve designing new recoil mechanisms so that firing didn’t wreck the ship, but Skies was sure it would be worth the cost.

Surely even the Princesses would agree that monetary cost was nothing compared to the cost of the lives of her sailors. Constellation was supposed to be a weapon, plain and simple. Supposed to be. However, the ship as is was a wooden club against the enemy, for all it was worth. The gun decks were at least made more livable, with heaters and better insulation, so at least wallowing in sadness was slightly more comfortable.

She wondered how Equestrians had managed to even stomach having to keep Constellation in service like this. Sometimes, when the ship creaked, Skies imagined that it was speaking to her, asking to let it stop sailing and be removed from active duty. Maybe even be restored to its actual former glory. Not the convoluted mess it was now. The ship performed as best as a wooden ship could in the age of guided missiles, and Skies could never be happy as long as she commanded Constellation. She loved the ship with all her heart, but it was being pushed much farther than it should have ever been.

Pegasi of the boarding party were coming up from the lower crew decks, readying themselves on the top deck. Skies received nods of acknowledgement from them as they passed by while she blankly stared on. After the last of them came, she gave the same basic instructions she had given time after time to the gun crews. Be prepared to fire warning shots, then be prepared to fire to sink. Be prepared to sail away with nothing actually happening.

:::::

The relatively small ship calmly tumbled through the Pacific Ocean. Starry Skies stood on the open front deck feeling the sun's warmth. It was not Celestia's sun, but she had grown to love it as she had their own.

"Star?"

Slightly off guard, she turned to her side, finding her Lieutenant. "Low."

"We're going to be within range in five minutes." Tide held up binoculars to his eyes. "There it is, out over there." He offered it to his Captain and pointed.

Skies took it and searched the seas. She found the boat miles away. "Have we made radio contact with them yet?"

"We began ten minutes ago. We suspect that they're smugglers." The Lieutenant took the binoculars back as he answered.

"Suppliers of the black market? Pony or human?"

"Equestrian, we know so far. I don't remember ever encountering a human on these patrols."

Skies nodded. "Those ponies like to do deals at sea. The humans ship it out, meet up with an Equestrian ship, and do their business. Reduces interspecies issues that may be encountered in port."

"If they happen to be working for the black market, they should be loaded up with contraband, since they're headed for Equestria," Tide reasoned. "Unlucky day for them."

"Lieutenant Wintergreen, set off at once."

“Alright, fellas, you heard 'em, let's go!”

"Or a lucky day for us." Skies watched as a few pegasi took of from the deck, readying to confront the other ship. "Let's see what this is about."

:::::

Constellation had positioned itself alongside the vessel. It was another wooden sailing ship, and by how weathered it appeared, was from the olden days like Constellation. Given Equestria's penchant to isolate itself from the rest of the world, these merchant vessels were just other relics in use, since acquiring any modern ships required ludicrous hoops to jump through; after all, if small items in the black market were forbidden, what more were ships?

And being an older ship type, both sides knew how the game went. Navy pegasi in one group, crew members in the other, and a civilized talk on the deck behind the main mast.

"Sir," one of the crew, an earth pony, greeted. "I am Captain Clipper, welcome aboard the Ocean Breeze. We were told that we were sailing through these waters without permission?"

The commanding officer of the boarding party, a green pegasus, stepped forward. "Exactly that, Captain. Under Equestrian Navy procedures, we'll need to see your shipping manifest and you will have to consent to a search of your ship. That wouldn't be a problem, now, would it?"

Clipper shook his head. "No, not at all." He turned to one of his aides. "You heard the officer, shipping manifest."

Just as the pony nodded, the officer interrupted. "And a ship plan. You should have your ship's layout somewhere, correct?"

"Oh, yes, yes," the earth pony replied. Turning to the pony he gave the original order to, "Ship plan as well."

The pony nodded once more and went off with haste.

"I suppose you take us for black market operators?" Clipper asked the officer.

"You could simply stop playing the game now," the pegasus replied. "It would save you much trouble." He looked back at the rest of the marines standing ready. "After all, there isn't any way out of this."

"Well, by all means, sir, you're free to try and find evidence to hold against us that fits your case. We may not have the right to be in this area, but I assure you, that part is a simple misunderstanding. The winds don't always like to cooperate."

The officer shook his head slightly. "Same thing every time."

There was the sound of hoofsteps returning, and it was Clipper's aide from earlier.

"Well, sir, here are the requested items. Search the ship as you please," Clipper said calmly.

The pegasus turned to his marines behind him. "Sergeant Crosswind, you and your ponies guard the deck. Sergeant Harper, go over and get us unicorns from Constellation."

The two other pegasi gave him affirmatives. One stayed with a few ponies on the ship, the other took a team back to bring over unicorns from their ship just a little ways away. A younger pegasus came up to the officer. "Lieutenant Wintergreen? I have a question, sir."

"What is it?" Wintergreen started walking off to the side of the ship where Constellation was sailing alongside, the private in tow.

"So what happens if we find them smuggling things from overseas?"

"We arrest the crew, seize the ship, take it back to port, and lock up all the illegal cargo."

"Just like that?"

"Come on, son, you signed up to serve the Princesses. If anypony's been getting it into your head to take a souvenir for yourself, get it out, because that isn't what the Princesses told us to do." They watched as pegasi took off from Constellation with some unicorns. "And if you try to do it, make sure I don't see it."

Five pegasi landed with five unicorns. Sergeant Harper approached Wintergreen. "Sir? We're ready to start the search."

"Very well," he replied to the mare. "I'll be here on the deck. Report back when you're done."

Harper turned back to her troops. "Okay, ponies, let's go!"

:::::

Down below in the bottom deck, two unicorns were preparing to scan the area as other pegasi searched the cargo around with lights and the naked eye. Though both unicorns weren't particularly old, one was clearly younger than the other. "Alright Private, this is your first time on a search, correct?" the older one asked.

"Yes, Corporal, it is."

"You know the basic search spells?"

"Read about them and practiced a bit, Corporal."

"Okay, let's do it together then. Basic search spell, the first one we do according to procedure. It was in Page 52 of the manual. Know what I'm talking about?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Let's start."

Their horns lit and they walked about the room. "Say, Corporal, black market operators usually hide things below the bottom deck, right?" the younger one asked.

"That's right. But right now, we're just searching for items on this deck. That search comes later."

"Can't they mask traces of those items or hidden compartments?"

"Not if we do our job right, they can't."

The Private kept walking along one side of the deck while his corporal searched the other. "And we're supposed to feel something if we find something, right?"

"That's right." There was a short silence as they reached the end. "Found nothing in the first magical search spell. Now we search under our hooves."

Again, they found nothing. "But just because we found nothing doesn't mean they're not hiding anything, right, Corporal?"

"I've been on a few searches in the past where we did lots of magical sweeps but didn't find a trapdoor until we brought on the anti-magic field crystal. So we're not certain about anything until we go through all the checks."

The private quietly sighed. He had signed up for the marines to help carry out the Princesses' will and keep his home safe against the new world, but he didn't expect to be landed in a position as dull as this. He knew that the spells they were taught to use weren't just for searches, but were in fact created for battlefield use. Things like searching out traps, or hidden enemies, or—

"Hey, you ready for the next sweep?" the Corporal asked, taking the younger unicorn out from his mental trance.

"Yeah, yeah." His horn lit with another spell, ready to walk the length of the deck again and probably find nothing. He followed the strides of the other unicorn, still careful to feel around the floor for anything out of place. They were supposed to be doing a search for trapdoors, according to procedure.

"Anything?" the Corporal asked.

"No, still nothing, Corporal."

"Nothing on my end either."

The Private sighed as he took a few last steps towards the end—"Wait. I think I found something." He moved around his head as if feeling if anything was tugging at it.

The Corporal walked over and casted a spell. "What are you feeling? I don't feel anything."

"I... I don't know. There's something under the floorboards."

The older unicorn's horn stopped glowing, while his expression glared at his companion. "Are you casting the right spell?"

"I—" The Private paused. "I..."

"What spell did you cast?"

"I don't know! I was just thinking about search spells and then you snapped me out of it and—"

"Well what were you last thinking?!"

"Uh—uh—something about hidden attackers or something?"

"You must be feeling some fish or something in the sea," the Corporal scoffed, but his horn lit again.

His expression changed momentarily. "Somepony get me the Lieutenant!"

:::::

"Hey, hey, let me go dammit!"

Lieutenant Wintergreen looked on as unicorns pulled someone out of a hole they had cut in the floorboards. There were more yells of resistance coming from below. There was a thud as a body was dropped on the ground. The pegasus walked over and stood above him.

"So what are you? American? What are you doing on this Equestrian trade vessel?"

The human just grumbled in response.

"Talk or get shocked."

The human's face turned from stern discontent to apprehension. "What?"

"Answer me. What country do you come from?" Wintergreen shifted his eyes back up, watching a few other humans get forcibly pulled out and grouped together on the deck. "Where are you all from and why are you on this ship?"

"I'm not talking to you. Get me your Captain. We'll talk."

"Lieutenant!"

The Lieutenant turned his attention to one of the ponies calling him. It had come from the hole in the deck. "What is it?!"

"This deck is filled with illegal cargo! This ship's smuggling items, sir!"

Wintergreen's expression lit up. "Someone get Sergeant Crosswind! Arrest the crew of this vessel!" As a pony ran off to the upper deck, he leaned down to the man, sternly asking his question again. "What the hay are you doing aboard this vessel?"

"I demand to see the highest authority," the man answered. Some cheering on could be heard from the other humans off to the side.

"And how is that your call?" The Equestrians forced the others to stay quiet.

"I'm not talking otherwise."

"Like I said, talk or shock." The air become more tense. Electrified even before a shocking spell.

"Are you allowed to do this to foreign citizens?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you chose to defy an officer outside of your borders and within ours." Without moving his gaze, he gave the order. "Sergeant Spark, shock him."

One of the unicorns to the side walked closer. His horn lit up and small bolts of electricity sparked off. The man's expression became more apprehensive and anxious, but said nothing. The other men were getting on edge.

"Sir?" Sergeant Spark asked.

"Stop!"

All the Equestrians froze at the female voice.

"Captain Skies!" Wintergreen saluted.

"Lieutenant Wintergreen, at ease." The stallion relaxed and moved aside as the mare approached the man on the ground. "And who the hay are you?"

"Are you the one in charge?" the man asked her.

"I am," Skies answered.

"Well then." The man backed away slightly before sitting up, then beginning to stand up. Ponies moved to keep him down, but Skies waved them away. The man dusted his blue button down shirt off. "Would it be possible to speak to you alone?"

Skies gave him a questioning look. "And why so? Do you believe you could convince me to let this all go?"

"Wouldn't you expect me to try?"

Skies stared for a moment. This was actually the first time they had encountered this situation. Never before in her years patrolling the waters did she encounter a human aboard a smuggling vessel.

"Captain?" Wintergreen said.

The Captain kept her gaze up at the man. "... Humor me."

Her ponies were shocked. "Captain, what are you—"

"Enough. I'll hear what this human has to say and see if it will give us more insight into our situation, past, present, and future." Skies never turned away from the human. "So?"

"I don't think Mister Clipper will be needing his office right now," the man answered.

"Then let's chat."

:::::

Skies sat down and the man sat in a chair across from her. "What shall I call you by?"

The man rubbed his face, scratching his facial hair. "Call me... Constantine."

"Constantine," Skies flatly repeated.

"And you?"

"Captain Skies," the pegasus replied.

Constantine nodded. "Well Miss Skies, I'll tell you why I'm here. I'm here on business."

"Business," Skies blankly echoed. "Is the shipment yours then?"

"Yes, it indeed is," he answered as he played around with his hands. "I'm sure you're well aware of the profit to be made from the black market."

"I am. And you're aware of the risks of getting caught?"

"I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't."

Skies kept examining the man. He was relatively clean and well dressed and was relaxed in posture. She knew there remained a feeling of nervousness under it all, but he was doing a very good job of hiding it. "But what about the risks of getting caught within Equestrian borders? Surely you've taken that into consideration as well. And I'm sure anyone that's taken those risks into account wouldn't see much worth in the risk.

"A relative lack of modern shipboard luxuries. The risks of illegally entering our borders. What, do you just supervise your operation in person? I can't see that being the case. Unless you've just managed to get the worst luck possible."

"I'm inclined to believe it's an exchange of luck, Captain Skies," Constantine said. "I'll tell you outright why I'm here. Business. I've been partnered with these fellas for almost two years now. One day, I decided that with everything going on and my experiences in doing business with these ponies, I should go along on one trip and see how they perform their side of the deal. And as a bonus, give Equestria a visit."

"Give Equestria a visit. How on earth did you plan to go about doing that? There aren’t exactly any tourist welcomes in our ports."

"Oh, not like that. I'd lurk around near port, stay close to the ship. Give the country a visit before we're unable to."

"Mhm..." Skies got the answer to the first question. But given that this was a rare opportunity to discover motives, she pushed another question. "Why, Mister Constantine, do you participate in the Equestrian black market? Is it simply the money to be made?"

"Well of course it's about the money!" Constantine answered. "If you're all so concerned about the black market, why don't you just open up your borders? Your people just want to experience the world they're in!"

"You know what Princess Celestia's stance on opening up our borders is."

Constantine scoffed. "And I think it's stupid. You've got the enemy on one side and the most powerful nation in the world on your other side. Everyone in the world is thinking—why don't you all just accept the help?!"

"This isn't your war to fight," Skies answered. "We were fighting with them before this, and no one else needs to become involved. Princess Celestia doesn't believe it would be right for you to throw your lives away for a fight that was never yours."

The man's expression turned to bewilderment. "Are you even listening to yourself? You realize you just admitted that your princess is willing to save the lives of others over her own people."

Skies was taken aback. But she couldn't disagree with it either.

"Your leader is purposefully rejecting the numerous tools and assistance to fight your war against an enemy that has adapted. For what? Honor? I don't see how you can go accusing smugglers when you've got bigger heads to worry about accusing. Breaking a controversial law is one thing, being stubborn and risking a country is another."

The pegasus grimaced. "Princess Celestia will not open up our borders as she believes that too much exposure to the outside world will not have a good influence on them. The Equestrian populace must remain disciplined."

"Too late," Constantine said. "If you thought that was possible when you landed into an entirely new world, you're delusional. Your enemies have embraced the new world. You Equestrians are still holding back. Or, rather, your leadership is. I have a question for you—why did you join the navy?

"You know, the British have a saying. 'For Queen and country.' But you—you can't say that. It's either one or the other right now. So why did you join? To serve your Princesses, or to serve your country? A country isn't made up of just your Princesses. You've taken up the responsibility to protect thousands of lives."

Skies didn't want to answer. Deep inside, she knew all of this already, but to hear it from someone else... it froze her.

"Captain, you asked me why I involved myself in the black market. I do it for the profit, but beneath it, I know there's good being done. Us Americans—we're a country created by the people. We didn't like how we were being ruled, so we did something about it. It took a while for our eyes to be opened, but when it did, things started going the right direction.

"What I'm doing for your fellow country... ponies—is opening their eyes. Everyone wants to live. But I'm helping them reach into our world and want living even more. And when they start clamoring hard enough, either your Princess bends, or the people take over. Or, maybe it'll just be too late."

Skies stared blankly. She didn't want to listen to it. But she couldn't justify their current actions in her head either. Nothing anyone was doing was making sense.

"I've heard that guys in the US Navy join to keep their home and families safe. And I bet you did too. Clipper and his ponies? They were talking about your ship. How it was the pride of your navy. And now what are you doing? Sailing around on border patrol? Catching smugglers? What are you protecting your home from? I thought the priority was the enemy threatening your borders and to overrun you."

Constantine sighed. "It's a shame, really. Wasting officers like you. You said you were fighting the war before you came into this world. Are you still fighting it? Are you? Because last I checked, the only thing keeping your country from being overrun is the threat of American firepower. Not the threat of Equestrian military force. But what do I know, I'm just some human selling goods on your black market."

Skies stood up without looking at him. She walked out the door and back towards her crew.

:::::

Constantine watched as the Constellation sailed away from the Ocean Breeze.

"Shit man, what did you say to get us out of that?" one of his partners asked.

"Just the truth. You know, I don't think they're blind to it."

"So why bother giving them some of our cargo? Better bribe?"

"Partially. And maybe it'll open up more eyes to reality."

"You gave away quite a lot. That'll cut into our profit."

"It won't matter. It wasn't going to last forever anyways."

"What do you mean?"

"This chapter in history is coming to an end soon. We were never in control of the black market. Only they do. It'll end with them opening up to the world or them getting taken over. There is no staying how things are. The Equestrian black market isn't going to last much longer, and no matter how it ends for them, it'll end with us out of this job."

Author's Note

Supposedly the real fun stuff starts next. Writing this chapter was hard for so many reasons yo.

Also apologize for the possible awkwardness of this chapter. Written in segments over time and all that.

Eagle: I'm making the assumption the readers are enjoying these guest chapters; the main purposes is to give multiple experiences and views of a conflict, so I hope it's doing that. Please leave some feedback, if you can, and thanks for reading.

The Talk

August 13th, 2005
1400 Hours
Location unknown

When Cole was knocked out and captured by the Equestrians, it was a hard knock out, yet a somewhat relaxing one. It was as though someone flipped his switch from active to tired, and drained out all his energy to keep going, but it was better than being hit; more akin to being sedated by gas before surgery. One minute he was running and a few seconds later, nothing but the black.

He slept in his own peaceful world, dreaming random dreams, unaware of what was happening on the outside world. Sometimes he dreamed about his home, his life, his family, and some other, odder things that he would forget the details too. Sometimes he thought he heard voices around him, or felt as though something was carrying him; but he could never distinguish if it was in the real world of part of his visions. Either way, it kept going; with his sense of time deserting him.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he felt his body jolt as it reactivated. Everything came back to him. He was not sure what had become of him, or what would happen later on. The United States and Equestria were not at war, but they were not friends, either; and now he was their prisoner. Did that mean internment? Or would they just kick him out of the country and send him back to the States?

Cole turned a bit, and felt something soft underneath him, like a cushion. He opened his eyes slowly, letting them gradually acquire the light in the room, before rubbing them clear and blinking a couple of times. He stretched out his limbs and sat up, and saw that, instead of a prison bed, he was lying on a couch. And, upon further inspection, he found that he was in a relatively normal room, rather than a prison.

The walls were painted in a dim white, with light bulbs shining from the ceiling. There was another couch on the other side, a few chairs, and two square tables; the only thing that stood out was a pool table shoved up against the wall, on one side, and a long line of windows on the other, which seemed to have been blown out and subsequently boarded up.

“What is all this?” Cole asked the empty space.

It was not a prison, but seemed to be more of a recreational room. He wondered for a moment what was going on, but he knew better than to start thinking what had happened was all a dream; it was far too real and clear in his memory. And, from the looks of it, he was still in his flight suit, worn and dirty from his attempted concealment, and with all of his valuables removed from it, as well; including his broken watch. Everything that could help in any kind of escape had been taken, right down to his boots.

There was no one else in the room, and he decided to take the time to explore what little there was to explore. He took his time standing up, his body still stiff from the forced slumber, and walked around examining things. But there was hardly anything worthy of note; being a rather bleak room in all. The only other thing was a heavy wooden door near the corner.

“I assume I can’t just walk out of here,” he guessed. “But, won’t hurt to try… I hope.”

He grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it, only to find it locked, as he predicted. That also would not stop him from trying to get out, seeing as how it was the only way out. He tried pulling it toward him first, attempting to try and loosen it. When that inevitably failed, he resorted to the opposite. He tried pushing the door forward and escalated to kicking and ramming it. The only thing that came from this was a good deal of racket and the ire of the Guard posted outside.

“Knock it off!” an angered voice yelled from the other side.

“Where am I!?” Cole demanded.

“Just wait there and don’t cause any trouble; somepony will be with you shortly.”

“Ok, not my best idea,” Cole thought as he returned to the couch. “Is there any other way out?”

It did not seem that there was. The walls and floor looked solid, and the fact that there were guards nearby did not help. The boards on the windows were probably nailed on tight, but perhaps they could be pried loose. But there was nothing immediately available to pry them with, and even if he did get them off, there was no telling just what was on the other side. Part of the Code of Conduct that he had to follow touched on this; if captured, one must continue to resist, refuse special treatment, and escape by any means necessary. But there were few means of escape readily available to him. Perhaps with some more brainstorming, he could come up with something.

Suddenly, the door shuddered and creaked open, allowing a bright-yellow pegasus in a uniform to enter the room. The plotting would have to be saved for latter. The uniform clearly gave the pony away as part of the military, but there was no sense of immediate seriousness about her; it was oddly distressing.

“Good to see you’re up,” she commented, grabbing a small wooden chair and setting it next to the couch to sit on. “I was kinda worried that we might have hurt you; no sleeping spell’s been cast on a human before. You were out cold for a couple days.”

It surprised Cole that he had slept for days; but, now that the pony mentioned it, he did feel a bit empty.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” he lied.

“Really?” she queried, giving him a worried look. “Alright, if you say so. What’s your name?”

Cole did not answer, just stared at the mare with a determined face. According to the rules, the only information he could divulge was his name, his rank, and his serial number; but he preferred to withhold even those. Assuming the Equestrians did not know that, he could still act as though it was important to keep from them. And, if things went South, it would give him some ground to give away.

“How’s about I break the ice and tell you my name first?” she decided. “I’m Spitfire, and you are?”

Still, he did not answer, and the pony’s look quickly went to one of frustration and disappointment.

“So you’re really going to pull this gig? Figures,” she sighed, looking back towards the open door. “Sergeant!”

“Yes ma’am?” a unicorn asked, peeking through the door.

“Go ahead.”

The unicorn Sergeant entered the room, magic surrounding his horn, and a thick coat of Berlin Blue that heavily contrasted Spitfire’s yellow. It could not mean anything good, and it surprised Cole that they were moving to heavier measures this early. It scared him to death; though he tried hard not to show it on the outside. He had somewhat hoped that his position as an American would give him a bit of a political barrier; but, from the looks of it, the small, empty room was going to turn into Equestria’s version of the Hanoi Hilton. And God knows what magical torture was going to be like.

The unicorn aimed at the pilot as Cole mentally prepared, and anguished, for whatever upcoming pain was going to be felt. The bluish aura around the pony’s horn encased him, but to his surprise, there was no pain. It felt a tad cool, and almost ticklish, as if something was scurrying along him, until it ceased and vanished. Spitfire spoke up before Cole could make a comment.

“Let’s try that again,” she ordered. “What’s your name? And your rank, since you didn’t want to play nice.”

“Captain John Quincy Cole; United States Air Force,” he answered automatically and without any thought. “W-what the hell!?”

He immediately shot a look over to the unicorn.

“Truth spell,” he said with a chuckle. “Not as many unicorns know it as you’d think.”

“I don’t believe this,” Cole sighed, burying his head in his hands. “Course there’d be something to force me to talk, just my luck. Just like last when I tried to run.”

“Yea, when I knocked you out you fell like a sack of bricks,” the unicorn stated.

“What?”

“Well, I was the one who caught you,” he informed the human, rather proudly, before realizing what he had said. “Oh, uh… sorry about… that.”

“I’ll handle the conversation, Sergeant Backscatter,” Spitfire told him sternly. “Just don’t say anything to make him go crazy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed, ears drooping.

Cole actually did not feel too angry with the unicorn. He had to admit that, at first, he first reaction was anger and a brief thought of payback entered his mind. But, seeing his latest form of disappointment, either for bragging or from his superior, it showed Cole that he was just kid doing his job. And he was the same thing, just in a different form.

“So, you’re an officer in the American Air Force?” Spitfire asked him rhetorically. “How’d you wind up here?”

“I crashed and you caught me,” Cole responded with a touch of ire.

“And how did you crash? Why were you flying near our border to begin with?”

“My squadron scrambled to intercept a large raid along the Southern coastline in an attempt to scare them off, which in itself is somewhat of a... common occurrence for us,” he explained. “There was a Changeling flying around, not in a plane, but just on his own, with no company. I went to intercept him and we collided; all things considered, I came off on the better end of that exchange.”

“Guess that’d be the latest raid on Las Pegasus,” Spitfire quipped.

“How bad were the losses?”

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she answered.

That was enough for Cole, and though he was the one being interrogated, he quickly changed the subject.

“So, are you in the Equestrian Air Force... Spitfire?”

She immediately changed her tone again, this time to one of vexation.

“I’m not the one being held hostage, am I?” she asked the bewildered pilot. “Or do you think I’m gullible enough for you to trick?”

“Oh no… I-I’m not trying to trick you or anything! I just… look what I meant was to… sort of-”

He stopped as he heard her laugh, and watched Spitfire stand from her chair and put a hoof on his shoulder as she grinned kindly at him.

“Hey, it’s alright; I know you didn’t mean anything funny,” she said, trying to calm him. “I’m sure you were just concerned; or you were just being stupid and didn’t think before you talked.”

Cole retained his silence, but returned her smile with a small one of his own before she returned to her seat.

“But to answer your question, I am in the Air Force; the Royal Equestrian Air Force,” she specified. “I’m also the commander of a squadron.”

“Really now?”

“Really. I’m the leader of the Wonderbolts; the best group of pegasi in Equestria,” she said, not bothering to hold back on the pride of her position. “During peacetime we were an aerobatic squadron, pulling off stunts and shows and the like; but, when the war started up… you can’t exactly limit your best group of fliers to circus acts, y’know?”

“It’s understandable,” Cole agreed.

“But, we are the best, so it’s expected of us. Luckily our losses have been relatively light, compared to other units,” the pegasus continued. “Hey, you haven’t heard of us, have you?”

Cole took a moment to scan through his memory before responding. The Air Force’s intelligence on specific Equestrian units was sketchy at best; new ones were always being raised while others were disbanded from losses. Still, the name did ring a bell.

“I’ve heard some stories,” he admitted. “Mostly just rumors; though a few names came up… including yours, I think.”

“Yeah, back in the day everyone knew the Wonderbolts; course, doing a show nowadays is just too risky,” Spitfire sighed, her mind wandering through her own memories. “I can’t remember the last time we did a real show; probably not since the whole displacement incident.”

As Spitfire talked, Cole was becoming more and more confused. He was their prisoner, but it certainly did not feel like it. It was not quite as brutal as he feared it to be, though that was probably due to them being able to take any information he knew with no real effort. And to add to that, Spitfire seemed more interested in getting to know him rather than taking useful information. At least it seemed that way.

“Anyways, since I was nice enough to tell you all of that, maybe you could tell me some more about your job,” she finished. “Like what unit you came from.”

Cole refrained from speaking yet again, giving her a wary look.

“You know you don’t have much of a choice,” she reminded him.

“Yea, I know,” he grunted. “I’m… I am the commander of the First Tactical Fighter Squadron.”

Spitfire’s eyebrows went up for a second from the surprise.

“A Tactical Squadron? Your Air Force’s big blunder?” she specified.

“How in the hell do you know that?”

“We’ve got some sources on the outside, despite what our policies might make you think,” she stated. “But this is one interesting situation; it’ll be useful to learn more about them.”

“The Tactical Corps was formed as an effort to reorganize the Air Force squadrons into multi-purpose ones,” Cole clarified unhappily. “It didn’t work.”

“What happened, specifically?”

“Quite a few roadblocks and problems… popped up,” the pilot went on. “The biggest problem was that predictions and calculations came in saying that for such an Air Force to be as effective as we needed, the standards of each mission type were set outrageously high; far beyond what some aircraft they were assigned were built for. No one squadron ever passed all the tests.”

“So how come you never stopped?” Spitfire asked. “And why is it our intelligence ponies say there are still several Tactical squadrons left?”

“That revolves around three specific things; the General in command, Congress, and Bureaucracy,” Cole explained, though he had always blamed the commander for most of it, but the others contributed just as well. “The basic idea was actually the brainchild of the guy leading it, so understandably he wasn’t keen on shutting it down. To add on to that, Congress put a lot of money and effort into that project, and it was pretty hyped up over the media. So, when it started becoming obvious that the program was… flawed, they tried to push it through all the same; they didn’t want to see billions of dollars in planes and training go to waste, not to mention catching an egg on their face.”

“Pride’s always getting in the way of common sense; I had a cadet that did something stubborn and almost killed some ponies because of it,” Spitfire recalled.

Cole only nodded his head in understanding before starting up again.

“And then there was all the problems that came from the contracts of it; all the requirements and necessities chained to the project that it needed to follow if it was going to continue,” he resumed. “Of course when you’re going to replace and re-structure an entire branch, there’s got to be a lot of specifics to work out; people doing their best to fix as many kinks as possible on the paper before we found them during the actual testing. But they took it too far; between getting paranoid and wanting to lock other things down, the project got ensnarled by red tape.”

“Sounds rough,” Spitfire commented, her stomach churning at such a thought.

“Plenty rough; they’re responsible for shackling each squadron to one plane type to try and save money, they’re responsible for forcing us to start over whenever we messed up, and they’re responsible for not dropping those older versions of the experiment,” Cole went on, getting rather irritated as he continued. “So many requirements for so many reasons, all contracts ironclad and no way to go back on them.”

“What did you mean when you said they forced you to ‘start over’ and you couldn’t get rid of earlier versions? What were you talking about with ‘earlier versions’ anyways?”

The pilot moaned at the thought, but he did not stop. He had gotten to a state where he did not mind continuing on about the experiment’s failures. It felt more like blowing off steam than anything else; something he did not get to do often enough.

“One of their big money savers; planes were built for the squadron, right? Of course you wouldn’t want to just get rid of million-dollar planes just because one squadron messed up,” he said. “The contract, for some God-forsaken reason, forced the Air Force to start over every time a squadron failed to meet expectations, which was every damn time, so rather than reassign the squadron a new set of planes, they were forced to form an entirely new unit with fresh planes and pilots. It’s like playing an impossible-to-beat level on a videogame and having to start from the beginning every damn time you lose; it’s just ridiculous!”

The Equestrian had never played a videogame before, but decided not to ask about it as Cole continued his rant.

“But like I said, they didn’t want to waste all those planes. So on top of that, not only did we have to start over; we had to keep all the failed squadrons active! The only thing we could do was commission parts of the squadron instead of the full thing, to try and save time and money; but it barely made any difference. So now we’ve got dozens of these generic squadrons, most of which aren’t even fully manned, just flung everywhere serving no real purpose!” Cole spouted. “All of this tried to save us money, and it ended up squandering more than it saved! Jesus, how dumb can you be!?”

“Wow just… it’s really hard to believe that going on in such a powerful country,” Spitfire observed. “What in the world made the contracts so… non-negotiable?”

“Pft, the hell if I know,” Cole remarked, causing Spitfire to become suspicious. “Hey, not like I can lie anymore, right? I just can’t read through all the fat shoved in it. Feels like only Bureaucrats could.”

“Fair enough,” she relented.

Silence followed after this, somewhat intentional as Spitfire wanted to give the man some time to calm down. It was a rather odd situation to her; she could understand how Cole felt, as her country’s government had done some rather foolish things. But for some reason it felt harder to believe when it came to the United States, with such a massive military force. All the same, it seemed to add up.

Cole himself was an interesting character. He obviously was not happy about being captured and forced to tell the truth, only he seemed to be somewhat depressed about it, more than one would usually be, as if he had completely failed. And he had, though she did not think he had to be too sad about it. Surely, he would try to resist as much as he could, but being non-magical, it was out of his control.

The silence was suddenly broken by a low groan. She was not quite sure what it was, and nearly decided to just ignore it as nothing, until she noticed Cole clutch his stomach. It seemed he also lied about feeling ok, as well; for what reason, she could not comprehend. It did not seem brave to not to ask for food; more foolish and arrogant.

“Hungry?” she asked, knowing he could not lie this time.

“Yea, a little… now that you mention it,” Cole finally admitted.

“I figured; I don’t know a ton about humans, but I know they can’t go for too long without something to eat,” the pegasus stated, turning her head back towards the door and calling for the guard still standing outside. “Sergeant! Go find some loaves of bread and bring them over!”

“Yes ma’am!” the Guard replied in a gruff voice.

“So where am I? This seems a little… comfy for a prison cell,” Cole observed.

“Well our prisoner center was kind of… blown apart in the last raid on this base; thankfully there were no actual prisoners in it,” Spitfire clarified. “This is… or… was the team’s recreation room. A bomb landed near it in the same raid and blew out the windows; hence why they’re boarded up for now, and we had to move most of the things out for clean-up.”

“I was gonna say, this doesn’t look like much of a relaxation spot for Equestria’s best fliers; I’m sure the one at your home base must be something.”

“Funny you should say that, this is actually the Wonderbolts Academy.”

It took Cole a minute to come up with a response.

“This place is your headquarters?”

“For the Wonderbolts; and Equestria’s most powerful military base,” she affirmed. “That’s why we brought you here; you’re position as more of a… political prisoner is sensitive; so we needed to keep you protected.”

“Look no offense, but I don’t feel very safe being held in a room that almost got obliterated not too long ago.”

Despite what he said, Cole could see Spitfire’s ears droop a bit.

“Yea, I know,” she agreed. “This place used to be a symbol of the R.E.A.F.; the place where all the young pegasi would dream about going to. It’s hard to see it in the state it’s in now that I can barely believe it myself.”

Cole felt bad now, very bad. It seemed that he had just gone on a long rant about his country’s problems and, when it was over, just insulted the quality of her home without even thinking. He truly did not mean anything insulting by it, but that did not seem to make things better; at least not in his mind. He really needed to think more before opening his trap.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that-”

“No, it’s fine; you’re right anyways,” Spitfire stopped him. “I’m just… remembering the old times; back when things were good. Just wishing I could go back to them and everything. Seems like everything might be going downhill; I just wish ponies could watch us fly again.”

“Well… maybe someday you will,” Cole responded. “I’d certainly like to see a show; your team sounds impressive.”

“We were, and we still are,” she pointed out quickly. “It’s just too dangerous to put on a show nowadays. We would get shot to pieces; not to mention the civilian casualties.”

Cole could not think of what else to add, and the returning silence also brought the awkwardness along with it. The first thought was to mention that the United States was willing to help Equestria in the war, but he also knew how isolationist they were. He was not sure what Spitfire thought of the idea, and he was worried about saying the wrong thing and getting on her bad side. And no matter how hard he tried, his mind just went back to that option.

Thankfully, he did not have to, as the Guard who had been waiting outside trotted in, carrying a plate of bread, which he sat down on the table. Cole immediately grabbed a loaf and started eating on it; he never did realize how hungry he saw food. He also noticed that the guard seemed a tad irritated for some reason.

“Oh, thank you!” Cole said quickly, before tearing off another piece.

The earth pony simply grunted, which only made Cole further worried.

“Eh, don’t mind Ferrus; he’s just a grumpy old man,” the blue unicorn spoke up, levitating a loaf over to himself. “He’s just mad we have to babysit you instead of watch over the borders.”

“Sergeant! You are not supposed to give out our names in the presence of prisoners!” he yelled back angrily, not having much effect on the younger stallion.

He must have been oblivious to Spitfire giving Cole her name, but what struck him was Sergeant’s name.

“Wait, Ferris? Like Ferris Bueller?” Cole snickered. “That’s kind of a normal name for a pony… relative to others I’ve heard; Ferris, hehe.”

“Ferrus,” the pony replied, putting emphasis on the ‘u’. “I was an iron miner before the war started, that’s why my name is Ferrus; just Ferrus.”

“Just Ferrus? No last name?” Cole went on. “So I can still call you Bueller then?"

“Wh-no! What are you talking about!?”

“Ah, nothing,” the pilot sighed, still snickering to himself.

To his surprise, the unicorn was laughing lightly, as well, not trying very hard to hold it back. Spitfire also seemed to find the comment amusing. He doubted they had seen the movie he was referring to; Ferrus obviously had not. Still, he found it comical, and apparently the other two did, as well.

“Ma’am, may I please return to my station now,” Ferrus growled.

“Go ahead, Sergeant,” Spitfire replied, with the earth pony immediately stomping out of the room as soon as it left her mouth.

As he watched the Guard leave, Cole found it a bit odd that comedy was able to come up in such a scenario. He had not actually meant to insult Ferrus, it was only an offhand comment to him. It was not too surprising he took it as a possible attack, but it was odder that the other two ponies had found it amusing. From the start they had felt like his captors, possible enemies; now, they still felt somewhat like that, but they felt like friends, as well.

“So, where were we?” Spitfire asked.

“You mind if I ask another question?” Cole asked, trying to evade giving away any more sensitive information.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“How come you don’t want our help?”

Spitfire was taken aback by this question, but answered as quickly as she could.

“Because it’s not your war to fight; we don’t need you guys getting killed for our problem.”

“You’d rather get wiped out than accept help?” Cole simplified it.

“I trust the Princess; I know that she has something worked out,” Spitfire replied. “And even if we are, I suppose it would be better than sending that suffering onto someone else.”

“That doesn’t make sense; we’d have to fight the Bloc at some point anyways,” Cole shot back. “Their kind, Sombra’s especially, isn’t exactly locked in your world; we’ve had plenty of power-hungry people start wars because of their greed, and this isn’t anything special.”

“Which is pretty odd; last time that happened your country chose the opposite,” she pointed out. “You decided to keep to yourself until you got attacked. That was your world’s biggest war, and it was not very long ago, either.”

It took Cole a minute to realize she was referring to Pearl Harbor, which surprised him greatly.

“How… how do you know-”

“Like I said, we may keep to ourselves, but we have resources,” Spitfire reminded him. “And I try to keep up with the history of important events.”

Cole tried to think up a response in kind to the subject, but wanted to go back to the previous subject, to justify some things.

“That war is the reason my country’s policy is reversed.”

“And I have also read stories where that policy did more harm than good.”

“But it’s been largely good, hasn’t it?”

The pegasus sat there and thought for a moment; she opened her mouth to say something, but shut it quickly, before another period of silence and finally speaking up.

“Perhaps… it depends, from what I’ve heard.”

“Then why won’t you let us help?” Cole pressured.

“I told you what our policy was,” Spitfire replied in an irritated manner.

“Yea, I know what your government says, but what do you want?” he asked.

Again, Spitfire was surprised by this, and again she spent some time thinking of an answer; this period lasting much longer.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I have seen some… terrible things in this war. Cities being bombed, civilians being hurt… I just want to do what I can to try and stop it, to end it. Do you know what any of that is like, Captain?”

“No ma’am; but I’ve got an idea.”

“And do you want to see that idea thrown onto your people?” Spitfire asked. “You’re not as untouchable as you think; if you go to war, there will be a lot of destruction.”

“No I… I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” he admitted, “but we have to do what we have to do, and I think we can take it.”

Spitfire let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to show all of her sadness flowing away.

“Is that what you want?”

Despite having asked the question first, Cole had no personal answer for it. He did want to help Equestria, but at the same time he understood how heavy the cost would be to fight the Bloc. And considering how far the Bloc had advanced, and how disarrayed the Equestrian forces seemed to be, it may already be too late.

“I just want to stop people from being hurt; that’s why I joined,” he replied, giving a similar answer to Spitfire’s.

“Well, if you are telling the truth, it’s a noble one,” she responded. “Either way, we aren’t going to have a say in it. Things are changing, and the two of us have no influence in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Princess has flown to your capital city to talk with your President.”

“What!?” Cole jumped. “She’s never gone to Washington before! What made her want to go now?”

“Take a guess,” Spitfire replied, staring at him.

The pilot immediately realized that it was his presence that caused that break in political isolation.

“Oh… right,” he realized, a bit embarrassed.

“Yea, and this situation is getting to be a problem,” she continued, fluttering up out of the chair and landing on the floor. “I’m not sure if we’ll just be shipping you back to America or what, but you will not be staying here forever.”

“How long do you think it will be?”

“I do not know, but I will tell you if anything develops,” she answered. “Until then I have some paperwork to finish. We will continue this later. Sergeant Backscatter!”

“Yes ma’am!” the unicorn answered.

“We are done for now, you can restore him to normal.”

“Got it,” he replied, readying his horn.

Cole again felt the strange magic run over his form, and again felt little different afterwards.

“You should be good, but let me know if any of your fingers fall off,” Backscatter warned.

“What!?”

“I’m joking, Captain, relax,” he replied. “And here I thought you had a sense of humor.”

“If you need anything, knock on the door and the Guard stationed there will bring it to you,” Spitfire stated before her and Backscatter exited the room. “And do not cause another ruckus.”

As the door slammed shut, Cole noted a sense of ire in her voice; she obviously was not happy with the last piece of the conversation. And, stretching out on the couch to think, he felt like it had gone nowhere. At first it seemed they could be friends, despite the status he was in, and at the end it felt like one had been lost, and nothing had changed. And beyond that, he had given up sensitive information involving his work, and would have to divulge any more they requested in the near future. Anguishing over the idea, Cole wondered if there was anything left in his control.

Author's Note

I know it's been a while without action, but you can expect a major battle by the next 3-4 chapters. Things are starting to fall into place. I've also got a map worked out, and it should be done in the next few days.

Anyways, thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback as to what you thought.

The Art of Breaking Rules (TNB)

August 13th, 2005
2100 Hours
Near Onda Cálida, Shadow Empire

This was going to be another one he couldn’t talk about, thought Commander Mike Osario. As captain of USS Parche, he knew a thing or two about covert operations.

He stood with his arms crossed, leaning with his hip against the handrail that surrounded the periscope stand in the control room as the submarine cautiously nosed into Shadow territorial waters. They were now trespassing, as the United Nations saw it.

Of course, as the Arcaian Defense Bloc saw it, they had been trespassing ten miles ago. But this wasn’t their world, and the UN looked poorly on countries who tried to impose their own laws of the sea. Still, Parche was trespassing anyway. Spying was the art of breaking the rules, and also getting away with it.

Spying was a grey area, where accountability and legality were swept under the table. The mission came first, and thinking about how it was accomplished got pushed to the back burner. If they were caught, the consequences could be enormous.

The stakes were high, but so were Parche’s capabilities. It wasn’t Osario’s first tour on board and he knew the boat like the back of his hand. She was specialized for the mission and was the only one of her kind that had ever been built.

Parche had once been a Sturgeon-class nuclear-powered attack submarine, laid down in the ‘70s. Nearly from day one, she had been involved in clandestine operations. However, it was only after a refit added an additional 100 feet of length to her bow and installed a number of other renovations that she truly came into her own. She was oddly proportioned and had strange bulges and lumps all over her hull, but it all served a purpose. She had been scheduled for decommissioning the previous year, but the appearance of Arcaia had turned a lot of things on their head, including the US defense budget. Despite being the oldest and perhaps also the ugliest submarine in the US Navy, Parche had nine Presidential Unit Citations under her belt as the most decorated American vessel of all time.

Earning decorations like that - during peacetime no less - still entailed secret and dangerous missions. It was a legacy to live up to. And in her age, Parche still had things left to prove.

Osario watched the approach on the plotting table as they drew closer to the coast. Reports from the Office of Naval Intelligence indicated that the Shadow Empire might be trialing new units in the coastal city of Onda Cálida. Due to the Bloc’s control of weather to foil satellites and the fact that they hadn’t quite embraced modern technology yet which foiled electronic eavesdropping, spying had become very difficult indeed.

Enter Parche. Spying was simply what she did. Once upon a time, it had been the Soviet Union. Now, at thirty two years old, she was still up to her old tricks.

She slipped quietly towards shore as the bottom started to come up. Ten miles out of the harbor, the passive sonar operators began to resolve some of the clutter. There were the usual waves and industrial sounds, strange splashes, and engines of all kinds. That would help mask Parche, but being so close to shore also reduce the margin of error to near zero.

Parche had never fired a shot in anger, nor had most American submarines, but still had her torpedoes. Sinking a foreign ship in self defense in its own territorial waters would be an international incident, but the alternative would be worse.

“Come left, three five zero,” Osario ordered. The helm acknowledged.

He cut the submarine back and forth in a slow zigzag. This would help with range bearings via sonar, and perhaps make their path less predictable. Parche was no rookie to this game.

“Reel in the tail and bring us to periscope depth,” Osario ordered.

The sensitive towed-array sonar carried on a long cable out behind the submarine was her best microphone to the ocean. However, there was a risk in snagging it in shallow water.

Parche approached the surface. Osario wasn’t expecting to see much at night, but one last check would be prudent. It would also provide an opportunity to get a read on any electronic emissions in the area.

He hit the controls and the attack periscope slid up. One of the crewmen threw a switch and an ESM mast also went up, testing the airwaves.

The clouds were low, Osario saw. He could make out city lights in the distance. A slow check did not reveal any ship traffic nearby. Sonar hadn’t heard any, either.

Satisfied, he lowered the periscope and committed to the final approach.

There was always a danger that they would be detected. The Shadows would be stupid not to have some kind of harbor surveillance set up. But would they be looking for a submarine? Did they have barriers, or worse, mines? Osario ordered the speed cut back again. He was mentally prepared for the mission to take all night. And on that note, he excused himself to get a cup of coffee.

The wardroom on a submarine was tiny. It was hard not to literally bump into people. There, Osario found one of the men from...well, it didn’t really matter which agency, or group, or activity they were from.

“About that time,” Osario commented.

“Yeah,” said the man.

Osario couldn’t remember if he was one of the ones that worked in the “bat cave” area installed in the 100 foot extension, or if he was in the other area near the stern. He wasn’t a permanent member of the crew, only brought on for this one mission. He wasn’t the first, and probably wouldn’t be the last, visitor Parche had ever seen.

Osario walked back to the control center, coffee in hand. Parche was starting to get pinched between the shallowing bottom and the surface. Osario had been in this position often enough to be familiar with it, but not enough to be comfortable. That would have been foolhardy. Nuclear submarines, as a rule, did not play in the shallows.

An hour passed, tension constant, but not dire. They had not run into anything. The chart carefully catalogued their route, taking information from the inertial navigation system and dead reckoning. It took precision, but that was what they did. Perfection was a way of life. The alternative could very well be death.

Osario reviewed what he knew of the mission. The Shadow Empire was in the process of constructing, well, a lot of things, but tonight Parche was after a hybrid battlecruiser with a platform for VTOL aircraft on its stern. Data said that it probably existed, but no one had ever seen it. Supposedly, the ship was called Miedo. It was just another piece in the growing arsenal the Bloc was preparing.

Onda Cálida was a small port in the southwestern part of the Shadow Empire. It wasn’t a major military installation, and probably wouldn’t merit heavy patrols. Still, where there was a shipbuilding facility, there was something to be learned. Parche had plenty of sophisticated sensors, cameras, underwater lights, and other gizmos. However, sneaking all the way up into a harbor would do them no good. The water would be too dirty to see through, and likely too shallow to completely hide the submarine.

That was where some of the mysterious visitors came in. Parche had already planned where she would stop and let the swimmers take over. She just had to get into position.

The submarine glided to a halt a mile south of the main harbor pier in two hundred feet of water. Small thrusters around the hull slowly spun her in place, pointed back out to sea. Hydraulics extended four ski-like feet from the bottom of the hull and Parche settled gently onto the seabed.

The divers going out were already in the airlocks. When the boat was secure, the hatches opened into the pressurized “moon pool” where they could simply slip into the water. The equally pressurized air in the small chamber kept the water from flooding in

The submarine’s permanent crew had nothing to do but wait. This close to shore, there was enough noise going on in the harbor to mask just about any noise they made. That didn’t mean anyone did, however.

Osario considered the Bloc’s capabilities. Improving rapidly, from what he had read. Technology from China and Russia, combined with a surprisingly acute homegrown sense had taken the Shadow Navy from nearly nothing to building battlecruisers in just years. That was to say nothing of the griffons or changelings.

The possibility that the Bloc possessed some new anti-submarine capability crossed his mind. What about trained dolphins, or pony swimmers, or something magical? They would never see it coming.

Sonar reported a close contact, bearing constant and cruising speed. A low hum slowly built in volume, even without hydraphones. Osario glanced up, as did a few others. Shallow as they were, one could hear ships go by overhead without even the sonar. The thought of a destroyer dropping depth charges came unpleasantly to mind.

Osario glanced at the clock. It was nearly time for the swimmers to come back. They’d agreed on a hard cutoff. Parche wouldn’t wait, if the divers had gotten into trouble. America’s best spy submarine could not afford to take unnecessary risks. More than they already had, anyway.

From the control room, he heard the hiss of changing pressure. That would be the airlock preparing to receive the divers back.

Suddenly, Parche shuddered, rocking to the side. Osario caught the handrail for balance. His ears popped with a pressure change. A grating noise combined with the sound of bending metal came from somewhere above.

Osario glanced at the integrity board, showing all green. The noises faded away and Parche settled back on her skids. A light for the diver chamber suddenly turned red.

“Get me a report,” he ordered to no one in particular. From forward, he heard pumps engage.

A long ten seconds passed before word came back. “The upset changed the water level in the moon pool and let some air out.”

That explained the pressure. “What happened? Can we get one of the divers to check topside?”

Something fouling the propeller would be their worst nightmare, though owing to the nature of her work, Parche was fitted with a guarded screw.

A few minutes passed, feeling like hours. Submarines were inherently slow-paced, but this was not the time nor place to be spending extra seconds.

The final diver was finally back within the submarine and going through the airlock. As the chamber equalized, he scribbled out the problem on his underwater slate and showed it to a sailor on the other side of the airlock window. The sailor, in turn, relayed it to the control room. “One fairwater plane slightly bent. Scratches all over the sail.”

Osario winced, but there was nothing that could be done now. To the helm, he ordered, “Get us up off the bottom and head out. Clear datum to the west.”

Sailors began adjusting ballast and preparing to retract the skids. Parche floated again, and began to slowly creep away.

The Chief of the Boat sidled over, already knowing what was on Osario’s mind. “I wonder if it’s related to the ship that had passed over earlier, sir.”

“That’s the only thing I can think of,” Osario agreed. “Were they dragging something? A net?”

“A fishing net wouldn’t have done that kind of damage,” COB pointed out. They both knew Sturgeon dive planes were designed strong enough to surface through ice.

“Yeah,” Osario said. “And last I checked, ponies don’t eat fish.”

Could they somehow have been detected? Or was it just dumb luck? Was it a device designed to net submarines, or simply something that had accidentally done so? Either way, the Shadows likely knew they were there now, though whether they realized exactly what they had caught was still unknown.

There were too many variables and not enough facts. Osario did at least know that Parche would require a refit when they got back to Bangor. Maintaining depth control would be more difficult without using the fairwater planes mounted on the submarine’s sail, but there was no way to know how extensive the damage was. With her modified hull, she was already ungainly. They would have to rely on just the stern planes and the fine maneuvering thrusters.

The minutes passed slowly. Even if they were to make flank speed, it would still take at least half an hour to get clear of Shadow waters, so there was no point in making noise by hurrying. Parche took the time to do things right. At low speed, the damaged planes probably wouldn’t change her sound signature.

It wouldn’t be the first time an American submarine returned to port with damage. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened inside another country’s territorial waters, either. While that didn’t make it acceptable, risks and regulations had to be considered if they wanted to get intelligence that was otherwise unobtainable. There was no other way but to pay the price and break the rules.

Sonar kept Osario constantly updated on the situation in the harbor. More ships were mobilizing. It was probably best to suspect they had been made. At least it seemed as if Parche’s maneuver off to the west put her out of the Shadow Navy’s expected search pattern.

Osario went over the approach in his head again and again. There was no way to know that ship had been dragging something. He might have been able to get Parche out of the way, but doing so might have compromised her, and before the divers returned. What could he have done differently?

The minutes and the miles slowly counted off. Osario didn’t relax, but after enough of both had passed, felt secure enough to leave his post in the control room for more coffee. He didn’t know how he was going to sleep after the caffeine, or especially after the mission.

As he finished pouring a cup, he met the divers just coming out of the airlock after decompressing.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“It was good,” said the man he’d spoken to earlier. “We got what we needed.”

Osario almost inquired about photos of the prototype Shadow ship, but asked a more important question first. “How does my boat look?”

The man shrugged and gestured to the bulkheads. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

There was that, though it didn’t entirely alleviate Osario’s glum mood. This mission could have earned them another award citation. As it was, he wondered if he was in danger of losing his command for the damage of such an important national spy platform.

But that was still better than being dead, or worse, failing the mission.

Author's Note

You all should thank TNB, he wanted to do submarine stuff.

Who Would Reject Help?

August 14th, 2005
1340 Hours
Washington D.C.

“So you’re not scared about it?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to worry over it,” the man sitting behind the desk told his colleague across from him.

“Well, you’re worrying me plenty, Mr. James,” the elderly man replied.

David James, the 43rd President of the United States, was leaning back in his chair, trying to ease his mind for what lay ahead. Alongside that title, he was also the Commander-in-Chief of the nation’s armed forces, the most powerful in the world; he considered this title to be a bit more important than the others he held. It was this matter that he was discussing with Congressman Garret Walsh.

“You know I’m only trying to keep the armed forces on par with potential enemies,” James stated.

“You mean like the People’s Republic of China, Mr. President?” Walsh queried.

“I’m more concerned about the Bloc,” the President clarified. “They’re able to build up their military forces far faster than any human nation, and no one is exactly sure how.”

“But you mean China, as well?” Walsh pressed in his usual calm, clear voice. “They are allied to the Bloc, after all.”

James sighed heavily, but would not deny it.

“Yes, them as well; they have built up their strength much faster, probably with help from the Bloc.”

“I will say, it’s a scary thing,” the Congressman stated. “From what I’ve read the Chinese are finally beginning to work out their logistical handicaps.”

“That they are, Mr. Walsh,” the President confirmed. “And the naval balance is being evened out also.”

“I remember watching a report from the Chinese government’s station saying they launched another carrier; that would be the fifth one if it’s true…is it?”

“It is number five, Congressman… as far as we can tell.”

James sulked a bit in his chair before quickly straightening his back. As far as the American spy network could tell, China did possess at least five aircraft carriers. At the turn of the century, it seemed impossible they would have one in commission by 2010; now they had five, and, in all probability, there were more on the way. It all pointed to China’s relationship with the Bloc, the ‘Sino-Arcaian Security Pact’ as it was officially called. But what gave the Bloc the ability to build up its military so quickly?

“But, we still have six carrier groups in the Pacific Fleet, Mr. President. Six of our best,” Walsh pointed out. “Plus the four that have been placed in reserve in Pearl, and the Kennedy and Stennis in San Diego, and when the Ford is launched in a few years, assuming there are no further delays, she’ll be stationed in the Pacific as well, won’t she? We’ve got a fine naval advantage on our hands.”

“As I’ve said, I’m more worried about the Defense Bloc; they’re the ones building the equipment and actually using it,” the President replied. “Those three nations steamrolled the continent, and now the last barrier between us and them is in danger. I don’t want to see a war fought on American soil, that’s why I’m putting money into it.”

“Yes, Mr. President, but that’s the problem. A good number of people in Congress are worried over the country’s economic state, should this path continue.”

Most of the ‘people’ Walsh was referring to were the Democrats, of which he was one, while James on the other hand was a Republican. The degree of his military advancement was not exactly popular with most of them, and quite a few others, it seemed. Even though he had been elected to his second term, they had been elected into majority in Congress, making actions more difficult to undertake. Walsh worked in the House of Representatives as the Majority Leader, making him a powerful individual in politics. And along with that, he was one of James’ closer friends.

Regardless of their political leanings, neither had any personal qualms with working across the aisle and trying to compromise, but these two had a good deal more to discuss than only politics. On an almost daily basis, the two would meet for lunch and discuss simpler matters like home, family, life, current events, and past experiences. Politics returned when it mattered most, and both were usually willing to work something out.

“I understand, though I’ve already curtailed the Zumwalt program,” James reminded him. “But what else were you thinking?”

“Our most expensive weapon system is the Joint Strike Fighter program, Mr. President,” Walsh stated. “And, as you know, the program has run into several problems along the way. It’s impressive from a technological standpoint, but not enough, at least not for the price tag.”

James let out another sad groan, one that hurt Walsh slightly. He did not enjoy telling his friend this, but it was what needed to be done. The economy could not handle the amount of military spending. Some of it had to be stopped, or the weapons they spent so much on would never get a chance to be used.

“Are you thinking we need to shut down the JSF, as well?” the President asked.

“Not entirely, but it will have to be reduced greatly,” Walsh explained. “We will only be able to buy enough to outfit the Fords, and the British carriers, as they’re willing to pay a handsome amount. But I’m afraid most of the rest of the military will have to make do with what they have, along with the other foreign buyers.”

“They won’t be happy, especially the Canadians; they’ve already got a carrier in the works.”

“I understand, sir, but to deliver them would not be beneficial to us. They simply cannot pay for both the carrier and its F-35 air wing.”

The President buried his head in his hands before looking up again.

“Very well. Do you think this will be enough to stabilize everything?”

“Hopefully,” Walsh confirmed. “I’m sorry that this has to happen.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” James said lightly. “We’re both trying to do what’s best, trying to stop the worst from happening, aren’t we?”

“We are, Mr. President,” Walsh nodded in agreement. “We’ve both seen the worst.”

“We have, haven’t-”

A man in a dark suit entered the office, unintentionally interrupting the conversation.

“Sir, she’s here,” he reported simply.

“Thank you, let’s begin immediately,” James ordered, letting the man exit the room. “I’m sorry, Mr. Walsh, but I’ve got a very important meeting I must attend. We’ll have to cut our talk short today.”

“I understand,” he said as he slowly stood from the chair. “Goodnight, David.”

Walsh exited the room, leaving James alone for a few minutes to ponder things. It was already very clear what he had to stop in order to help the economy, he was not worried about that. He was more concerned about what was about to happen, or what could happen. He was trying to run through the possible scenarios in his head when she walked in.

“Hello?”

He turned his head up to see a rather tall, regal alicorn walk into the room, being none other than Princess Celestia herself. A few faint pictures of the Equestrian leader had reached the outside world over the years, but seeing her in person was understandably different. It also took him by surprise how suddenly she entered; he had not even heard the door open. Of course he had been in his own world at the time, trying to predict how this meeting would go.

“Good afternoon, Princess,” he replied, covering his musing with the facade that he had been completely focused. “Sit down, please.”

He mentally chastised himself for not thinking of a better line to use, even forgetting to call her by her title; he could not worry about such things now, at least he should not.

“Is there anything I can get for you, ma’am?”

“No thank you,” she declined. “I would prefer to get straight to the point of this visit.”

“Very well, that sounds fair enough,” James agreed, resting his elbows on the desk. “I understand you have one of my Air Force pilots in custody?”

“Yes, he was flying uncomfortably close to our coast,” Celestia surmised.

“I’m sure you were not responsible,” he guessed correctly.

“No, not at all,” she agreed herself. “But we do have him in custody.”

James began to ponder what conditions the pilot was being held in. Was it legal and humane, or was the pilot being tortured? He doubted the last part, but he could not say for certain. The main objective of this meeting was to secure the pilot’s release. Considering how this was the first such discussion that he and Princess Celestia ever had, it was worth trying to advance in other areas.

“I would prefer to return him to your country as soon as possible.”

The shock from that statement hit James like a sledgehammer, and it took a few seconds before he could conceive a response. Isolation or not, he still expected her to bargain with him a good deal to secure the pilot; to demand some kind of repayment for annoying them so constantly. Perhaps she was just bad at politics, or maybe she just really wanted him out of her country.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting that. You wish to return him now? Without any kind of… catch?”

“Yes, is there a problem with this?” she quipped. “I assumed you would want your pilot back.”

“Of course, but I know how negotiations work out; there’s always something,” James responded.

“These kinds of discussion require trust to go anywhere, Mr. President.”

“And I do trust you, Princess, but that doesn’t mean I should be reckless.”

“Then you have nothing to worry over; all I wish is for you to reclaim your pilot, that is all,” Celestia emphasized again. “As I have said, I only wish for my country to be left to its own affairs.”

James decided this would be a good point to change the subject to something he preferred.

“Why are you so keen on keeping to yourself?” he questioned her. “The number of ways we would benefit from open relations is limitless.”

“Because I would prefer to prevent this conflict from spreading farther,” she answered, easily seeing the main idea the President was referring to.

“And you would lead your own citizens into suffering for that?”

“To save the lives of millions more, yes.”

Needless to say, her reasoning seemed honorable, if a bit warped. She was still committed to it, it seemed, and it would not be easy to influence her decisions. Despite both of these factors, James was still intent on trying. It was better to give an attempt, even with such a small chance.

“That is a very noble ideal, and respectable, but I feel like there is a better way to go about it,” he stated. “I am also looking for more peaceful ways of resolving things.”

“I do not hope you will be offended by it, but your military strength seems to show otherwise,” Celestia observed. “Unless that is part of your own peace strategy.”

“It is indeed, ma’am,” James pointed out. “With the turbulent history our own world has had, we have come to an understanding that some people have a considerable lust for power, and the only way to fully respond to it is through appropriate and immediate reaction. It’s not the best way, but sometimes it’s the only one, unfortunately.”

“I am afraid that, from some unfortunate experiences in my time, I am rather distrustful of one nation or being holding such a vast amount of power,” she explained respectfully. “It can be very corrupting.”

“Power is not the problem, it comes down to how one uses it,” the President countered. “We do try our best to use our power to maintain world peace.”

“And what if the fight that is occurring is not in accordance with your own wishes?”

“There have been some poor decisions, I will admit,” James stated, preferring to skip over the direct counter and move to explanation. “But such decisions are difficult, as I am sure you’ve experienced.”

Though there was a good degree of professional respect between the two heads-of-state, there was an unmistakable sense of distrust lingering in the air about them. It was not hard to notice the small, hidden pot-shots, but both held themselves in a dignified manner. The honor barrier was a sturdy one for keeping things in line.

“Indeed they are, and it is unfortunate that hindsight is so clear,” she agreed.

“Not as clear as everyone says it is,” the President replied. “And people tend to forget how… hazy situations can be when making choices. You tend to see the mishaps after it’s too late… most of the time.”

“I… well… I suppose we… only try to do what we feel is best for our countries. But perhaps what is best for both of our counties is not what is right at the same time.”

“Maybe, but maybe not,” James said. “It is possible for us to see some mishaps ahead of time.”

Celestia had a basic idea of what the President was referring to, but kept quiet and allowed him to explain.

“I can respect your intentions, Princess, but they are not achievable with the tactics you’re using,” he continued. “You can’t change something by doing nothing.”

“Is that what you want? Change?”

“I want peace, but that might only come through change,” the President went on, beginning to explain more clearly. “Even if you fall, and the continent with it, it won’t stop the war, just delay it. It will take time, but a war will come between us; it always does when one power demands expansion like this.”

“And you wish to stop it by...saving us first?” Celestia correctly guessed. “It is an… interesting thought. How would you go about this?”

James was surprised again, not by her predicting the course of the conversation. What was surprising was that she seemed interested in it, while he had expected her to ignore the offer outright. But this was a good chance for him to finally move forward and expand the two nation’s relations.

“Well… ma’am… the most immediate action would be lifting the self-imposed embargo,” he suggested. “The economic benefits would be great for both countries.”

“I’ve also thought on this,” she admitted, seemingly still interested in the idea. “What else, on the more active side?”

James hardly believed what was happening. The Princess had seemed to do a complete turnaround on her views. The way she went about it, simply asking for his ideas, made him feel as if he were pitching an idea to a superior, trying to convince them to listen and give it a chance. He was not sure what caused this, but that would come later. For now she was listening, and that was most important.

“If you mean militarily, then we would support you entirely,” he assured her.

“And what does ‘entirely’ encompass, Mr. President?” she asked. “Arming my people with your weaponry?”

“If you wish to do so, yes; we can supply you with some of our best arms. Some,” he reiterated.

“And what of becoming involved yourself?”

“Is it really coming to this? Sending our own men?” he thought.

“I do believe our nation is under threat, so I am open to sending our forces as a deterrent, and if it escalates, a defensive measure.”

“How far would this extend? Battling the Defense Pact on the sea and air?”

“And land if it comes to that,” James added. “Though if a force is built up in time it may prevent just that.”

“I am sure there will be no need for that,” Celestia stated.

Where was this going now? It seemed as though direct military aid on the ground would be the most desired form of assistance. From what James knew, there was a need for it. He did not know why she had driven the conversation in this direction, and stopped suddenly.

“There isn’t?” he repeated simply.

“Should you provide us with the necessary equipment, we will be able to defend ourselves from an attack on land.”

“I’m sure you could, Princess,” he fibbed, trying not to antagonize her. “But from what my estimates have shown, it would not be fully capable for some time.”

“I can assure you that we will be capable if provided with the necessary resources.”

“Perhaps, but it takes training and experience to use them properly,” James pointed out.

“I can… understand this. It does seem very advanced,” she admitted. “And you wish to do so by placing troops on our soil?”

“As a defensive force, ma’am, not an offensive one,” he reiterated. “They will assist in training and reorganizing your military into a modern one, as well as deterring and protecting both of our nations from attacks.”

“Both of ours, you say?”

“Yes ma’am; if our foes defeat you, they will undoubtedly come for us next. We share this conflict.”

“I suppose we do,” she relented. “I am interested in your proposal, but I believe I should discuss the specifics at a later time. I must inform my own staff of this development.”

“Of course, we can go over that when you wish. Just lets us know when you would like to have the meeting and it will be arranged. Then we can iron out the finer points, including the pilot.”

“I will,” Celestia said, rising from her seat. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Thank you too, Princess,” James replied, standing as well.

The two shook before Celestia turned and trotted out the room at a rather quick pace. As the door shut behind her, James sat back down and began to go over the events in his mind. He had gone into this attempting to get a pilot back and now he had an alliance to form. Though he had hoped for this outcome, he had not actually expected to attain it; at least, not this easily.

“I need to call the Chiefs,” he redirected his thoughts, thinking of the military’s heads. “I’ve got an army to build and another one to move.”

“A buffer zone!” Celestia screamed to herself in her own mind. “He wants to turn my country into a buffer zone!”

Though being what seemed like a puppet to one country was not as bad as being wiped out by her enemies, it did not sit much better. Though she thought for a moment that those were not the President’s intentions, it still felt like being used. Sadly, even if she did not like it, there was no other choice left for her now.

For the previous years, she had worked continuously on finding a spell that would return the continent to its own world. Once there, their magic would return to the state it was in originally, including giving her the Sun back, her sister the Moon, and many other things; with that was a power that would be enough to defeat Sombra and his allies. Her, and the ponies assisting her, had gathered mountains of information on this. She knew they had come close to finding and casting the spell.

Then, from out of nowhere, it had all vanished, stolen by an intruder. What was known was that a someone, more than likely a spy, had successfully broken into the vault containing the research and took every last paper before disappearing, destroying her dreams like it was some sick contrivance. All that was left were the pieces that had been memorized by her and the helpers, which was not nearly enough. What the Bloc would do with all of that information was unknown, but it would not be helpful to her situation.

That had broken her, and she began losing hope for a solution and a happy ending to the war. Her sister and student and the others around her helped however they could, but the prospect of loss and destruction still loomed over her. The idea of calling for help from the willing humans became more enticing, though she still did not wish to see them suffer for her own battle.

It was not until the Americans began flying mock intercepts of Bloc planes that she realized just how stubborn they were. Once Equestria fell, they would go to war all the same; who actually started that war would not matter to her, as it would still be a conflict she did not want. The capture of the American fighter pilot gave an excuse for meeting with their head of state. She went in knowing what had to be done, despite not wanting to do it. Later tonight, she would have to go to a meeting to work out the details of what equipment the military would receive and what human units would be going over to her country, along with the other issues the two nations would be dealing with in their new relationship.

Author's Note

It has been some time, thank you all for sticking with it so far. Also, thanks to all those who helped with pre-reading these chapters.

Make sure to leave some feedback on what you liked and disliked. Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoyed it!

Models

August 15th, 2005
1508 Hours
Academy

“Come in,” Cole replied blandly to the knock on the wooden door.

For the past few days, his whole world was centered on this little room. Cole initially did not mind as he actually somewhat preferred small homes, finding them more comfy than large ones with too much space to use, but one room was a bit too small. After all this time it was becoming maddening.

“Good morning, Captain.”

By now he had grown accustomed to the Spitfire’s voice, but he still had to sit up from the couch and speak directly to her; at least for respect’s sake.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“I hope you’ve had a nice stay here so far.”

“It’s a little rude to keep your guest all cooped up in here,” Cole joked lightly.

“It’s a little rude for an intruder to think that he’s a guest,” she replied accordingly. “But, you might be a guest soon. The last session of negotiations went better than expected, apparently.”

This new piece of information quickly grabbed Cole’s attention with its prospects, and he visibly brightened up. He had been informed that discussions were being held between the two nations, but he did not know how they were coming along. Even without specifics, the detail that they had ended well was an encouraging one.

“Really? So I’ll be going home soon?” he asked hopefully.

“Not exactly… I’m not too sure of the details,” Spitfire admitted. “But I do know our countries entered some kind of… agreement.”

“Yeah, you told me that yesterday,” Cole reminded her.

“You also asked me if you were leaving then,” Spitfire returned. “And I said no, and as far as I can tell I’m still saying no.”

“What? So what was the agreement about?”

“Well to keep it simple, you’re not leaving,” she clarified. “But you’re not leaving because this is going to be your home for a little bit. Some of your soldiers are going to be landing here later on today, and a squadron from your Air Force.”

“Really? What for?”

“I’m not really sure,” the pony admitted. “I’m allowed to share everything I was told with you, but that’s the extent of it. The only other point was that it was the same squadron you headed.”

The First Tactical was being sent here as well. This could not be a simple pick-up; there would be no reason to have a full squadron land as well as troops. It simply served no purpose to do so. Though Spitfire had already clarified that he would be staying here, so what was the meaning of it? Were they rebasing to here? Were they going to give some kind of demonstration to the Equestrians? Or was it a threat? Was it supposed to be some kind of pre-emptive strike, or retaliation for his capture? None of it made any sense.

“All I was ordered to do was to prepare you by sharing this information,” she continued. “Other than that I was told to ‘cooperate with American units in what they deem as necessary’, whatever that may be.”

“Combat operations?”

“I don’t think so; I haven’t heard anything about your country declaring war against the Bloc, or any other action. But we’ll know more when your friends get here.”

“Yea, we’ll know then,” Cole agreed, now realizing just how the situation has changed. “So… I… guess I’m… not a prisoner anymore?”

“Until your men arrive and the official handover takes place, you’re still a prisoner under me,” she replied sternly.

“Alright, alright. And when that happens, what does that make us? Partners or… friends or something?”

“I… guess so,” she replied hesitantly. “I mean you seem like a nice guy… when you’re not invading someone else’s country.”

“Hey, I didn’t invade it; I’d just rather be on land instead of floating around in the ocean,” he retorted. “And your land was the only one around.”

“And it’s still my land,” Spitfire said with a grin. “So you’re still my guest here, and you still have to follow my rules, for now anyways.”

“So does that mean more interrogation?” Cole groaned.

“Yes and no. You will be answering some questions, but I doubt any of it is classified information. And it won’t be to me, either.”

It was not Spitfire, and the details were not secret. So who would be questioning him? And on what? What kind of details were not secret that he could answer; things about life or people? And who would want to ask him such questions? A reporter? An author maybe?

“Captain? Something wrong?” Spitfire asked the brainstorming pilot.

“Oh, no ma’am; just thinking,” he assured her. “Mind if I ask what those details will be? And with whom I’ll be discussing them with?”

“Just a few curious ponies. They should be here soon,” she said nonchalantly. “And you’ll be talking about whatever they wish to discuss with you.”

“Well… alright,” Cole resigned.

With that, the two went quiet, with Spitfire turning away a bit and staring into space. Cole did the same for a bit, pondering what his new job was going to be once he was officially released. After almost a minute, the silence was becoming awkward to him, and despite her also daydreaming, he felt a bit uncomfortable with it.

“So how have things been?” he asked, not referring to anything in particular.

“Good; the front looks pretty quiet for now.”

“That sounds… good,” he agreed oddly, trying to think of something else to talk about. “Is there… anything you’d like to know about? At all?”

Spitfire brought a hoof to her chin for a few seconds, pondering of what she could ask.

“Not really, but thanks. There are a few things, but I’ll find them out soon,” she responded, remembering an important part of the deal she had forgotten. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Equestria’s isolation has been lifted.”

“That’s a pretty big detail to leave out.”

“I just forgot; I didn’t mean to keep it from you!” Spitfire replied defensively.

“Hey, I’m not mad at you; I can be pretty forgetful myself,” Cole replied before internally lambasting himself. “Otherwise I might not have been caught.”

“Really? I kind of thought-”

A knocking on the door interrupted the Equestrian before she could finish her sentence.

“Colonel, can we start now?” another girl’s voice asked from the other side.

“Colonel, so that’s her rank,” Cole thought.

“Yeah, you can come in,” she answered, before turning back to the human. “Well, Captain, I hope you’ll be kind and helpful. I’ll see you later.”

She did not stay to hear his reply of ‘yes ma’am’, turning back and heading to the door. She stepped out and closed it behind her, once again leaving Cole to his isolation. Some voices were heard on the other side of the door before it opened up once again. This time a group entered made up of one unicorn and three pegasi who were purple, dark blue, white, and brown, respectively.

“Good morning,” Cole said, wanting to take the first step. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the unicorn replied. “I’m Twilight Sparkle, personal student of the Princess.”

She turned back to her side and took it upon herself to introduce the rest of the group, pointing to each in the same order they had come in.

“This is Star Hunter, Starry Eyes, and Star Compass-”

“Compass Star!” the brown pegasus immediately corrected.

“Oh, right… sorry,” Twilight apologized.

“So…with all the star names…are you guys related or…something?” Cole asked.

“Yea, actually,” Compass confirmed.

Despite having guessed this, Cole was, for some reason he could not explain, was surprised.

“Partially related,” Hunter corrected the young pegasus. “Starry Eyes and I are distant cousins, and Compass here… well he might as well be in another family that happens to share a name with Star in it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was,” Starry carried on the subject, much to Compass’ discomfort. “I’m sure he is connected somewhere in the tree, but I can’t say where or how.”

“It’s a big family,” Compass said.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all,” the pilot repeated, with each of them responding in kind.

“So do you mind if I start the interview now?” Twilight asked.

“Interview? So you guys really are reporters?”

“Oh, no no,” she rectified. “This is more of a...studying mission. I’ve only gotten a few pieces of information on humans, and since you’re the first to be an official guest of Equestria, I thought it would be a great opportunity to learn more about the outside world. So I sent a letter to the Princess, and she said yes! ”

“Probably from lifting the self-issued embargo,” he thought.

“After that, I packed up and came here to see you, along with a few other ponies that were interested,” she said, referring to the others in the group.

“Ok,” Cole replied simply, taking in Twilight’s chronicle of events that lead her here.

For a moment he thought about telling her not to ask anything too sensitive involving his job, but remembered that due to a certain magical spell that could be cast on him, he did not truly have the ability to do so.

“So, first question,” Twilight began, believing that was the go-ahead for the questions to be asked. “What’s America like?”

“Like the land or… people or something?”

“Just overall.”

In a somewhat embarrassing stump, Cole could not answer right away. To him it was such a general question covering many different topics. It was a country, a chunk of land, his home, a political entity, and all sorts of things. He had several ideas, but debated on which to begin with until he settled on the easiest one.

“Well, it’s a country; a pretty nice one,” he explained. “I mean it’s… big and it’s got a lot of power, there’s a lot of different people and places in it… and…uh. Sorry, there’s a lot to it, could you be more specific?”

“What about the people? What are they like?”

“All kinds of people really; they come from all over the world.”

“For opportunity?” Twilight asked.

“Among other things, but yeah, you could say that’s the main reason,” Cole confirmed. “It sounds like you did some studying even before this.”

“Just a little,” the unicorn smiled. “But there wasn’t a lot that I could study with.”

“Well, you’re right,” the pilot said, much to her delight.

As the two were discussing the matter, the other three ponies were simply sitting there, listening and watching, attentively. Although Cole did trust that this was not intended to be a press interview, it still felt a bit like it. More than that, it felt like teaching a class, or answering questions from a group of young students.

“And everyone gets along well?” Twilight asked, continuing onward.

“Better than some places I’ve seen. Of course there are always a few problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Mostly just people fighting over being different,” Cole said uncomfortably, not wanting to delve too deeply into the darker areas.

“Like what they believe in?” Twilight guessed.

“Well… yes, that’d be one reason. Some people just have to have things go their way, no exceptions.”

“Don’t feel too bad; we have lots of ponies who do that, too,” she replied.

“Like Sombra?”

“He’s not Equestrian,” she corrected him. “But he is a good example, to say the least.”

“’Least’ sounds pretty charitable for a guy invading other countries. I doubt he’s trying to help people get along.”

“I guess his logic is that it’s better to control differences rather than befriend them,” Twilight commented, “as if it will keep the thugs and thieves and crazies under control.”

“The crazy people like him?”

“Pony, in his case,” she corrected him before continuing. “But that’s his plan for making a peaceful world.”

“Yea, I can see his paradise now,” Cole grumbled, “a bright, cold day in April with the clock striking thirteen.”

“What? Is that supposed to be some kind of human maxim?” Twilight asked.

“Not really, just a passage from a book I read once,” he answered. “But anyways, what else did you want to talk about?”

“What about geography?” Compass blurted out; breaking the silence the other three had held since the questioning began.

“Uh… y-yea, sure,” Cole agreed, taking a moment to register the odd request. “I enjoy geography enough, but what would you want to know about it? Couldn’t you just buy a map of the U.S. whenever they start selling it here?”

“I wanted to talk more about the places themselves,” he clarified. “Now that the travel ban has been lifted, I’m looking forward to exploring places.”

“So you want vacation advice?” the human grinned.

“Hehe, kinda. I already visited most places in our world before we were dropped on Earth, so I figured I might as well do it again here.”

“I hear you, it’s no problem. Where did you want to go; to a city or to the countryside or somewhere else?”

“What kind of places are in America?” Star asked. “In terms of land?”

“Well, like I said, it’s a big place,” Cole repeated. “There’s forests, plains, deserts, mountains, cities, swamp. The first probably takes up most of the land and is sort of spread out. The plains take up most of the central part of the country.”

“We also have some large plains in the east. What are yours like?”

“I can’t really say much, couldn’t get into them; but if its plains then probably not very different from yours. They all just look the same, just a whole lot of flat nothing. Good for farming, sure, but there’s not much to see.”

“Really? I think they’re kind of charming because of that. Nice and simple,” the pegasus replied. “Guess it’s just opinion. What about the deserts?”

“Mostly in the west-southwest part, though that tends to vary. I know some parts of the southwestern ones can have a good deal of life in them. But I remember going into Utah once and that was barren. There was less there than in the plains!”

“Utah?”

“It’s one of our states. Do you guys know about that yet?”

All of them answered in the affirmative; apparently that was one of the pieces of information that had gotten in and spread enough for many to know.

“Alright, good. But yea, those are there if you’re interested. Plenty of cities that are scattered around, too. New York’s pretty cool if you’re interested.”

“I more of a country colt,” Compass replied, shaking his head a couple of times. “But I’ll keep it in mind. I have heard of it a couple times, but it never really grabbed my attention.”

Cole was going to talk about the finer details of the city, but was stopped by some loud knocking from the door. A girl’s voice called Twilight’s name causing the unicorn to stop her note-taking and excitedly run to it. She opened the door to reveal the voice’s owner, a light-blue pegasus with a colorful mane.

“Rainbow!”

“Hey!” the pegasus replied, wrapping her friend in a hug. “I heard you were around here somewhere, so I figured I should say hi at least.”

“I’m glad you did! It’s been months since I’ve seen you. How have things been around here?”

"Kinda boring, actually; we haven’t gone on many flights lately,” she explained. “It’s a little annoying, but from what I’ve heard about the fighting, I’m ok with it. But what about you? What are you doing here anyways?”

“The Princess said I could make a visit to talk with that American pilot we found.”

“Oh him?” Rainbow asked, looking past Twilight at the human. “Yea, I heard we caught him. But nopony on the base has been allowed to actually talk with him other than Spitfire.”

“She actually told me quite a lot from her own talks with him,” Twilight added. “Apparently his squadron was from some kind of special project. He’s supposed to be really good.”

“If we caught him he can’t be that good,” Rainbow replied.

Cole would have been annoyed by that statement if he was not so perplexed by the pegasus. There was something about her that seemed familiar, particularly with her multi-colored mane. He continued to stare at it, trying to find what was rustling around in his memory, as she trotted over herself.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hoof. “Name’s Rainbow Dash.”

“C-captain John Cole, U.S. Air Force,” he stuttered, coming partially back to reality. “Did you want to talk to me?”

“Maybe a little, now that you mention it,” Dash affirmed. “I was just going to stop by and chat with Twilight, but it is kind of cool that you fly jets, and I’ve got plenty of time on my… hoof…what are you staring at?”

“Uh, nothing nothing! Just thought I noticed something kind of off,” he said, flipping his vision between her eyes and mane.

“What’s your problem pal?” she asked, clearly becoming irritated. “This is getting creepy.”

“I swear… you look familiar, but-”

“Maybe you’ve heard of me?” she suggested. “I am the fastest natural flier in Equestria, so ponies tend to throw my name around a little; I’m kinda well-known.”

“No, it’s almost like I’ve met you before.”

“Not unless some fan was dressing up and pretending to be me,” Rainbow stated. “I’ve never met a human before, at least not till now.”

Cole’s mind finally retrieved the memory he was looking for, and it was somewhat annoying that he had forgotten the experience.

“On the first day the continent got to Earth, a few years back, did you get attacked by one of those Shadow pegasi near the south coast?”

Rainbow’s expression instantly turned to shock at the mention of this event.

“H-how do you know that!? I’ve never told anypony that!” she shot back.

“Really?”

“Well, nopony but Twilight and my friends, but they didn’t tell anypony else!” she said, turning her head back towards the observing unicorn. “Right?”

“Nopony but the princesses, and I don’t think they would spread it around,” she confirmed.

“So how do you know!?” Rainbow asked, now in a state between surprise and anger.

“And you were saved by a fighter jet,” Cole replied, a slight grin coming across his face. “An American one, right?

“I never told anypony that, either!” she cried. “And I really mean nopony this time! Really!”

“What!?” Twilight jumped from behind the two. “Why didn’t you tell us Rainbow?”

“I-I don’t know! I guess I was kinda… embarrassed that I got snuck up on and had to be rescued… I know it was dumb,” she admitted. “But I never talked about it, which must mean…that.”

She looked back to Cole, who now wore a friendly smile dotted with a dimple, with his right arm up and waving slightly, the two fingers up and showing the peace sign. There was only one clear and obvious answer for it. As the realization struck her, she felt an elation that she had not in a long time.

“You saved me!” she jumped, shooting up and hovering in the air.

“I figured you looked famil-ack!”

Cole coughed a bit as the pegasus flew into him and wrapped him in a hug, nearly knocking him back onto the couch.

“I can’t believe it’s really you!” she said happily. “Thank you so, so much! You’re the best!”

“You’re, uh…you’re welcome… Rainbow,” he replied, only now wrapping his arm to return the hug, being careful not to hit her wings. “My pleasure.”

“This is so great! I never thought I’d be able to meet you! I can’t thank you enough, you’re awesome!”

“Thanks, but it’s really just my job,” he retorted, still trapped in the hug. “Flying, I mean. I guess I saved you, but-”

“Oh, I want to show you something!” Rainbow interrupted, pulling him up from the couch. “Follow me!”

Cole was not quite sure what to make of this request, but as Dash tugged him towards the door, he realized this would be a chance to finally exit his bland cell, and did not utter a question towards it. The guard standing outside the door, being a lower rank than Dash’s Lieutenant status, also kept his silence as the two left. Of the original interviewers in the room, Twilight was the only one to follow them out. The remaining three pegasi were left alone, two of them greatly irritated.

“What!? You’re joking!” Hunter shouted in frustration. “I’ve kept quiet up till now, and I don’t get to ask my questions? The universe must hate me!”

“Relax Hunter, it’s not like it’ll be the only chance you’ll get for the rest of your life,” Compass reminded him. “We’ll get plenty of chances to talk with other humans now that we can visit them, and that they can visit us.”

“I don’t know why, but that doesn’t make me feel all that better,” the dark blue pegasus replied.

Meanwhile, Rainbow continued to drag her new friend through the maze of hallways that made up the building. The building itself was nothing very special, being very much the same in structure to any normal building; white and tan paint and tiled floors completing a stodgy look of professionalism. More interestingly was the number of windows they passed, and each time Cole took a moment to glance out and take in the sight of the outside, and the feel of the sunlight.

The halls themselves weren’t entirely dead, despite the dull look given to them. Many troops filtered through them, carrying out the multiple tasks necessary to maintain a base and its operations. Those that were not too focused on their jobs were distracted by the sight of a man being dragged on by a gleeful pegasus. For many, it was their first time seeing a human in real life, and for most it only lasted a second or two, leaving them to continue their personal doings.

“Hang on a second,” Rainbow said upon reaching one of the many identical, green doors in a long hallway, the only identification being the number ‘033’.

She fiddled with the doorknob for a minute, opening it and walking in, waving her hoof for Cole to follow. It was her room, or rather a small room she shared with four others, as there were two sets of small bunk beds. The other occupants, however, were nowhere to be seen; the sheets on three of them were folded and tucked neatly, and even seemed to have a light layer of dust on them. There was not much to the room than that, other than a set of lockers at the end and a small desk and chair with a lantern on it.

“So this is your room?” Cole assumed.

His new friend was more focused on yanking on the side of one of the beds for some reason.

“It seems…comfy,” he complimented awkwardly as Dash pulled back the corner of the bed slightly.

“Thanks! Just give me a second; I wanted to show you something from my collection.”

“Collection of what?”

Dash again ignored him, dunking her head into the small area and making an odd ruckus before popping back up with a bag clenched between her teeth. She patted the bottom, unkempt bunk, asking him to sit as she set the small, dark bag next to her. Cole did so, slouching forward a bit so as not to hit his head, and watched as Rainbow pressed a hoof in the bag, widened the opening, and reached in deeper before pulling something out.

“Check it out! Pretty awesome huh?”

She had pulled it out and stuck it in Cole’s face faster than he could make out what it was. But in no time he could see the pointed nose, outstretched wings, and protruding tail fins connected to the body, all covered in a faded coat of light-grey paint. It was a small model fighter jet, an F-16. Glancing into the bag, it seemed to be filled with them, all of various makes and conditions.

“It is pretty neat,” he said, being honest but not exactly sure what Dash was so excited about.

“I know, right!? I’ve got dozens of them,” she replied happily, going through the cluttered pile. “This one’s my favorite! Do you know it?”

“The Falcon?”

“Yea, it’s my favorite jet!” she reiterated, running the blue model through the air with her hoof. “It just looks so cool! And it’s got such a great name!”

Cole was going to agree when it struck him why these were such a big deal to her. She could not have gotten all of these within the short period that the embargo had been lifted; she had to have obtained them beforehand. That, in turn, meant she had bought them illegally, probably for a high price, and kept them in secret, and on a military instillation, no less. With how beaten some of them looked, it was safe to assume this had been going on for some time, and Cole wanted to know just how long.

“Dash, how long have you been collecting these?”

“Um…ever since the displacement,” she blushed, referring to the same day she learned jets existed. “I guess since then I kinda…sorta…got a thing for planes. But can you blame me? They’re so fast and loud and awesome! Just like me!”

“Yea, they are. But are-weren’t these illegal, Dash?”

“Very illegal,” a voice belonging to an annoyed Twilight came from the open doorway. “And you two really couldn’t wait for me to catch up? You know I don’t know the layout of this place. I almost got arrested for going into some important control center!”

“Heh, sorry Twilight,” Rainbow apologized, blushing again.

“But to go back to your question, Captain, these were highly illegal a few days ago,” the unicorn explained, trotting up to examine the bag’s contents. “I know it’s hard to believe, but all of this could have landed her a few days in jail and a minimal fine; not to mention being kicked out of the military.”

“I do find that hard to believe,” Cole agreed skeptically, but not seeing any realistic reason for lying. “But why would you risk something like that Dash?”

“I don’t know, I just really wanted to see one and fly one and stuff,” she said, giving her best explanation. “These were the closest I could get to it. So I just started collecting all these over time, like that Falcon and…like this one.”

Dash pulled out another model, this one being an F-15. The Eagle seemed to have some age to it, yet the condition was still very good in comparison to some of the others. There were few scratches on the model’s coat, which still shined when held at the right angle. She handed it over to Cole, who nudged it on its sides with his fingers.

“That’s the one you fly, right?”

“Yep,” Cole confirmed simply with a slight grin.

“I want you to keep it,” she demanded. “You deserve something for being a big hero.”

“What? No, Dash, I already told you I was just doing my job,” Cole vainly restated.

“Well you’re a hero for doing it,” Dash shot back. “So suck it up, ‘cause I’m not taking that back!”

Cole was, admittedly, going to accept it before a voice outside rang out Dash’s name. It did not sound like one Cole had heard before, but the pegasus flew out of the room and slammed the door before he could see the pony it belonged to. The sudden bang left him jarred, and he remained dazed for a moment before Twilight snapped him out of it.

“You know, I guess I should thank you. I haven’t seen Rainbow that happy in a long time.”

“Really? How come?”

“The war, probably. Before it started we used to live in the same town with all our close friends, and most of the problems we encountered we could solve ourselves,” she recalled fondly. “She always dreamed of getting into the Wonderbolts and performing shows with them, she would practice moves to dazzles crowds and everything. When the war started she finally reached it, and was drafted into their reserve unit here, but they never performed any shows.”

“And the combat shook her up?” Cole guessed.

“She hasn’t seen any,” Twilight pointed out. “She’s been out on patrols, but the few times they needed to actually fight, others were selected instead of her. But all the bad news, and seeing so few friends come back every time…it must have had some effect on her.”

“That is understandable. Though I guess it’s better than having to go herself and getting killed.”

“Most of the wingponies she started with have been killed, including all of her roommates,” she added, waving a hoof over the empty bunks.

Looking at the bunks suddenly took on a darker tone. Though the thought had entered Cole’s mind when he first saw them, the confirmation made it worse. The neatly tucked sheets had not been changed since their occupants left this world. It felt more like looking at a grave than a place of comfort.

“I could tell from the writing in her letters she was brought down by it, but hopefully she’ll perk up after this,” the unicorn theorized. “She is right, you know; you really are a hero for saving her.”

“It just felt like the right thing to do,” Cole replied, not agreeing or rejecting the statement.

“And you can’t be a hero for that?”

“Well…I don’t feel like it,” he admitted. “I still feel like more of a failure.”

“Because project your unit was part of turned out to be a failure?”

“Is nothing kept classified on this base?” Cole thought to himself.

“You know, you don't need special training to do something special, you just have to do something special,” Twilight pointed out. “All that training didn't just make you great on your own, you have to use it. Just look, you've already done something special and you don't even know it.”

Cole simply nodded in agreement as he let that philosophy sink in. He still felt as though all of the resources poured into the Tactical Corps had been a waste, but he had done something important. Regardless of whether or not it was the intention of that development, he had actually done something. He had saved a life, and even if it was his job, he had done a good job at it.

“Hey Twilight! I need your help with something!” Rainbow called from the outside.

“Coming!” she replied, turning back to Cole. “You might want to come along, too. I think your friends should be arriving soon.”

“Sure, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Twilight exited the room, leaving the American alone again to think on this new look of himself. He held the small model Eagle Dash had given him in his hand and examined it closely. Looking at it, he found himself grinning happily; for the first time in a while, he felt a sense of satisfaction deep down. Pocketing the memento, he exited the room to see what awaited him next.

Growing up in the heat of Santa Fe was a rather uneventful experience for First Lieutenant Walker. The most significant events were usually the trips with his father and friends to the snowy mountains in the east, a far cry from the warm deserts that covered over areas of the American Southwest. Some close calls on those slopes instilled an early fear of death in him, and an even greater one in the deaths of others, fears he held in common with his Captain.

Because of this, the thought of military service was unappealing at best. The idea of meeting an early death, or being the cause of another’s, drove him away for some time. That ended with a school trip to Kirtland Air Force Base. It was a minor visit, kept away from most areas of the base, but the idea of flight captured his fascination. Indeed, the high secrecy also heightened his curiosity, and he began to study more into the subject of flight and the Air Force. He never became especially keen on the death part, but the desire to be a pilot trumped that.

He ran this goal down, becoming a fighter pilot once college was complete. Only days after he took up the nickname ‘Roadrunner’, after his state’s bird, which he always had a liking to. Usually shortened to just ‘Runner’, he volunteered for the experiment of the Tactical Corps and eventually reached the second-in-command position of Executive Officer, with his former flight lead taking the first position, but with neither getting the appropriate rank.

Now the Captain was captured, and it fell to him to lead the squadron in the days that followed. It was an interesting new position, having a few more responsibilities, but not being too difficult to handle, with most of these duties being nothing more than papers and busy work. Most of his mind was worrying if Cole was ok and when they would get him back. Though the job was not hard, he was not keen on taking command of the squadron. Actually leading it into war hardly sounded enjoyable.

Thankfully, that worrying would cease today. Following the talks between the two nations, Captain Cole would not only be released, but the Wonderbolts Academy, his prison and the most modern base in Equestria, was to become the 1st Tac’s new home. Though Walker was happy to get the Captain back, and enter into an alliance with Equestria, it still scared him about exactly what would happen while based there. All he was told was that the Academy would become their new base, with no indication on how to treat Bloc forces that wandered into Equestria. More detailed orders were said to be in the works, but that could still lead to conflict. The squadron could be moving into the position as the first unit in an all-out war.

He had to focus on the task at hand for now, that task being to land. They had already passed over the country’s borders without incident, being escorted to the base by a group of pegasi. It was an interesting place, the entire thing lying on top of a flat, towering rock, surrounded by clouds in the form of small homes. Its base seemed to have been expanded artificially, as it was rounded perfectly, holding many buildings, though not one hanger.

The runway itself was rather short, according to reports it was only used to assist heavy-laden pegasi in taking off and fast-flyers in landing, not for a jet. Still, it seemed to be just long enough to come to a stop. The ground unit assigned to help them, an oversized company detached from the 101st Airborne Division, had already landed via parachute, secured, and inspected the runway. Declaring it safe for use for aircraft, the first aircraft to land was one of the durable C-130 Hercules transport planes, which, being better suited for landing on rougher surfaces, tested it. Coming safely to a stop with no major bumps or holes, the ground unit gave the clear for the fighters to follow.

Being in command, Walker’s F-15 was the first to land, hitting the edge of the runway at a reduced speed. He was impressed by just how smooth the runway was; though it was safe for landing, he expected at least a few jarring hits, not thinking the Equestrians would keep such a runway in excellent shape when they did not need it for planes. The Eagle gradually slowed, coasting along the runway before coming to a halt just past the small river the runway ran over.

Safely on the ground, the fighter was taxied over to its resting spot, which added up to little more than a generally flat, large space; though it was hardly suitable for the jets, it was one of the few areas that were clear. Being helped out of the craft by some ground support personnel, who had landed first on the transport plane, he left the care of the fighter in their hands, whilst keeping most of the equipment on, as there was nowhere to leave it. The first soldier he talked to was a Staff Sergeant from the airborne units, with the digital grey camouflage on his uniform contrasting greatly with most of the things around him.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the man greeted, saluting the Lieutenant and holding it until he replied in kind. “I’m Staff Sergeant Morris. The Captain asked me to assist you while he organized things around here.”

“Thanks Sergeant. How are things looking around here? No problems? Got enough room for all the aircraft?”

“It’s pretty hectic right now. Biggest problem right now is finding out how to take care of the planes. The lack of hangars is going to be a problem, but the ground crew’ll cover them as best they can. Only thing we’ve got right now are some oversized tents. We should have enough space to accommodate them all, though.”

“That’s good to hear,” Walker replied, moving on to a more important matter. “Now, where is the base commander?”

“Well, the base commander isn’t…I’m sorry sir, excuse me for a moment.”

He was looking back on a couple soldiers, chatting with each other a short distance off.

“Estudillo!”

Both of them glanced in his direction, but only one, the closest, actually turned to face him, replying over the short distance.

“Yes sir?”

“Tell your Sergeant to get your team together and help guard those planes so the crew can work on it!” Morris shouted. “That means don’t let our new friends mess around with it!”

The soldier took a split-second glance at the area where the planes were assembling, and saw they were attracting considerable attention from the base’s residents.

“Yes sir!”

“And tell Sergeant Leone to get his men over here!”

“Yes sir!” the paratrooper repeated a third time, allowing his NCO to get back to his conversation.

“Sorry about that, sir,” he apologized in a simple manner. “Like I said, things are kind of crazy right now.”

“It’s no problem. What were you saying about the base commander?”

“The base commander’s actually discussing things with my company’s Captain, and the crew chief,” Morris explained. “You’re actually going to be meeting with the resident squadron’s CO; Colonel that goes by Spitfire.”

“Ah, right; I was told I’d be meeting with her. Thought she was the base commander though.”

Morris simply shook his head lightly a few times before restating what he said, adding a few more points.

“No sir, she’s the CO of the squadron this base is named for. She ought to have your man with her, as well…according to my briefing.”

“And mine,” Walker concurred, happy the planning between the two units seemed to synch up, even when it was something as basic as this.

“One of their troops told me she’s waiting near the main entrance building, right over there,” he said, gesturing to a nearby single-story white building. “She should have the prisoner with her and in healthy condition.”

“And there’s been no conflict with them so far?”

“No sir, but to be safe I’ll be escorting you, along with one of my fire teams,” he added, looking off to his right a bit at the four soldiers that made up that team, sauntering in their direction. “Alpha, hustle up!”

“Alright, let’s go,” Walker ordered as he began heading to the building, not willing to wait. “I’m more than ready to turn the crown back over.”

Sergeant Morris followed right next to him, while the now jogging fire team caught up within a few seconds.

“Sir, you needed us to do something?” the Sergeant asked through a Chicago accent.

“The one we’ve been assigned to do, Sergeant Leone.”

“Ah, that shouldn’t be too hard,” he replied, having also been told the situation ahead of time.

The entrance to the building was unguarded, leaving Walker to push open the heavy double-doors on his own. It was nothing special or different from most other facilities, the entrance being an open lobby with hallways on each end and a third directly to the front. It was also empty, even at the entrance desk, with only the dimmed sounds of the hustle outside to break the silence.

It also left the group to stand there awkwardly, not knowing where to go, and feeling very out-of-place. One of the soldiers was going to suggest choosing one of the halls and finding their own way, but was stopped by the sound of steps hitting the tiled floor down one of the hallways. A guard clad in golden armor walked in to check on what the noise was and, though mildly surprised by the new guests, quickly guessed their intention.

“Are you all here to get your pilot?”

“Yes. You have him, don’t you?”

“Of course we have him. Where else would he be?”

Walker chose to ignore the half condescending, half joking remark.

“Well, could you bring him to us?”

“Sure, just give me a minute or two.”

The guard about-faced and trotted back down the hall, leaving the group to solitude once more. Morris was rather surprised that the guard had paid no mind to the group’s weapons; he assumed he would at least be asked to remove them, but they did not seem to be a problem so far. Instead, seeing no real threat, he contented himself with relaxing on the nearby couch next to Walker. Of the rest of his fire team, Private Risso, the team’s Rifleman, took a seat on the other side in a chair and took out a pen to write something on his hand as a reminder, while the remaining three discussed the current events quietly among themselves.

The guard’s time estimation was accurate, as within a minute, footsteps, this time larger in number, could again be heard coming from the hall. The Lieutenant stood from the couch to meet his superior, who was being escorted by a yellow pegasus in a dark blue uniform. Thankfully, the Captain did seem to be in good health, the only things wrong seeming to be his dirty, worn clothing and the need for a good shower.

“Captain Cole,” Walker greeted, giving him a salute. “It’s good to see you’re alright, sir.”

“Don’t salute indoors, Lieutenant Walker,” Cole pointed out. “Don’t tell me you guys are falling apart without me this early.”

Jack quickly lowered the hand from his forehead; he had been thinking about so many other things that he had begun to forget the more simple and basic procedures.

“Sorry sir; slipped my mind.”

Cole did not mind much, giving a tired grin in response.

“It’s good to see you too, Runner,” he quipped, exchanging a firm handshake with his Executive Officer.

“Would this be one of your men?” the pony asked.

“Yes ma’am, he is,” Cole confirmed, feeling introductions were necessary. “Walker, this is Colonel Spitfire, commander of the resident squadron this place is named after. He, ma’am, is First Lieutenant Jack Walker, the First Tac’s XO.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Colonel,” Walker stated, extending his arm for a shake, which was taken.

“You too, Lieutenant.”

“So, Walker, I’ve been told this is going to be the squadron’s home for a while,” Cole commented, turning the conversation to the most important topic. “What are the orders exactly? What’s our mission?”

“Only orders we got were to rebase here and work with the Equestrians, nothing other than that,” Runner stated truthfully. “I was kind of hoping the ponies were told more than me.”

“Not really,” Spitfire replied in frustration. “All we got was that we’re friends now and I’m supposed to work with you.”

“What? There’s got to be more to it than that,” Cole stated. “Maybe we should figure out what we’re supposed to do before we try anything else.”

“Agreed.”

“Runner, you think you can go harass the intel gang and get me some info?”

“Got it sir.”

Walker exited the building immediately, followed by Spitfire, who wanted to take a glance at the outside activity. The paratroopers, their security mission being entirely uneventful, began to exit the building, as well. Cole, who initially did not understand why the soldiers were here, chose to introduce himself to their Sergeant, whom he did not notice until now.

“Sorry I didn’t say hello earlier. What are you guys doing here?”

“It’s no big deal, sir,” he replied. “Staff Sergeant Morris, hundred-and-first; we’re mostly just here for ground security.”

“I should’ve thought of that, it’s so obvious. But it’s nice to have ya’ll here; airborne’s always a good friend to have,” Cole stated with his slight accent slipping out as he held the door open. “Chicken men first.”

Morris chuckled a bit but did not seem to fully catch what Cole was saying. The pilot followed him out, taking his first steps outside in nearly a week’s time. It felt good to breathe the fresh air and feel the sun’s rays strike his skin again. It was also the first time he got to see any of the base from the outside, and despite what Spitfire said about the bombing, it still looked to be in good shape all around.

“Huh…the whole place looks pretty nice,” he commented to Spitfire, who was looking over all the activity herself.

“They try to give Equestria’s best a good home,” she said. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“I think we will, Colonel.”

“You can still call me ‘Spitfire’ when we’re just talking, y’know,” she pointed out. “You’re not my prisoner anymore, remember?”

“I almost did considering how cozy the-whoa!”

At the back of the runway, one of the large E-3 AWACS planes touched down, rolling along the whole length and stopping with barely enough length left to stand on.

“You gotta expand that damn thing,” Cole stated, pointing at the tarmac.

“I’ll…see what I can do,” she said, trotting off to deal with the matter, and leaving Cole to observe alone.

Other than that scare, the rest of the landings seemed to have gone off well. Much off the squadron was already placed in some organized fashion in an open area, sitting calmly in lines of four. Those that could not fit on this area found smaller, individual spaces. It was a horribly inhospitable environment for the jets, having nothing like a hangar to shield them, and being crammed into what space they could.

Working on them would be more painful than usual, but it was what they had to work with. Hopefully, as time went on, it would become easier with the Equestrians’ help. Looking at the fighters reminded him of an issue that needed to be resolved, one that he would ask Runner about, who was just now returning with a sheet of paper.

“I assume you brought a spare plane for me, right?” he asked. “Mine’s still in the ocean.”

“Yes sir, we had a spare flown out,” he replied, handing over the small sheet to the Captain. “I only got a few new orders, but they said a more detailed set of orders should follow soon. Other than that, they said there’s a few updates on the situation in there.”

“Alright, let’s see,” Cole mused, skimming over the writing. “Warning line established, Commander-in-Chief’s trying to establish a no-fly zone for the Bloc, probably won’t work though. Wait, ‘be prepared to…engage…possible hostile units that enter Equestrian territory’…what?”

“What!?” Runner repeated. “Did we declare war on them?”

“No-I…I mean it doesn’t say we did. I don’t think they’d leave a part like that out,” Cole said, running through the rest of the message. “‘Further support will be sent to you, wait for further orders.’ The hell is all this about?”

“Well shit, if we have to be ready to fight them then we must be close, right?”

“I don’t know Jack.”

“God, how bad did things get lately? Do they know something, like we’re going to be attacked? Or…are we planning to hit them first?”

“I don’t know Jack,” Cole reiterated. “All I know is that we can be ready for it. “Do me a favor and start spreading the word; make sure everyone’s ready to go if we need to. I need to go let Colonel Spitfire know.”

“Yes sir,” Runner replied, starting off but turning around before he got far. “Oh, sir! I forgot to mention, but you might want to shave sometime soon. You caught a little stubble during your stay.”

Cole ran his hand from his mouth and cheeks downward, running over his chin. He had not noticed it before, but his facial hair was indeed growing out a good deal, with a thin layer of the stuff filling into a five O’clock shadow. Usually any facial hair went against uniform regulations, and this was not one of the exceptions to it.

“Thanks, see if you can find me a razor,” he replied, turning and going off on his own way to find the Colonel.

Author's Note

Applying Deterrence

August 20th, 2005
0940 Hours
Academy

“‘Additional negotiations are currently being carried out to ensure the deployment of further forces in the country of Equestria. The most immediate of these is the creation of the first full-fledged air base on Equestrian soil, which is already taking place. Finding and agreeing on the exact forces to be used and measures to be carried out will take more time. However, both have agreed to the establishment of an Equestrian-issued no-fly zone for Bloc aircraft over the country, backed up from the United States, with the warning line being established at the border. This does not mean the United States is at war with these nations, but the enforcement of this policy must be carried out.

“‘As such, the United States Air Force’s First Tactical Fighter Squadron, currently deployed in Equestria, is now to be reoriented as a volunteer squadron under Equestrian command. All pilots will now voluntarily choose to fly the local missions provided by the Equestrian commanders. Supplies, pay, and other necessities are still provided by the Air Force, to those who wish to accept, and as such the squadron will still fall under Air Force jurisdiction. The only direct order you have from us during this mission is to defend yourselves accordingly. This change is to be enacted immediately upon receiving of this notification. We at home are wishing you the best of luck.

“‘-Respectfully,

Lt. Gen. Solomon Leevi, USAF.’”

Going over the paper received, Cole was not entirely surprised by the outcome, but he was not expecting the way they would go about it. The Eagles were now under the command of the Equestrians, as well as the usual brass back in the States. Their jobs to fly and fight had now become voluntary to the men, though this was more an illusion. The Air Force still only paid and provided if they accepted, and out here there was not much else that the men could rely on. Regardless, he doubted any of them would reject it.

“So you’re under me now?” Spitfire asked, trying to sum up the letter.

“Yes ma’am,” Cole verified. “You wouldn’t happen to have any orders for us?”

“Just let your pilots know, Captain,” she replied in a slightly tired tone. “I need to think on this a little more.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied as she turned and trotted down another hall, leaving him with his XO in the lobby.

“So we’re under them now, and still under USAF command,” Runner asked rhetorically. “This is going to cause some major problems with orders.”

“I know, Lieutenant. For now let’s just get the men together so we can make the official issue.”

“Yes sir, I’ll get to it,” Walker responded.

Cole stood from the couch and followed his subordinate into exiting the lobby, heading outside to where most of the squadron was scattered about. Though it had only been a day, the time spent on the base had been rather comforting. Of course there had been some problems with taking care of the aircraft, setting up support areas, getting good food for everyone, and some others, but none of it was too serious.

Most of the squadron slept in empty bunks scattered around the base; it proved to be disorganized, but it was still nice to have a bed to sleep in. However, Cole’s own experience was a rather disturbing one, which was the cause of some bad dreams. Even if it was just the first night, it happened to be the particular bed he was issued.

Of all the rooms, he had been assigned to Dash’s, and he could not tell why. Perhaps she had found out and asked so she could spend more time with him. Maybe Spitfire thought he had a positive impact. The official reason was that, despite being of opposite sexes, Cole was the last to be issued his room, and Rainbow’s was the only one that had space left. That could also be the reason, but none of that was the actual problem.

The problem came in that, after Twilight explained that all of her roommates had been killed in battle, it felt bad to sleep in their beds. Though of course it was not like he was sleeping on their graves, but it gave off a bad vibe. The fact that Rainbow wasn’t actually there the first night, likely kept away due to her duties, left the room in an eerie quiet that haunted him into his dreams.

“Hey, what’s your problem!?”

As if on cue, he heard Dash’s voice ring out nearby. He turned towards it to see the irritated pegasus glaring at First Lieutenant Desser, the Alpha Flight commander, who was returning his own annoyed look. Three other pilots were just behind them, watching the exchange from the shade of a parked Eagle with some grins on their face. Two of them were also flight leads, First Lieutenants Maurice and Elijah of Bravo and Charlie, respectively.

The third pilot, leaning against plane itself, was the one that stood out, being of the lowest rank; Second Lieutenant William Sylvester from Charlie, whose love of the Old West got him the nickname ‘Cowboy’, to his delight. He was a skilled flyer, which made Cole unhappy that he was stuck at the lowest position an officer, and a pilot, could have. He never did get used to how everyone in the squadron was stuck several ranks below what their positions warranted; he always assumed it was the brass’s personalized revenge against the Tactical Corps.

“I just wanted to look at the jet,” Rainbow continued. “What’s the big deal? Aren’t we supposed to be friends now?”

“Yea, that doesn’t mean you get to screw around in our fighters and break stuff,” Desser responded. “Especially not my bird. Never my bird.”

“I’m not going to screw around! I just want to look! Maybe…sit in it a little.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re not scared of a pony, are you? I thought you guys were tough guys, not worry-warts.”

“Hoho! A regular badass, that one,” Elijah chuckled from behind them, trying hard to show how amusing he found the debate. “You need to be more careful, Firebird, you could be facing down their version of Will Smith! You can’t fly with a broken jaw, you know!”

“Who?” Rainbow asked, being ignored by the men.

“I’d rather take a hit to the jaw than let someone break my plane,” Desser responded.

“Guess we’d better find a new flight commander then; maybe give that Orion kid the promotion he deserves.”

Cole was going to say something as he approached to gain their attention, but Sylvester noticed him approaching first and warned the others. All four snapped into their usual salute with the greeting of ‘Good Morning’ as required. As custom, Cole returned both, allowing them to relax.

“Lieutenant, why are you messing with our new friend?” Cole asked Desser in a facetious manner, which he did not seem to pick up.

“I’m not trying to, sir. She wanted to look into the plane, and I didn’t want to risk damage. Especially not at such an important time.”

“I’m not going to break anything,” Rainbow reiterated.

“I’m sure you won’t Dash,” Cole replied warmly, trying to sooth things. “Tell you what, when the time allows it, I’ll let you take a look at my jet instead. Sound cool?”

“Sounds awesome,” she agreed contently. “Thanks Cole, and…sorry for coming off a little rude, Lieutenant. I guess I just got excited.”

“Hey, it’s no big problem,” Desser replied before talking to the Captain again. “Did you need us to do something, sir?”

“Yea, some new orders came in, and something’s come up. I need ya’ll to gather your flights, head inside to the nearest meeting room. Where’s First Lieutenant Wilkes?”

“Not sure; last I saw he was helping some of the guys from his flight with their plane.”

“Alright, I’ll go find him. Get to finding your men.”

“Yes sir.”

Each of them headed off in different directions, save for Cowboy, who followed his flight commander. Rainbow was soon the only one left in the once lively area. They left her to her own thoughts, who was annoyed that she forgot to ask who that Will Smith character was.

Cole looked for Delta’s commander for a few minutes before one of the mechanics told him that the XO had already found him. Assuming all the men were headed to the meeting room in the main building, which left him to follow. Heading back inside, he did not find anyone else there, but could hear plenty of muffled voices from down the main hall, near the first door, which was left ajar.

It truly was a meeting room, having a large, oval-shaped wooden table occupying the center of the room, and taking up the most space. Some of the men, including all the flight commanders and the XO, were seated there. Many of the other pilots were spread out in chairs along the room in long lines. As soon as their Captain entered, Walker announced it with the call to attention, with each man shooting to attention from their seats.

“At ease,” Cole ordered, letting the men return to their previous states.

He had been thinking of the best way to brief the squadron ever since he got the order, and hoped what he came up with would suffice.

“I’m going to get right into it, seeing as how we’re on a higher plane of alert now,” he stated, resisting the urge to be dramatic. “As of now, this unit has been repurposed as a volunteer unit that has been partially transferred to Equestrian command, which takes precedent as of now. Equestria has decided to issue a combined no-fly zone over the nation, with the States backing them up. Since the US isn’t at war, and the Equestrians need a modern fighter squadron to carry this out, this is why we’ve been transferred. Of course, this means that the probability of us flying into combat against Bloc forces is high, almost certain.”

Cole did not see much surprise in their faces; maybe they were expecting to fight when they were ordered to rebase here.

“As the name implies, it is a volunteer group, meaning that you aren’t required to fly. I hate to say this option is hollow, as the Air Force will only pay and support you while here if you agree to it. All the same, if you do not, just know I will try to help you personally as best I can. But I do not expect that to happen just because the option is open.

“I know that having to fight is scary; people can die, I will not be lying about that. This will not be easy. But I know that with everything we have working for us, we can come up on top. If we can stay as skilled and united as a team, we can see each-other through it. I hope that you stay in spite of any fear not just because of this, but because there is something to prove, too. There is something to prove to our enemies, the ponies here, and even the folks back home, and I think there’s a desire to do that.

"In a way, I know that down there we want to get into it. We have all been hard at work since this began, staying at the front of it, on guard. We all thought this was coming, what was happening on this continent; we were held back from it. We have been held back by the rules, by the outside views of our unit, and by our own concerns. Now I’m looking forward to it, and I think ya’ll are, too.

“Me, I’m not worried about turning this squadron into what it should have been, because I know it can be. I am still concerned; I’m scared that if I survive, I will lose a wingman, if the mission is failed and the innocent and our allies suffer from it. I’m scared deep down if I’m good enough to do it, if I will die, if I’ll be remembered as a failure, but I’m going all the same, because I know there’s a chance.

“Despite being imprisoned here, I made quite a few friends, one of which taught me something important. She told me that to be special you don’t have to have something that says you are special; you just need to do something that makes you special. For other’s defense, for honor, and for what is right, I intend on going up there and doing something worthwhile and I’m hoping all of you will be there with me.

“If anyone wishes to leave, you can do so now.”

None of the pilots moved an inch in their seats.

“Men, from the Lafayettes, to the Flying Tigers, to the volunteer squadrons in the Royal Air Force, American Airmen have always been some of the first in the fight. Now we have the distinction in following in that tradition. I want everyone and everything in top shape and on constant alert, seeing as how we will need to launch at a moment’s notice. Until further orders are received, that’s all I have.”

Walker called the room to attention once more, ending with the call ‘dismissed’. Exiting the room, he did not know what to do next. All of the men knew what the situation was, and he had nothing more to do until he was given something.

There was not a whole lot to do in personal time either; he did not have his books, no computer, and nothing to watch. Most of his exercise was usually accomplished earlier in the morning, before breakfast. The most he could think of right now was chatting with the other members of the squadron, and being his recluse self he was usually the quietest in the conversation.

All the same, it was the best he could do at the time. He spent some time talking with some of the pilots from Alpha and Charlie flights. As expected, he did not speak much, and not at all when the subject moved to something he was unfamiliar with. But, when it was something he knew about, he would pipe up. Time seemed to fly faster whether he was talking or not, and it shifted from late morning to early afternoon during this time. To his surprise, and relief, there were no questions sent his way.

When he had exhausted most of his speech abilities he excused himself from the group, deciding to simply sit in an open, grassy area near the main building, under its shade, and relax, giving himself some time to think. The problem with this activity was that there was that, contrary to his usual running state-of-mind, there was nothing to think about, something he did not realize until he sat down. All he could find himself doing was resting, looking around, and up at the sky.

It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining but not being too hot. Part of this was from the clouds, a large number of them, but broken up and scattered amongst the vast blue plain. The slight breeze that came through every few minutes completed the feeling of an excellent day. Though taking in the scenery could only last so long, Cole still enjoyed doing it; he always did enjoy visiting new places.

“Captain! Captain Cole, get up!”

The voice breaking his peaceful trance came almost simultaneously with the distinct echo of a siren pitching up and holding its place before falling and repeating.

“What?” he asked, getting up and looking back to see Spitfire stop a few feet from him.

“What do you mean ‘what’!? You know what that sound means, right?”

“An air raid? Christ, I didn’t think one would come this soon!”

“You can thank Sombra for that. The Equestrian government just declared the no-fly zone an hour or so ago, and your government came out in support of it. Now Sombra’s saying he’s going to break it to prove there’s no real power to enforce it,” she explained, walking along hurriedly as the human followed. “He said he’s going to bomb this place to the ground. I guess he found out about us capturing you a few days back, because he said he doesn’t care about your fate, either. Somehow I doubt that.”

“Alright, my squadron is scrambling right? Nothing’s in the way? Everything in order?”

“They are; every one of you is going. The guards at the border sent a message that they saw a bunch of planes taking off in the occupied Crystal Empire. Bombers mostly.”

“No fighters?”

“None that they could see, but they did see a few Shadow pegasi flying around up high.”

“I’d assume they are sending escorts,” Cole commented, now approaching the parked cluster of jets. “There’s no way they’d send unescorted bombers in.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

A roar came from the runway as the first aircraft, the AWACS, lifted off from the runway, barely with enough speed.

“How big is the raid force?”

“Big, but I don’t know exactly how big,” Spitfire replied. “Isn’t that plane that just launched supposed to tell you that?”

“Among other things.”

“Well I’ll trust it, then,” she responded uncertainly, “and I’ll trust the rest of this to you guys. I hope all the talk and fuss about you Americans and your jets turns out to be true.”

“Nothing else to add?”

“Not right now, just get in the sky; some of your support people set up a radio down here, so I’ll be in touch,” she stated, heading off in a different direction now. “Good luck Captain!”

Before he flew he had to get the proper clothing and equipment, as same as always. An emergency was no excuse to skip steps; if anything it was more reason to ensure everything was in place. All the same time was still limited, and the process was still rushed. Thankfully the training ensured the pressure did not interfere, and he got every piece he needed, along with the other pilots. Several minutes had passed during this, and, not knowing just how much time was left, he started jogging towards his bird.

Cole moved through the lines of planes, each one being worked on and readied. Mechanics and ground crew scrambled with each individual plane’s need; some with gas lines, some with missiles, and whatever each needed to fly and fight. Pilots climbed up stepladders into their aircraft, helping to get settled with the support team’s help. The noise of so many jet engines going was enough to drown out the once prevailing air raid siren.

According to Runner, Cole’s new jet was to the back and end of the rows, which annoyed him, as he wanted to get in the air as soon as possible. Thunder continued to echo from the tarmac as fighters shot into the sky, one by one. Upon reaching his Eagle, Cole found it was ready to launch, with the ground crews waiting to help him in.

“I got some bad news, sir!” the chief yelled over the noise as Cole plumped into his seat. “Our stock of AIM-120s is low; we only had enough to fit a couple to each bird!”

“How come I didn’t hear about this till now!?”

“It’s only the second day here! We didn’t find out until a short time earlier!” the crewman responded. “Sidewinders are full for everyone, though!”

“Alright, thanks!” Cole strained his voice out, letting him pull away as the hatch closed.

As predicted, Cole was one of the last planes in line to take off. The rest of the squadron was already circling the base high above in a holding pattern, waiting for the last of their comrades to join them in formation. It was not known exactly how close the bomber formation was to the base, and Cole would continue to fret until he was in the sky to meet them. He could not stomach the idea of being hit while on the ground.

The F-15 was taxied into the takeoff position on the runway. The fighter before his had barely completed liftoff before Cole was given clearance to launch himself. Once again, the plane’s engines flared and propelled it forward, pushing it down the runway and eventually providing it with the velocity needed to fly.

The body of the plane cut through the wind as it gained altitude, forming up with the rest of the squadron in its holding pattern. Most of the flights were already in their formation, their craft hovering next to each-other’s wings in the five ship formations. The AWACS was circling high above them, the powerful radar dish on top tracking the approaching enemy formation.

“This is Casino, all aircraft are airborne. Enter formation and adjust heading to three-zero-zero to intercept,” the Air Battle Manager, whose job was to keep an overlook on the fight, ordered from the AWACS. “Large formation has crossed the warning line at the border and entered Equestrian airspace, over.”

“Eagle lead copies, Casino,” Cole replied, turning his attention to the squadron. “This is Eagle One, all flights report status.”

“Alpha copies; ready, over.”

“Bravo ready, over.”

“Charlie is ready to engage, over.”

“Delta ready, over.”

“All flights accounted for,” Cole finished. “Eagle Two, report status.”

“Two is forming up on your wing now,” Walker answered as his plane edged into position back and to the left of his Captain. “Sorry sir, ready to engage, over.”

“Captain, do you read?” another voice on the radio came in. “This is Colonel Spitfire, back at base. Have all of your planes taken off?”

“Affirmative, Colonel, we’re moving to engage now,” he replied, remembering to ask an important question. “Are we cleared to engage upon reaching the formation, over?”

“I’m…not sure.”

“What!? How can you be not sure about something that simple!?” Cole’s mind screamed.

“Can you repeat ma’am, over?”

“I’m not sure. I was given orders by my superiors to inform the government before I sent you out so permission would be granted to do so. I sent the report in as soon as I could, but I haven’t gotten a response…o-over.”

“We need orders, ma’am,” Cole demanded. “We need to know now if we are cleared, over.”

“Alright, alright! You can engage them, over!”

“Understood, Colonel; anything else?”

“Good luck, Captain. We’re all counting on you here.”

“Understood. Eagle One, out.”

The Captain now returned his speech to the AWACS to inform him.

“Casino, Eagle One; we have been granted permission to engage the oncoming formation,” Cole informed them. “Can you give us a reading on its size and contents, over?”

“We are reading approximately fifty bandits.”

A few swears were heard from the pilots, upset at the unbalanced odds, before the radar operator continued.

“We’re making out at least twenty of them to be bombers, along with thirty smaller contacts, over.”

“Fighters?” Runner asked without thinking first.

“Negative, they’re too small to be jets,” Casino replied. “Our best assumption is that they are pegasi.”

This was a striking, and decisive, development, one that made no real sense. Why would pegasi be escorting the bombers instead of fighters? They would get slaughtered, and the Shadows knew that; it simply did not add up. The only thing he could connect it to was some kind of mistake or ignorance. As they had done it so quickly, perhaps they did not know the American jets were moved to the Academy.

That had to be it; it was the only explanation that made any real sense. The Shadows had somehow missed the transfer of a whole squadron of fighters to the Academy and, since they seemed to have launched the raid immediately upon hearing of the no-fly zone, they had no time to realize it. The Shadows had truly no clue what was coming, and the price would be paid for it.

“Alright, you all heard him,” Cole spoke up. “Those are pegasi, not fighters. I shouldn’t have to tell you the Sidewinders won’t track them, so use your radar missiles for them and heaters for the bombers.”

“Enemy formation is five mikes away at angels thirty,” Casino reported. “Eagle One, you have disposition over your squadron, over.”

“Copy Casino, over,” he acknowledged. “Move in and tear them up with maximum aggression. Alpha flight, come in, over.”

“Alpha here,” Desser replied.

“Fire, you take your flight high up and over the formation and set up a patrol between them and the border. Engage any enemy reinforcements scrambled to assist them, and any stragglers trying to escape, how copy?”

“Copy, lead; moving now,” the Lieutenant answered, leading his five planes higher into the sky and pushing ahead.

“Bravo and Charlie flights, you are delegated to dealing with those escorts, understood?”

“Bravo copies, over.”

“Charlie copies, over.”

“Delta is to engage the bombers,” Cole finished. “Eagles One and Two will assist.”

“Delta copies, over.”

“Enemy formation bearing zero-one-zero, on the nose,” Casino reported.

“Eagles engage,” Cole ordered.

All of the responses came, but Cole focused on the mass of dots that was beginning to fill his view. The large number of bombers, flying together as a squadron, and the small pegasi flying alongside them were in perfect formation. If the Shadows had noticed they were outmatched, they did not stop. He focused on the bomber closest to the front, and prepared to attack head on to break up the group. All of the other fighters were now up to their own tasks, and only his wingman was with him.

“We’re going right through, Runner; stick with me!”

“Got it!”

The speed of the jet increased as the targeter for the missiles came up, searching for its first victim. Selecting the Sidewinder, the targeter focused in on the designated bomber, one of the massive TU-95s of Russian design. It had little trouble locking on to such a huge target, with the clear ringing signifying a hard lock.

“Eagle One, Fox Two!”

The Sidewinder dropped from the wing of the fighter before its rocket ignited, propelling it through the sky. The small tracker within locked onto the heat given off by the massive aircraft. At its speed, the missile quickly shot ahead of the Eagle, leaving a small trail of smoke and exhaust behind, drawing a thin line from the attacker to the victim.

The weapon worked exactly as it was built to, and the crew aboard the Shadow bomber, only mildly aware that something was wrong, had only enough time to be surprised. The missile sliced into the Bear’s right wing, near the first of the huge turboprop engines, before the warhead exploded. The flames reached the engine, then the fuel supplying it, and then into the fuel line itself, and doomed the bomber in a little over a second. The entire right wing caught fire in a wash of flame and began to fall, the wing being sheared off from the force on the way down. The first victim of the engagement, and of the conflict, had fallen, and with it gave the American his first kill; it would not be the last of any of these.

“Bandit down!”

Cole did not have time to celebrate or ponder, as he was still heading at the formation at a high speed. As soon as the impact was confirmed, his focus shifted to the next closest target. There was not enough time for to lock up the bomber and shoot a missile, but he saw a clear opportunity.

He switched over to the fighter’s machine gun, mounted to the upper right of the body. A green circle with a small dot in the middle took the center of his HUD, and he allowed the bomber to drift into the necessary position before pulling the trigger and firing off a burst. The rounds impacted on the nose of the Bear, near the cockpit, punching through and killing both pilots while badly damaging the aircraft. The second died more deliberately than its leader, slowly nosing down and entering an unstoppable dive as the remaining crew tried desperately to bail out.

Cole’s charge took him through to the other end of the formation. Looking back behind him, he saw the action had broken the formation completely. The remaining bombers were stunned by the appearance of fighter jets, and had broken formation to fly every which-way, some continuing to the target, some trying to escape. The hopeless pegasi escorts, expecting nothing more than their demoralized Equestrian counterparts and thus only armed with swords and crossbows, scattered completely, following the same pattern.

Over the radio he could hear the reports and yells from his allies, all calling in their own actions. The cries of ‘Fox Two’ and ‘Fox Three’ for missile launches of heat-seekers and radar missiles, respectively, became dominant. These were usually followed by the elated cry of confirmed kills. He tried to break them down, only focusing on those which were vital. One of these came in from his wingman.

“This is two, I got one on my tail,” Walker called, noticing an angry pegasus trying to keep up with the fighter. “The hell is he going to do?”

“Let’s not find out,” Cole replied. “Two, break off left at twenty degrees and continue evasion.”

“Copy.”

Runner’s aircraft shifted off to the left, with the pegasus continuing to follow, while Cole waited and turned shortly after, switching over to the AMRAAM.

“Cutting speed and turning in, switching to Slammer; alright, I’m on him.”

Locking onto a pegasus had worked before, and it had no trouble doing it now. With a few seconds to spare, the pegasus realized one of the fighters was chasing him now, and dropped away, diving for the ground. He did not react soon enough to prevent the lock from being finalized, with the first missile being launched with the appropriate call.

While the pegasus dove, Cole kept back and held his altitude, keeping an eye on the pegasus. He was all but certain that the missile would hit, but saw the target do something unexpected. It went and flew straight into a thick patch of forest near the ground, disappearing inside, with the missile following in. There was an explosion, but it seemed to have been from hitting a tree, as the dark pegasus flew back into the sky moments later.

“Huh, that’s pretty good,” Cole admitted, nudging the plane over the face the climbing pegasus. “But you should’ve stayed down there.”

Without clutter, the targeter locked onto the pegasus a second time and allowed the second AIM-120 to fire. The pegasus thought it had successfully escaped, and did not think it would be spotted again coming out, at least not in time to save himself. The missile connected perfectly, vaporizing the target into nothing more than some remaining spots of blood.

“Good kill, One,” Runner reported. “Returning to formation now.”

“That’s three,” Cole thought to himself. “How many more are there?”

“Alright, let’s find some more targets. Casino, Eagle One; can you vector me onto another target, over?”

“Two contacts moving north at angels twelve, bearing zero-four-four, less than two mikes from your position, over.”

“Copy, Casino, we’ll take them, out.”

“I already see them,” Runner chimed. “Two Bears, three o’clock low.”

Cole peered down from his seat to try and find them. Sure enough, some eight-thousand feet below them, two bombers were attempting to make their escape. Attempting to sneak by at a lower altitude had little chance of success with these odds. Cole ordered Runner to engage the second bomber while he took the first, and as they dove down, the two split up, one going off to the west while the other continued on its way.

Runner continued to follow his target while he followed the westward bound one, and Cole soon lost visual sight of his wingman as they went after their individual targets. The bomber was flying as fast as it could go, which would not be nearly enough to escape their hunters.
Cole caught up easily, with the bomber sluggishly attempting to zigzag and maneuver to throw him off, the tail gun firing bursts far off target.

It presented no real challenge as Cole locked onto the Bear and shot off another Sidewinder. The missile tracked on and struck as it was making another hard right, the explosive detonating and shredding into the tail and rear body of the aircraft. The force added to the already turning aircraft and slowly flipped it near upside down, shuddering and slugging, presenting an uncontrollable problem as the fire spread and altitude was lost, signifying its doom.

“Four. How many more are there? I’m not hearing too much.”

“Eagle One, be advised you have a bandit trailing you,” the AWACS warned.

Checking behind him, sure enough, there was a shadow pegasus trying his hardest to keep up with the plane.

“Runner, can you get this guy off me?”

“Gimme a few, lead; I got one I’m trying to deal with now.”

“Copy that, I’ll see if I can deal with him myself.”

Cole’s plane had not been going incredibly fast, having only needed to chase down the bomber, and slowed down even more after it had died. He had increased it instinctively when the warning came in, but there was not much the pegasus could do. It seemed to be trying hard to keep up with the Eagle, which would not be enough. Regardless, Cole had already decided how to get on the offensive.

He quickly cut back on the plane’s power, dropping the speed and banking off to the left. The pegasus came rather close, but was able to slow himself down in time to just barely prevent himself from overshooting. The two were virtually next to each other in the sky, trying to slow down enough to stay on the other’s tail. The pegasus won this, deciding to do what the plane could not and come to a complete stop, hovering there for a bit.

This did not stop Cole; in fact, he turned it against his opponent. As the pegasus came to a stop, he increased speed a bit and continued his bank through a loop. Before the pegasus could start following him again, he was not only far ahead, but coming directly back in its direction.

The pegasus finally saw there was no realistic chance of victory, and attempted to escape by climbing towards the sky. This again proved no challenge for the fighter, but the real problem came in that it had no more missiles that would track on to it. Still, Cole did not want to give up; he still had his guns, and he intended to run his prey down with that.

He switched back to the Eagle’s Vulcan gun, which still had plenty of ammunition inside. It was frustrating work trying to get a good shot off at such a small target, though he was aided by the fact that the pegasus was not enacting any kind of heavy maneuvering. If he had to guess, the Shadow pony was simply scared to death and thought about nothing more than running.

Several short bursts were fired in the direction of the target, each missing only barely. The reticle continued to only give minor glimpses of good shots at the target. Finally, Cole fired off one long burst from his gun, loosing most of the remaining ammo he had left. However, it paid off, with a line of bullets stitching across the target’s body, giving off puffs of blood and shearing some pieces off completely. The pegasus’ body fell to back to earth, passing Cole’s Eagle on the way down, as it shot through the cloud layer and leveling out.

“That’s five!” he shouted to himself in his head. “Five kills!”

“Casino, Eagle One; you have any more targets, over?”

“Negative, scope is clean,” the report called. “Casino to all aircraft, all hostile targets confirmed destroyed. You are cleared to R.T.B., out.”

When Cole got out of his plane, he could feel his legs and hands shaking from the excitement. Finally, after years of training, waiting, and patrolling, the squadron had made itself useful, and ended their first engagement. Even if it was from luck, it could not have gone better, killing off almost the entire attacking force without a single loss.

It showed everywhere, too. Both the pilots and those on the ground were wearing confident smiles. The ponies, having finally seen their tormentors beaten, were in a greater state, shouting their congratulations and praise between the whooping and yelling. Oddly, it was not seen on Spitfire’s face as she came to meet Cole, who gave her the customary salute and carrying out the same old process.

“Real nice work, Captain,” she complemented. “I can see why so many look up to you Americans; I suppose I should thank you, as well.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. If you don’t mind me asking, is there something wrong? You don’t seem very happy.”

“Trust me, I am,” she assured. “The problem is about what I was telling you over the radio earlier.”

“About us being given the permission to engage?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Even if you’re helping us now, and even if your country is going to help us now, the Princess has a very restrictive way of going about conflict, even now.”

“Wait, that doesn’t mean we’re in trouble, does it? Did we break any rules?”

“No, none that you could have known about,” she assured the pilot. “I doubt we’ll get in trouble after getting results like that, either. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be restricted in the future.”

“Restricted how?”

“We’ll have to wait and find out, just be sure to expect it. You’ll probably get more once that airbase is built; I’m pretty sure you’ll be based there, needless to say. Until then, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Author's Note

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

August 30th, 2005
1220 Hours
Ponyville, Equestria

A man who is tired enough can sleep anywhere, at least that is what Cole believed. He was a practitioner of this, in his career field one had to be. Though he had not taken part in one yet, a war would turn every second, minute, hour, and day into a vital one. As such, it would leave very little free time, something training had made very clear. Sleep, and other such basics, would be taken when and where it could.

Though war had not officially broken out in the time since the squadron’s first battle, the tension still kept the pilots on edge. Cole’s own sleep was supplemented by occasional napping, which served to break up his Circadian Rhythm rather badly, causing problems with waking up before he had to, or having trouble getting to sleep in the first place. That had finally been halted in the last few days, with the work keeping him from sleeping much at all.

Working vigorously around the clock, engineers had succeeded in establishing the first true air base on Equestrian soil in a field to the south of the town of Ponyville, Everfree Air Base. The squadron flew from the Academy to it as soon as the runway and hangars were done. It was not a fully operational base yet, with some more non-vital things needing to be built, but when it was it would offer an excellent base to conduct flights from, giving much more room and necessary facilities the Academy could not provide yet.

The squadron had flown in yesterday and had spent the night in a small barracks that lacked its roof, though thankfully the temperature and weather were rather pleasant. Cole, despite getting quite a few hours after the flight and a long day, still felt tired when he woke in the morning. He had slept well and without interruption, yet still felt tired, wanting to get another hour or two of shut-eye.

He intended to catch that now, during a trip to visit the town for the first time. Head shoved between a belt and his shoulder, body rumbling from the bumps on the dirt road, he kept his eyes shut as the drive progressed. It would only take a few minutes to reach Ponyville from the base, but some rest was better than none.

The official purpose of the visit was an informal introduction to the town’s new neighbors, meet some of the squadron’s new allies, give a good first impression of the U.S. military to them, and some other objectives. Cole simply wanted something to do, as the next few days were actually rather empty as the construction unit continued working on the base. Some minor patrols would be flown, but nothing major could go until the end of the week when the control tower was complete. Not that anything major was planned, but they still had to be ready.

Even as he rested he was thinking about the visit. He was not worried, just curious on how it would go down. Eventually he gained his fill of sleep and returned to the cramped world of one of the Humvees they borrowed from the engineers to make the journey. He was never entirely separated from it, as he could feel the bumps from the uneven dirt road they traveled by, as well as faintly hear the discussion among the other passengers. The latter became much clearer as he came to.

“Because it has to be the band.”

“Has to? What makes you think that?”

“Well, he does listen to their music.”

“Yea, but that doesn’t mean that’s what it is. Think of what the band was named after.”

“What’s the bet up to now?” Cole groggily asked Cowboy and another member of Charlie Flight, ‘Ramone’, who were debating in the back seat.

The bet Cole was referring to was a wager over the origin of their flight commander Elijah’s nickname, ‘Zeppelin’. Ramone swore it was from the rock group, while Cowboy insisted it came from the type of blimp. First Lieutenant Elijah, who was also the one driving, had never even hinted how he got it before, and refused to tell so. He seemed to enjoy dragging the bet out.

“It’s up to twenty bucks now, Sir,” Cowboy answered.

“How high are you planning on letting them go before you tell them?” Cole asked Zeppelin.

“I won’t let them go bankrupt, Sir,” he replied in a cheeky tone.

“Glad to hear you’re taking care of your flight.”

“He’s never gonna tell us,” Cowboy groaned. “He’ll take it with him to the grave.”

“Well, argue about something else,” Cole suggested, giving a topic. “Wayne or Eastwood?”

Lieutenant Sylvester deflated a bit and slouched in his seat. “Jesus, not that again.”

“Yea, you never did answer that, huh?” Zeppelin remembered, recalling the question he had asked his Lieutenant a few weeks ago.

“I answered it,” Cowboy replied in an annoyed tone. “I just said both.”

“You can’t pick both!” Ramone spoke up.

“Why not?”

“You’re just dodging the question.”

“I’m not dodging it, I just think they’re both great.”

“But who’s better?”

“Neither!”

Zeppelin gave a fake sigh that devolved into a half-hearted laugh.

“Well what’s your choice Ramone?” he asked.

“I don’t know; I’m not into Western stuff.”

“Then why’d you ask!?” Cowboy shot back, shooting back up in his seat.

“Relax, I was just curious,” he said calmly.

Cole now echoed Zeppelin’s light laugh, and repeated the question to him.

“And which do you think is better, Lieutenant Elijah?”

“Neither,” he replied, the smirk giving away devious intent. “Gary Cooper’s the best.”

“Really now?”

“Yea, I think he’d beat both in a gunfight.”

“At’ll be the day,” Cole replied in a deep, exaggerated accent.

The small convoy continued at a steady pace down the trail until the town came in sight. They followed the train tracks into town, entering and passing through the houses and inhabitants. Their driving slowed a bit to ensure they did not hit any of the ponies, but most of them were wise enough to move out of the way.

Cole took in the town as they passed the train station and turned right towards the town square. It was a simple, quiet town, with the look of some quaint village in the English countryside. Despite how much the conflict seemed to affect Equestria, Ponyville seemed to have been untouched by any aspect of the war; since it did not seem to hold any military significance, it did not seem to have a reason to be attacked.

Every eye in the town seemed to be on them as they entered the square. It was understandable, as they had clearly not seen anything quite like this. Back home, soldiers driving by in their respective vehicles had become a rather generic sight through the media, but such a sight was foreign to them; it was humbling in a way.

Most of the ponies in town were gathered around the square, where the convoy stopped. The congregation of observing citizens did not cause any deviation from the regular formula of procedures the men followed. As soon as they stopped the squadron was formed up into their respective flights, first at attention, and then brought to ease. Cole kept them this way as he turned to see a pony trotting up to him, wearing the armor of their guards.

“Morning! Are you the commander of this unit?” he asked.

“Yea, Captain John-”

“Just follow me, Sir,” the guard said, cutting him off, “you’re a little late.”

“One minute,” Cole asked before looking to his XO, who had joined him when the men formed up. “Lieutenant Walker, take command of the squadron until I return.”

“Yes Sir,” he responded, returning the salute and taking over the group, allowing the Captain to be lead off around the crowd that was fixated on the pilots.

“Sorry for being late, but it was a little difficult finding our way here,” Cole mentioned to the guard as they moved. “Plus we didn’t know there was something to be late for to begin with.”

“It’s not a problem. The mayor heard about your visit sent a message out earlier this morning with some details about the gathering, but I guess it got lost somewhere along the line,” the Guard explained. “You’re not to blame, but it doesn’t make it easier to keep up the timetable.”

“Well, we’re here now.”

“And thank goodness for that.”

The two moved around the edge of the crowd, hugging the border until they reached the other side, near a small, wooden stage. By itself it would have seemed generic, but it was fully decorated with flowers and streamers of every bright color, arranged in beautiful fashion that made it look special from any angle. The final piece was a large banner showing ‘WELCOME’ in dark blue against the plain white.

“Mayor, he’s here,” the guard called to a mare who was talking with one of his comrades.

She looked over and, upon seeing the American, let out an audible sigh of relief. Cole examined her a bit as she trotted towards him. He could understand her being the mayor, there was just something that gave off the official feel. Maybe it was the white hair and glasses that gave off the look of a librarian.

“I’m glad you were able to make it!” she said happily, raising a hoof up to him.

“Our pleasure, ma’am,” he replied, shaking her hoof. “Captain John Cole, U.S. Air Force.”

The pony looked at her hoof for a moment with a bit of confusion before returning to her guest.

“Well, it’s wonderful to have you! If you don’t mind, I’ll let my associate here explain some things,” the Mayor explained, referring to the same guard who had fetched Cole from the front of the crowd. “I would like to give my speech. I assume you’ve got one yourself?”

Since he had never gotten the notification, he did not know that he would need one. However, he figured he would be speaking anyways, so one was prepared. It was nothing special, not being very long or detailed, as he did not have much time to devote to it. Still, it was better than having to improvise on the spot.

“Of course.”

“Excellent! If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” she said, trotting off and up the stage, leaving Cole with the guard once again.

“So…what ‘things’ was she talking about?” he asked the gold-clad pony.

“Not a lot, actually; she talks then you talk, then everypony will go off and do whatever they feel like for a bit. I think there’s a party or something scheduled for later in the evening, too.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

A voice sprang up from the stage, gaining the attention of Cole, and the rest of the crowd. The mayor, now standing up at the podium, urged the group to silence. They all complied rather quickly, changing their focus from the Airmen to the stage as she began her speech.

“As Ponyville’s Mayor, I am happy to give a warm welcome to our new allies from the Air Force of the United States!”

There was a pause for a brief but powerful cheer from the elated gathering.

“They are the first American military unit to have arrived in Equestria, and have already fought the enemy in our skies,” she pronounced proudly with a wave of her hoof. “I cannot begin to describe how thankful we are for their service.”

“Well, we won’t have to worry about the hearts and minds part here,” Cole thought.

“As you may know already, they have recently been stationed at a brand new airbase nearby, very close to our town,” the Mayor explained. “This means that our little town of Ponyville will be hosting many American soldiers in the future, an honor that we will be proud to take up!”

The crowd let loose another applause in agreement, this one slightly louder and more prolonged.

“I am hopeful that everypony here will do their best to make our home feel like theirs as well.”

Looking at her in this way, she seemed a bit different than from what Cole first thought. Of course she was an official of the governmental system, but she gave of a different vibe from the ones back in America, and the rest of the world that he had seen. Those politicians, at least the majority he had witnessed, always had a rather official look to them, if they were good at what they did at least. Always in a suit or dress, they seemed steadfast, focused, and able to control themselves and their surroundings.

This mayor was different; it would need some more investigating but he could tell it was so. Rather than being stern, she seemed quite happy, as if there was nothing to worry or ponder over, though not being entirely careless. She still had the old official look about her, as he first saw, but it was in a dissimilar form. She looked pleased, delighted, and rather energetic, a bit different from what her initial look told him. She certainly seemed unique.

Although, on another hand, he had never met a mayor before, nor paid much attention to them; his focus never had been on local politics. Perhaps she was just overjoyed at their arrival and was unable to hold it in, not that she had to contain it to begin with. Cole enjoyed feedback.

“And now, I would like to hand the stage over to the commander of this squadron, United States Air Force Captain John Cole!”

The Airman took this as his cue and stepped up to the stage, smiling to the Mayor as he passed her on his walk to the podium amid another large applause.

“Thank you all for the kind reception,” he started once the cheers subsided. “Well, I can certainly say you all have made us feel welcome, and I would like to thank you all for that.

“My squadron has been placed under the joint command of the Equestrian military, along with that of the United States, and, as you know, we have already fought the air force of the Shadow Empire in the skies over Equestria. There we delivered a major blow, shooting down several of their bombers and protecting Equestria’s territory and populace.

“Our mission is to continue doing that, and I promise you that we will give our all to ensure your sovereignty is defended. I assure you that any time the Bloc tries to attack we will be up there to meet them and throw them out. I am proud that we have been given this task, and the honor of helping defend this nation.

“We will do our best to ensure your safety. I will be truthful, it could get difficult, it could get bad, and we all may be hurt during this. I cannot tell you what will happen, but I can promise you again that we will do everything in our abilities to stop those who would assault you. This may end without conflict, or we may fight the greatest fight in history. Either way, they’ll have to beat us before they can get to you.”

The townsfolk began to cheer again before Cole concluded with a ‘thank you’ and stepped off the stage. There were no other major events the ponies had planned until later in the evening, so that meant the squad could simply explore the town and relax until then. He told this to the men upon returning to them, letting them fall out and go amongst their own activities while leaving him without anything to do but think.

“Not much of a speech, and a bit short,” he thought to himself as the crowd dispersed, “but it seems alright for a last-minute scribble.”

“Captain?”

Cole looked down to find a familiar-looking mocha-colored pony staring up at him.

“I… I remember you… I think,” he said. “One of the ones I met back at the Academy right? One of… the Stars, right?”

“Compass Star,” the pony clarified.

“Right, Compass,” Cole repeated more clearly. “Nice to see you again. What are you doing here? This place your home?”

“Yea, it is. I heard you guys were coming for a visit, heard about your fight with those Shadows that tried to bomb the Academy, too,” he brought up. “Thanks a lot for that! I would’ve thanked you earlier, but we left before the raid happened.”

“It’s what we’re meant to do,” the fighter replied with a grin.

“Mind if we talk a little more? We never got to finish our conversation, and I had a few more things I was curious about.”

“I’d… kind of like to look around town a bit,” Cole replied honestly, having some alternatives in mind, “but maybe you can talk to some of the others. I remember you liked geography, right? Is there anything else? Maybe art or sport or space stuff?”

“Yea, I really like space too! I’m even part of the Ponyville Amateur Astronomer’s League, along with the others you met when we were talking at the Academy,” he said proudly.

“Huh, lucky guess,” Cole thought.

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Space? Yea, a little; it’s certainly my favorite science, but I’m not very good with science in general,” the pilot stated. “I do know someone who knows a lot more. Hang on a sec.”

He turned away from Compass and scanned the area, looking for the man with a furrowed, pensive look, and locating him talking with the rest of Alpha Flight.

“Lieutenant Hauser!” he called, gaining his target’s attention. “Hey, Orion, come over here!”

The young pilot did so, hustling away from his conversation immediately and jogging over to his commander. His face always gave the look of being enveloped in thought, not so much philosophical, but more practical, immediate issues such as the squadron’s state, or some technical development; not usually politics or people so much as numbers and connections. That was not to say he was always worried, as he was usually in a positive mood, he simply always had the feel about him, even when smiling. It was something Cole could respect.

“Sir?”

“I got a friend here who’s interested in astronomy. Think you can talk to him about it some?”

“Oh yea, yea!” he beamed. “I’d love to, I’ve been wondering how much they know about it.”

“Alright, cool,” he said, moving closer a bit to whisper. “Thanks, Lieutenant; I’ll be off now.”

“No problem, Sir,” he replied, letting Cole go off on his own business again.

He spent much of the time simply looking around town, talking to a few of the townsfolk, but not getting into any engaging conversation. Most of it was just answering questions of a wide range from what his home was like to what flying was like and ‘what kind of prey humans hunted’. It was interesting to see what they thought of the outside world, to say the least.

After a while, once most of the informal question and answer session was finished, he thought about going to the town library. He did not see much around that appealed to him, so it seemed like reading up on the place would be a good way to kill time. One of the citizens pointed him towards a large tree nearby and, after ensuring he was not being duped, went to knock on the front door of what at first glance, looked like a nature-lover’s architectural jewel.

“Coming!” a voice called from inside before the door was answered by another familiar pony. “Oh, hello Captain! It’s nice to see you again.”

“Twilight? Well, I didn’t expect to run into you,” he commented blandly, quickly worrying that it came off in a negative tone. “I-it’s certainly a great surprise! It’s nice having some new world friends close by.”

“Same to you!” she replied happily. “So why did you come over? Did you want to visit?”

“I actually came to look around the library… I… couldn’t really visit when I didn’t know you were… well, here, you know?”

“Oh, oh yea,” she replied through a slightly red face.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Cole reminded her. “I mean I did just come to look around, nothing very important.”

“Well there’s plenty to look at,” she said, moving out from the doorway and allowing him to enter.

“What specifically would you like to find? Something involving the military? Or flying maybe?”

“I guess I wouldn’t be a good fighter if that wasn’t on the list, but something tells me your books on flying aren’t quite the same as ours.”

“Heh, yea… that’s probably true,” the unicorn admitted. “What else do you like to do? Do you do anything outside of your… job, or does it take up all your time?”

“Well, it is my main focus, so to say, but there is other stuff outside of it. Nothing all that different from normal stuff, I guess.”

“What would you want to do if you weren’t doing…this?”

“If I wasn’t able to fly? Join the Army I guess, I can’t-”

“No, no, I mean if you weren’t a soldier.”

“If I wasn’t an Airman,” Cole repeated. “I’m not sure honestly. I mean, this wasn’t exactly what I studied in school, but I can’t really imagine doing much else.”

“You didn’t study for this job?” Twilight asked, continuing the barrage of questions. “What did you study? What were you trying to be?”

“I was trying to be what I am now,” he clarified, taking a look at the bookshelves. “Just that this major was something on the side, if I wasn’t able to get into the military.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t do anything else?”

“I said I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

Twilight shook her head a bit in frustration.

“Ok, can you tell me what you could be other than this?” she asked in annoyance. “What did your studying give you?”

“Hm… with my major, you could say I’m a sort of… guardian of timeless secrets.”

“A what?” Twilight asked, thoroughly addled by the needlessly cryptic response.

“I’m a historian,” Cole chuckled.

“Oh, ok… I guess that makes sense.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to have some fun. It’s not easy being so serious all the time with this career; I didn’t mean annoy you.”

“It’s fine, I’ve had worse pranks played on me” Twilight assured him. “So, find anything interesting?”

Cole continued to pick his way over the books, reading the titles but not pulling any out.

“Eh… sort of; I’m not… too sure what I’m even looking for, honestly,” he admitted. “I mean, this is a whole new world, you know? I’ve uh… got no idea on where to start.”

“Gee, I… don’t really know either. It’s a really big field of stuff, and it’s not really the one I’m interested in.”

“What field would that be?”

“Science,” she replied with a smile. “I know a lot of history too, but not as much as I know about science; and with military stuff… well, the closest I’ve ever studied something like that is with strategy in a few chess games.”

“You guys have chess here?” Cole asked, turning to face her.

“Yea, humans do too?” she asked rhetorically, continuing before he could respond. “Wow, that’s awesome! I didn’t expect our cultures to have very much in common.”

“Besides having the same language?”

“And a few other things, but it’s still fun to find the similarities-oh, do you play any?”

“A little bit; I used to play a good deal but I was never a pro at it. Mostly just another simple hobby,” the pilot said. “I always did find it fun though.”

“I haven’t played in a long time either. Would you like to play a few games?”

“Sure, I was thinking of that too,” Cole admitted. “Though I’m not sure how much of a challenge I’ll be.”

It had been several months since Rainbow had been in Ponyville. Her duty to the Wonderbolts and Equestrian armed service had become the center of most of her life, even if she hardly ever flew with them to begin with. Meanwhile her cloud home, including her pet tortoise, Tank, was left in the care of her friends, particularly Fluttershy. She insisted on paying them for their help, but, being the friends that they were, it was refused outright.

Now, after what felt like an eternity and a half to her, she was returning, having been granted an extensive leave. More than likely this was due to the American squadron’s overwhelming victory against the Shadow bomber force. Yet at the same time, they did not call it leave, nor was she released from the team, either. They were unspecific, telling her to ‘take a vacation until some things could be sorted out’.

However, she was not worried about that at the moment. What mattered to her right now was coming home, and more than that, Cole’s squadron had already been relocated to a base close to town. She would get to see her friends again, new and old.

The first order of business was still to stop by her house, checking up on everything and dropping some of her things off. As expected, everything was the same as she had left it. Tank was particularly happy to see her, moving faster than she had ever seen him just to say hello, and she spent a full hour playing with him before he was worn out.

Flying into town, she noticed the hefty amount of commotion on the ground, which worried her that something was amiss. To her delightful surprise, it was actually quite the opposite; the ponies were actually in the middle of celebrating the first visit of the Americans. Whether it was by chance or luck, or a combination of both, Dash did not care. They were all here, in one place, and now she could join them.

Upon arriving, the first thing she asked of both the humans and ponies was where Cole was; it seemed a bit odd to ask for his location first, yet it was still the first thing to hit her mind. Still, she did not worry about it, as she still wanted to see all her friends regardless. They had plenty of time to relax and hang out together, and from what the ponies said, Pinkie was throwing one of her welcoming parties for the pilots later in the evening; that would give plenty of bonding time.

Finding the Captain’s location proved challenging, with her having to ask multiple people and ponies until one of the humans pointed her in the direction of Twilight’s home, saying that he had been looking for the library. Overjoyed at the thought of seeing the two again, she sped right towards the house. In her haste, she failed to slow down in time, and burst through the door and into the main room as she had done many times before in the past.

“Hi Rainbow! I forgot you were coming home this afternoon,” she heard Twilight say as soon as the dust had cleared.

Apparently crashing into her home had become the tell-tale sign of her arrival, in addition to giving Twilight the habit of leaving her door unlocked.

“Dash? I wasn’t told you were coming,” a familiar voice spoke up.

“Hey Cole!”

She immediately regained her balance and dived into him, giving him a tight hug before breaking off.

“Rainbow, you really need to give me some warning before you do that,” he said, pausing to cough a couple times. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

“Heh, yea, I guess I am too tough for my own good,” she smirked, giving Twilight a hug as well. “So what are you guys up to?”

“Not much, just playing chess, but I’m getting a little tired of it,” she replied.

“Hey, I’m getting better,” the pilot stated quickly from the other end of the table.

“I’ve beaten him five times in a row,” Twilight sighed.

“How many have you guys played?”

“Five.”

“I am improving,” Cole persistently repeated.

“Alright, I guess he’s getting a little better,” the unicorn relented.

“I can’t judge; never got into nerdy stuff like that,” Rainbow responded. “But I didn’t think you’d be into that kind of stuff, John.”

“What can I say? I’m an old man.”

“Really? You don’t look old,” Rainbow commented.

“Is your age considered elderly to humans?” Twilight asked. “I think I’ve seen pictures of older humans than this, at least they look old in comparison.”

“Eh… never mind, it’s just an expression.”

“I don’t get it. Are old people nerds?” Rainbow guessed.

“I’ll explain another time Rainbow.”

“Alright, so… how do you like the town?”

“It’s nice. Humble, small, quiet… it gives off a feeling of innocence and welcome,” he explained. “Though I kind of wish I’d get to sit down and talk about normal life; most of the ponies I’ve come across just ask me about what the U.S. is like, what people are like, big stuff like that you know?”

“Have you met the rest of my friends? I’m sure they’d like to talk with you!”

“Besides Twilight? I don’t know, don’t think so. I ran into a pegasus that I met at the Academy who came for the questioning,” he recalled. “Star-uh, sorry… Compass Star. Big deal about his name being different or something; good kid though. You know him?”

“Not a lot; I’ve chatted with him a few times but that’s all,” she said. “But that’s ok, you’ll get to know everypony better at Pinkie’s party tonight!”

“Sorry, I’m not really a party kind of guy, Dash. I kind of prefer to keep to myself most of the time.”

“What!? Don’t you want to… hang out with us, or something?”

“Of course I would, I’m just not… social, I guess,” Cole replied, struggling to think of the right word. “I just like being a loner, nothing personal. I’d still like to hang out; I’m just not into parties and such.”

“Aw, come on! Please!?”

Rainbow put on a very pouty sad-face, drooping her ears and quivering her lips a good deal. The intended effect of sadness did not work on Cole. To the contrary, the degree at which it was overplayed nearly made him laugh. Regardless of either, it did convince him to change his mind; it turned out to be more cute than either of the other two. Perhaps that was the reason.

“Heh, alright, alright, I’ll go.”

“Awesome!”

“But if I’m going can we chat there instead of here?” he asked. “I like talking with you, but I was having a conversation with Twilight before you barged in and everything.”

“Oh, yea, that’s fine,” Dash agreed. “It’ll give me time to finish some other stuff and say hi to everypony else.”

“Sounds good.”

“Cool, I’ll see you two later,” she said, flying to the door before stopping and turning back to them. “Oh, hey Twi, I’ve got a quick question.”

“What is it?”

“Who’s Will Smith?”

Before either of them could answer, Cole let out a deep laugh, confusing both ponies.

“What’s so funny?” Rainbow asked.

“W-where in the world did you hear that name!?”

“One of your pilots called me that when I wanted to see his plane,” she recounted. “Is it supposed to be an insult?”

“Ah, right, I remember now; but, no, it’s not,” the pilot assured her. “But why’d you ask Twilight? Why not me?”

“Uh… I don’t know… I mean she usually knows more than me… so I guess-”

“Force of habit,” the unicorn interrupted.

“Yea, I guess that’s it,” Rainbow said. “So can you tell me who that is, John?”

“I think I’ll let Twilight answer,” he said with a devious smile. “I’d like to see where this goes.”

“Oh… well… I think I’ve run across the name a few times,” Twilight said, trying to remember where she had seen it. “I think he was a British man who wrote a story about some Italians that fell in love and died.”

“What!?” Cole jumped, laughing even harder now.

“Hey, it’s not easy remembering all you important humans when your names are so weird!” Twilight defended herself. “They all sound the same! You know how many times Will and John and a bunch of others have been used?”

“Can you just tell us?” Rainbow demanded.

“No, no, try again!” Cole responded, calming down.

“Ugh… fine,” Twilight moaned in aggravation. “Will Smith was… um… an American who started a religion… and… they all moved out west and he got killed… I think.”

Cole let out a sigh that quickly turned into chuckling as he bowed his head and covered it with his hand.

“Nevermind,” Rainbow grunted. “I’ll see you two at the party tonight.”

“Alright, bye Rainbow,” Twilight responded as the pegasus flew out the door.

“Sorry about that,” Cole apologized, regaining his composure.

“It's fine, I suppose it is a little funny. But what were we talking about before Rainbow interrupted?” Twilight asked her guest, who had redirected his focus to the game board.

“You just finished telling me about the first time you and your friends defeated Sombra the first time, along with your brother and his wife,” Cole reminded her. “It’s tough to wrap my head around it, guess I don’t have too much of a choice though.”

“We both have a lot to get used to.”

“Yea, can you guys can’t use your friend magic thing because they’re not bad enough?”

“Kind of; ponies on Sombra’s level are some of the worst. They’re greedy and spiteful and just plain mean. But most of the Shadows themselves… they’re certainly… angry to say the least, but their hearts aren’t totally black. Some aren’t doing it for greed, they truly think what they’re doing is what’s best for the world.”

“Doesn’t excuse the actions themselves,” Cole replied, shifting a pawn forward to allow his rook passage.

Twilight did the same with another of her pawns, only for it to allow the bishop its path of movement.

“It’s hard change somepony’s heart when it’s focused on ideals instead of greed,” she commented. “Most of them are innocent, and a lot could probably have their mind changed still. They’re not zombies; they could even do it themselves. Like the immigrants who fled before Sombra’s first banishment.”

“I guess the best course is the one that saves as many lives as possible,” Cole philosophized, moving the rook to the edge of the board while Twilight moved another pawn further down the line.

“That and between magic getting weaker and their army growing, it’d be… pretty hard for us to banish him again if we tried, at least I think so.”

Cole moved the rook up along the side of the board to knock over a pawn on the penultimate row. One more move forward and he would have Twilight’s king trapped in its spot between three other pieces. It could move out diagonally if he did get in position, but there was a knight nearby that could deal with that.

“Ha, I got you this time missy!”

“Checkmate!” Twilight replied with a grin.

“What?”

Cole looked over and saw the bishop had slid across the length of the board to position to attack his king; he had made the same mistake of blocking it in, only with one unit too many and no room to move out of the way.

“Damn it,” he thought, looking up at the smug unicorn. “You know, you sound aggravated that you’re always winning, but it sure doesn’t seem like it’s getting old for you when it actually happens.”

“Well, you almost had me that time, so I guess you are getting better.”

“You think?”

“Just not better than me!” she joked with a giggle.

Twilight and Cole spent a few more hours in the library, doing more talking than playing chess, and by the time they had run out of things to talk about, the party had already started. The two were initially going to walk down to the town hall together, where the party was being held. Unfortunately, within sight of the building, Cole was stopped again by another two ponies who wanted to ask questions.

Initially Cole agreed, telling Twilight to go on and that he would follow as soon as he was done, which he predicted would not be any more than a few minutes. However, the group grew from two to about ten and from a few minutes to over thirty. They were nothing different from ones he had already heard, but after being held up to answer them for what felt like the twentieth time that day, he was not in any mood to do so any further.

He was not noticed as he walked in due to the large, noisy crowd assembled. He preferred it that way, being like a ghost. It was easy in this environment. He did stick out from most, being human, but there were a few humans there, as well. Between the band that played an older, classical style of music, and the banter amongst the guests, there was plenty of sound filling the air. He was not bothered by it as much as his growling stomach and the closest food in reach was a plate of cookies sitting on the end of a long table of food.

Back when he was just training, his flight lead had commented that for every cookie a member downed when away, it was best to run a mile. He never really kept count of that, preferring to just run as normal or run a little more. He would run however much he needed to, and if there was some issue, he would just try a little harder. That was the logic that he eventually came to apply every time; no matter what was in the way, just bull through it and get the job done. It was this simplification that helped carry him through the more difficult times, and it gave him a determination that became an essential part of himself and his job.

“Evening Sir,” Runner greeted from behind him, nearly causing his Captain to choke.

“Evnin’” Cole replied with a full mouth, swallowing the rest of a cookie before continuing. “Enjoying the party, Lieutenant?”

“Yep, and you?”

“Well, I just got here, but it seems nice so far,” he continued. “You haven’t seen a blue pegasus? Got rainbow hair?”

“Rainbow Dash?”

“Wait, you know her?”

“Not personally, but her name’s pretty big around here,” Runner explained. “That and I heard she had a run in with a few of the guys at the Academy.”

“Ah, yea. Which one told you that? Sylvester or Maurice o-”

“All of them.”

“Oh, well I hope it wasn’t anything too bad,” Cole commented. “She’s good at heart, maybe a little hot-headed.”

“Nah, it wasn’t too bad; they all seemed to think it was funny.”

“Good, good. But have you seen her around here?”

“Not around the party, nope,” Runner specified. “Like I said, only mention of her was from Cowboy and the others.”

“Where are they, anyways?”

“Playing cards over there,” Runner said, gesturing to a table on the other end of the room.

“I figured as much,” Cole said, forcing it through a yawn he’d been trying to hold back. “I think I’ll join them.”

“Really? You don’t want to come dance with me?” Runner joked.

“To that tune? Nah, I’m too tired for that. I’d need something with some groove in it.”

“Heh, see you later Captain C.”

Cole made his way over to the table, wolfing down another cookie on the way. At the table sat three members of the squad, Lieutenants Maurice, Sylvester, and another member from Charlie flight, a quiet one named Chuck ‘Garlic’ Svenson. There were two other ponies sitting with them, both pegasi, one with a light-brown coat and dark mane, and the other with a bizarre jet-black coat and mane with a light yellow stripe, giving the feeling of a backwards bumblebee.

“Evening gentlemen. I assume you’re not playing Go-Fish, now are you?” he asked.

“Nope, Blackjack!” the darker pegasus answered in a light, innocent-sounding voice.

“Really? My first guess was poker,” Cole said, casting an eye over to Maurice. “You’re not teaching them to gamble are you? You guys shouldn’t be doing that in the first place.”

“Why would you think that?”

“We gave you the name ‘Keno’ for a reason, Lieutenant.”

“Because I only play cards and the only time I tried a lottery game I lost a thousand dollars to it,” he annoyingly replied. “And you all take great joy in reminding me of it.”

“Yes, but you still shouldn’t gambling.”

“I’m not, Sir,” he repeated. “It’s just a normal game, no stakes. I play like this all the time.”

“I know you do, and I trust you; I’m just making sure, it’s my job,” Cole assured him. “Besides, I came to play a couple rounds with ya’ll anyways.”

The First Lieutenant’s mood quickly reversed, breaking out a hearty smile.

“Great! Take a seat, Sir; there’s still a spot open.”

Cole did this, sitting in the last chair available at the circular table in between Sylvester and the dark pegasus.

“Hi there, my name’s Midnight Strike,” she replied in a happy voice, the immediateness of it feeling more odd than welcoming.

“Uh, hey. I’m Captain John Cole, USAF,” he replied in an awkward, semi-formal tone.

“Cool, are you the leader of the squadron that go stationed nearby?”

“Yea, that’s me,” he confirmed. “Are you going to ask me some questions?”

“No… why would I?”

“I’ve just been getting them all day from ponies is all.”

“Oh, I understand. Well don’t worry, we won’t bug you!”

“I’m sorry, who are you, by the way?” Cole asked the second pegasus on the other side of Midnight.

“Wild Fire,” she grunted through her annoyed face.

“She hasn’t quite caught on to the game yet, so she’s a little upset,” Midnight explained. “Nothing personal.”

As she finished, Maurice started dealing the cards out, tossing two for each player and two for himself. Cole got a hold of a Two and King giving him a sum of twelve to start with. Everyone around the table seemed rather relaxed, save for Wild Fire, who kept her vexed glare at her set, and Sylvester, who had a serious demeanor over his fresh-faced stare, directed at Keno.

The two of them had a fascinating rivalry when it came to cards, with the two of them laying more than any other member in the squadron. Each time a game of Blackjack was played Lieutenant Maurice would have the upper hand. Every time the two played Poker it was Sylvester who had the advantage. Yet every time one would try to get the edge over the other.

“Fold,” Svenson called from across the table, tossing two queens down.

“Hit,” Cowboy called, the dealer giving him another card.

Cole simply tapped the table, signifying the same intent, with the two pegasi following in suit. He gained a Five of Hearts, making seventeen in total. It was not long after that Wild Fire groaned, simply tossing her three cards, which added up to twenty-four, onto the table and dropping her head down along with it. Midnight kept the same look she had on her face before, holding her cards close.

“How are you holding those cards up?” Cole asked.

“Hm? You haven’t learned how ponies hold things?”

He shook his head in the negative response.

“It’s real simple,” she assured him. “You see, all ponies have a little bit of natural magic in them. It’s what gives earth ponies their strength and unicorns their… well… better magic, and so on. And there are some traits that all ponies share.”

“And this is one of them?”

“Yep! Basically when a pony wants to grab or pick up something with their hooves, there’s a kind of magic, similar to the kind unicorns use to levitate and move things with their horns, that activates. It gets focused on what the pony is focusing on and attaches it to the hoof when contact is made, and can be stopped when we want to let it go.”

“I think Sparkle summed it up like a ‘controllable magnet’ or something like that,” Wild Fire quipped, still looking at her deck.

“Huh, wonder why she never told me that,” Cole thought. “But I guess I never really asked.”

“It kinda is a controllable, focused magnet. A few times you’ll see unicorns levitate stuff with their horns, and sometimes ponies will work with their mouths, but anypony can do it, really.” Magic’s a neat little thing, huh?” Midnight asked.

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s the call, Captain?” Maurice asked, returning their focus to the game.

Cole looked down at his cards one more time to remind himself of the number.

“Hold.”

“Same,” Midnight followed.

“Hit,” Sylvester called, growling when he saw the new card signify another defeat. “Damn it… busted again.”

“You should learn when to stop,” Maurice commented.

The Lieutenant dealer turned over his own cards, showing two fives. He threw down a seven and a four, adding up perfectly to twenty-one. Regardless of which of the remaining two had the higher number, he had hit the necessary number. Keno had won from reaching the objective of the game.

“Would you like to try again?” he asked through a grin.

Each of the players at the table answer in the affirmative, and each received two new cards from a freshly shuffled deck. This time his sum added up to ten, giving him a bit more room than the previous round. Cowboy made a quiet comment to himself, with Cole only catching a few rough swears and the word ‘crash’, which reminded him of the reason he was here to begin with.

“Have any of you seen Dash around?”

“The pegasus?” Sylvester asked. “Nope. Why? Did you need to talk to her about something, Sir?”

“Kind of; I promised her I’d come to this party,” Cole clarified. “It’s sort of the reason I came at all.”

“I was wondering what you were doing here,” he replied. “But no, I haven’t seen her.”

The rest of the table gave similar replies, with the exception of Lieutenant Svenson.

"Yea, actually. She asked me where you were, but she said it wasn’t too important,” he said, tossing his cards down again after receiving a third. “Said she was going to head out to look for you.”

“When was this?”

“About... hm… about a few minutes before you first got here, I think, if you came straight over to play with us.”

“And how come you didn’t tell me about it?”

“Sorry Sir, I forgot, honest,” Svenson responded. “Like I said, she told me it was nothing major… though I guess she did seem a bit upset.”

“Damn me,” Cole cursed himself.

“I’m sure she’ll be back,” Midnight spoke up. “You did come, right? I’m sure she’ll be happy about that.”

“You think I should just stay here till she gets back?”

“Sure, might as well,” Cowboy commented.

“I’d stand right out at the front doors, Captain,” Keno commented. “It’s not like a gentleman, or an Officer, to be late for a date.”

“She’s not a date,” Cole specified, annoyed even though he knew it was a joke. “Besides, this officer was being a good representative and doing yet another spontaneous Q and A with the locals.”

“I’m just saying what I’d do, Sir; trust is an important part of honor.”

“Honor coming from the gambler?” Cole thought to himself.

“Yea, I-”

Cole let out another long yawn, first covering his hand with his mouth and then running it over his face in an effort to wipe away the sleepiness.

“Well here’s a suggestion, Sir,” Sylvester brought up. “Why don’t you go get some rest, ‘cause I’m pretty sure if you stood outside for too long you’d fall over and pass out. Whenever Dash gets here, we’ll just tell her where you are and she can come wake you up. How’s that?”

Cole was not quite sure of the validity of the plan, or if it was really the best option, but was too tired by this point. He had tried to get there on time and between Twilight and answering questions was held up. What was important was that he would get to see Rainbow, provided his wingmen did what they said they would do, which he trusted.

“That sounds fine,” Cole agreed, tossing down the cards before the next hit. “I’m gonna go take a nap-”

“Yes! That’s it!” Wild Fire loudly interrupted, slamming her cards on the table. “Twenty-one, right there! That’s how you win, right?”

“Uh… yea,” Keno confirmed, examining the cards. “So you win-”

“Yes! I finally won! I was the lucky one this time! You lose fate!”

“Wouldn’t it still be fate if you won?” Svenson pointed out.

“Wha-no! I won because I was good enough this time… right? I mean it was a mix of luck and skill.”

“The whole game is based on chance,” he retorted.

“I’ll be in one of the Humvees,” Cole grunted, shuffling off from the table.

There were several things happening at once, but Cole could not comprehend any of them. Some looked like flashes of dull, small lights and other looked like things were rattling, yet he could not actually feel anything. Nor did it feel like he was in control of his body. He could not hear either, but the sounds seemed to register as if they were already implanted in his mind.

All he could tell was that he was flying his jet, with the idea that he was running away from something, and as soon as he came to realize that, his sense returned and everything broke in the space of a second. There was a small flash at the bottom of his vision, and his plane shook violently. It quickly dipped down, heading towards the ground at a steep angle with increasing speed.

Cole did not do anything; he did not feel like he could do anything. In fact, he felt little of anything at all. All he could feel was a growing anxiety mounting and piling up as he neared the ground. Yet it was all suppressed, and he felt no panic. His body felt numb, as if no blood was in it, and he pulled back on the flight stick with nothing happening. The bottom drew closer and closer, and before long the jet smacked nose-first into the grass and dirt of the world.

It did not end there, as he thought it would. There was no pain, nor shock, or any true feeling, but a good deal of spinning. When things cleared up, he found himself lying on the ground, surrounded by the grass, wreckage, and a spreading fire overtaking the area.

This time, his body, save for his head, barely responded at all. As he examined things, his attention finally turned to his body to see a jagged piece of metal piercing through his side and nailing him to the earth like a thumbtack. Once again, he felt nothing from it; no sense of pain or trauma at its discovery.

He suddenly gained control of his right arm, and reached it up to grab hold of the metal. He took a hold of it and pulled up, but the shrapnel did not move a bit. He continued to do so, but it felt like there was no strength behind the yank, with no muscle responding as if his body had resigned itself to its fate. He continued to focus on this, but made no progress as the flames crept in.

Before long, the fire had reached him, and he watched as it crawled across his body and consumed him. Once again, there was no feeling behind it, and it felt as though he was watching through another pair of eyes. As the fire filled his vision and became the solitary thing, he finally felt something come into play. He felt fear, not anxiety or worry, but pure fear that quickly filled his mind. The fear took over piece by piece until he let out a yell for it to stop.

“Please, relax yourself, John.”

Cole felt everything stop, and his mind filled with peace and his body covered in warmth as if wrapped in a blanket. There was nothing to see anymore; only a light dark that was more calm than it was scary, punctuated by small lights of light color at times. The only thing left was a soft, feminine voice that brought the tranquility. He now felt as if he was in a different state now than before, as if he had some control and consciousness about him.

“Your nightmare is over. My apologies for being late.”

“It’s alright, thank you for your help,” he responded in his head, as if he were thinking rather than talking. “Who are you?”

“Princess Luna, of the night,” she answered. “It is my duty to ensure all in Equestria have pleasant dreams, but it has become more difficult to do with the reduced magical abilities, hence my tardiness.”

“You seem quite busy,” Cole guessed, recognizing the Princess from the news over the years. “This is nice though; I feel good, eased. Shouldn’t I be speaking to you more formally?”

“Not here, John; this is your mind. All subjects speak this way here."

"It feels motherly... comforting."

"Indeed, there is no need for such unnecessary complexity in your mind, I am only here to protect it and help you analyze it.”

“Analyze it? The dream?”

“The nightmare,” she corrected him. “In Equestria, nightmares can be different from regular ones at times, due to the natural magic of the land. They can be many things, fears, warnings, threats, attacks. Yours seemed to be some kind of warning.”

“Sent by who?”

“Not a warning as in a threat, a warning as in a prediction,” Luna clarified. “It is like a prophecy, a telling of what the future could hold for you.”

“Is it my death?”

“I cannot tell, John,” she stated simply. “I can only control the dreams, but this came from your mind. Only you know, or can discover, its true meaning. It seems to be that from first glance, but be warned that dreams can be deceiving.”

“I don’t know what else it could be. Someone else, maybe?”

“Perhaps, but remember that I said it may only be a warning. It may be written already, but it may be a caution to prevent such a loss from being written.”

“I should keep my eyes open, then,” he said. “Thank you or the help, Luna; do you have any advice for me?”

“Beyond what I have said already, I can only say what we ponies practice: keep your friends close, and your bonds will carry you through anything,” the Princess stated. “I must be going; I believe one of them is about to shake you from your slumber.”

“Wake up!”

The pilot did just this, coming to in the passenger’s seat of the vehicle suddenly but without rustle. Wrest from his rest, he grunted a few times and cracked his neck a bit, wiping away some sweat on his forehead. It was dark out, and after blinking a few times his eyes began to adjust. As it cleared up, the first thing to catch his attention was a bit of rainbow hair and two large, magenta eyes.

“Hey Dash,” he said, coming back to the real world. “Sorry I’m late; I got caught up talking with Twilight and answering some more questions for some folks.”

“Oh, that explains it,” Rainbow responded in an understanding voice. “Once you start talking with Twilight about smarty stuff, it’s hard to get her to stop, hehe.”

“Mhm, but I’m here now,” he said with a weak smile.

“Yea, but are you ok? One of your friends told me you were out here, and I found you squirming and grunting while you were asleep. Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yea… yea, I did.”

“What was it about?”

“I died,” he thought. “No, don’t say that.”

“Nothing,” he replied.

“What? You do know that nightmares here mean more stuff than in the human world.”

“I know, the Princess visited me and all that jazz,” he spoke ahead of her. “But I’m fine, really, still need to figure it out; I just need to… recover, you know?”

“Yea, I can understand,” the pegasus replied. “But take your time, alright? It looked kinda rough.”

“You don’t want me to go back to the party?”

“Not like this,” she said. “Just chill out here until your head clears up. I’ll keep you company, ok?”

“Yea, that sounds good, thanks,” he agreed. “So… how’s… stuff?”

“Stuff? There’s a lot of stuff,” Rainbow giggled. “What kind of stuff?”

“Uh… what about your flying with the Wonderbolts? Did they give you leave or something?”

“Kind of, it’s a little complicated,” she said. “I think they’re trying to restructure everything, but either way I get to come back here. It’s nice to sleep in my own bed again.”

“That’s always nice, being able to sleep in your own bed on your own ground instead of a wooden pallet in the middle of nowhere,” Cole agreed.

“Yea? My house isn’t even on the ground,” Rainbow proudly stated. “It’s up in the air!”

“Huh?”

“Yep, since I’m a pegasus I live in a house made of clouds! Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Wow, that sounds pretty amazing. I bet the view is nice from up there.”

“It is! You want to check it out someday? I can fly you up and you can see for miles up there!”

“N-no, that’s alright Rainbow.”

“What? You’re not going to fall through or anything, I’ll just drag you up-”

“No!” Cole quickly interrupted. “Sorry, Dash, I’d… just rather not, ok?”

“A-alright,” she relented. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“Honestly, when you mentioned the clouds, it got me to notice how nice the sky looks,” Cole commented. “I always appreciate a pretty sky.”

“Same here,” Rainbow agreed, leaning against the car as Cole hung out a bit to see it. “You should see the ones we had back in Equestria, back when the Princesses could control the moon and sun. They’d make the coolest sunset and sunrise.”

“I bet, but these are pretty nice all the same; nice stars, not a lot of wind, just the right amount of clouds,” the pilot examined. “Y’know, I actually like it when there are some clouds around; not too many, just the right amount. They can be in all sorts of shapes that make of a moment worthy of a painting.”

“I always have fun making cool shapes out of clouds,” Rainbow said. “Especially when they’re over a big area, and there’s more room.”

“Too bad I can’t control clouds,” Cole commented. “At least I can fly, too.”

“Yea, you guys weren’t meant to fly and you do anyways.”

“What can I say? We humans are brilliant and imaginative.”

“And weird,” Rainbow teasingly added. “With your crazy clothes and weird skin and your dumb chin fur.”

“Chin fur?”

Rainbow reached a hoof up and tapped it under Cole’s chin, causing him to notice the prickly bits of hair that were growing there.

“Damn it, is it growing back again?” he thought, stroking the scruff hair. “I just shaved!”

“It won’t be there for long,” he promised her. “But hey, you guys can be weird too with all this magic and stuff. But like I said earlier, I still love it here.”

“Ponyille, or Equestria?”

“Mostly just the town; I haven’t seen much of the rest of the country,” Cole said. “But it’s nice here. It’s friendly and bright and pure; a little slice of paradise, y’know.”

“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else,” Rainbow added.

Cole stretched a bit more and pushed himself out of the seat and onto the ground.

“Feeling good enough to go back inside?” Dash asked.

“Yea, I’d kind of like to go back to the party,” Cole admitted. “Hey, have you ever played Blackjack before?”

Author's Note

A Quiet Little Town

September 1st, 2005
0645 Hours

“One!” shouted Desser, taking the role of motivator.

“Two!” the groups yelled back as they followed in the early light.

“Red, white-”

“Blue!”

“Three!”

“Four!”

“PT!”

“Some more!”

The full squadron of men ran along the roadway in good order, chanting in synchronization. Each of them had been on such runs before, and had grown used to it. Physical training usually followed a set pattern, especially for runs; form up and jog at a set pace for a set distance. Jodies, like the one being carried out, were constantly called out along the duration to keep their minds focused on something other than the discomfort. Each of them repeated at the same time, as well, though the Captain in the back had his own rhythm set.

“Left, right, left, right,” Cole repeated to himself, “breath in, breath out, keep control.”

He had never been overly-fond of running; whatever high runners talked so often about never seemed to reach him. The only thing he ever got was a gnawing, not-so-dull pain in his feet and lower legs. Still, he did feel good when it was all done and all of the pain had gone away; a nice mixture of healthy feeling and satisfaction.

Though he did not like running, it was never bad to the point of absolute dread. It hurt, but he kept going alongside his wingmen. When it was all done, things would go back to normal. It was just another exercise to him, nothing too special, but fitness was vital to any soldier, which warranted keeping through to the end on that principle alone.

Even if the exercise was the same, the route today was different. The squadron would be running from the gates of the air base to the town of Ponyville, and then back again. Altogether, the journey counted in at roughly three miles, being a bit over by a handful of feet. They followed the same route they took when driving to the town, as it was the only route the two locations shared, and through the host of features that dotted the land around it.

To him, running outside, especially in new terrain, was always superior to running inside. Needless to say, whenever one would have to run in a war, it would not be on a track in a nice, air-conditioned building. More than that, Cole enjoyed viewing the new scenery as they ran past it; it was one more thing to focus on, one more thing to take his mind off the exhaustion he suffered.

A good deal of the journey took them through the Everfree Forest. Many of the ponies had told some horror stories about the forest, some sounding like tall-tales about outlandish monsters, others sounding like regular occurrences in the human world, such as the weather controlling itself; though for the latter, the Earth’s natural cycles and the increasing danger of flying from the war made uncontrolled weather a more common occurrence on Arcaia. However, as one of the MPs who had apparently had a run-in with one of the beasts reminded everyone, myths could be held as credible as the most basic facts in this land.

All the same, the roadway had cut through the forest and it had been cleared of any nuisances, and was patrolled to ensure they did not return. So long as they stayed on the road, there should not be any issues. That did not stop him from assigning one member of the squad, Runner, a role of guard and having him carry an M9 pistol along the course of the run.

“Doing good, Sir?” the pilot in question asked, running next to him.

“Yep, you?” he said through the exasperated breaths.

“Yes Sir, doing good, just checking.”

Cole assumed that Runner was talking about his heavy breathing. While running, Cole preferred breathing through the mouth rather than the nose, as with the latter he never seemed to get enough air to his lungs. It made it look as though he was struggling, but it was just another small habit he had gotten from growing up in such a humid environment. He turned the issue of the thick air to an advantage, and found that the breathing as such prevented his mouth from drying out; though it also proved to be an issue when the air was dry. Nonetheless, it was never as bad as it seemed, and as long as he kept control over the pattern, he would be fine.

“You know I’m always like this on runs,” he replied.

“Sorry, Sir; I was talking about security, I should have been more clear.”

“Security? With those forest monsters?”

“I figured you would be more worried about that, Sir.”

“I’m not worried, Lieutenant; maybe cautious, but not worried. Just relax; odds are we won’t see anything.”

“I understand, Sir; but even the small odds count, right?”

“I know, Lieutenant, I don’t like having them either. You still can’t let that cloud up your mind,” Cole advised him with the same information he had in the past. “Just try to find something to distract yourself.”

“Do you have any suggestions, Sir?”

“For distractions?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Well, how about the scenery?” the Captain suggested. “Sure there could be some beast out there, but overall it’s pretty beautiful, eh?”

“Yes Sir, I think so.”

“Not just the forest, either; I mean the whole picture. The landscape, the noises, and my favorite part, the sunrise. You see how it just paints the whole sky in new colors? A natural gift and most aren’t up early enough to see it.”

“It is very beautiful, Sir.”

Cole took some time to take in the scenery himself; truth be told, he did not really recognize how nice it was today until he told Runner. The sun was climbing its way into the sky, casting shades of bright colors. The fiery orb began to light up the area around them, revealing the surrounding woodland and the path that they ran on. It was a welcome evolution from the initial run, which had begun just before dawn itself.

Just as he had said before, nothing else seemed to be up at this time besides the animals, and even they were unseen. He could hear them in the surrounding woods now and again, the chirps of birds and the rustling of leaves on the ground, a few far-off calls from some unknown ones, but none of them had been spotted yet. There was a single exception, a large bird of prey that soared high above, as if keeping watch over them and the land. Perhaps it was hunting for breakfast, but it was a lovely sight regardless.

The bird continued to soar overhead, flying in long, drawn out circles. It continued to do so through the remainder of the run, until the squadron returned to the base, churned down to a regular march and then a stop, and were dismissed. Lieutenant Elijah and another one of his flight mates, Baker, had asked beforehand for a short leave to head into town for lunch once the run was over, desiring to try a café they had heard about. Cole agreed, provided he come along, as he was rather curious about it himself.

After taking a short time to shower and change, the three grabbed a vehicle and headed down the same road they had spent the morning running. This time Cole drove, on the request of other two, though he did not mind any. That meant that he got to choose the music for the battered CD player they had, which always made the day better for him.

“You like Asia any, Baker?” he asked the pilot in the back seat.

“I haven’t been there before, Sir, so I can’t say.”

“No, Asia’s the name of the band, the one that’s playing,” Cole clarified.

“Oh, uh… no Sir, sorry,” the young man replied. “They were before my time.”

“Ah, alright, I figured.”

“Yea?”

“Yea, that happens a lot; I mostly listen to older stuff, not too much new music.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do as compared to stuff like this,” Zeppelin commented.

“Doesn’t Garlic listen to this?”

“No, that’s his Canadian cousin,” Elijah reminded him, “the one who’s flying for their Navy.”

“Right, right.”

“I’m actually surprised I remember him mentioning that; especially when my brain’s running this slow.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Well, yes and no. I’m not sleepy, ‘cause I got plenty of rest; I’m just sort of… not thinking straight. Had some weird dreams.”

“Oh, nightmares huh?”

“Yea, freaky ones.”

“Did the Princess visit you?”

“You had a nightmare too?”

“A little while ago, yea,” Cole confirmed. “She came and put an end to it, thankfully.”

“What was yours about?”

“Eh, nothing too big,” Cole quickly dodged, not wanting to discuss it until he could think on it more. “I’m not quite sure, really. I… need to think about it a little more. What about yours?”

“Sort of odd… but I think I died at the end.”

“Same with mine,” Baker added in from the back seat.

“Well… I mean she told me that they were more like warning predictions than ones that will happen for certain, you know?”

“That’s what I was told, too,” Elijah confirmed. “Need to be ready for when it does happen.”

“I feel like we’d be ready, we just need to keep our eyes open,” Cole suggested. “But we can’t do anything till that time does come, so let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to ruin such a nice day.”

“And what would you like to discuss, Sir?”

“Let’s go back to music; seems like a good time to introduce you to some classic stuff.”

Cole and Elijah did this for the rest of the journey talking about the singers of whatever song came on the radio, though it was more to each-other than teaching Baker. Driving into the town itself did not attract as much attention this time around, but still caught some as there were no other vehicles around. Most of the time the ponies simply watched the car roll on for a bit and continued on with their work.

It was virtually impossible to miss the building, looking like a massive gingerbread house and having a giant cupcake on the roof’s peak. At first Cole figured it to be a bit over-the-top, but the inside was much tamer, being mostly wooden and decorated lightly. The three took to a booth close to the door, with Cole sitting alone on one end and the other two pilots taking the opposite seats.

“Good afternoon, gentle… men?” a blue mare asked them.

“Yes ma’am, gentlemen,” Cole confirmed.

“Ah, I knew I would remember it,” she said with a smile. “So, have you all come to try some of the local food?”

“Definitely!” Baker replied enthusiastically. “I’m dying to try something different than what’s served at the base.”

“That’s just you being picky,” the Captain teased. “But I guess I shouldn’t talk. You don’t sell any kind of meat, do you?”

“Well, there are some recipes for the native races that eat it,” the mare replied, “but I don’t think it will be… anything you like, really.”

“So no hot dogs, huh?” Cole joked.

“Probably not the kind humans eat,” she said. “You… don’t eat dogs, do you?”

“No, no, it’s just a sort of pork.”

“Oh, well in that case, yes!”

“Really now?” he asked rhetorically. “I’ll try one of those, then. It’s been forever since I had a good, homemade one.”

“Same for me please,” Elijah added.

“You guys have cake here?” Baker asked. “That’s one of the things I’ve heard is really good.”

The mare gave him a quick nod in response.

“Alright, I’ll have a couple of slices of chocolate, please.”

Before she left to put in the orders, she asked what the three of them would have to drink. Cole asked for a glass of tea, while the other two wanted coffee, and she left for about a minute before returning with the drinks. Cole waited until she left again and turned back towards Baker.

“Cake for lunch?”

“To be fair, Sir, it’s more like brunch at this hour.”

“And I can assume that cake is a breakfast staple in Astoria?”

“I wish it was.”

“Oh, Captain,” Zeppelin interrupted, “has it been decided what flight ours is going to be facing in the exercise?”

Elijah was referring to a large mock dogfight the squadron was scheduled to hold the day after next. Despite having a base and an increasing flow of resources from the States, the 1st was still the only unit in the country, and there was not much to work with. As such, the drill was scheduled to keep the pilot’s skills sharp, as their next encounter with the Bloc probably would not be as one-sided.

“Like I said, Lieutenant, it’s being kept under wraps until everyone gets the briefing,” Cole reminded him. “But I am glad you asked that; reminds me of some work I need to finish when we get back.”

“What’s that?”

“Just organization stuff, logistics and such,” the Captain explained loosely, “and just generally making sure everything’s ready.”

“Ah, the boring part of planning huh?”

“All planning is boring to me,” Baker spoke up. “Only feels good when you see it executed, and you get the payoff. I’m more than happy to let you guys do all that.”

“Well, you’re a good follower, I’ll give you that,” Cole replied.

Much of the remaining conversation was focused on this, and later changed to politics and the regional occurrences, as it often did. Towards the end, Baker brought up rumors of some engineering project that was said to be underway at the northern and southern ends of the country. Cole could not say much of it, not because of restricted speech, but because the rumors were just that. He had heard the same thing a while ago, but it lacked any kind of detail.

The talk wrapped up as everyone received their meal, which, interestingly enough, came with their drinks at the same time rather than getting the beverage early. None of them complained, and took their time enjoying the food, which was much fresher than anything they could have gotten at the base. Cole’s hot dog had a much gamier texture than a regular one, but it tasted fine all the same and he did not bother to worry about it.

It was not until afterwards that they realized paying for it could be an issue, as they only had American money. At first the mare insisted that it was free, as thanks for their assistance, but Cole was rather adamant about paying, and she happily accepted the dollar currency. She also asked if he could wait, as a pony had come over asking to see him, to which he agreed.

The two other Airmen went outside while he remained in his seat for a bit. After around three or so minutes, he was approached by a unicorn with a coat as white as snow, and a stylish mane that looked as though it had been dyed in indigo. She was also carrying a large box with her, which she levitated over to the table before addressing him.

“Good morning… Captain, was it?”

“Yes ma’am, Captain John Cole, U.S. Air Force,” he confirmed.

“Thank you, I’m not very versed in ranks.”

“That’s fine, most civilians aren’t,” he replied with a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry if this sounds blunt, but you seem a little more… jolly than what I was told.”

“Guess I’m just in a better mood. Finally got my sleep back, have some time to relax, bunch of stuff,” Cole explained. “So you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes sir, my name is Rarity. Have you heard of me before?”

“It… sounds familiar,” Cole tried to recall, “I think I’ve heard the name a few times. You’re one of Dash and Twilight’s friends, right?”

“That’s right; most know me as a… rather busy fashion designer, but I would say my friendship is more important,” she explained. “But enough about me, I came here to talk to you; or rather, to give you a gift.”

“A gift for what?”

“It’s a token of gratitude for your chivalry,” she said poetically.

“You know you don’t have to give us gifts to say thank you.”

“Oh, I know, but I felt it was important all the same,” she said, opening the box. “I wanted to make something a bit special for you.”

Rarity levitated a long, white scarf out of the box and into his hands.

“Rainbow and Twilight did a tad bit of research, and found that these lovely garments were a staple among pilots.”

“Yea, back when people first started flying the aircraft seats were out in the open, so they’d need to cover up their body well enough to keep warm at high altitudes… and the scarf was part of it, you know?” he said, extending the explanation as he fiddled fruitlessly with the cloth, tying an awkward noose. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually wear these. Could you help me?”

“Of course, dear.”

Cole watched a purple aura of magic take over and let go as the scarf began to move freely, wrapping itself around his neck. The cloth felt wonderfully soft and smooth as silk, and was tight enough to be warm and snug. As the Airmen had gone in civilian clothes, with his being kept simple to a t-shirt and jeans with a jacket and baseball cap, there was no worry of regulation violations.

“Feels nice. How does it look?”

“Fabulous, darling, you look like a dashing knight!”

“Really? That seems like a bit much for just this.”

“Perhaps, but still, it looks marvelous on you and makes you look marvelous in return, like a true hero.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot but I still don’t think I’m some kind of hero. Just feels like doing the right thing, in a way… the necessary thing, something that someone's got to do.”

“Maybe not to yourself, but to us you are. You all are.”

“Guess everyone needs someone to look up to,” Cole thought to himself, before noticing some writing stitched into the hanging edge of the scarf. “What’s this?”

“Initials. Everypony in town helped to make these in some way, be it time or resource or finance, or all of these in many cases. Though being the town’s best seamstress I had to work a bit harder ensure they all did a satisfactory job. It was quite the task for some, being totally inexperienced.”

“You helped them sew each one together?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t too terribly difficult; it is my life’s work, after all,” she assured him. “Anyways, as there are well over one-hundred ponies in town and only a handful of pilots in your squadron, each of these carries a group of the initials of those who worked on them.”

“And whose are these?” Cole asked, holding up and inspecting the scarf’s end.

“Those would be Dash’s, Twilight’s, mine, and three others of our closest friends; Dash was quite adamant that we make yours.”

Cole read over the list, each one holding a different color. As Rarity said, he was able to recognize Twilight and Rainbow’s, while her initials were more different, being a single ‘R’ in the same purple shade as her mane, a bit darker than that of Twilight’s. There were three other sets he did not recognize, being ‘PP’, ‘FS’, and ‘AJ’ in shades of pink, light-yellow, and orange, respectively.

“Guess I still need to meet the rest of you,” he said, tracing a finger over them.

“Oh, don’t fret over it! We all understand you’re quite busy.”

“Yea, speaking of which I should probably get back to my guys.”

“Of course, I’m glad I was able to meet you,” the unicorn replied. “It was a joy, and thank you again for helping us.”

“Thank you for the gift, and the idea” Cole replied, looking over the white cloth again. “I… think you’ve inspired me to try a little art project of my own.”

“Splendid! I look forward to seeing it!”

“Take care, Rarity,” Cole nodded, grabbing the box with the other scarves in it and heading back outside where the other Airmen were waiting.

“What’s that, Captain?” Zeppelin asked.

“A gift for us,” he responded. “Remind me to head to the supply office when we get back. I want to see about ordering some paint.”

“Welp… it’s not too gaudy, if that’s what you mean,” Runner said to his commanding officer.

Cole ran his hand over the freshly-dried coat of paint on the front of his Eagle. The nose cone up to the cockpit had been painted over a pure white on each jet of the squadron. The tip of the cone on his bird had a bright, lively golden-yellow. Given the color and the small area, it did not seem like it would prove a deadly giveaway for the squadron, especially not in the age of radar, when planes could be tracked from miles away.

“I just want us to look good up there, Lieutenant,” he explained. “We’re the first ones here. Tip of the spear and everything, you know? Figured the tip would look good with some color on it.”

“I guess it looks pretty good. Gaudy, but good,” Walker admitted.

“Great! Now let’s get up in the air, we’ve got work to do.”

Runner headed off to his own aircraft while Cole got into his own. They followed the same procedures they had done so many times before, and soon enough they were in the air, flying away from the base to their respective spots where the other flights were waiting. The big exercise today was based around two large simulated dogfights between the wings of the squadron. It had been some time since the squadron was able to practice their close-in flying skills, and they needed to stay sharp for when the Bloc came back with their own fighters.

The drill would be run between the squadron’s four flights, with two separate duels being fought between them, one flight against the other. Alpha and Delta flights would be facing each other to the northwest, while Bravo and Charlie fought to the southeast. Cole and his XO would act as observers and partial referees, besides the AWACS and ground control, keeping a watch over the engagement. The Captain kept an eye on the northern battle while Lieutenant Walker watched over the southern.

Below, Cole could see some spots of reddish color around the forest and some other areas. The first bouts of fall had hit the day before. Despite the beautiful look, something in the back of his head churned, and he sighed slightly to himself. It was a reminder that the cold was coming for the next two seasons, something he did not like very much.

From what Cole was told, the ponies and other species of Arcaia would bring about the seasons themselves. The pegasi in particular were vital to this process, being able to control the weather. Though this was still possible, the influence of Earth’s own weather patterns, and the disruption caused by the war, made this far more difficult, and Equestria recently decided to let the weather run its course. Perhaps when peace returned Cole would be able to see it; he was curious if they could keep summer going year-round.

“That’s if I survive till then,” he mentally reminded himself.

He shook his head, rattling the helmet a bit, so as to focus on better things. For one, the dogfight was starting in a minute’s time, and he had to keep a watch over it. He fully expected the pilots to do well, and do their best. It was not so much watching over them to stop them from messing up as it was to take track of what they messed up on, and show them afterwards for correction. Basic Fighter Maneuvers in dogfights were done in acts to shake the pursuer and the pursuing craft responding. The one that made the first mistake would usually lose, and there had to be a loser, even if the loser was excellent at flying.

Alpha under Firebird broke up early on. He went off on his own to a high altitude while his wingman, Orion, and one other, stayed at a mid-low altitude and the remaining two as a team stayed a short distance behind. Delta took a different approach, keeping close together even at approach, with the last two breaking off as their own team at a lower altitude and keeping pace with the main ones.

Cole listened and watched as the two Flights merged. No one in Delta seemed to notice the single plane at high altitude, or did and did not bother with it immediately. The three-man flight in Delta went after Orion’s group, which broke in two with Orion quickly turning around and the other, a pilot that went by Parrot, took off in a slightly different direction. Delta stayed in its formation, only going after Parrot, who found, rather upsettingly, that he was now the bait of the whole opposing Flight.

As the match was kept to close-range with Sidewinders and guns in mind, the fancier moves would be needed, and Parrot tried this to his best as two of the main Delta flight stuck close to him while one moved off slightly to get a better shot. Springing his trap, Firebird came down from the clouds on the strayed plane and managed to get behind him, though not before he helped sandwich Parrot in between him and his other comrades. With the little reaction time for his target, Lieutenant Desser was able to get a lock on the enemy craft, ‘killing’ him, while the others were able to lock onto Parrot, exchanging the loss.

Now Orion was returning to assist and the remaining two planes a short ways behind, but Firebird, found he was facing four hostiles, as the other two planes in Delta had stuck closer to their allies. Worrying over the approaching Alpha Flight birds, Delta’s commander, Lieutenant Chester ‘Dart’ Wilkes, sent the other two in a guarding posture slightly ahead of them while he and his remaining wingman attacked Firebird. The range was now very close amongst all of them, and in the heavy movement, Desser, who was now maneuvering for whatever he could get, found himself in a good spot for one of the two craft that was moving to guard position, and with a couple tight turns in a few seconds, shot off a long, simulated gun burst that recorded as striking and killing the craft.

Delta’s plan continued as such with the remaining plane moving to tangle with a fast-moving Orion and the remaining two going after Desser. Now clearly on the defense, he attempted to evade and survive till the rest of Alpha arrived. Dart ordered his wingman to try and push for gun range as he gained a bit of altitude and tried for a missile kill. As the range closed ever more and the maneuvers became more extreme, Firebird became more focused on what was directly behind him. Eventually, he turned hard to the right and found Dart was looking over him from a comfortable missile position at his 4 O’clock, and had a clear missile tone on him in no time.

At this point, the opposing sides had returned to even footing, three against three. The Delta flight pilot that had broken off had already merged with Orion, and the remaining planes were closing in fast. What started with two planes dogfighting turned into six in a minute, and the rest of the engagement ended in the space of around five more.

Orion tangled with his opponent for a bit before the last of Alpha’s arrival forced his target to make a drastic bank in the wrong direction to avoid being locked, and gave the pursuer and excellent gun shot that took the target down. However, he was almost immediately locked up by one of the remaining two enemy aircraft, knocking him out of the competition as well. Another Delta plane got the good luck of firing off a nice shot at one of the approaching Alpha fighters on merger. The sole survivor of Alpha flight only realized he was alone until he was already chasing after a target and a second dropped in behind him. Caught between continuing pursuit and breaking to evade, he chose the former in hopes of achieving a kill and once more re-balancing the table, but was not quick enough before he, too, was locked on.

The simulated battle ended with a victory for Delta flight, killing all of Alpha flight for a hefty loss of three of their own. Lieutenant Desser commanding Alpha had made a big mistake in choosing to break up his flight, having the reserves stationed too far away, and choosing to dive in and break up the enemy too soon. Lieutenant Wilkes and Delta had an opposite problem, needing some more aggression and individual action. Neither were too terribly serious, and in fact both flaws were more habits of the commanders, habits which both had done well to grow past over the course of their time as flight leaders. After a few more minutes Runner reported in with the results of the second skirmish.

“Eagle One, Two here, SITREP, over.”

“Eagle One copies, go ahead, over.”

“Exercise complete on my end, both flights are RTB. Any further orders, over?”

“Negative, head home if there’s nothing else, over”

“Understood, out.”

Satisfied with the exercise’s conclusion, Cole switched back to the other two flights under his supervision to pass on the same.

“Alpha, Delta, exercise complete, you are cleared to RTB, over.”

“No shows for our new friends in town, sir? Over,” Firebird asked.

“Negative, I doubt you guys have the fuel One-One, over.”

“Permission to pass overhead? It’s on our way back, over.”

“Hm, alright, but keep it slow and not too low. I don’t want a complaint coming in saying we shattered some windows or blew off the tiles of a roof,” Cole said. “And I’ll be heading first, copy that?”

“Solid, One,” Desser happily replied.

Cole was already closest to the town, so he would be reaching it first regardless, but he did not want the rest of the fighters going too fast in an effort to catch up. Just breaking the sound barrier in Mach would be enough to break glass. He ensured that the plane was kept at a good altitude and speed that would not cause any danger. It felt somewhat unnatural in a way, given that the F-15 usually worked in high-up chases, and this was rather slow and low compared to the Eagle’s normal range, but it would still look good from the ground.

The town came up first as a blurry cluster that became more defined the closer he got. Before long he could make out individual buildings in it, and even some pegasi that were flying about, none of which were in his path, thankfully. If he looked close enough, he might be able to catch a brief glimpse of some of the townsfolk on the ground looking up at him. No doubt at least one of them was one of the many ponies he had met so far.

Indeed, on the ground, there were three Twilight, Rainbow, and Rarity, who were talking on their way back from the market. They, along with the rest of the ponies in the street, turned their gaze skyward and kept track of the fast-approaching dot. Rainbow seemed a bit excited to see it, but Twilight shared the same feeling as the other unicorn, one of slight confusion, as they had not been told that the exercise would pass over the town. There was a slight worry that something was wrong, but nothing seemed to be so, though she realized at the same time that she knew little about the jet at all.

Regardless, the jet came in low and fast, quickly growing from a little dot to a large fighter. From the distance came the deep sound of a rumble, growing faster and closer to match the growing anxiety. The jet came closer, the noise louder, and the ponies still stood and watched, unable to look away, many of which had grins and looks of excitement growing across their faces, Rainbow included.

Finally the jet matched the spot they were standing in. There was a loud, whooshing yell as the Eagle dropped a bit lower and screamed overhead, blanking out all other sound for a split second. Some of the ponies crouched from reaction, others jumped, but all together there was a collective rush of energy. The yell instantly turned into a deep, powerful roar as the American fighter passed by and moved off in the other direction.

It reached the edge of town a second later and pulled up sharply, moving up towards the clouds, its afterburners giving the colorful touch of the shock diamonds in the back. The roar continued to echo in the streets in waves as the plane climbed, and Twilight and the others watched the spectacle of F-15 climbing, a vapor cone momentarily enveloping the body as contrails traced the path of wingtips with thin white lines.

There were a healthy number of cheers from those who had been pleased with the surprise, and a few others were left shaking from it, and still some just watched in awe or confusion, as was Rarity’s case. She asked Twilight what the meaning of that was, to which Rainbow replied first, saying it was supposed to be celebratory. Rarity could not think of what they would be celebrating, except for the exercise, which did not seem like much. Even so, Twilight admitted there was something to it, even if it was for nothing, it felt fun. In the end she simply went with Rainbow’s conclusion of it being ‘just an awesome thing to do.

The rolling fields of green that made up the land of the former Crystal Empire were a hypnotizing sight at times for the General. He had grown up on the plateau at the heart of his nation, near an area that had many woods and other geographical changes in it. Fields were not usually this large, and the vast open proved easily enthralling, especially on clear days. Still, the effect was reduced by all the activity of the day.

Here and there soldiers of the Shadow Empire patrolled across them; occasionally a vehicle would go out as well. Artillery pieces sat in their positions usually covered up by camouflage netting that did little to hide that something of important lay underneath. Tanks, personnel carriers, and support trucks drove up and down the busy roads, especially in the town he was in.

Being one of the few built-up places in the area, the moderate town had become a resting and meeting place for many units, including his own. It also served as a sort of command area, being relatively close to the Equestrian border, ensuring that it was always a place of great activity. Shadow soldiers filled every house in the town, the original occupants having either fled or been forced out, filling it with the dark bodies covered in dark uniforms that made it feel more like a barracks than a town.

However, one group of ponies did not fit in with the rest of the inhabitants, whose meeting tore the General’s attention away from the field. Shadow ponies, though they had some variation, usually had dark fur and hair, a sort of memento to the tormenting banishment the Equestrian Princesses had inflicted on them. These ponies, all pegasi, had differing colors amongst themselves, with the one up front bearing a light-blue coat. It was not unusual, as it gave a clear indication to who they were.

“Look at them over there,” the General said to one of his subordinates, “busy and demanding, as they always seem to be.”

“The Night ponies?” the subordinate answered as they watched the leader greet an officer from the Air Force on the sidewalk.

“The acolyte of Nightmare Moon,” he confirmed.

“Why are they still here?”

“They returned us from exile, and now they are in exile themselves,” the General answered. “It’s an honorable thing to do.”

“What? I actually just meant around town instead of the airfield. I heard they only stopped by for a visit.”

“Oh… yes, my bad. I suppose their work is not complete, though I’d wish they would leave. Their smugness has started annoying me a bit,” the General responded with some. “Take their name, the Shadowbolts. One of ours should have that name!”

“Relax , Vaq, they aren’t that bad,” the subordinate replied, turning his attention back to writing out papers. “You ask me they’ve earned it; they’re the best in our Air Force anyways. And like you said, they’re the ones that brought us back. A little name isn’t that big a deal.”

“Yes… perhaps.”

Across the street from them, Nightingale was discussing matters with an Air Force officer that was attached to one of the frontline units. A few days ago their attempt to bomb the Equestrian Academy following their capture of an American pilot had ended in disaster. It had been hoped to completely destroy the important target and possibly even capture the pilot after, hence why the escort had been relegated to pegasi. Instead, they were greeted by a squadron of American fighters, losing almost the entire force.

“Thank you,” she said to the officer, turning back to her fellow Shadowbolts. “It seems as though the American fighters present have limited their patrols. Only a single group a day is going up for a short time.”

“And it’s the same jets that destroyed our attack force?” one of the others asked.

“The very same, Drag,” she confirmed.

“Good, I’m looking forward to shooting them all down.”

“We should be more careful, attempting to destroy the entire unit at once could be costly for us, and may convince the Americans to send more.”

“Plus we already lost a lot to them to begin with,” Descent, the team's XO, added. “Attacking them directly will set us back even more, something that can’t be afforded now that the Americans are allying closer to the Equestrians.”

“They’re very good,” Nightingale acknowledged, looking slightly at the ground. “We need to handicap them before we do anything else.”

“And that’s where your plan comes in?” Drag asked.

“Exactly; we’ll give them something that shoots back and shoots better. If everything goes right, they’ll be dead before they know it.”

Author's Note

On the Receiving Side

September 4th, 2005
1334 Hours

“Hey, Three-Four, red alert!”

The sound of his commander’s voice shook Lieutenant Sylvester from his thoughts and back to the real world. He responded with an apology and checked in as asked, and looked over to the left to see the rest of Charlie flight from his plane’s spot in the formation. He kept quiet and listened for any new orders, wondering what the issue was as Elijah howled back at the Earth below.

“What’s the situation, over?”

“Be advised, we have leakers, aircraft type unknown, crossing the warning line bearing two-seven-eight at angels three-two. Eagle Three-One, your flight is ordered to intercept and direct them back across the border, over.”

“Tower, what’s the R.O.E., over?” Zeppelin asked, as if he had the same thought.

"Return fire only, do what is needed to ensure the aircraft return back over the line, over.”

“Understood, out,” he said, passing the orders on to his flight. “Charlie, we got bogies at two-seven-eight at angels three-two. We’re going to intercept and get them to turn back into their own airspace. No shooting unless they shoot first, you copy that?”

“I thought we were at war, we should have free reign. What are we doing going back to the restriction phase?” Sylvester thought.

Regardless, he answered in the affirmative along with the rest of the squadron. The fighters adjusted their heading to make contact with the invading squadron, and after a few minutes of flying they found them on their own radar. These were not unarmed pegasi, but actual fighter jets. All of them knew that the turkey shoot of the first battle was just luck and would not be repeated in the future.

“Alright, we’re closing in. Baker, Svenson, go trail and stay close! The three of us will go high and intercept the bogies. Three-Four, Three-Five, you guys are in reserve. Stay low and out of the crowd, copy?”

“Solid copy,” Cowboy replied.

He and Ramone, the fifth pilot in the flight, fell off as the other three climbed up. Before long they were able to spot the aircraft, and identified the eight as Bloc MiG-29 fighters, ‘Fulcrums’ as the N.A.T.O. name was for them. The Eagles and their AMRAAMs had a range advantage over the MiG's radar missiles in a fight, but now that the range had closed that advantage had been removed.

Zeppelin began to call over the open channel for the Bloc fighters to turn around. Cowboy, who watched them from below, noted that the Fulcrum formation was rather loose. Some were in the wrong position and the space between them overall was far too great. Zeppelin heard no reply, and ordered his three to get into a position behind them to threaten them while informing control and asking when they would be allowed to fire.

As the F-15s maneuvered, some of the MiGs began to shift, as well. The Americans near them could not quite tell what was happening, but Cowboy noticed it from below. Some of those tailing aircraft were drifting into position behind the three Eagles, giving them their own shots.

“Watch your six, Three-One!” he called, trying to alert Zeppelin to the trap.

This came a second before the leading MiGs began to maneuver more extremely, and two of the alerted Americans moved to follow, while another broke off when one of the tailing Fulcrums flew quite close and began trying to get a lock-on. Trying to intervene, Sylvester called for Ramone to follow him, as he pulled his bird up and charged towards the quickly-collapsing mess of planes.

The radio became filled with chatter as Cowboy dropped onto the MiG trailing the flight lead’s plane. The flying now evolved into rolls and sharp turns as Zeppelin did everything he could to shake the pursuer off, while the MiG tried it’s best to follow and Sylvester tried to follow. The shift in weight from gravity and the extreme pressure put Cowboy under heavy stress, causing his body to tense and tighten and his vision to blur slightly. There was a quick flash and a shake, and he banked left to keep up with the Fulcrum. The Bloc jet continued to evade and began to roll, with the American doing the same as the world turned upside-down and his stomach turned inside-out and he tried to figure out what was happening and survive it.

The two pilots walked away from the parked rows of aircraft, now being serviced by their crews. Both of them had a desire to go flying, but understood that it was not the right time and nothing good would come of it. Several matters had to be addressed first, and there was no point in stalling with them either.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Not sure why you need to apologize, Captain. Sounds a little… misplaced.”

“It still needs to be said Lieutenant.”

Sylvester did not understand why the Captain felt a need to apologize sincerely; maybe he thought it was his fault somehow. It was not his fault that the Equestrians had decided to severely restrict the rules of engagement, nor could he have known that the enemy aircraft had planned an ambush to begin with. This was all on the higher-up’s level, but it would not change what had happened.

Lieutenant Elijah had been shot down first from a heat-seeking missile. One Charlie flight pilot survived the fight but crashed on landing. Another was killed in action high up in the clouds. Three people died because of command’s restrictions. Only Sylvester and Ramone were left now, leaving Charlie flight crippled and not suitable for combat operations, or much else.

“Are the two of you going to be alright?” Cole asked as the two walked down the runway.

“I think so,” Cowboy replied. “I mean, I can’t speak for Ramone, but I think he’ll make it. I’ll be ok, too. Just need some time.”

“I understand. Just make sure to get help if you need it, it won’t be a problem. Charlie’s going to be grounded for a while anyways so it can be fixed up.”

“I can still go up if you need, sir.”

“I don’t need you to be brave right now, Lieutenant. It’d just be foolish,” the Captain said. “The rest of the squadron can take over the duties for now.”

“I understand sir, just want to even things up, you know? And keep up with the rest of the guys. I don’t like leaving them.”

Cole stopped for a minute and checked lightly to see if there was anyone in earshot.

“Lieutenant, if you want, I do need you to do something, and you’ll have to be brave to do it.”

Sylvester shook his head once in the affirmative.

“I need you to take over Charlie flight,” Cole said in a forward manner. “You'll be promoted to First Lieutenant to mark it. You’ll be in charge of it from now.”

“Yes… sir.”

“Listen, you deserved to get a lead spot before, I just wish it hadn’t been like this. Taking over as a replacement leader to the deceased former is the worst kind of promotion. But I still think you’re the best one for it. We’re going to be getting replacements soon, and I need you to watch them, alright?”

“When will they be arriving?”

“Soon. Not sure when, but I can guess that it’ll be soon,” Cole assured him. “Do you think you can do this?”

“Yea, I think I can. Just… shaken up a little, a little scared, but I’ll be fine.”

“Come and talk to me if you need to, or to someone else if you want. I will be checking up on you, so don’t try hiding it.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, sir.”

“Good. Got any questions?”

“Not now, but if I think of any I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, I’ll fill you in with anything else, too. Right now I need to let the others know about everything.”

“Ok,” Sylvester said, stopping to ask him one more thing. “Captain… you think things might have gone different if we had done something?”

“Don’t start guilting yourself,” Cole warned, stepping ahead of him. “We’ll just have to learn from things and mourn when it’s time to, but don’t hold yourself back or it’ll only cause more harm. Elijah knew he was risking everything in this, we all know it. But he wouldn’t blame you or anyone else.”

“I know he wouldn’t, I just wish I could hear him say that.”

“If you know then that’s just as good. It’s like he said it already, you know? You understand he would have thought that, you don’t need to hear it.”

“That’s true… thanks.”

“And Lieutenant, let me tell you something,” Cole said with a small smile. “His nickname, he got it from the blimp. There was a training incident once where he stalled out and recovered, and when the control asked him if he was alright he said he felt like the Hindenburg for a minute. That’s how he got it.”

“Huh... thank you Captain,” Sylvester said, grinning lightly on his own at the knowledge.

The two headed off in different directions, with Cole heading into a nearby building and going to the briefing room for the squadron. Only Runner and Keno were there upon entering, and the situation was kept casual to stop any formalities, as there was no mood or need for them. The three waited there until Lieutenants Desser and Wilkes arrived, both taking a seat near the others.

There was a general air of gloom among those present, not much despair but a sadness that was noticeable. The loss of comrades in battle for the first time was always a brutal awakening. It did not help that this was the first time their vaunted Eagle fighters had been shot down in air-to-air combat. The mood and situation had to be addressed.

“So I guess I don’t need to explain what exactly happened at this point, but I’ll do it anyways to clear up any rumors,” Cole said. “Basically Charlie had to intercept a big flight of Fulcrums that crossed into our airspace. But the Equestrians gave the order to warn them and escort them out, and made it clear to me and the rest of the team they didn’t want to kill them. So they ended up closing the range and getting right into them, and come to find out it was an ambush. The Bloc aircraft were able to surround them and took out three of them pretty quick. Elijah, Baker, and Svenson.”

“Christ, why would they tell them not to shoot at this point?” Desser asked.

“Reduce bloodshed, I guess. But I think the possibility of that ended after today.”

“Yea? I hope they know just what we’ve lost for this. Our men dead now, for them, because they wanted everyone to hold hands and get along.”

“I’m not going to get angry with them now,” Cole stated. “I’ll talk to them about it, go against it, but I’m not angry with it.”

“Mind if I ask why, sir?” Desser asked, more confused than upset at this.

“'Cause they’re doing it to try and stop the war from happening in the first place. I doubt it’ll work, not totally sure, but I doubt it. I think we’re past the point of stopping it. Still, the Equestrians are thinking that now that they’ve got us backing them up, it’ll turn into a stalemate. A kind of Cold War, you know? Like how us and China have been in recently,” Cole explained. “Zeppelin and the others… I hate losing them, but they died following orders. They tried their best and stuck with it all the way through. But that won’t be happening again, cause an Airman that died sticking to that is still gone, and I won’t let that happen if it can be prevented, like today.”

“Alright… so where do we go from here?” Desser asked.

Cole leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath, sighing as he rested his eyes for a minute. The sun was starting to set now, and the angled rays still lit the room. He pulled himself up again, only to scrunch in the opposite direction and slouch forward, resting an arm on his leg and holding the other up, moving it as he talked.

“From now on we’re all going to be sitting at alert. If any aircraft from over there comes around, we’re going to assume they’re looking to pick a fight. We’re not letting them move around to set up the kills, we’ll act as needed.”

“But no shooting on sight?”

“Not yet, but not letting them get away with anything like they pulled today, either. We’ll need to be more aggressive. Let them know they can’t mess with us. If that means locking on to scare them off, then we’ll do it. And… well, if we need to kill them to get them out, we’ll do that. Shoot ‘em right out of the sky if they don’t listen. Hooah?”

“Hooah,” they replied in broken unison.

“One more thing,” Cole mentioned. “From now on me and Runner are going to be flying with whichever flight is on patrol. I don’t want any more intercepts alone.”

“Worried we might treat them too rough, Cap?” Lieutenant Desser joked.

“I gotta keep an eye on you guys,” Cole said with a slight grin. “Who knows what you’ll get yourself into.”

President James had received word of the incident late in the day, and had stayed up a good portion of the night going over the options. American blood had fallen on the soil of a foreign nation in their war, and it would be increasingly hard to say they were not a part of it. Yet they were going to be a part of it, the alternative could not be afforded.

Instead, he took the advice of Washington and decided the honest route. From now on, the official policy would be of America supporting Equestria to the fullest extent, no sugarcoating it to the public. This still did not directly equate to war, but he was determined to be prepared for when it happened.

This is where this important policy came in. The U.S. had already established one base there and had one fighter squadron under the Equestrian flag. More units were coming slowly to build up an actual force there, but it was not fast enough. It was clear a single squadron might not make enough difference to stop the Bloc in time. All their plans had to be accelerated as fast as they could.

“So how soon can everything else get there?” he asked the Joint Chiefs Chairman as they sat in his office.

“Just from initial guesses and estimations, I’d say it varies, sir,” the General replied. “The Navy can set out immediately and get there fastest. First few ships will arrive within a day if they go on their own; the Enterprise battlegroup will be the first formation to arrive, and that’ll take a couple days with the Equestrians getting the port ready. The other carrier groups will be spread out a bit more over time.”

“Why can’t the Air Force get there sooner?”

“We’ve only finished one base, and it’s only got enough supplies to support the squadron stationed there. We’ve got plenty of other units ready to go when they can be received properly.”

James leaned back in his chair a bit, trying to mask the mild disappointment.

“And the ground forces?”

“They're the most varied; they need proper transportation and they’re landing at different ports and areas to help spread them out around the country. The first of them will get there in about a week, but getting everyone over could take over a month and well beyond,” the General explained. "We also don't have many set units for such movement, so we're scrambling what we can. The first unit that can get there is the 3rd Battalion, 3rd Infantry in about two or three days. The 1st of the 6th could follow the day after along with the 75th Rangers, and a few others following that."

"Anything bigger than a regiment?"

"That's where the months come in. The first major unit we're planning on sending is the 5th Infantry Division, and that'll be towards the end of the month. The 2nd Armored and 1st Marines can follow about midway in the following month. Everything else is up in the air."

“Is there any way to speed up getting the big units there? The ground troops are most important,” James said. “If we get enough troops there, the Bloc think twice before launching an invasion.”

“I understand, sir,” the General replied, thinking for a moment. “The main problem we're facing is exactly where to unload these units. We wanted to land them on ports farther west but they're not quite ready to handle that. The closest port to the continental U.S. and Arcaia is one called Bostrot in the north, and a close second is one called Pensacolta along the axis of California. The latter is most ready to receive modern shipping, and we were planning sending the first units there already. We could redirect all traffic to head to that port. It’d cause a ton of clutter and some confusion, and the units that land will have to drive across the country to get to the front, but they’d be there in about a week’s time.”

“We’ll do that, then, and have the divisional units move individually, not waiting on others. As long as we make a big deal of getting a lot of troops there, and the Bloc knows it, it’ll give them something to worry about,” James decided. “Now, General, what’s the status of the MILL’s construction?”

“The secrecy of the project has kept it slow, sir. We can speed it up, but it would cause some disturbance in the area. We think the Bloc already think there’s something going on in the area, being so close to the front and having such different activity. We can expedite it, but there’s a good risk of them finding out. I’m not too sure what they would do, if they would bomb the site or just watch it, but they won’t let it be.”

“We’ll have to speed it up immediately. Get in touch with the squadron over there and give them the run-down on the project. We’ll get them to give some cover to it. Hopefully that’ll be enough.”

Author's Note

Tagalongs

September 13th, 2005
1120 Hours
Northwestern Equestria

The old claim of trouble coming in threes seemed to be ratifying itself with Cole and his squadron. First came the ambush of Charlie, and now he was given two new high-priority targets to protect, adding more work to the over-stretched unit. Supposedly there was only one more piece that would strike them, and he was slightly worried that it would come on this day. Still, it was only a superstition, and he instead focused his thought on the mission.

Back when it was just rumors, Cole did not know what to think. He had known that something secret was happening but did not know what. There were plenty of tall tales about what was happening, from secret C.I.A. bases to magical experiments. Now that he did know, he felt a bit more secure, but now felt a bit worried too due to the new responsibility the squadron had.

STEEL MILL and IRON MILL were the codenames for two massive, very advanced radar and listening posts being built in the north and south of Equestria, respectively, at two points named Celestia’s Point and Luna’s Point that lay very close to the frontline at the border. Their role, once complete was to act as a safe, stationary surveillance and monitoring post. Being so close to the front, and being so large and powerful, the radar could look far into enemy territory, tracking the movement of aircraft many miles behind the lines and giving the allied forces the forewarning needed to act decisively. Of course it would only be able to do so once it was finished and operational.

“Eagle One, this is Spyglass, we have a contact, over,” the AWACS warned the patrolling flight of fighters.

“Spyglass, One, send it, over.”

“One bogey bearing three-zero-zero, distance is one-zero-four mikes from your position at angels sixty. Present course will bring it over STEEL MILL. Move to intercept, copy?”

“Sixty-thousand feet high? Damn, that’s near the F-15’s max height,” Cole thought. “That’s got to be a recon plane.”

“Say again, Spyglass. Did you say angels sixty, over?”

“Affirmative, angels six-zero, but it seems to be decreasing that and speed as it approaches STEEL MILL, over”

“Understood, moving to intercept, out.”

“Cole, can you hear me?” called the voice of a familiar pegasus.

“Affirmative, Rainbow, but you need to stick to callsigns during missions,” the Captain replied. “Speaking of which you need to get one.”

“Rainbow is mine,” she replied. “But I’ll remember to go by your nickname now.”

Cole had the brief desire to point out that it was not a nickname, but decided to save it. Ever since the incident, the Equestrians had become worried about more fights breaking out and further losses being incurred by the squadron, as well as communication a bit. From here on, along with Cole and Walker flying with the patrolling flights, Dash would follow them as a liaison. With her own headset to communicate, she would stay back and keep an eye on things, and remind Cole and the others of the rules of engagement the Equestrians ordered. She did not seem overly-concerned about the job, and even seemed slightly happy at the prospect of flying with her friend, even if it was just to watch him. That was apparently part of the reason she had been sent back to Ponyville from the Academy.

“Remember not to shoot them, alright?” she reminded him.

“Copy that, Rainbow, we’ll see about getting him to turn around,” Cole acknowledged. “You reading that Eagles? No shooting him once we get in range.”

“Two copies lead, over.”

“Alpha reads you, One, just waiting on one-four to respond,” Firebird replied. “Orion, you reading?”

“Copy, copy, radio’s just acting up a little, over,” Lieutenant Hauser responded lately.

“You gotta turn back?”

“Negative, seems temporary.”

“Jeez, you guys have a lot of stuff to deal with in those jets, huh?” Rainbow asked.

“Well humans weren’t born with wings, so we have to make due,” Parrot retorted from his spot in Alpha’s formation.

“That’s too bad, you’ll never get to feel the wind in your mane… or… hair for you guys.”

“Worth it to me, with all the power you get in this ride.”

“Just glitchy comms, anyways,” Orion added.

“Alright, lock it up,” Cole interrupted. “Range is down to sixty, start looking for that bogey, copy?”

“Copy One,” both pilots replied.

The pilots began searching around for the reported aircraft. They were all able to track it on their radar, but they still needed to make a visual identification. If it was a reconnaissance aircraft, they would get in its face and surround it to convince it to turn around fastest. The first pilot to spot it was Lieutenant Desser, who directed his gaze a bit lower and spotted a dot moving across his sight.

“There he is, at our eight; he’s flying lower,” he reported.

“Tally-ho, I see him, he’s dropped down to somewhere around angels fifty,” Cole affirmed before noticing the location of the bogey. “Damn, he just flew over the site!”

“What’s that mean?” Rainbow asked. “Did he get pictures of the construction?”

“Yea, so even if he leaves he’ll have that info.”

“Guess we’ll have to capture him then,” Rainbow suggested.

“Force him down? Christ, I guess we don’t have a choice,” Cole agreed, switching back to the AWACS. “Spyglass, Eagle One. Bogey has made pass over STEEL MILL and looks to be turning back. We’ll try to force him to land, copy?”

“Understood, Eagle One, out.”

“Alright guys, let’s get in real close. Make sure he sees us,” he went on to ordering the squadron. “Alpha flight, stay on alert and keep on watch. Two, get behind him and be ready to lock on if we need to.”

The fighters were able to cover the distance quickly, though Rainbow lagged behind by a short distance, and before long they surrounded the defenseless spy plane on all ends, hoping to change its direction like a group of cowboys turning their cattle. The spy plane, however, began to climb up, perhaps intending to lose its assailants. Looking over the design, Cole was unable to identify what kind of aircraft it was, having not seen one like it before. There were no markings, which made sense for a spy plane, even though it was clear the pilot was probably a Griffon.

“Spyglass, Eagle, we have eyes on the bogey but cannot identify the type. Aircraft isn’t something I’ve seen before, over,” he called the AWACS, hoping it could help.

“Copy One. Can you describe it, over?”

“Affirmative. Small body, front around the nose and cockpit is smaller and thinner, dual engines right next to each-other in the back, long wing span, twin boom fuselage. Anything like that in the books, over?”

The operator in the large aircraft took a minute to look for the described design before reporting back.

“Eagle, positive I.D. on the design as M-55 spy plane; codename ‘Mystic’,” Spyglass responded. “They never went into full production. We should assume the Bloc made their own variant for similar purposes as the original mission it was designed for, over.”

“Copy. Anything we should know about it, over?”

“It’s like most other average spy planes. You guys can keep its speed but it’s max ceiling is at seventy, so higher than yours. You need to bring it down fast, how copy, over?”

“So we are on a time limit, but even him getting that high won’t stop a missile,” Cole thought before responding. “Solid copy, Spyglass; attempting to make contact now, out.”

Cole switched over to a more open channel so the pilot in the Mystic would still hear.

“Testing, testing. Attention unidentified aircraft, this is the Special Volunteer Squadron ‘Eagle’ of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. You are trespassing in restricted airspace. Do you copy, over?”

No response came, and the aircraft continued to fly.

“Unidentified aircraft, can you identify yourself, over?”

Again, the radio remained quiet, save for Firebird adding a snarky comment.

“Maybe the crow’s more of a chicken,” he quipped.

“I think he’s just being stubborn,” Rainbow replied.

“Unidentified aircraft, be advised that, due to your flyover of a restricted area, you will be forced to land to confirm you are not conducting illegal activities. If you do not comply you may be shot down,” Cole continued to send, wondering if he was just saying it to get past the formalities and restrictions at this point.

“Please try not to shoot him down so there’s no more trouble,” Rainbow emphasized yet again. “Maybe his radio’s broken. Can you try anything else?”

“Wait one, Rainbow,” he replied before going to another of his wingmen. “Eagle One-Three, fly up close to the canopy and see if you can gesture to the pilot that he needs to follow us. His radio might be down, copy?”

“Copy One,” the fighter replied, coming very close alongside the Mystic as Cole continued to transmit.

“Be advised, we will escort you to the nearest airfield. Please respond in some way if you understand.”

The spy plane continued no other action beyond continuing its climb, which was now approaching the point that was difficult for the Eagles to keep up. There was no response inside or out of the plane. Cole gave a quick order to Runner to be ready to fire if it was needed. He was preparing to send out one final warning, but was interrupted by the operator from Spyglass before he could start.

“Warning, multiple bogies inbound at high speed, crossing the warning line at bearing two-eight-four at angels forty. We count eight contacts in two separate groups separated from each other by a good distance. Eagles, move to intercept immediately!”

“Crossing the border to fly cover for the spy plane huh?” Cole said to himself. “There’s a fighter pilot worth his wings.”

“Bogies closing fast! They’ll be on us in less than a minute!” Runner warned, keeping an eye on the four dots.

“Ok, there’s more of them in total than us. Leave the Mystic, we’ll have to deal with the fighters so we don’t get caught off guard and get shot in the rear,” Cole ordered. “Let’s go, meet them head-on!”

“Oh man, this is getting out of hoof,” Rainbow worried. “Now they’re sending fighter jets!”

“Calm down, Dash, you’ll be fine,” the Captain assured her. “Just stay back and low and away from them; we won’t let them hit you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she responded.

Before Cole could ask otherwise, Firebird reported the flight of four fighters was closing in. From the looks of it, this group was also made up of Fulcrums, probably from the same nation as the Mystic, and as with Charlie flight, the range advantage the Eagles had with the AMRAMMs had been negated. He kept the rules of engagement in mind and was going to send a contact request when the two initial flights made contact and everything broke down immediately.

Rather than pull a fancy ambush like with Charlie flight, the Fulrcums opened fire as soon as the American came within range. The Eagles quickly broke their formation and moved in every which way to avoid the shots. Cole could not tell if any missiles had been shot, but the Eagles seemed to be firing off flares and chaff regardless, and he could definitely make out tracer rounds flying through the air.

“Heads up, they’re firing on us!” Parrot called in, watching the four Fulcrums fly past, maintaining their finger-four formation.

“A-alright, let’s get out of here!” Rainbow called out. “Fly back as fast as you can, just don’t let them catch you!”

“Run!? They’ve already caught us!” Parrot called from his position lower down. “Come on, those aren’t blanks they’re firing out there!”

“Dash are you serious!?” Firebird yelled back. “What’s the point of us if we can’t fight!? Are we just going to get sacrificed!?”

“One-One, this is lead, calm down and listen to me good! Keep quiet and focus on the fight, you hear?”

“I hear you One!”

“Good, now shut your mouth and fire back!” Cole ordered. “Eagles, turn and engage!”

“Cole stop! We can’t do this!” Dash called out.

“No way! I’m not watching anymore of my pilots die!”

“Parrot’s engaging, I’m on one now!” the Alpha flight pilot called, flying close behind an unnoticing Fulcrum and getting a lock for his Sidewinder. “Fox Two!”

The missile dropped from the plane and ignited, shooting through the air and impacting its target dead on. The Fulcrum lurched with most of its back half on fire, and began to tumble through the air. The Griffon pilot failed to eject, while the rest of his wingmen scurried through their own maneuvers.

Rainbow watched from a short ways away as the first aircraft fell to the Earth as a spot of fire, trailing smoke as it went. She knew what Spitfire and the other commanders had told her, and what the letter from Celestia said. She could not let this happen, and she wanted to yell out at the top of her lungs for it to stop. She should have told them to turn back when the Griffon fighters appeared to begin with.

At the same time, seeing the F-15s turn wildly through the air, she was reminded of her first day on Earth. She remembered how she had been ambushed, hurt, and how afraid she had been, followed by a sense of embarrassment at it, and then gratitude to Cole for saving her. Now, watching his white-nosed, gold-beaked Eagle break and spin as it raced into another fight, being fired upon by an enemy, she found herself unable to yell at him, or the other Americans. All she could do was watch from a distance.

“What do I do? I can’t do anything!” she said to herself. “Oh Celestia… what are they doing? What am I doing!?”

“Ready Runner? We’re gonna shoot them all down!” Cole called.

He dropped onto one of the Fulcrums before his wingman responded, one which had broken off of the formation to chase another Alpha Eagle after the first MiG was shot down. As was the case with many air combat kills, the victim never saw or even knew they were in danger until it was far too late. Cole got a lock with a Sidewinder and fired almost immediately, killing the unsuspecting Griffon.

The final two MiGs found themselves in a terrible position, and began to maneuver defensively in the hope of holding out for rescue from their comrades. One broke off to the right when an F-15 got on his tail and unintentionally flew across Orion’s bow and gave him a good shot, killing him with an AMRAMM. The second was chased down by Desser and another aircraft and, after a few minutes and two missed heat-seeker shots, Firebird killed it with his third shot.

“Bandit’s down! Anymore?” he asked.

“Four more coming close,” Cole warned. “Get your flight back together and meet them with whatever Slammers you have left.”

“Copy! Alpha, form back up on me and get ready to bracket them!”

“They’re almost in range for their missiles; you turn away if you see any shots,” the Captain ordered. “Don’t get in any danger. We’ve got numbers so let's take them apart, copy?”

“Got it!”

“Good. Runner, we’re going up top again!”

“Ok, Alpha, get back together and engage with radar missiles,” Desser commanded, keeping track on the approaching enemy flight. “We’ll be meeting directly again; engage your corresponding number.”

The pilots did not need much more clarification, quickly locking up their targets. However, some unknown confusion presented itself, as it always does in battle, as to which corresponding number, as there were five of them to the four Fulcrums. Firebird’s wingman, assuming he was to follow as did commander did, and targeted the same aircraft as him, assuming the others would target the rest. However, the fifth and final Eagle assumed correctly that he was supposed to target the same craft as the number four in the formation, Orion, and that there was no major reshuffle. Consequently only three of the MiGs were targeted, the first and fourth by two Americans.

Still, no one spoke up and went forward all the same, launching the mid-ranged AMRAMMs amidst multiple calls of ‘Fox Three’. These Fulcrums did not wait to close the range as their confident counterparts had, and though the Americans fired first, they stayed in formation a few seconds more to fire some of their own shorter-ranged radar missiles. Firebird immediately gave the order to break up and scatter, each of the Eagles firing off chaff decoys as they turned to avoid the missiles, one of which came precariously close to hitting Parrot. The Fulcrums did the same and, while they watched their own shots fall short with, the dismay turned to fear as two of their own exploded.

“Keep turning away from them, Alpha,” Cole told the flight before going back to his subordinate.

“Got two left, Runner. Think you can take the farther one?”

“I’ll get him, Captain!”

“Alright, let’s go!”

The two F-15s, which had been observing from a short ways back in the clouds, dived down on the remaining two MiGs. Runner went after the farthest Fulcrum, which had barely avoided the American missile shot at it, and chased it down quickly, keeping up with the tight evasions and eventually killing it when it turned too lightly. Cole went after the closer one which had not been fired upon at all and was attempting to follow the Alpha fighters.

As the two were going in opposite directions, and the range was rather low, he fired a Slammer almost immediately, and followed with a Sidewinder for good measure to ensure the Fulcrum would either die fast or evade so it would not fire on his allies again. The Griffon did attempt to evade, but did so too late, and the AMRAMM caught him in a hard bank and sent the aircraft into a fiery cartwheel before the heater impacted a second later and disintegrated it.

“Is that it? Does anyone have any more contacts?” Cole asked, with no one replying in the affirmative. “Spyglass, Eagle One, bandits are down. Any further contacts on radar, over?”

“Negative, all infiltrating bogey aircraft have been destroyed or are withdrawing. The Mystic just crossed back into Bloc air space, over.”

“Damn… alright, we’ll have to worry about that latter,” he replied. “Squadron, sound off. Is everyone ok, over?”

“Two reads you One.”

“Alpha… seems ok Captain,” Desser reported, seemingly winded but unhurt. “One-Three, respond, over.”

“Eagle One-Three, respond immediately,” Cole called out. “Hey Parrot, can you hear my voice? I see your plane flying.”

“Uh… no sir, got a bit of ringing in my ears,” Parrot said. “Guess all the blood drained out of my head when I did that last turn.”

“That means you can hear me, Parrot,” Cole replied. “Ok, is that everyone?”

Cole counted up his flight before suddenly remembering an important member who had been silent for some time.

“Dash, are you still with us?” he asked, not getting an immediate response. “Dash? Hey Rainbow, are you ok?”

“Y-yea, I’m good… just a little shaken up,” the pegasus responded from a short ways away, flying close to the ground.

“Alright, good, you had me worried for a second,” Cole responded before realizing that they had not lost anyone this round. “We’ll have to commemorate the fact that we all made it out of that battle alive.”

“Got any ideas, One, over?” Runner asked.

“I’ll think of something. Let’s head home for now, everyone R.T.B.; we lost that spy plane, but we showed some resolve today. I think that’s something to celebrate, out.”

Cole sat on a bench outside one of the hangers, trying to enjoy some solitude as the sun set. Surely enough, there was trouble to pay later on, as Spitfire had come down from the Academy to talk with him about the incident. She seemed more concerned on the overall situation of the countries and what happened than in actually disciplining anyone. It only confirmed to Cole that she was not a heavy-yelling type on average, except maybe in training he guessed, but not in much else.

“Hi John,” he heard Rainbow’s voice from the side, as the pegasus fluttered over to take a seat next to him.

“Hey, what brings you here?”

“One of your Lieutenants, Sylvester, he invited some ponies in town to come watch a movie on base… Magnificent Seven, that’s the one,” Dash explained. “One of my friends, Applejack, she seemed pretty excited. I’m not too sure if I’d like it though.”

“Nah, that movie would be right up your alley.”

“Yea?”

“Yep, all about cowboys being heroes and saving a village from bandits and such,” the tired American explained. “It’s old, but it’s still pretty cool.”

“Heh, sounds like it. That… actually reminds me of something I wanted to ask about.”

“What’s that?”

“Well… I just feel weird I guess,” she said, struggling to explain. “I mean… back before… everything that happened, me and my friends went on all kinds of adventures, and we’d save the day and ponies would call us heroes all the time.”

“I remember hearing about all that,” Cole recalled.

“But at the same time it was always my dream to join the Wonderbolts, cause they were always the best, y’know? But now, even though I kind of did join, I don’t feel like I’m doing very much anymore, cause there’s no more adventures. I guess I’m kind of the best, but it’s… well.”

“Kinda hollow?” Cole suggested. “Empty?”

“Yea, I guess there’s no point in being the best at something if you can’t do anything with it,” Rainbow pouted. “You ever feel that way? About being the best and being useless and not being a hero and stuff?”

“Heh, well I’m flattered, but I’m not the best Dash,” he replied. “That doesn’t really matter to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nope, the second part is what does matter, if I’m doing something good and useful and such. That takes top priority to me.”

“That feels weird, seeing how much you do and everything,” the pegasus responded. “I guess I figured you were the best because you were a big hero and everything.”

“That’s the thing, you don’t have to be the best to be a hero. You just do the right thing and be good enough to do it.”

“Huh, never thought of it like that.”

“But don’t let me quench your drive, it’s different for everyone,” Cole continued to explain. “I’m just talking about me, and me I don’t mind being stuck in a spot so long as I’m doing something.”

“Speaking of being stuck somewhere, did you hear Spifire’s going to be sticking around now?”

“Yea, she was ordered to take your place, apparently.”

“They want someone a little stricter on the job,” Rainbow explained.

“I don’t think it’ll make much change, really,” Cole admitted. “Oh, and I’m sorry if I snapped at you and ignored you and such in the operation today. Just need to make snap decisions, and I can get a little demanding I guess.”

“Hey, don’t be; I was more worried about you. You didn’t get in too much trouble, huh?”

“Nah, doesn’t matter to me much anyways. There’s not much they can do beyond what my Air Force has done,” the pilot went on, standing up and straightening his back out. “I know I’m going to be stuck as a Captain forever. I don’t really mind though; like I said, prestige isn’t my thing.”

“It’s about doing the right thing,” Rainbow finished.

“Yep.”

“But… how do we know if we’re doing the right thing?”

“Hm… well my little pony,” he said, sitting back down and putting an arm on her shoulder, “that’s something I don’t know. But I do know we need to find out, and we’ll all do it together.”

“Sounds like an adventure!” Dash replied with a smile.

Author's Note

Wardogs

September 16th, 2005
1300 Hours
Southwestern Equestria

What came following the last battle had not been as dramatic as the first. As with their first fight against the Bloc near the Academy, it had been celebrated but not as much; this time there was much more trouble to contend with. Having violated the rules of engagement and actively killed Bloc combatants, there were plenty of strong words passed from higher up on the issue, particularly since the confusion barrier of not having R.O.E. during the Academy fight was not here this time. It was rather clear on what Cole was to do in that situation, and he intentionally broke it.

Once again, it was Spitfire who had to pass those words down to him. Once again, she seemed more concerned than angry at him; it was clear she understood why they had decided to fight, but she was still against it. From now on, she would act as the squadron’s liaison, taking Dash’s short-lived place in joining the squadron on patrols to keep an eye on them. No doubt she would be stricter than her compatriot had been.

Cole himself did not worry either way. The Equestrian leaders were the ones upset at him, but his real bosses, the Air Force officers back stateside, were secretly happy to see the Bloc hurting and American power finally being put to use. On top of that, he knew there was little chance of him being fired and replaced; the Equestrians needed the squadron and every man and plane in it. They complained a good deal, but he and Runner launched with the flight on patrol the next day as usual, the only change being Spitfire’s joining.

The main thing that concerned him was in the escape of the Griffon spy plane that had surveyed the powerful listening post’s construction, giving the enemy details on its secret purpose. They must have understood how important both of the sites were, as a short time after the group took off they began to receive reports from ground troops near the border, forwarded by the AWACS, of a single Changeling aircraft flying into Equestrian airspace far to the south. It was last seen over the ocean, heading directly towards the construction site of the southern post, which was under the code name ‘IRON MILL’.

There was a problem with units from the ground passing up reports as they did not possess radios, and as such it took longer to send them. By the time Cole, Runner, and the day’s patrol flight, Bravo, had arrived, the Changeling aircraft was already leaving. Spyglass sent out the notice to them first, topping the day’s first bad news of contact from before.

“Eagle, Spyglass. Unknown aircraft confirmed to have passed over IRON MILL and is moving back towards Changeling territory. Heading is two-six-four. Move to intercept immediately. How copy, over?”

“Solid Copy, Spyglass; Eagle moving to intercept,” Cole acknowledged with a bit more calm in his voice than yesterday.

“We’re not shooting this one down, Eagle One,” Spitfire’s voice chimed in over the radio. “I don’t want any more accidents. If we have to let it go then we will, but I don’t want anyone else dying on either side. Alright?”

“Sure thing, Colonel,” he replied before referring to his squadron. “You got that gang?”

“Two copies,” his XO replied.

“Bravo flight copies,” Lieutenant Maurice responded. “Colonel, I would like to respectfully state that this sounds like a bad idea. They already passed over and got some pictures, just letting them go with that seems like big trouble.”

“I know it is,” Spitfire replied, “but like I said, I just want to avoid fighting for now.”

“Sounds a little odd to be running down a bad guy just so we can kindly ask him to knock it off,” Maurice’s wingman responded.

“There’s always a chance it could work, Bugs,” Keno reminded him.

“Yea, maybe he was bird watching and accidently stumbled across our super-secret facility.”

“Lead, Two, I’ve got a question, over,” Cole’s wingman spoke up.

“Shoot Runner, over.”

“You think this is how God feels sometimes?”

“I… don’t quite understand,” the Captain responded in an addled voice.

“Well, a lot of people don’t pray unless they get into a lot of trouble,” Runner clarified, “and some people only call us if they’re in a lot of trouble, too.”

“Hm… well, Two, I can’t quite say that I’m in a… comparable position to that of the almighty,” Cole answered in a half-serious, half-jesting tone.

“Just a thought, sir.”

“You make it sound like a real possibility. Either way, we’ve got work to do, and we’ll have to double-time it to reach that spy plane.”

“Not sure if we can make it, Captain,” his wingman warned, “he’s a ways off already.”

“We’ll have to try, start sending out the surrender request. Get moving as fast as you can.”

The jets quickly increased their speed in an attempt to catch up with the Changeling spy plane. Spitfire increased her own pace to keep up, but began to fall slightly behind and tire out a bit, though she said nothing about it. The planes stayed in formation as they crossed over the ocean and slightly followed the shoreline, which was soon a ways off but still visible.

As Runner was sending warnings to the spy plane, similar to those sent to the Griffon one the day before, Cole got a chance to survey the scene. All of the planes were moving fast, but still in formation, and with the sun shining brightly, the reflection off their paint, particularly the white noses, gave an enticing look to them. The water below them also reflected the sun’s light in a lovely way, and the few scattered clouds that floated about did more to add to the scene than interfere or reduce visibility. He had always enjoyed flying, and the view he got from it, but the particularly beautiful scene gave him a chance to take in a breath of life and admire the privilege of being able to observe it, something he had not done in a while.

“Warning, warning,” the operator’s voice called from Spyglass, rousing Cole from his sightseeing. “Multiple high-speed bogies inbound, heading two-seven-seven. Counting eight in a tight formation, over.”

“Are they sending fighters to cover their spy plane again?”

“Similar speed and movement, same tactic as last time,” Spyglass reported, “most likely Fulcrums again. How copy, over?”

“Solid copy, Spyglass. Eagle One, out,” Cole replied, slightly annoyed from the new development. “Just how many jets does the Bloc have lined up at the border? I was kind of hoping the last dogfight would get them to back down a little; guess it had the opposite effect.”

“Eagle One, remember not to engage,” Spitfire reminded him, “we can’t catch that spy plane, so we’ll pull back if we have to.”

“Yea, they know from yesterday that we’ll shoot back,” he replied, “and we’ve only got a handful on our side. We’d better abort, all aircraft change course to zero-eight-zero and head back, this way. Copy?”

“Two copies, over.”

“Bravo copies, over.”

“Colonel, think you can stick to our tail, or you want us to take it slow?” Cole asked the pegasus.

It was unlikely a pegasus could outrun a fighter jet, even Spitfire. On top of this she was already winded from trying to keep up with the American's sprint to try and catch the spy plane. Now a pack of Fulcrums were moving in fast and they had to run in the other direction. On the other hand, they were more than likely targeting the Eagles, so there was a chance of being ignored outright by them.

“Yea, I’ll be fine One. Keep going, don’t fall within their range,” Spitfire ordered.

Cole could hear the exhaustion in the pony’s breath. She would not be able to keep up with the fighters, at the very least she could still possibly outrun the approaching Changelings, but the chance of that was low. Alternatively, she could fly low and be missed while they focused on the jets, or the Fulcrums could just turn around once they saw the Americans retreat. Regardless, Cole followed orders and now led his team in the opposite direction, flying quickly back across their previous route over the gleaming waters below.

“Eagle, Spyglass, bogies are breaking formation and increasing speed, over.”

“Understood, Spyglass, we’ll stay out of their range, out.”

Spitfire, on the other hand, could not keep out of their range. She did try to fly a bit lower, going through a few clouds to cover her presence, but it did little good. The Changeling Fulcrums did spot her, and she was so tired that there was no real chance of evading or running. The Americans, a short ways off and still visible in the distance, could still get away. She quickly found the broken formation closing in, and could tell at least one was going to be aiming for her.

“I can’t make it, they’re running me down!” she called out, then turning to her own thoughts. “Can I distract them and let the Americans escape? Maybe I can turn tight enough to make them miss and lose them? Ugh, it’s… it’s no good! I can’t get away from all of these, so what do I do!?”

Cole knew exactly what to do.

“You taking the trail position today, rock n’ roller?” he called, getting the excuse he wanted. “Hang on, I’ll clear your six.”

“W-what!? You don-“

“All Eagles break and engage!” he ordered without hesitation. “Runner, on me!”

Cole yanked back on the stick and pulled his craft up and over, turning it to the side to right it as it came to bear in the opposite direction as the other jets broke and made their own necessary moves. His wingman in tow and diving at a slight angle at almost the speed of sound, he easily made up the lost ground and picked out the first target of the Fulcrum closest to Spitfire. Achieving a lock-on for his AMRAAM, he pulled the trigger and launched the missile, sending it flying off towards the target.

Spitfire heard the loud crash behind her and felt the power of the explosion and her pursuer was turned to scrap and flame. She saw the forms of Cole and Walker’s Eagles shoot past her overhead with a loud roar, while the others began their own attacks. She knew she had a job to call on them to stop, but she could not find her voice. Her fear turned to a feeling she had not experienced before as she flew slightly down and out of danger and slowly away. Still keeping an eye on the fight as she moved off, she became hypnotized by the twisting fight above.

“Eagle, Spyglass. Be advised you do not have clearance to engage at this time,” the operator more reminded than warned him.

“Understood Spyglass, Eagle out.”

Bravo was already engaging, and the fight had quickly devolved into personal battles with hints of teamwork. Each pilot took his own target and tried to kill it as quick as they could, while also keeping notice in case any of their comrades were in danger. The Changelings, having been focused more on catching the pegasus, did not expect such an immediate counterattack and along with Cole’s kill lost two more in less than a minute’s time.

“One, break right, bandit on your tail,” Runner warned, spotting a Fulcrum drop behind Cole. “I’m on him.”

The Captain broke into a hard right, with the Changeling following and falling into Runner’s crosshairs, dying a few seconds later to a Sidewinder.

“Alright, not bad,” Cole called. “Thanks for watching my six, Two.”

The little slice of sky was filled with maneuvering aircraft and missile trails. It was difficult to keep track of every single piece of action, but Cole trusted his pilots could take care of themselves. In each one he observed, he saw the F-15 had the advantage, with their drivers giving sporadic reports to their work.

“Two-Four’s got one at my three o’clock, going after him.”

“Two-Five is locked, fire Fox Two! Fire Fox Two! He’s down, bandit’s terminated!”

“Two-Three, Bugs, you’ve got one at your four!” Lieutenant Maurice warned.

“I know, he hit his brakes on me when I got too close. Can you shoot him off me?”

“Affirmative, turn left and down. I’ll get a good shot,” Keno responded, pulling his fighter over as his wingman followed his instructions. “Ok, tracking now… got a lock! Fox Two… he’s dead!”

“Thanks for that, Two-One.”

“Actual, Two-One here, another bandit’s down,” Maurice reported. “I don’t see any more bandits. Are they gone?”

“Almost, I’m on the last one,” Cole said as soon as he dropped on the tail of a radically-maneuvering MiG.

The Changeling pulled up his speed and broke sharply, trying to out-turn the Eagle. Cole, however, was able to cut his speed a bit gain enough of a slight edge for a Sidewinder lock before it became too extreme. The bandit noticed the launch and fired off a succession of flares while sharply turning in the opposite direction. The Sidewinder barely missed, but it only bought the Changeling a few more seconds of life, as the turn had allowed Cole to get another lock, letting a second heater loose. This one found its mark right on one of the plane’s engines, causing it to catch fire and dive towards the ground in flame. The fiery trail falling across the blue sky, past the clouds, and into the water gave a satisfying conclusion to the Eagle Squadron’s second jet dogfight.

“Picture is clear, all unknown aircraft are destroyed or withdrawing, over” Spyglass reported.

“Copy, Spyglass. Be advised, Eagles are now low on fuel and need to R.T.B. to Everfree. How copy, over?”

“Solid copy, Eagle One. Spyglass, out.”

“All Eagles, sound off. Did we lose anyone this round, over?”

“Negative losses to Bravo, lead, over,” Maurice reported.

“Two is clear, over.”

“I-I’m… I’m still here,” Spitfire called in, her voice shaky.

The squadron regrouped and began to head for home. Cole noticed Spitfire flying back somewhat slowly, and reduced his speed to pull up close alongside her. She noticed, taking one look over her shoulder at the jet and its pilot before looking back forward.

“You good, Colonel?” he asked her.

“Yea, I’m not hurt.”

“A little shook up?”

“A little… I guess.”

“Alright, well try and keep calm, it’s all over now,” the Captain advised. “We all got out of this fight alive. That damned spy plane got away again, but we’re all breathing. That’s what’s important for now.”

“Yea… yea.”

Flying back, Spitfire oddly did not feel very ashamed in failing to do her job. It was no good, but whatever had come over her, she had no control. It was unlike something she had felt before, a feeling of helplessness and vain loss. She had been in combat before, but this experience held something new, something closer to the end than anything before, and before it happened she had been saved. After that, it was hard to make out a clear thought; she was very thankful to Cole, but everything else was somewhat blank, and the previous experience kept running through her head. The first new thought that entered was wondering if this was the same feeling Rainbow Dash had gotten when she first encountered Cole all those years ago.

“And you just kicked it clean off right?” Lieutenant Desser joked.

“Na, not quite,” Cowboy replied, recalling an old game he played in his high school days. “At this point no one’s got the ball, right? Guy on the other team just kicked it from a ways away at this angle hoping to get lucky and sneak in a goal. So it’s just kind of rolling, and my back’s to the goalkeeper, so I don’t know what he’s doing, if he’s looking the right way or anything.”

“Right, right,” Maurice repeated, sitting off on the table’s corner, the darkest part of the recreational room.

“So I’m at a good angle to kick it back a good ways, so the only thing running through my head is ‘kick this thing as hard as you can’,” the Texan explained. “And suddenly out of friggin nowhere, this guy from the other team literally, he literally slides in trying to knock the ball towards the goal, Hell if I know why, he must’ve wanted to do something fancy. But I’m already swinging and I hit this poor kid’s stretched-out leg dead-center, and it just flat-out breaks right there.”

“Shit Sylvester, how strong were you back then?” Cole asked.

“Pretty damn strong, apparently, but I’ve always felt bad for doing it.”

“I swear, Will, you must’ve injured half the population of Amarillo.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“So what happened to that guy?” Parrot asked, wanting to hear the story’s ending.

“Took him to the hospital and fixed him up, I remember visiting to apologize but I didn’t keep track after that. I heard he got back into soccer, though.”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting the group’s conversation. They all secretly hoped that it was not for trouble, as beyond the obvious distaste for disaster, relaxation time was a valuable treasure. The appearance of the yellow, fiery-maned pegasus gave some fear to that, but it was quickly stopped when it became clear she was in no rush.

“Cole, do you mind coming to talk in the hall for a minute?”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, quickly getting up from his seat and meeting the pony in the white and quiet hallway. “Ma’am, I really am sorry for disobeying you today, if that’s what this is about. I didn’t mean any disrespect, I was just worried about your safety.”

“Hey, relax,” she comforted him, “and I told you I prefer-”

“-Spitfire, right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be, you won’t have to call me ‘ma’am’ anymore, anyways.”

“What do you mean?”

“They demoted me to Captain.”

“What!?” Cole jumped. “Christ… Spitfire, I’m so sorry. Damn… this is my fault.”

“You know that’s not really true… well maybe a little, but I could’ve at least tried way harder to stop you. After you guys started I didn’t really want to, didn’t feel like I could. Either way, I guess I’m down to your level now. Weird, huh?”

“Heh, yea… a little awkward.”

“Though you’re technically supposed to be ranked higher, huh?”

“Supposed to be; Squadrons can be led by Captains but that’s rare. Usually it’s higher, a Lieutenant Colonel or something. We’re all about one or two ranks down,” Cole explained, leaning back against the wall. “A little thank-you gift from Washington for all our hard work in their little experiment.”

Spitfire just shook her head, disapproving of the punishment.

“So, what are you going to do now? Are they taking you away from the Wonderbolts?”

“Nah, they may be mad but they’re not dumb. I’ve been leading that team for years and got it through this was with only a handful of losses. Those ponies won’t fly without me, and I won’t fly without them.”

“Handful? I thought there were a good deal of losses,” Cole asked, remembering the empty bunks at the Academy and Dash recounting the painful memories of her comrades not returning.

“Low… in comparison,” Spitfire stated, getting a bit shaky. “We did lose a lot, but as compared to what happened to other units, getting almost wiped out… we were able to avoid that… or maybe we got lucky.”

“Or both.”

“Yea, maybe, but I’ll take either of them. Most of the original squadron is still there; Soarin, Fleetfoot, Rapidash, Fire Streak,” she said, going down the list for her own satisfaction. “The ones that were killed got their spots filled in again, and those ended up being the ones that kept dying.”

“Replacements,” the American explicated. “They have a higher loss rate than experienced vets. Though in the end they either get the experience or die in the process.”

“You’re right, we ended up losing a lot more replacements than original members,” Spitfire explained. “Dash was a replacement, too. She was a Bolt reservist before the landfall, but because she was so important for being one of the Elements, and with the way the war started going, she had to be taken care of. The Princess said we couldn’t afford to lose her, so she was relegated to low-risk work. The replacements that came with her didn’t have that same privilege.”

“Well I’m glad things are better now, I can’t imagine how bad it must have been.”

“It was pretty bad; going up against jets with bows and spears is pretty one-sided.”

“Well, something tells me you guys won’t have to put up with wings and arrows for much longer. Before you know it you’ll be in a fighter. That’s a whole ‘nother world.”

Author's Note

Two Sides of The Triangle

September 18th, 2005
09:13 Hours
Pensacolta, Equestria

The ancient waters of the Pacific kicked up high today, baptizing the hull of the cruiser on her maiden voyage. The warm waves churned up, carrying the vessel as the latest in an interminable line of warships that crossed her. Somewhere out in the massive blue body of this great ocean, this uniquely American craft charged forth in the final part of its introductory excursion.

With the wind blowing hard, causing the ocean to swell, the sharp bow of a missile cruiser pushed its way into the harbor of Pensacolta. The harbor was filled with ships, but many were of older wooden design, causing the cruiser to stick out like a wolf in a herd of sheep. She was the first U.S. Navy ship to enter an Equestrian port, and would not be the last, as a large convoy of transports and other military vessels followed her lead.

Launched only a week earlier, the U.S.S. Bastogne was the latest addition to the long-running Ticonderoga class of cruisers. She was also the first of the new Flight III, a new upgraded production run of the class, though not different enough to give it the distinction of being a sub-class. With the sudden need for warships for the movement of troops, this ship found her first mission to also be her maiden voyage, something her Captain took delight in.

“You think they’ve ever seen something like this ship?” Harrison asked his Commander.

“They’ve been very isolationist up until recently, sir,” Thomas replied, “so I don’t think they have.”

“I know, I mean maybe they saw pictures or something… like they were snuck in with all that other stuff.”

“It’s possible, Captain. Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious, I guess.”

“What made you curious?”

“Shit, I don’t know Thomas, curiosity?” Harrison responded. “Do you always have to ask questions?”

“Sorry sir, I just like to know reasons for what people do, the reasons for things happening in general.”

“Alright, but do you have to be so damned robotic about it? Work I can get but even in small talk?”

“Noted, sir; I’ll try to ease up on it in the future.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Data,” Harrison joked.

The ship stayed put in the harbor for a few minutes until it was dragged over to the side of a pier and docked. Many of the other ships were doing the same thing, with the transport vessels given priority. Most of them were already offloading their various cargoes. It was a lengthy process that would continue into the following day, so the crew and ship would not likely be going anywhere soon.

As such, Harrison gave a limited grant of leave to a handful of them. It was restricted with the orders that they were not to stray too far, not to cause trouble or interference with operations, and to be back within a few hours so another group of crewmembers could head out. There was little to do with the short time allotted to them, but it was healthy for the sailors to off the ship now and then, having to stay onboard for days and weeks on end at times.

He would also be heading off board himself to look around. The thought of duty with a Captain staying on his vessel to keep track of everything entered his head, but there was little to keep track of at this point. The Bastogne’s mission was to, as they were told, ‘dock and ensure close security of the offloading transports close to shore, as well as projection of power close to shore and possible assistance of land units and movement if necessary’. In short that meant sit at the dock and look menacing, which in itself was unnecessary since they were landing at a friendly port, and help out around their area if needed, which was unlikely. Perhaps they wanted the ship and crew to rest and look over things, since this was their maiden voyage and training was not even fully done. With that in mind, Harrison was happy to take it, as there were a few problems for the crew to work out.

Leaving the Commander in charge of the ship, he followed the group down the gangplank and onto the pier, not planning to go beyond. Luckily the pier had been reserved for the few warships that were going to be docked, that being his Bastogne, it’s sister ship Cowpens, and the destroyer Mahan, so it was not crowded from offloading. The only other docked American warships lay at another pier on the other side of the harbor, where Harrison could make out another Tico, the Veracruz, what looked like a wooden Equestrian frigate, and another ship that protruded strikingly from the rest of the flotilla, the aircraft carrier Enterprise.

“Looking at my ship?”

Off to his right stood a Pegasus wearing the uniform of the Equestrian Navy; how long she had been there he did not know.

“What? Your ship?”

“Yea, that’s my ship docked over there next to yours, the Constellation,” she explained. “She’s one of the best ships in the Navy.”

“Really?” Harrison responded examining the deep contrast between the wooden frigate and the metal cruiser and carrier docked next to it. “Damn, no wonder you guys are having trouble.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Shit, did I say that out loud!?” he thought before replying. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that you all must have had a hard time fighting the Bloc… since they have modern ships and everything.”

“Well, we did; but you Americans are going to help with that, right?”

“Yea, but you’ll have to get a new ship,” Harrison said, examining the frigate again and making sure to think to himself this time. “Wonder what the guys on Enterprise think of it.”

“It’s pretty small in comparison,” McBroom commented.

Examining the multiple different ships was what he spent much of the voyage doing. As the S-3, the man in charge of Operations for the entire Army coming to the continent, the Flag Officer had been sent ahead of his commander to oversee the moving of the units to their correct locations and establish initial connections with the Equestrians. Being an Army member, he did not know an extensive deal about the Navy, but he did understand the great honor of catching a ride aboard this carrier. Its Captain had also been kind enough to converse with him much of the way, as they did now.

“Most ships are when they’re compared to a supercarrier, sir,” the Enterprise’s Captain replied. “You can take a look at the Washington if you want a closer similarity, or any of the new battleship’s we’re building.”

“The battleships? I suppose that would be fairer,” he agreed. “Captain Murray, mind if I ask you about that?”

“The Washington? What about her?”

“About the battleships in general,” McBroom responded. “I’m brass, I like to know the details of what’s going on. The more you know, the better you can plan for things. Guess along the way I picked up a habit of trying to know as much as I could.”

“It’s a good habit for a man in your position to have.”

“I suppose so, maybe you can vouch for me to General Hall,” he continued, considering his superior’s opinion on it. “So, back on topic. Why is the Navy investing in something that went obsolete fifty years ago?”

“No one’s explained it to you yet?”

“Yes, but they’ve all done a poor job.”

“Well, let me give you an example to hang on to from the start,” Murray offered. “Think about the Cold War with the Soviets, back when we relied on nuclear deterrence.”

“The battleships are connected to deterrence?”

“Their purpose is deterrence on a tactical level. We’re building them because the Bloc has them, so we want our own.”

“Doesn’t this ship we’re on still make them obsolete?” McBroom asked, noting the irony of a carrier captain explaining the battleship’s vitality.

“Somewhat, but not entirely. It’s not so much the weapon that’s old as in how you use it. The old days of long lines of battlewagons charging at the enemy are over, but they’re still useful,” Murray continued. “A little while ago, when the Bloc started building their own capital ships, our intel guys found some tactics they were experimenting with by observing their naval exercises with spy planes and satellites. Now a carrier can only kill anything if it’s got its planes, right? The ship itself isn’t made for close-up fights.”

“Right.”

“And there’s a problem with how big the Bloc’s naval air capacity has gotten. Now imagine if one of their carrier groups and one of ours got in a fight,” Murray asked of the General. “The Bloc battleships don’t move on their own, they’re part of the battle group. The most immediate mission is serving as an escort, because they can still put plenty of weapons on a ship of that size.”

“But the Bloc wouldn’t spend that much on an oversized escort.”

“That’s right, sir, they have other plans,” the Captain confirmed. “The battleship becomes deadlier as the range drops, so assume that the battleship and some escorts break off and charge at the American group. Now in a carrier battle the main target for both sides is always the enemy aircraft carrier, but a carrier can only hold so many aircraft.”

Murray went over the details in his head. A Nimitz-class carrier would usually hold a mix of about 80 planes and helicopters, give or take, to conduct various types of missions. Still, only some of those could enact anti-air or anti-ship warfare. Even with technical superiority, it would take a large number of missiles to get through the defense network of both a battleship and a carrier, and when the two operated separately it made things harder for the Americans; a way of dividing the carrier’s air arm.

“So they’re dividing a carrier’s air fleet, hoping that something will get through,” the Army officer surmised.

“Mhm, that would be the case,” Murray agreed. “The enemy’s own aircraft will tie up some of our own birds. If the rest focus on hitting the carrier, it gives the battleship time to close the distance. If we focus on the battleship, we leave the carrier alone. If we split them up, neither force would be powerful enough to kill either. Still, the priority in general is usually the carrier, and if an enemy battleship closes the range it’s up to our escorts to fend it off.”

That was where the new technologies came in, and another layer of complexity was added for McBroom to dissect. It was possible for normal escorts to fend off a battleship, though it would not be easy. The number of missiles needed to get through the defensive fire, countermeasures, and actually disable the ship would be high. Quite possible, but loading escorts up with more anti-ship missiles meant losing space for the escort’s anti-air missiles, leaving a larger hole for planes and missiles to hit them. Regardless, a destroyer or cruiser had even less hope of defeating a battleship in a gun duel, but another battleship could.

“And that’s where the deterrence comes in. We’re building our own to stop them if they get too close, to stop them from trying it in the first place.”

“That’s the idea anyways,” Murray responded. “With how much it’s costing, and how long building them takes, we might have to make do with only a couple, along with the last two Iowas. The Bloc has at least ten between their three nations.”

“Do we know how they’re building them so fast?”

“No, we haven’t been able to find that out.”

“Excuse me, General!”

The two stopped their discussion and looked over to see a sailor who was very short of breath.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but General McBroom is late for a meeting with an Equestrian Major Flare,” the sailor explained. “I was sent to go tell you.”

“Damn it, I really am too late,” he thought, looking at his watch. “By almost fifteen minutes by now. I must’ve gotten too wrapped up in conversation.”

“We’ll have to pick up our discussion another time, for now I need to head ashore and make sure everything’s going in the right direction,” McBroom replied. “Thank you again for the ride on your ship, Captain.”

“My pleasure, General.”

McBroom exited the bridge and followed the sailor down and through the ship until they reached the gangplank. The two walked down onto the busy pier, moving quickly but keeping out of the way of others doing their various support tasks. Here and there sailors, soldiers, ponies, and other miscellaneous workers hustled about, carrying out their individual tasks in the storm of semi-organized chaos.

They moved down along it until they reached a unicorn looking out at the fleet of ships, at which point the sailor dismissed himself. The unicorn seemed quite stressed, using his magic to quickly and shakily jot down notes on a pad while he periodically sipped on a cup of coffee. If he was in charge of organizing the transportation, McBroom could not blame him for such a rough appearance.

“Good morning, Major Flare,” the American greeted. “I’m very sorry for being late; I was caught up in a discussion with a Navy Captain.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now, I need some help sorting this mess out,” the Major responded, getting right to business. “There’s so much stuff coming in, troops, equipment, supplies, and it’s all headed in different directions. It’s a complete mess.”

“It usually is, but we should be able to work it out.”

“And to make matters worse is how clogged the city’s becoming,” the Major went on. “The harbor’s filled up, the streets are jammed, residents can barely move in their own city! The dock workers are overwhelmed the fact that you all don’t have magic to help. Do you know how much harder that makes this process?”

“Well, no, but we can still move fast.”

“It’s not quite the same,” Flare responded. “You guys can go fast but it’s still only one thing at a time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean humans can be fast but you can only do one thing at a time; unicorns like me can do three or four so long as they’re not too complicated.”

He floated up some of the notes he was taking to show McBroom, as he continued to jot down others with a quill and sipping on his drink as an example.

“But it’s not enough, I even got permission to take unicorns from shipbuilding and the civilian areas and it’s still not enough to help the dock workers,” Flare continued. “You Americans just brought so much and we can’t even get it off the boats in good order.”

McBroom was going to respond before he recognized one of the words in Flare’s rant.

“You said shipbuilding?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“How does shipbuilding work for you? You use unicorn in that process, too?”

“Yea, we do, at least mostly. Unicorns are pretty good builders, mostly ‘cause of what I said before,” the Major explained. “When say an earth pony can only move one piece at a time, a talented unicorn can move ten. While an earth pony can be hammering in a piece of wood, a unicorn could do two or three pieces at the same time.”

“That’s how the Bloc is able to build ships so fast!” McBroom exclaimed. “Their builders can do the work of three or five men!”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No, we didn’t; it was kept very secretive and Equestria was extremely isolationist.”

“It’s a common thing, really,” Flare commented. “In fact, it should be able to work just as well on your ships.”

“My God, you’re right! If we got contingents of builders to help in our shipyards, construction time would be cut at least in half! I have to go back to the Enterprise, get the Admiral on the horn-”

“Hey, not so fast, you still need to help me organize this mess you Americans made!” Flare cut him off. “Here, I’ll write down a letter for you to send and you can tell one of your sailors to deliver it, ok?”

“I suppose, though I think it’d be better if I went myself. A single sailor would get caught up in the command chain.”

“Most of your men don’t know what’s going on, anyways,” Flare retorted. “I doubt-”

“Excuse me, can I get some help?” a voice from behind them asked.

McBroom turned to see three young soldiers standing there, looking like children who had lost their parents at an amusement park. They clearly must not have known who they were asking, as their faces turned to shock as they saw his own. The three quickly snapped to attention and saluted, stuttering out the greeting of ‘good morning, sir’.

“Relax, men,” he responded, returning the salute. “What do you need help with?”

“Sir… we were just trying to find the rest of our unit,” the lead soldier, a rather shocked Corporal, stammered. “It’s, uh… Bravo Company… 3rd Battalion, uh, 3rd Infantry. Do you know where their assembly area is?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Corporal, I just got here myself.”

“Ah, alright, well… thank you, Sir.”

“You see what I mean?” Flare commented as the soldiers turned away. “Now let’s write this letter so we can get to work.”

As the two officers began to scribble out a vital message, the three soldiers walked off on their own again. They had been searching for some time as to the location of the rest of their company. The rest of their squad had been sent in the wrong direction once they got off the boat, and now the three of them were in charge of finding the rest of their unit before they moved out.

“Wow, Henry, you really had to ask a General for directions?”

“Shove it, I didn’t know it was him,” the Corporal shot back.

“How could you not? I could tell it was him!”

“Then why the Hell didn’t you let me know?”

“I… don’t know,” the Private responded.

“Jarvis, I swear to God… sometimes-”

“Alright, but still, you could kind of tell,” Jarvis replied. “Rose, you could tell it was McBroom, right?”

“No, not really,” the third soldier responded in a simple fashion.

“What? Really?”

“I think it’s an easy mistake to make.”

“Thank you, Rose,” Henry responded. “Now let’s find someone who does know where to go.”

“How about that Captain over there?” Jarvis suggested, pointing to a soldier speaking to the commander of a parked tank on the road. “He’s high up, maybe he’ll know.”

“Jarvis, just because he’s an officer doesn’t mean he knows,” Henry reminded him. “We just asked a General that didn’t know.”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” the third soldier commented, adding his opinion.

“Alright, Rose, if you think that I’ll let you ask him,” Henry replied, “because getting to play moron to a Captain is so much better.”

“Yea, isn’t it?” Jarvis asked, not picking up on the sarcasm.

The group went over to the busy road that ran along the beach, crowded with military vehicles, the most immediate being a long line of tanks. It was noisy, but thankfully most of the tank commanders had turned their engines off for the time to save fuel, giving people the ability to have conversation. Walking up to the Captain, the three saluted him with Rose giving the greeting this time.

“Good Morning, Captain. Would you mind giving us some directions?”

“Of course Private… I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name?”

“Sir, my full name is Private Axel Van De Vaarde, of the Third Regiment,” he responded. “Difficult to say, I know.”

“We just call him Rose, Sir,” Jarvis cut in.

“Oh? And what are your names?” he asked, the tone of his voice causing Jarvis to freeze up a bit for fear he had done something wrong.

“Corporal Raymond Lee Henry, and that’s Private Terry Jarvis,” the Corporal injected, posting out his awkward full three-letter name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he responded, reaching out to shake each of their hands. “I am Captain Mac Roland, commander of Charlie Company of the Second Battalion of the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment.”

Henry was a bit surprised by how formal, yet relaxed, the Captain talked, and could not think of a way to respond as they shook hands.

“You said you needed directions?”

“Y-yes Sir, we-”

“Marine you move that miserable piece of shit!”

There was a booming voice from the tank at the head of the column, a couple vehicles up that halted all conversation. Up ahead the lead tank was blocked by another long column of Marine LAV personnel carriers. Henry could easily make out a rather irritated Captain and a Marine Staff Sergeant that was neither angry in return nor frightful, but clearly wanted to be left alone. It seemed surreal to Henry that an Army man was beating out a Marine in terms of sheer ferocity.

“Hey, Cap, we’re stuck in this jam the same as you guys,” the Marine replied. “The reason we’re not moving is ‘cause the person in front of us isn’t moving, and they’re not moving because there’s probably someone in front of them isn’t moving either. That’s how a traffic jam works.”

“Do you at least know what’s causing the hold up?”

“No Sir, all I know is that all you and I and our guys can do is sit and wait till the situation up front gets sorted out.”

“How in Hell can you be this calm about it? We could be here all day!”

“I’m from L.A., I’m used to it,” the Marine explained simply.

“Christ, I’m stuck in traffic in a tank,” the Captain grumbled as he marched back to his own vehicle.

“Some people have no manners,” Captain Roland commented to the group as they watched.

“I think manners are the least of that guy’s problems… Sir,” Jarvis replied.

“Don’t mind him any, Captain Patrick’s a little demanding, but he’s a great soldier,” the commander of the tank next to the group called, standing out of his hatch.

“Is that right?” Henry asked.

“Yea, he just wants everything done as best and fast as it can, he just needs to learn that it isn’t always under his control. He's always kind of had that issue, but it's for the right reasons. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he actually does care a lot about people,” the tanker replied. “Oh, speaking of manners, I’m Sergeant Kenneth by the way.”

“You boys are from the Second Armored?” Henry asked, referring to another one of the divisions that was being sent to Equestria.

“Yea, we’re part of the Sixty-Sixth Regiment, a regular bunch of badasses,” he boasted. “Speed, strength, even looks wrapped up in one fine unit!”

“Pardon me for interrupting, but didn’t you soldiers say you were looking for something?” Captain Roland asked, having his mind set to business matters rather than small talk.

“Yes sir, we were looking for the battalion assembly area,” Henry explained. “Our squad got pointed in the wrong direction when we got off the boat.”

“And you’re from the Third Infantry Regiment, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Look on Waveside Street, I believe it’s spread out amongst the line of vacation hotels there.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Corporal replied before turning back with his fellow grunts. “Alright, come on guys. Don’t want to keep Sergeant Braxley waiting.”

“Man, I was hoping to make some new friends,” Sergeant Kenneth commented, watching them walk away.

“More people to boast to?” Roland asked.

“That’s what friends are for, huh?”

“Just try to think of celebrating after you’ve completed the mission and proven yourself,” the Ranger suggested, “otherwise you just come off as a fool.”

“Trust me, sir, I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it! We’re serious; we’ve spent plenty of time training and working to be at our best. I’m just keeping the moral up, so we can keep at it!”

“Well, you certainly give an air of confidence, and that is excellent to have in an armored unit,” Roland admitted, looking over the tank and catching a name scribbled in black on the side of the turret. “Speaking of which, would you like to answer a few questions I have about this, and your experience with it?”

“The tank? Yea, I’d be happy to,” the Sergeant responded, noticing Roland’s finding of the writing. “This one’s mine of course, and for future reference, I call it ‘Hellcat’.”

Author's Note

Alright, thanks to all of you for sticking with me and being patient, and to all those that have helped out. I hope the update is worth it, and I hope you all enjoy it. Transfer over to Fimfic got a little wonky so let me know if you spot something editing-wise like a missing indent or space or anything like that, and I'll fix it at once. Let me know what you think most of all, and I hope you enjoy the next few chapters!

Yankee Doodle

September 20th, 2005
12:02 Hours
Pensacolta, Equestria

Running sporadically along the beach, the lines of luxury hotels were used to housing large swarms of guests. However, these guests were not the kind the hotels were used to, and the guests themselves did not come for a vacation. Still, neither would complain much about the situation.

For Sergeant Andrew Carlton, having the massive backup and delay, while bad for military business, was somewhat guiltily welcomed by himself and his comrades. Having no real place to stay the night, many of the American troops, including his regiment, the 6th Infantry, were offered to stay in the local hotels until they could move. After having spent so long on a ship being able to sleep in a clean, rather cozy and rich place was wonderful. Having come expecting a war, he got to spend his first day on Arcaia largely sleeping in, enjoying a rather nice meal, and relaxing on a balcony while listening to the radio.

“Hey Sergeant, you ever stayed on a beach this nice before?” Corporal Min asked, leaning on the railing on the other end of their sixth-floor balcony.

“What, like on a trip with the family?” the older soldier asked.

“Yea, something like that; like a vacation.”

“Can’t say that I have,” Carlton replied, looking back towards the sands as if to ponder the answer.

“Must be a nice sight, huh? I’ll bet you’ll be planning one when you get home, eh?”

“Now you know me, Min, I always prefer the comforts of home.”

“Yea, well if you ever want we’ve got good beaches in Miami, better than even these!” the city native replied confidently. “Besides, I’m sure your kid would love it; you guys are certainly welcome at my house.”

“I’ll see what my boy wants first, but if so I think it’d make a nice trip,” the Sergeant agreed, fiddling with the broken volume knob on the radio.

The radio station itself was one of the most beloved additions despite only coming on a few hours earlier. As Equestria had only recently opened up to the outside world, radio of the Earth’s nature was not set up. However, the U.S. military had again pulled off the seemingly-impossible but realistically-simple with some ingenuity and determination, managing to get a station up and running for all to listen to.

Though it seemed relatively menial in comparison to actual combat and troop worries, the Armed Forces Radio Service provided the troops with plenty of things to boost morale. It was their most immediate source of news and entertainment, which all of them craved when there was almost nothing entertaining to do. Of all these, the music seemed to be the most welcome, bringing a classic source of relief to all.

“Hey, was there any news you heard on there?” Min asked.

“Oh not too much, just the usual,” Andrew replied, slowly turning the damaged knob till the radio voice reached a suitable volume. “I was never too big with international affairs, sorry.”

“Na, its fine.”

“Trying to keep up with something?”

“Not really, just wanted to know how construction’s coming along the Papa Line.”

“Oh I doubt they’ll talk about that, that’d give away details to the enemy,” Andrew explained. “Though I’m sure it’s coming along just fine.”

“Sooner I hear it the better.”

“Good to know we’ll have something sturdier over our heads than a tin roof, ain’t it?”

“I’m glad the commanders realize that a tin roof won’t stop an artillery shell,” Min agreed, not wanting to think of what a heavy artillery shell would do to a hooch.

“Well we won’t be all the way up at the border, so it ain’t that bad. The line’s a ways behind it.”

“Yea I know, but to be honest I don’t trust those ponies to hold on to the border,” the Corporal admitted. “Have you seen some of the stuff they’re coming up with? Tank destroyers, static AT and artillery guns; Hell it’s like the thing they’re taking this off of is World War Two and then missing the important lessons.”

“I’ve heard that’s the case, actually. Though I wouldn’t be too harsh; we don’t seem to be doing better, setting up a big old line across the country. We’re acting like its World War One.”

“Only because we can’t retreat past that point, otherwise the fighting would get into Equestria’s cities, so the brass say,” Min argued. “At least we know what we’re doing; they’ve never fought a war with guns. It’s like trying to teach fifth-graders how to write a novel.”

Andrew stretched out his muscles before relaxing back into the chair again.

“Well with any luck we won’t be fighting at all.”

“What? Isn’t that why we’re here? To fight the Bloc and the Chinese and all that?”

“No, our main mission is to make sure this country here, Equestria, that it stays free,” Carlton clarified, “now that doesn’t mean we have to start a war, it just means we act as a deterrent. Figured the brass told you that.”

Min drew a long sigh as he leaned on the railing of the balcony, hanging his head as he did so. He wanted to understand the situation, or at least act like he did. Listening to what the generals said seemed to be the best way to do that, though it never did seem to actually work.

“Alright, so is this why we’re being kept in the rear?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically.

“Kind of; like I said, it’s real sensitive, and the commanders are worried that putting our troops right up at the front could cause some disturbances. Can’t have Americans and Bloc troops shooting at each-other, but since Equestria’s already at war, that’s fine,” the Sergeant continued. “They also aren’t giving us that many troops to defend the continent; we only have a few divisions to do it.”

“Sounds like a good compromise,” the Corporal winced. “I just hope you’re right about how tough the line is. Must be impressive work they’re doing if we have to stop them cold there.”

“It is; we get concrete bunkers, pillboxes, trenches, the whole nine yards. Hold ‘em in that little area so the Navy and Air Force can bomb them out of existence.”

“Static warfare,” Min echoed Drew’s earlier comment.

“One big layered defense, one coast to the next.”

“Yep, from Vanhoover up to… Manhattan, right?”

“Manehattan, that’s what they call it here.”

“Lord, sounds like a ranch hand’s paradise,” Carlton commented to himself. “But that’s about all it comes down to. We can’t go forward and we can’t go back, so we don’t have enough room to fight a maneuver war. So we’ll just dig in and ride it out and hope the Navy and Air Force bomb them into dust.”

“Sheesh, it’s a good thing they don’t pay me enough to come up with these ideas,” Min replied, rubbing his head. “How do you get all this Drew?”

“My old man used to be a Captain, used to jabber on about tactics, so I got an understanding of them,” Carlton explained. “Kind of backfired in a way, they got so complicated it kinda scared me away from being an officer.”

“Well I’m glad you get it. Sometimes I think the brass makes this stuff too complicated on purpose so grunts like me stay dumb,” Min joked. “Maybe that’s why they’re shoving the Marines in the back.”

“In the back?”

“Yea, they’re being kept in reserve around the city of Las Pegasus, a ways behind the line,” the soldier clarified. “Pretty sweet if you ask me, locals say it’s a nice city and you’re not up at the front getting shot at. Marines hate it because of that though.”

“Why are they keeping a whole division away from the front?”

“Not just them, the Brits too, and the exiled military forces from some of the occupied countries. I heard it was to keep them in reserve and provide rear security or something,” Min went on. “I don’t know, like I said, I’m not smart enough to understand a general’s plan. I know they’re being held back though.”

Andrew sat up from his chair again, a bit surprised by this news. It would not take two powerful divisions, along with a good deal of other units, to work something as simple as rear security. Perhaps there was some plan the commanders had constructed, but to be so far back made it seem otherwise. If anything he thought that it had to do with politics again, maybe an inter-service disagreement, but he was also doubtful of his friend’s claim altogether. Min had a habit of picking up small rumors.

“Now where’d you here this from?”

“A Marine,” Min said, thoroughly dashing hopes that his source was faulty. “I was talking with some Sergeant in a LAV outfit earlier today; he kept going on between that and all the driving they’d have to be doing. Had to head out before he could explain much more.”

“Well, if anyone would be upset over being kept in the back it’d be the Marines. Guess I would be too if I had to drive all the way out there and be stopped from doing my job,” Carlton agreed as the radio DJ spoke up.

“Good afternoon, it’s currently twelve-hundred hours here in our new station in Pensacolta.”
________________________________________

“This next one’s for the Second of the First Marines. The whole division’s going to be spending most of their day on big road trip to their post; I don’t know about you, but long drives have always a pain for me. Hope we can make it a little better, here’s Jackson Browne.”

The radio continued to send out a deep echo through the metal hull of the LAV armored fighting vehicle. Most of the marines riding inside were groggy from having been inside the cramped compartment for so many hours. Only the three-man crew seemed to be somewhat immune from the effects. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying their little road trip across the new country.

“Hey, are we nearly there?” the marine closest to the front tiredly asked Lance Corporal Chaffin, the gunner of the vehicle.

“Huh?” the crewman called back, having trouble hearing him over the noise.

“I said, how close are we to a stop!?”

“Hang on a sec.”

Chaffin adjusted himself to stand up through his hatch on the LAV, poking his head through the roof of the turret. Up there, he found the vehicle’s commander, a Staff Sergeant standing up through his own hatch, enjoying the view and music as his Infantry Fighting Vehicle sped down the road. He seemed very content, singing to himself as he tapped his hands alternately between the turret roof and the stock of the machine gun mounted on it.

“Sixty-nine I was twenty-one,”

“San!”

“Called the road my own.”

“Hey San!” Chaffin called again, now tapping the Sergeant’s side to get his attention.

“Yea?” the Sergeant replied, looking over to acknowledge him.

“We almost to town?”

Sergeant Diego looked off to his right a bit and pointed in the direction of their destination. Chaffin had to stand up a bit more to see past him, but he was able to make out a cluster of buildings coming up rather quickly. It could not be more than a few minutes judging from the distance, something he was thankful for considering how long he had spent crammed in the LAV.

“Thanks!” Chaffin responded before dropping back down into the cabin to answer their passenger. “Should only be a few minutes!”

“Alright, good to hear!” the other Marine answered with relief.

Back on the top of the LAV, Diego went back to relaxing and enjoying the music. He always liked riding the LAV through the top when he could, sticking up from his commander’s position through the roof. It was especially nice as the LAV, being used as a taxi now, could go near its full speed of 60 miles an hour.

Moving that quickly truly gave a nice experience between the wind blowing fiercely and the mostly flat country darting by. It was especially rewarding now as his vehicle was at the head of a long convoy of other LAVs from their unit, also acting as transport for the Marine infantry to their final destination. Behind them a long line of other vehicles stretched out for a long way down the road.

The First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, the unit they belonged to, was not supposed to be a taxi company, though some in the infantry might have argued otherwise. Its job was to provide recon where needed, safely transport infantry to an area, and support that infantry if necessary and viable. To be driving infantry cross-country was a job suited for actual transport truck, but none had been available.

Regardless, ‘San’ was not concerned; it was more of an inconvenience than an actual problem. They would still be reaching their post, just not in the most ideal way. Watching his driver take a low right towards the town, the terrain began to become wavy, the road taking them up and down a bit as they approached. It made looking for signs difficult, but he was able to catch one that read ‘Appleoosa’ as they zoomed past.

“This is the place,” he said to himself before dropping down into the LAV to speak to the driver.

“Hey Rice!” he called, lightly kicking the back of the driver’s seat.

“Yea?”

“Slow down while we drive into town, and make sure not to hit anything!”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Roycewicz asked.

“No, that’s why I’m reminding you!”

“Gee, thanks dad!”

The Sergeant stood back up through the turret and was greeted by the entrance of a town that seemed like a picturesque recreation of an old west town. The main difference to this, beyond the armored vehicles rolling down the street, were the inhabitants, being ponies rather than humans as expected. A large number of the townsfolk had gathered on both sides of the main street to see what was happening.

Most were left stunned by the sight, watching the column tumble through town like a massive single-file cattle drive. None of them had ever seen a vehicle before, much less a heavily armed and armored war machine. For San, it was all very fun, and he took great delight in waving to the gawking ponies on both sides of the street as if they were on parade.

Eventually he received an order from the convoy’s commander to halt and passed it down to Rice. The LAV slowed to a stop, followed by its companions in line and shrouded in a dust cloud kicked up by the multiple sets of wheels. The Sergeant gave the driver a quick signal to cut the engine, but leaving the radio on, as some of the more curious ponies advanced to inspect the vehicle.

“Afternoon, sorry to barge in,” San called jokingly.

“What is this!?” a light red pony in a cowboy hat demanded.

“This is the United States Marine Corps,” the American replied. “We’re the guys that are here to make sure you all don’t get steamrolled. Who’re you?”

“The Sherriff of this here town you’re running through!” he answered. “Why are ya’ll here? I wasn’t told about anything about a big herd of Yankees bustling down main street!”

“Yankees?”

“That’s what Americans are called, ain’t it?” the Sherriff asked. “Least that’s what I heard. Is it something else?”

“Nah, Yankee is right, just haven’t been called that before,” San confirmed.

“Well I’m glad to be the first, now what in the world are you doing here?”

“Gotta drive all the way up to our new home at Las Pegasus, we’re just passing through,” San assured him. “If you’re looking for someone to talk to, my CO’s back in the third vehicle down.”

“Is that your leader?”

“Yea, commanding officer; CO,” San clarified.

“Well, I’d have to go get the mayor… just don’t cause trouble, got it?”

Diego grinned a bit over the prospect. Here was a little pony Sherriff, who did not even have a gun, trying to act tough in front of a large armored unit packed with very annoyed U.S. Marines. San kept his mental mockery to himself, there was no need to argue, and he was just doing his job as they were. Though he could not speak for the other Marines, but he assumed they would keep their self-control.

“No problem, go on and fetch him. We’re just gonna relax for a bit.”

The Sherriff did so, though a bit hesitant, as more ponies gathered on the sides of the street. The Marines inside the vehicle, having been stuck there for hours since the early morning, jumped at the opportunity to get out. The back doors swung open, allowing the infantrymen to stumble out, in a rather broken and disorganized manner, stretching, complaining, and vocalizing a whole platter of swears that made the onlookers confused and uncomfortable. The showing left many of them baffled that these were the troops of the superpower that was protecting them.

Despite their demeanor, the Leathernecks were quite friendly when addressing the residents themselves. They all spread out amongst the town, their conversations initially consisting of questions regarding a nearby restroom. Still, they were able to strike up conversations here and there, thanks partially to the welcoming, if confused, nature of the townsfolk.

“Rice, I’m going to go find something to eat. You want me to find you something?” San asked his driver.

“Nah, I’m good, gonna give this thing a look-over and re-fill the tank.”

“How the Hell do you eat so little?”

“Dunno, but we never had much of anything on that rock” the driver responded, referring to his home on the island of St. Paul in Alaska while pulling himself from the LAV through the driver’s opening.

San pulled himself through the turret and onto the deck of his LAV. He then slid himself off the edge, hitting the ground with little difficulty while the gunner, Chaffin, simply followed the infantry’s method and moved through the body and out the back opening. A few of the ponies gathered around the vehicle to inspect it and the crew.

“Hey, can I help any of you?” he asked the crowd, who mostly just stared back.

“Uh… hi,” one of the ponies quipped.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What… is that?” she asked. “Is it like one of those car things?”

“This, little friend is an armored fighting vehicle. As the name suggests, it’s an armored vehicle for fighting,” the Sergeant replied, patting the metal hull.

“What’s that stick on the front?” another asked, looking up at the main gun.

“That’s what we use for the fighting part. It shoots stuff, to keep it simple,” San explained, not wanting to play tour guide for long.

“Does… it always play music like that?” a pony in the back wondered, able to pick up the radio’s sound.

“Nah, not all the time, though if it would if I had the choice,” San said. “Not that band though.”

“That band is The Eagles, the greatest group of people to ever make music!” Chaffin retorted, speaking up from next to San, who ignored him and went to on with the process.

“Why were there ponies inside it?” a young resident asked.

“We’re called ‘people’ kid,” the American explained. “Usually we carry infantry around inside from place to place; the armor protects them from bullets. If they need help we can give them a hand with our weapons. But, since this vehicle is so fast, we’ll do reconnaissance too. Go somewhere, look around for something, and get back quick. Mostly just about terrain though.”

“Cool! How fast does it go?”

“Really fast, and I get to be the commander,” San replied proudly.

“Not as cool as getting to drive it,” Roycewicz yelled form the other side of the vehicle.

“Not as cool as getting to shoot the gun, either,” Chaffin added.

“Well, Chaff, as the vehicle commander I’m commanding you to take over the tourist guide part while I go get some food,” the Sergeant ordered.

“Oh you… ugh… at least bring me back something, alright?”

“Course,” Diego assured him, turning back to the ponies. “Alright kids, Mr. Chaffin here is going to take over for me. Feel free to look around, just don’t touch and don’t get in Rice’s way,” San announced.

“That’s me, I’m Rice,” Roycewicz called, emptying a can of gas into the engine.

San headed off to the side of the street, leaving his crew with the LAV. There was a myriad of wooden buildings along the street, each having its own sign identify it. Barbershops and blacksmiths but nowhere he could identify as a possible restaurant. There was a general store a few buildings down; if nothing else he could find something there.

“Hey, you guys know where I could grab a bite?” he asked a small group of six Marines walking by down the street.

“Yea, we had to ask around but there’s a café back down the road. Wanna come along?”

“Yea, thanks.”

San followed them down the street, not taking too much of a part in their conversation. It only took about a minute of walking before they reached the building that served as the café. The sign was somewhat old, with the faded letters making it understandable to miss when passing through quickly. The Marines, still talking amongst themselves, entered all at once, leaving the mare at the counter somewhat dumbfounded, not expecting such customers in spite of the large column outside.

“And I’m not letting you collect our MREs from now on Travis, cause you always pick the shit ones,” one Marine said to his squadmate as they walked through the door.

“Hey, the beef stew’s the best one there is, at least me and Rich think so,” his comrade retorted.

“Right, I was wrong, I should’ve said ‘one’, singular, cause that’s the only kind you grab,” the Marine grumpily shot back as he went up to the counter. “Get some with solid entrees for once! Afternoon miss, you take American currency?”

It took the pony a second to register the question.

“N-no- I mean… I’m not too sure, but I don’t mind just making something for ya’ll. Since ya’ll are here to help and all.”

“Na na, that won’t fly,” the Marine responded. “I’ll pay you anyways, I’m sure it’ll be worth something eventually.”

“If… you insist,” the mare agreed. “What can I get for you?”

“Still thinking myself. Sergeant, you know what you want?”

“Uh, yea, could I get a couple of baked potatoes with cheese?”

“Sure, just gimme a few minutes.”

The mare went into a back room while San leaned against the counter, turning back towards the Marine, figuring he should make some attempt to chat.

“What’s your name, Corporal?” he asked, ignoring the nametag for the sake of conversation.

“Hersh, Sergeant. Second of the First,” he replied, adding his battalion to the description.

“The Second’s the only battalion we’re transporting, you know.”

“Yea, I just like adding it on,” Hersh replied. “Pretty proud of being a Professional.”

“Good thing to be proud of. What about the rest of them?” San asked, gesturing to the rest of the Marines talking among themselves.

“Couple other guys from my squad, Travis and Hatch; the rest I don’t know. You?”

“Staff Sergeant Diego, I’m with the LAVs.”

“Guess I should thank you for giving us a lift.”

The mare returned from the back with a small bag in her mouth, placing it on the counter. San took it, taking out two warm potatoes wrapped in tinfoil along with a couple plastic forks. They seemed a tad small, but he figured it was just him. He had not gotten a baked potato in some time, and reckoned it was just faulty memory.

“How much is that?”

“Well… it’s usually ten bits… but… I’m not sure what your money would be worth.”

“Well I got a ten with me, how’s that?”

“Alright, I’m fine with whatever you have.”

“Thank you,” San said, taking out a ten dollar bill and setting it on the counter while the mare inspected it quizzically. “Alright, I got to get back to my crew before they blow something up. Thank you ma’am, and you take care, Hersh.”

“You too, Sergeant,” the Corporal replied.

San headed out the door and started back down the street. The sun looked like it was starting to lower in the clear sky, which meant that they would most likely be reaching Las Pegasus in the dark of night. Marines were already beginning to gather back around the column again, and on passing his commander’s vehicle a quick check with Lieutenant Colonel Passmore confirmed that they would be leaving soon. They had only been in town for a little less than an hour, but there was no point in delaying the drive.

Upon returning to the head of the column, he found the crowd was still about as sizable as when he had left. Chaffin seemed to have disregarded the process of questions and was simply explaining all the properties of the LAV he was next to. Roycewicz also looked like he had finished his checks, as he was sitting on the front of the LAV near his driver’s seat. San made his way through the crowd and handed Chaffin his potato before addressing him.

“We’re heading out, let’s get ready to move.”

“Yes sir,” Chaffin replied. “Alright folks, we need to get going. Please move off to the side streets.”

The ponies did as asked, moving away from the armored column. Both Chaffin and San entered through the cabin and retook their positions, both starting to eat on their meals. Roycewicz also retook his position in the driver’s seat and started the LAV up again. The roar of the engine was followed by many more down the line, punctuated only within the LAV by the radio’s music and the clambering of Marines into the cabin once more. When the infantry finally shut the back doors, he swallowed his latest bite of potato and turned off the music so as to speak over the radio.

“Highlander Actual, Highlander Two-Three. We’re ready to go, over.”

“Copy, Highlander Two-Three, proceed, you copy?”

“Highlander Two-Three copies, oscar mike, out.”

San set the radio back to the music, ensuring it was loud enough for the crew to hear past the engine, and relayed the orders to his driver.

“Let’s roll Rice!”

“Rolling, Sergeant.”

Author's Note

Reshuffle the Deck

September 25th, 2005

General Gardner,

As requested, this letter’s purpose is to inform you of the state of production of the main line of resistance in the country of Equestria, the current American air and land forces on the Arcaian continent, and requests to solve any issues possible in the process. I have worked closely with my staff and colleagues in our sister branches, as well with the native commanders of the country. The process of training and re-equipping our new allies will begin soon, and another letter will be written on the progress of this mission once it is further underway.

Construction on the allied main line of resistance, codenamed ‘Paradigm’ and usually referred to as ‘Papa’, is slow as of now. As instructed, the line will be completed away from the border and in front of the major Equestrian cities, so as to save them from serious destruction in combat and spare their infrastructure and populace, and will run the length of the continent from Celestia’s Point, the location of STEEL MILL, in the north to Luna’s Point and IRON MILL in the south. This line will be manned by American forces, while Equestrian units guard the border, thus ensuring that American units will be out of immediate harm’s way in the sensitive political area without sacrificing the defense of major areas.

The lack of major highways, as well as many other modern necessities, is hampering our movement and work. We have also been requested by the Equestrian government to create a similar line along the border, codenamed ‘Bravo’ line, thus giving our engineers virtually double to work and having the issue of working under the eyes of the enemy. We have worked with the government to trim down the size and amount of defenses on the border, but our work force has now been more-or-less cut in half. Our work has been severely curtailed by this. In this area, it would be best to send further units and supplies for construction, as we are not only working on these areas but assisting in modernizing the Equestrian infrastructure, helping them to build things such as the before-mentioned highways to facilitate faster troop movement.

Our troops have successfully organized themselves and have either moved, or are in transit to, their appropriate positions. The multiple infantry units have now organized themselves into divisions based upon their positioning in the line, these make up, from north-to-south, the 94th, 5th, and 23rd Infantry Divisions. The current major American ground units have been organized into the 4th Army, and are as follows:

-5th Infantry Division

-23rd Infantry Division

-94th Infantry Division

-2nd Armored Division

-1st Marine Division

-75th Ranger Regiment

-11th Armored Cavalry Regiment

In accordance with current orders, the three infantry divisions have been assigned to garrison Paradigm, while the armored units are kept a short way behind the line for reinforcement and counter-attack purposes. The Rangers are based in Saddleburg, a small town in the center of the ‘no-man’s land’ in-between the border and Paradigm, in hopes of assisting Equestrian forces at the border, or enacting a holding action against Shadow advances to buy time for further preparation at Paradigm. The marines are being held in Las Pegasus farther behind the lines for long-term reserve purposes and to guard against any Bloc incursions.

However, after discussing the possibilities with my colleagues and others, it is predicted that the current forces, even while supplemented by Arcaian troops, will most likely be insufficient in holding back a full-scale invasion by Bloc forces without giving significant ground as asked. It is with this in mind that I recommend a plan be put in place for the reinforcement of Equestria immediately if war breaks out, akin to REFORGER. I must also respectfully request additional units as soon as possible to further assist the defense of the line. If possible these would consist of the 1st, 3rd, and 4th Infantry Divisions, the 1st Cavalry Division, and the 101st Airborne Division.

Having covered the forces of the Army, I will now discuss the state of American air forces on the continent, as has been told to me through my colleague, General Solomon Leevie of the U.S.A.F. Contrary to the construction of ground fortifications the construction of air bases across the country is progressing well. Though Everfree Air Base is currently the only one fully complete, multiple others are nearing completion and most will be in operational condition within the week. They are spread out well across the country and will be able to provide effective support.

Many squadrons are set to be moved to these, and will be listed in a similar fashion as before. Our current unit, the 1st Tactical Fighter Squadron, still technically acting as an Equestrian volunteer unit, is set to be attached officially to the Royal Equestrian Air Force as a Liaison unit between the USAF and REAF. The remaining squadrons, now organized into the 13th Air Force, are as follows, containing their squadron number, aircraft type, and current callsign:

4th Fighter Wing

-333rd Fighter Squadron ‘Lancer’-F-15E

-334th Fighter Squadron ‘Siege’-F-15E

-335th Fighter Squadron ‘Chief’-F-15E

-336th Fighter Squadron ‘Rocket’-F-15E

20th Fighter Wing

-555th Fighter Squadron ‘Nickel’-F-16C

-77th Fighter Squadron ‘Gambler’-F-16C

-12th Fighter Squadron ‘Knife’-F-15C

-2nd Fighter Squadron ‘Beagle’-F-15C

1st Fighter Wing

-94th Fighter Squadron ‘Spad’-F-22

-27th Fighter Squadron ‘Bobcat’-F-22

23rd Wing

-74th Fighter Squadron ‘Claw’-A-10C

-75th Fighter Squadron ‘Shark’-A-10C

-76th Fighter Squadron ‘Cat’-A-10C

-308th Fighter Squadron ‘Tiger’-F-16C

2nd Bomb Wing

-20th Bomb Squadron ‘Skull’-B-52

-96th Bomb Squadron ‘Doom’-B-52

-11th Bomb Squadron ‘Brew’-B-52

7th Bomb Wing

-9th Bomb Squadron ‘Bat’-B-1B

-28th Bomb Squadron ‘Razor’-B-1B

The mission of the 6th Air Force, as General Leevie describes, is to ‘gain and maintain air superiority, support the ground war, and commence the strategic bombing of targets in the Bloc and occupied territories once possible’. He has stated that he fears cooperation with the Navy may be difficult, as he believes they will be more engaged with hostile naval actions than predicted. As such joint operations, particularly in the third phase, would prove lighter. He has stated the need for further reinforcements, particularly bombers and possibly including the B-2 Spirit, in order to better achieve this goal. He has not stated which units in particular, asking for whatever is most available.

Sincerely,
-Major General Michael Stokes.

Lieutenant General Stokes,

Thank you for the letter concerning our current forces. I am afraid to say that, as of now, no further American units can be spared for the Arcaian front. This is due to multiple reasons, including the rising tension in hotspots around the globe, as well as pressure from the government to prevent sending further forces, among others. However, you can expect additional ground and air units to arrive from Australia, Canada, and the UK. We are also in the process of creating a program similar to REFORGER with hopes of landing forces in the cities of Manehatten and Vanhoover directly behind your lines. It will be vital to keep these ports free from attack, or the troops will have to be landed far behind the lines.

It should also be noted that the Navy’s presence there will remain heavy, and increase slightly. It is hoped that they will be able to defeat the Bloc’s navies through superior equipment and training, and the large number of forces will be delegated to assisting ground forces through shore bombardment, costal and air raids, and other actions needed. The recent completions of STEEL MILL and IRON MILL will also give some forewarning to any Bloc actions. My counterparts within the Joint Chiefs assure me that full support can be given with what is in the region. We are hoping to use these pieces to the ultimate advantage.

Sincerely,
-General Gardner.

Author's Note

Imports

September 29th, 2005
13:30 Hours
Everfree Air Base

Of all the contraptions and contrivances devised by man in his long stay on this Earth, none quite matched the airplane in design. He could learn to walk and run and swim, but the illustrious talent of flight was never given by God; this was something he expected us to create for ourselves. To what can be assumed to be his great pride, this was accomplished in the most powerful and beautiful fashion. A plane at first carried men skyward amongst the birds and evolved quickly to where man surpassed those who had this natural ability, going higher and faster than the winged creatures he had looked up to for so long.

The jet in particular was the epitome of these principles; as if to pay honor the many of these muses. It carried men as high and quick as the greatest of raptors, riding through the clouds and calling out as loud as the thunder that inhabited them. Along with it came power that was greater than the strongest of men across any land, and a sleekness that, to one in the right mind, held an allure superior to even the most gorgeous women.

Cole had always seen it in this way, and now had the honor of introducing a friend to it as well. He reached out a hand to run it along the light-grey nose cone of the Falcon, the fighter giving the youthful glow of a bird that had come right off the production line. Perhaps that glow came from the sun shining off the fresh paint that coated the jet as it sat on the flight ramp. Whatever it was, there was a clear allure to it; unfortunately, he would not be the one flying it.

“Wow! This one’s mine!? Really!?”

“Would I lie to you about something like this Dash?” he asked the pegasus, her wide-eyes filled with stars.

“I can’t believe I get to fly this!” she jumped, zipping over and around the F-16 to take in every piece of it.

Cole could not help but smile over the joy Rainbow found in first seeing her new aircraft. It was like a father watching his daughter open a Christmas gift, with every drop of warm-hearted satisfaction coming with it. Realizing that, it then came off as a bit odd, perhaps sadistic, to Cole that people would be so thrilled over being able to operate massive weapons of war, but he shrugged it off. The satisfaction came from the flying, and even through the adrenaline of fighting, that must have just been who they were on the inside. Loving battles and hating war, coming off almost as hypocritical but it made sense somehow.

“Not just you, your whole squadron’s outfitted with the sixteens,” Cole clarified, “one of several units, from what I’ve heard.”

Dash was too obsessed with the jet to care much, landing to walk along the fuselage. Though Dash was thrilled to have her favorite jet, it did not surprise Cole too much. The Fighting Falcon was the most exported fighter the U.S. had. As with those hundreds sold to other nations about the Earth, it was not the exact same as the kind the Americans operated.

This specific variant was the F-16P, designed to better accommodate its Equestrian pilots. It did not have all the bells and whistles of the American’s more effective C Falcons, but they were not lacking very much. On the outside, it was virtually identical, save for the slightly remodeled cockpit. America would be supplying the Royal Equestrian Air Force with these until Equestria’s own industry could be built and cranked up. From what Spitfire told him they were already looking forward to planes being built by their own hooves, the PF-16, basically the same but built natively. The military always was specific when it came to names.

“I’m glad you’re enthusiastic about it, we’ll have to start teaching you how to fly properly. A jet’s very different from a pair of wings, I’m sure.”

“No sweat! Just watch, before you know it you and me will be flying all the way to Sombra’s front door!” Rainbow assured him.

“Let’s worry about flying before fighting,” Cole suggested. “Need to learn to walk before you can run and all that.”

“Heh, you think? ‘Cause I learned to fly before I learned to run!”

“You know what I mean,” Cole pressed, grinning a bit.

Before he could continue, the familiar sound of jet engines cut through Everfree Air Base. It sounded slightly different from what Cole was used to though, have a sort of continuous cracking yell to it than the smoother sounds of others. On top of that there were a number of the sounds filling the air, seemingly dozens of them.

Cole looked up and around, quickly spotting the noticeable and welcome sight of an aircraft he had not encountered for years. A large squadron of F-22s, the deadliest fighter aircraft in the world, flew close to the base as they prepared to land, the light bouncing off the strikingly smooth hull like a mirror. There was no question as to their nationality. The Raptors only came from one nation, their homeland, in the U.S.; no other nation had access to them. Despite the bright reflection Cole could make out a large ‘FF’ on the side of their rudders, confirming that they were the unit he had been expecting.

“I have to go greet our new guests Rainbow, try not to break your new toy.”

Cole began walking down the runway to the opposite end, where the Raptors were landing. The heat of the midday sun made it feel like a longer walk than usual, especially with the cloudless sky. Still, it was nothing to complain about; Cole had more important things on his mind. Not only had they began re-equipping and training the Equestrians, but the rest of the Air Force was showing up. After what seemed like a mild eternity of staving off the tide in solus, the 1st would finally get reinforcements to help them. They would get a breather, there would be less threat, and most importantly, they were no longer alone out here.

Some of the first F-22s were already parked by the time he had reached the end of the runway. Their pilots had already dismounted, including their commander, a hazel-eyed, brown-haired, Colonel that seemed a bit too tall to be a pilot. Cole went up to him first, following the same greeting process as he had a thousand times before.

“Good morning, Sir,” he greeted, welcoming the Colonel to the airbase.

Cole observed his face as he returned the hail, seeing a sculpted feature that gave off a rather stony-faced vibe on its own. The low voice and the general serious expression made Cole wonder briefly if this man ever sincerely smiled. This theory was quickly disproven as the Colonel introduced himself.

“Colonel Ulrich, 94th Fighter Squadron, here to throw our hats in the ring,” he boasted, his countenance immediately changing with a beaming, straight-toothed smile as he proudly tacked on his squadron’s motto on the end. “Guess you’re one of the guys that have been saving the day over here, huh?”

“That’d be us, Sir,” Cole affirmed. “Captain Cole, 1st Tactical Fighter Squadron commander.”

“A Captain!? I honestly thought it was a mistype when I read the letter,” Ulrich repeated surprisingly while putting out his hand to shake Cole’s.

“Did they pull you out of the Guard?"

Cole simply shook his hand rather than respond to the comment.

“We’ve got a fully-operational air base here at Everfree with all the works. I could show you around if you’d like.”

“Sounds fine, you all must have been very busy,” Ulrich noticed, pinching his chin a bit. “You must not even have time to shave!”

Cole ran a quick hand under his chin and mentally swore feeling the prickle of hair stubs, trying to ignore this as he, once more, got back to explaining the situation to the Colonel.

Sergeant Charro shifted around in the warm midday sun, trying to straighten out the shirt below his blouse. The new uniform may have been more comfortable than metal, but wearing so much clothing for so long still took some getting used to. He did not complain outwardly, as it was an improvement from the first one he had received.

The first uniforms they had received from the Americans did not fit, which was unsurprising since they had little; they even shipped the Equestrians with ample numbers of socks and shoes in accordance with their own variants. Needless to say putting boots on hooves was pointless, and they were quickly abandoned. It was just one of several pieces adapted or changed by the Equestrians to try and adapt the clothing. The unicorn in his squadron, Backscatter, followed the trend of many others and cut a hole in his cap to allow his horn access. Regardless of ingenuity, it turned into a bit of a logistical disaster.

Thankfully this was recognized quickly, and the Equestrians began to create their own with the advice of the Americans. He had heard that a designer in Ponyville had sent in the type that was used, one that was more tailored to ponies and worked much better. Still, there was much learning to do, particularly in the area of camouflage. The Equestrians chose to pick their own camo pattern and were experimenting with all kinds of variants, and it was not uncommon to see some units using the American’s multicam and others using plain green uniforms in the form of Olive Drab. He, along with much of his unit, wore a design called Tiger Stripe, which was much more flowing than the digital American camouflage.

The ponies he and Ferrus were talking to now, however, wore uniforms of plain butternut brown. They were not the best suited for forest warfare, but considering they were tankers they did not seem to mind much. In fact, they were not even Equestrians, they were Koniks, stockier and slicker than the average Equestrian. Hailing from Koniknarod, a nation that was one of the first to fall to the Griffons, they were some of the last ponies that could fight for their lost home, a trait held in common with most of the exile forces.

“There is a small river that flows through my town, through the grassland it sits on. We used to hold a yearly festival on its banks, the commemoration of the town’s founding,” the tank’s commander, a Sergeant named Iskra recounted. “There would be food and music and we would go swimming. There would always be streamers and many colorful kites flown from the river, I miss those the most.”

“It sounds beautiful, I’d love to come for one of them,” Ferrus, one of Charro’s squad mates, replied.

“Of course, all are welcome to my hometown! But not the uninvited kurczak,” the Konik said, tapping on their slur of Griffons on with noticeable spite. “Someday we will kick our unwanted guests from our fatherland, and then I will happily show you its beauty. I only hope it is still there when… if we arrive.”

“Cheer up Sierżant! You act like it will never happen!” another pony called, popping up through the hatch of the Challenger tank.

The actual equipment being used by the allied forces tended to vary as much as their nationality, at least with the exile units. The different armies bought and borrowed what equipment they could afford. Much of the reserve of Koniknarod that had escaped and been paid to the United Kingdom, taking up their special offer to spend it for the armament of their remaining army.

It was sad to know that the soldiers were not paid, and only met ends with Equestria’s help, but they could live with some confidence knowing they were so well equipped. There was not much better than British weaponry in the world. Still, it took time to get adjusted, with the Konik loader that had just popped up being one of the many trying to adjust to this new form of warfare. He was here for additional training along with many other forces. That included including Char’s unit, which was broken up and taking turns in groups for the work, with the free groups just trying to pass the time.

Backscatter was off talking to another tank crew from a different nation, a group of Unionists. It felt strange to Char to see the two in the same place; the two countries could not have been more different, right down to their geography. Koniknarod lay on the northwestern half of the continent along the sea, and the Union was on the southeast shore. Now they were all homeless, warrior refugees with a common goal. He now took notice that Backscatter himself was coming over along with one of the Union tankers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Char asked Backscatter before he could even reach them.

“Wrong? Nothing, it’s just our turn for shooting,” the unicorn responded.

“And I am here to tell you that our own training is beginning again,” the Unionist gestured to the Konik in a rather blunt tone.

“Something wrong?” Backscatter asked, in reference to his attitude.

“He is just upset that we are the better tank crew!” Iskra answered, much to the Unionist’s ire.

“The only thing that upsets me is arrogance.”

“It could only be arrogance if it was not proven!”

“And you have yet to prove it! Our training is not complete yet!”

“I think we better head off, let them settle this,” Char whispered to Ferrus, who quickly nodded his head in agreement. “Come on Backscatter, let’s get going!”

The three headed over to what passed for a firing range, consisting of little more than a couple of fold-out tables for the weapons to lie on and a wooden board that indicated the start of the range. For all of its gargantuan budget and great spending the U.S. military still saved money where they could, or at least tried to save. This particular example was a success though, looking to have been provided with the chump change of the more vital projects. Regardless, the simple atmosphere would not be very detrimental to the lesson.

Along with them were five other ponies that Char did not know, and an American Sergeant along with a Private and Corporal who had spent most of the soggy morning teaching ponies.

“Alright now, settle down,” the Sergeant asked to the group with a standout drawl. “I’m Sergeant Andrew, I’ll be helping ya’ll practice with firearms today.”

Char could not help but notice that the Sergeant’s name actually read ‘Carlton’ on his uniform, but did not think anything of it.

“This here is Private Daniel,” he said, patting the shoulder of the soldier next to him, “and over there, loading the rounds in the magazines, that’s Corporal Petrov. They’re gonna be helping me with class. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds good,” Char responded as the other ponies remained silent.

“Great! You fired a weapon before?” Andrew asked, to which Char simply nodded. “Then how’s about you come up first? It’ll be a nice demonstration for the rest.”

Initially Char thought it was some basic punishment for being the only one to speak up, as if he had unknowingly volunteered. Contrary to that, the Sergeant gave off a grin and a warm composure, one that felt almost fatherly, as if he were teaching one from his own family. He figured the American would have been sick of training clueless ponies all morning, but he did not seem to have any issues.

Petrov handed him an M-16, the main assault rifle the Americans used, along with a single magazine. The Corporal kept an eye on him until after he had successfully connected the magazine without trouble and then picked up a rifle for himself. Both went around the tables to the front of the firing line, with Private Daniel following.

“Alright, now I’m not specialized in training, but there’s a whole lot of you to retrain and not too many of us,” Andrew started off. “For right now we’ll just be getting ya’ll acquainted with shooting firearms. Your friend here, what’s your name?”

“Sergeant Charro.”

“Charro’s going to be shooting to give you guys a kind of example of how ya’ll shoot, and any flaws we find we’ll point out. Meanwhile Corporal Petrov is going to be shooting himself for comparison, to show how we do it. Got any questions so far?”

The group retained their state of silence.

“Ok then, let’s get started!” the American announced, pointing down range. “Sergeant, you see that tree down there with the big red spot painted on it, the one sticking out a little in front of the tree line? You aim for that.”

“Understood, I’ll give it a shot,” Char responded, not intending to have delivered a pun.

“Range is hot, fire when ready!”

Truth be told, Char had fired an M-16 before, but was rather poor with it, something he had failed to mention. Regardless, he tried to stand in the proper position, in an awkward look on his hind legs with a serious lean forward. He picked the weapon up until it was comfortable on his shoulder, but rather low, well under the chin, the way it felt most likely for him. He tried his best to aim for the far-off trunk as he loosed two three-round bursts from the weapon, to no apparent effect.

“I thought you said you had fired a gun before,” Andrew asked in confusion.

“I did, this is how I fired it.”

“You shot from the hip? Where were you trained, Hollywood?” the Sergeant joked, still in a somewhat lighthearted manner. “Straighten him out, Danny.”

The Private complied, pushing the gun up till the pony could look down the sights. He pulled it back into Char’s shoulder, ensuring it was well grounded, and then pushing his standing legs apart a bit to ensure better balance. Char shuffled a bit, trying to get comfortable in the new stance while not breaking it.

Standing upright was not too difficult for ponies that had been trained to use crossbows, but this still felt awkward for Char. It was not to terribly different from the crossbow stance, but it was more the recoil he was afraid of. He knew of the power a rifle could give off, and was not keen on receiving a metallic punch to the snout.

“Alright, good, now hold it just like that,” Andrew ordered, turning to Petrov. “Corporal, could put a few rounds into the target? Rest of you keep an eye on him, see how it’s done.”

The soldier nodded in compliance, bringing his own weapon to bear with a natural ease in stark contrast to Charro’s. Two seconds later he fired off a round at the tree with a loud crack, a puff of dust from the target indicating a hit. He loosed a few more before Andrew gave him the call to cease fire.

“Your turn,” the Sergeant told Char. “Give it a shot.”

The pony looked down the length of the gun, trying to keep it steady as he grew weary. He tried aiming at the tree, but kept looking back at the charging handle, fearful that it would fly back and strike him. It took some time to actually get up to pulling the trigger, squeezing it slowly till there was popping sound that he winced at. He felt the gun push back into his shoulder and kick up a bit, but nothing hit him. Looking back at the tree, he saw a dissipating cloud of dust on the right end of the trunk.

“Good job!” Andrew complemented, satisfied with the result. “Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, not too bad,” Charro agreed in repetition.

“You still need some practice, but you’re on your way. For now let’s get the rest of you sorted out, same as you. So who wants to go next?”

Hostile Stratagem

September 30th, 2005

THE FOLLOWING REPORT HAS BEEN GENERATED AFTER CLOSE STUDY OF BLOC MILITARIES, AND SERVES AS THE OFFICIAL UNITED STATES MILITARY INTRODUCTION TO EACH NATION'S STYLE OF WARFARE. COPIES OF THESE ARE TO BE DISTRIBUTED TO ALL UNITS AT COMPANY LEVEL AND HIGHER. ALL COMPANY COMMANDERS ARE TO INSTRUCT TROOPS AND STUDY THESE TACTICS AND STRATEGIES. THE PAPERS THEMSELVES ARE NOT TO BE DISTRIBUTED, GIVEN, OR LENT TO ANYONE OTHER THAN THE COMPANY COMMANDER IT IS ASSIGNED TO.

Griffons-

The closest comparison to the Griffons in terms of Tactics and Strategy is that of Russia, and since their arrival has moved to copy the most off of their experience, as it seems to suit them best. As such they have many of the key features of older Soviet fighting, with their key elements including large numbers, heavy armor, and massed artillery.

Though that being said, there are some key differences that seem to make the Griffons more competent than their inspiration, a key one being the major lack of Communist thought. During the days of the USSR the Soviets saw warfare as an extension of the revolution, to aid revolutionaries in other nations and, even more immediate, to sweep Capitalism from the Earth through any means necessary, a rather large task. In order to accomplish this, the Soviet forces had placed a heavy notion on offense above everything else, while defensive measure were only applied grudgingly in Soviet theory as a necessity.

Being an Imperial Kingdom, the Griffon Empire lacks some of these extreme qualities; a great preference is put on the offense but the defense is also seen as an important factor. For example, Soviet strategy would usually be to stand in place and fight, or the commander could face political trouble. As one author put it, ‘Soviet leaders did not request permission to retreat, but rather asked their commander to order them to retreat. This commander would then have to ask his commander, and so on.’ This demonstrates the complexity of the Soviet system that, while it came naturally to Russians, is not as common upon in the Griffons.

As with the Russians the Griffons usually see war, particularly defense, as one of attrition. In Soviet philosophy this encompasses depleting the enemy simply through direct combat and destruction, showcasing the lackluster taste for defense. The Griffons apply this happily to more traditional Russian acts, having no issues with retreating if needed, scorching the earth and leading the enemy deep inland, tiring and stretching him out till a planned wall is hit, and at worst, will cut them off and destroy them.

It should be noted that, despite this, political officers are present in each of the three Bloc nations, though what degree of influence they hold varies. For the Griffons it is an in-between ground, not as heavy as the stereotypical Commissars, but not lenient either. They also seek to find some middle-ground in the inevitable bureaucracy, and as such have both their airborne (air-rifle) and marine (naval) organizations separate from other parent branches such as the Army and Navy. However, these are still viewed overall as extensions to gain victory rather than in their own. More egregiously, the same comes in terms of air and naval power, as supporters of the ground war rather than focusing on their own campaigns.

Changelings-

The Changelings are the most numerous, least mechanized, and oddest out of the Bloc nations. Many of their tactics can be most closely compared to Chinese tactics, specifically those used during the Korean War, blended with modern large-scale mechanized and maneuver warfare, which also takes from modern China’s view.

On offense, Changelings view surprise and stealth mixed with their numbers as the best move. They focus mainly on infantry and use the land to their advantage. Large scale attacks usually come at night, when preferable, and they attempt to keep mostly hidden in the day to minimize supporting fire directed at them. If possible they will find the weak points in the enemy’s line and attack there, any strongholds would be surrounded and hit with supporting fire of their own, if not also attacked, thereby cutting off major units and either continuing the advance or ambushing rescue units. Alternatively, if possible they can infiltrate the enemy and attack; this second is most akin to guerrilla warfare as we know it. Finally, if permitted, classical wave attacks can be used, though these can be costly, yet effective. They also enjoy psychological warfare a good deal, at times making fearful noises, or using a the buzzing of their wings, though this is somewhat restricted as it gives away possible positions.

It should also be noted here that, despite their wings, Bloc troops in general do not fly by wing as often as one would think, and the Changelings are the reason for this. At times, they would use the swarm tactic to overwhelm an enemy, though usually against broken or routing units, as sending them against consolidated units could be costly. This tactic proves near-fruitless in this world of automatic weaponry, as small fire teams and even single machine gunners can cut down massive numbers. Flying overall provides more disadvantages than advantages; though it lets them move freely and gives new firing angles, it exposes them to every troop, provides no cover, and forces them to stop and float in order to fire accurate shots, usually guaranteeing death before it is made.

Changelings do prefer to be on foot when attacking as opposed to riding towards the enemy lines in an armored vehicle. But this does not mean they will not do it, and it is quite common. Indeed, despite these tactics, Changelings do have a large mechanized army, so Changeling AFVs from APCs to tanks are anything but rare.

Changelings will sometimes see the defense as fluid if they do not have to defend a specific point. Their guerilla style comes into play especially here. They will move about the land, prepare ambushes, and leave traps. As with the Griffons, they prefer to wear their enemy out before killing them, if possible. They will stand and fight if needed, but usually large-scale defensive battles are not their strongest suit.

The Changelings share a hive-mind link that differs from usual aspects. Rather than being able to speak directly, it gives a sort of feel about something that is happening. One that we would describe most closely as a ‘gut feeling’ that something is happening, though it does not tell them exactly who, what, or where itself. Still, they are the most coordinated nation in the Bloc, which reflects on their military. Their marine (amphibious) and airborne (aerial) units are attached to their Navy and Air Force respectively, giving them only three branches in the Army, Navy, and Air Force, also all focusing on a singular strategic objective.

Shadows-

Of all the Bloc forces, the Shadow Empire should be considered most dangerous. Differing from their allies, their military has been reworked to most closely mimic modern American and WW2-era German styles. Their behavior is quite lethal in this regard.

Offensively the Shadows make good use of fire support while stressing individual troop and unit skill. Rather than focus on singular aspects they attempt to stress American traits such as adaptability and flexibility within their units in order to ‘fight each different battle the way it needs to be fought’. Coordination is also a high aspect, and it is recommended to bring all assets available to aid. Each job from infantry to tank to artillery are professionals and skilled in many types of tactics. This goes down to the individual soldier, emphasizing German-style ‘mission-type tactics’ for each mission, and applying this on the way up through the command.

The same can be given for defense. While both the Griffons and Changelings prefer to lead their enemies in, the Shadow army is preferential to defending a position, enacting specific retreats and counterattacks when needed. Still, this can be changed, should the situation require such adaptation, but in general they are ones for a straight fight in both areas.

Still, there are plenty of weaknesses as always. Despite having a society in some ways relevant to Nazi Germany and in other areas some odd bastardization of modern society, the Shadows seem to have developed a particular distaste for red tape and bureaucracy despite their dictatorial ruler. They seem to see it as a major weakness in politics interfering with the military and have taken it to an extreme. Their military has the most branches in the Bloc with 6, as both the marines and airborne are their own branch, as well as the elite Tormentas units, similar in nature to the Waffen SS, made out of the most capably and loyal to the nation and king, and many of them being of the original Shadow Empire, victims of the long exile Sombra himself endured. Each of these branches are focused on their own objectives and missions, and attempt to communicate through joint command and direct communication, though many times these are in support of other units.

With this it is understandable why communication and cohesion are stressed, as if these can be disrupted greatly it will prove a severe handicap to the branch's abilities to support one-another. Though through mission tactics each unit has an objective, and with adaptability other units can move to accomplish any other’s failed missions, this can lead to further lack of cohesion; particularly in higher-up areas between the branches when one fails, it can easily lead to issues. Defeating unit’s missions and continuing to do so can tie down multiple units at times. If things work well enough some can be defeated piecemeal. The nature of the society, with the government’s secret police operating heavily, both at home, in the rear, and as political officers, can also cause bumps, though they are not as strict as the Griffon’s or Changeling's. Needless to say, if they are defeated in a straight battle with a better enemy it will cause a good deal of reorganizing and supplementary work to be done, which takes time, with each branch and unit having to find their own new missions rather than wait for orders, as under a combined branch. Though they attempt to create a machine, rather than making fewer breakable parts, they simply moved the parts further apart and built them to focus on greater specifics, meaning troops must simply look at defeating them from a different angle.

Author's Note

Overlook

September 30th, 2005
11:55 Hours
Washington D.C.

James continued running the fingers of his hand through his hair. Originally red, he had chosen to start dying it jet black when he started getting into politics, thinking it suited his look better. The color matched the desperate tone in the room as he sat across from his friend from the rival party.

“So… Garret… you know about how important arming the Arcaians is for us, right?” The President asked, dropping the formalities and hoping to come off as friendly as he could.

“I know that selling all those weapons is going to give us a fair sum of money,” Walsh responded, knowing how rich the land was in terms of resources like gold and gems.

“Right, it does help take a lot of stress off the economy,” James concurred, “and you know how important it is to stop them from being overrun, right?”

Walsh nodded in silence, knowing the excuse had just been given for whatever action the President had taken in his recent meeting with the Equestrian Princess.

“Then you’d at least understand why I’m selling them some of our more advanced weapons?”

“What did you give them, David?” Walsh asked in the tone of a disapproving grandfather.

“Lancers, a squadron of them; and a few of other things too, but that was the main thing,” James admitted up front.

“You sold them a squadron of supersonic bombers?” Walsh questioned rhetorically. “Nuclear-capable supersonic bombers?”

“She threatened to cut down the purchases of those weapons to a minimal number, weapons we’re already building for them. If we built all those and didn’t get paid it’d change from an economic savior to near bankruptcy!” The President exclaimed, stern but keeping his temper under control. “She’s not exactly a naïve schoolgirl; she’s at least got an idea of how politics work. We can’t use her as a pawn.”

It was now Walsh’s turn to run fingers through his hair, pushing back the old white hairs. He leaned back a bit in his chair across from the desk, his dark suit straining a bit from the stretch. James watched him look around a bit and shut his eyes for a minute, as if trying to think of a response.

“You do remember what happened with Iran, don’t you James? With the revolution?”

“I remember what happened to those Tomcats.”

“Then you’ll know why I don’t want this to happen.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be too terribly upset,” James lied, knowing from the start what his reaction would be. “You have been working under the notion that the Equestrians should fight for themselves without our direct help.”

“Not when it gives them this kind of capability!” Walsh clarified, leaning back in his chair again.

“They’d be more challenging to stop if they did attack and idea of one of those getting through to a city-”

“Just trust me, it’s only one squadron and I know I can trust them. We’ll still have the upper edge, the Raptor and Spirit sales are still out of the question, so we’ll still have a significant advantage. Besides, the Equestrians don’t even have nukes.”

“I know, it just worries me, knowing the past.”

“I understand,” David acknowledge, checking his watch. “We’re going to have to wrap this up; General Gardner was supposed to start briefing me on some new foreign developments. He doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Would you still like to come over for dinner tonight with your family? We could discuss things more then.”

“Of course,” Walsh repeated. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just making sure; you have a good day now.”

Walsh got up from his chair, straightening his suit a bit before heading out of the office. All in all James had expected it to be an awkward conversation, but he was used to it by now. Delivering news that went against the aging Democrat’s principals was common, if a bit painful. Yet it never led to any major confrontation, a fair reason to keep him as a friend, among a plethora of others. Still, there were always the few things the President could not tell the Congressman for one reason or another, usually secrecy; considering their nature he was more than happy to keep them secret.

“I’d better not tell him about the Blackbirds,” James thought as he watched him exit the room, with the Chairman entering almost immediately after.

It was not just a dislike of waiting that the bulky General held, he had a rather notable impatience overall. It was not a good trait to have for his position, but the positives usually overshadowed it. Still, if left unattended and growing, it could expand on some other issues he had. James hoped that these did not surface today, as Gardner was clearly in a bit of a hurry. He wasted no time, as James expected, greeting him with a ‘good morning Mr. President’ and unfolding a blank map of the world on his desk, the bottom half facing James.

“This is telling me you’ve got a lot to explain,” he observed, watching the general take a seat. “You said there was some sort of major issue involving the deployment of our forces.”

“Yes sir, around the world,” Gardner acknowledged. “We think we’ve run into a major issue, one that we may not be able to fully handle.”

“More than Arcaia? Or China?”

“More than the Pacific. We’ve gotten our hands on a set of strategic plans from the Chinese, one we think they’re planning and implementing in case of a war, a sort of doctrine.”

“That is pretty big,” James agreed, stating the obvious. “What’s it entail?”

“After studying it over we’ve named it the ‘Flashpoint Doctrine’, and the name implies the plan,” the General answered, beginning the explanation. “Basically China is using our de facto role as the world’s policeman, and our need for certain areas. It’s using what connections it has to launch surgical invasions on areas we can’t afford to lose, meaning we’ll have to send forces to help wherever they hit. This would spread us out pretty thin, and draw forces away from the main show in Arcaia.”

“Guess the best way to counter that would be to have enough troops, or to make sure those areas can defend themselves,” James theorized. “What places are they looking at?”

“Saudi Arabia, for one,” Gardner said, pointing to the old pain that was the Middle East. “China’s got good allies in Iran and Pakistan, the first of which despises the Saudis. Has to do with the different sects of Islam, and that’s an issue. It’s not just the resources there, if Iran were to come across the Persian Gulf and attack Saudi Arabia, we wouldn’t just lost a source of oil. The fall of their major rival and the seizure of their resources and land would jumpstart another Islamic Revolution, spreading it out just like the Iranians wanted to do during the Revolution in Seventy-Nine.”

“I remember the Iran-Iraq War, a decade of non-stop slaughter was what took the fire out of it last time,” the President recalled. “If they won, there’d be a growing Mid East powerhouse, one that would be on bad terms with us.”

“That’s the main issue in that region. Other than that we’ve got Syria making some angry eyes at Israel again, more than usual anyways, but that’s on a lower level,” Gardner explained, shifting a hand over to Africa. “We’re starting to worry about Africa too, especially the Sub-Saharan part, around Central Africa.”

“Really? I thought most of that area was part of the Non-Aligned Movement. What’s going on down there?”

“Yea, that’s what they keep saying, but reality says otherwise,” the General replied bluntly. “Neutrals always lean some ways, and that’s especially true here.”

“Guess they won’t be neutral for long then.”

“The Chinese have also been getting cozy with a few countries here; Tanzania, Zimbabwe, The Congo; they’re dotted all over, here and there. There’s no critical resource or direct need of us there, but if the Chinese build up it’d be a bad spot to deal with. We think they’re already making a small naval station in Angola, which would provide them with a naval base to raid around the Atlantic, and that could cause major problems.”

“They’re not neutral then,” James emphasized again. “That’s not something we can allow, this is looking like another fight.”

“It’s more competition. We need to prevent the Chinese from expanding influence here and creating a safe haven in the continent. We’ll have to do what’s necessary to get other African nations on our side. Additionally, if we go in and make our presence known, and knock out the Chinese and their allies that are there, it’ll dissuade the other nations from jumping in on their side.”

“Use allied nations? Guess it’s better than having to send anything more than necessary.”

“Especially considering the doctrine. We’ll be spread thin already; we’ll need to make space where we can.”

“That’s a cold way of looking at it General, selling out our wars to local rivalries.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t mean to come off like that,” Gardner replied honestly. “There’s just not much we can do here.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just… thinking a little,” James said, bringing a hand up to the side of his face as he looked down on the map. “It’s us or them, and this is what they’ve given us.”

“Before you make any decisions, Mr. President-”

“I’m not yet; I need to think more on this.”

“I have to stress that I’m not done yet,” Gardner continued as if he had not been interrupted. “In fact I need to tell you about the most worrying region.”

“Other than the Pacific?”

“Yes Sir, other than the Pacific. Of the others we’re going over, this one seems to look the bleakest. South America, right next door.”

James looked over the southern continent with curiosity. South America could always have been described as turbulent but not volatile. In spite of constant issues they had never descended to levels of violence that had been seen in other places. To the contrary, it looked as if they were improving as of late, considering the increase in cooperation, trade, and work they had with America in the past few years.

“What’s the matter with South America? They haven’t shown many signs of aggressive activity.”

“Do you remember what started World War One? The huge number of alliances that dragged power after power into the war? I need you to remember that.”

The President nodded his head as the general continued.

“The most immediate ally China has in the region is Cuba. Now that alone isn’t a threat but we know they’ve buddied up with Nicaragua a bit as of late, so they don’t need to pass through the Panama Canal to get supplies to Cuba, they can just bring it overland through Nicaragua. If war breaks out we can expect some minor issues, mainly Cuban harassment and Nicaragua possibly pushing on the canal.”

“Another move we can’t allow to happen.”

“But this is where the alliances come in. Cuba has its own ally in Venezuela, and it’s safe to say that if Cuba goes to war, Venezuela will follow,” Gardner added, not stopping once the explanation had started. “Now that’s only half the problem. The other one is farther south, with Argentina.”

“We haven’t had any negative relations with the Argentinians,” James retorted, as if he wanted to debate the point. “I know they canceled the Gringo-Gaucho Exercise but that’s no reason to be suspicious.”

“No but China and the Bloc have been getting close to them, as well. We think they’ve been making some noises about supporting Argentina’s claim to the Falklands; their claim is backed by most of South America usually, but… well, Argentina’s government seems to be getting a little power hungry. It looks like there’s some land in Chile they still want to get at, mainly in Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. Back in Eighty-Four, the two signed a treaty that was supposed to put this to rest, but I can’t say it’ll hold.”

“The century-old Beagle Conflict… some people just can’t put the past behind them.”

“Bolivia’s another one of them; they’re still clamoring for their window to the Pacific through Chile, which is something Argentina always backed. That puts them in Argentina’s pocket.”

“That’s bad… very bad,” the exasperated President stated, knowing the obviousness of it. “If they do take Chile, they can cut the Magellan Strait… and with Panama under attack our ships would have to take the long way to the Pacific.”

“Yes Sir, but I still don’t think you’re grasping the full danger of the situation,” Gardner stressed. “If all these break out, we’re looking at more than just a bunch of new fronts. There are a lot of other nations that would like to take the opportunity to settle old scores, and with all the fighting breaking out and forces spread; they’ll use this as a chance to do that.”

“What? Who else is going to go to war?”

“India and Pakistan, North Korea, take your pick of any of the global hotspots. We’re already seeing the worst of that in South America. We don’t know for sure what’ll happen, who will jump in or how likely it is. We do know that this Flashpoint Doctrine could start a chain reaction, and I don’t think China knows it, or maybe they don’t care,” the General went on, becoming more stressed the further he went. “Sir, this has the potential to break out into a new world war.”

James was unsure of just how to react to this. He knew when he was elected there was a high chance of war breaking out, and him having to lead America through it, but he did not think it would spread this far. No matter what he did, a world war would cause devastation on levels that towered above any war that was fought in Arcaia and the Pacific. This would encompass anyone from any corner of the world. It would no longer be about obtaining victory for peace, the final objective would be to sail his country through the storm and minimizing the damage to it while reaching total victory to end its involvement on the champion’s terms. They would not be able to deter in other areas; they could send help, they had to, but there was not stopping it. Everyone would be cast out into the storm.

“What about Europe?” James continued blankly.

“NATO will still hold up. We’d have to be attacked directly at home for them to join, but they won’t abandon us completely. The common defense should keep things in check there, though we’ve heard of some peculiar movements inside Belarus and Ukraine.”

“Russia’s not going to attack, is it? They’ve got so little reason to now and even less ability with how much equipment they sold to the Bloc.”

“I can’t tell you what Russia will do, Mr. President. I figured the same thing but there has been an increase in military activity, land, air, and sea. Nothing to indicate an invasion of Europe, but they’re not normal either.”

“But not exactly on our side at the same time?” the President asked, getting a shake of the head from his acquaintance. “Who is on our side then?”

“Brazil, for one. They’re usually on the same page with other South American nations, but when there’s a warmongering alliance that’s surrounding them between Venezuela, Argentina, and Bolivia… needless to say that ruffles their feathers. Our own history helps; first to see them as their own state goes a long way. Chile will join us if attacked, needless to say. Colombia would probably love the opportunity to go after Venezuela, considering their border issues.”

“Worldwide, I mean.”

“Biggest in Africa would be South Africa, most of the Arabian Peninsula is with us in the Middle East. NATO will lean towards us easily but don’t count on them sending troops to Arcaia,” Gardner warned. “Except the UK, they’re kind enough to jump into the fray with us. Same with the rest of the Commonwealth; Canada, Australia, and New Zealand all have a stake in the Pacific, so we’ve got military forces from them.”

“I guess it’s a powerful thing, having friends,” James remarked off-handedly.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Heh, you haven’t had to spend a couple hours talking with that princess. Still, even with all this, I’d like some kind of deterrent to try and stop a war from breaking out. At least in Arcaia, since that’s the tip of the fuse.”

“I’d think that our forces there would act as that, wouldn’t it?” the General asked.

“I would too, but something tells me it’s not enough. We need to show our power… something a little more.”

“Other than an orbital weapon hanging over the Bloc nations?”

“We’re not bringing that up, we need something… conventional, General,” the President clarified. “We need to show our superiority on that front, show them they can’t win a war. That they will be facing our full might, not just part of it.”

“Our naval forces are still superior, and they’re still growing. Especially in terms of carriers.”

“A big carrier exercise? I think that’s something we could try.”

Flying Monkeys

October 1st, 2005
14:20 Hours
Everfree Air Base

Being greeted by ponies while he was walking through the base was a very thought provoking experience for the newly arrived pilot. He could very well be the first European to grace the new continent, at least the first Englishman. If not, then maybe history would be kind and record him as the first official one. The Army, knowing ahead of time it’s somewhat insulting position many miles behind the front line, was taking it’s time crossing over. Not so with the Royal Air Force.

It was all just speculating, as he did not care much for glory or a spotlight. No doubt he would go down in the books as one of many that would take part in a conflict that he figured was soon to occur. He was not going to be foolish and pretend that it would not happen like many he knew, a thought process that seemed to stem from their denial rather than lack of experience.

Watching the occurrences from so far away was an odd practice for him, giving the feeling of watching a dangerous chemical reaction from another room. His XO and wingman, likened it to two beasts fighting in a cage, but it seemed incorrect to him; the beasts had yet to start fighting. Yet the Americans had never seemed to balk from fights, even if they were unneeded.

Still, even if the Americans came off as the brash and loud, jump-to-it cousin of the British as he saw it, they were still cousins in a way. Even when he had dealt with the stereotypical Yank of that nature, he was never in a dither over it. Even here in Equestria they seemed to be getting along well,and truth be told they had done a fine job of building up the infrastructure of this land into the beginnings of a modern society, even if it meant plaguing another nation with their national specifics from right-side driving to the metric system. He initially pictured the Captain Cole he was going to meet was like this, as it felt right that a person of that type would lead his squadron and the world to the brink of total war. Instead the person he saw when he opened the door was a full-cheeked, slightly small man that held a peculiar mix of starry-eyed youth and old wisdom in his face.

“Commander Oliver?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be me,” the British pilot affirmed. “You are the Captain I’m supposed to be meeting?”

“Yes Sir, John Cole, U.S. Air Force,” the American replied with a smile. “Here, have a seat real quick.”

Oliver complied, walking into a room dimly lit between a single fluorescent light tube and the sun outside restricted by the shades on the single window. The only place to sit was at a fold-out table and some plastic chairs, but it would suffice. Cole walked past, moving over to a fridge on the other side of the small room.

“Would you like some tea? I just made some.”

“Is this your first time meeting an Englishman? We don’t subsist on tea alone,” he chuckled.

“Oh no, no, I just made it for myself,” Cole swore, “sorry if it’s offensive or anything.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright. Admittedly, I would enjoy a cup. Perhaps I’m just wary over the idea of an American drinking tea over coffee this early in the morning.”

“I’ve always taken tea over coffee, just tastes better,” the Captain clarified, handing him a tall plastic cup of the drink. “Rest assured, I’m a real American.”

“Hm, well thank you for-” Oliver halted as he took a hold of the cup, feeling the chill on it. “Cold tea?”

“Yea, it’s refreshing… I guess you don’t take it cold?”

“Not this brand. Regardless, tea is tea,” he replied, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip before quickly retracting it as a strong richness caused his face to scrunch. “My… how much sugar did you put in this?”

“A… lot?” Cole replied awkwardly.

“Hm, you really are American aren’t you?” Oliver observed, taking a slower sip from the glass to adapt to the sweetness.

“Pure to the blood and bone,” Cole claimed. “And you’re a pure Brit huh?”

“I like to believe so. My father was a bobby in London and I spent part of my life there until he decided the city was a bit too hectic for his age. After that we moved up to a town called Jarrow, and I spent the rest of my growing days there. After I reached adulthood, I moved to Somerset, where I live today.”

“Is that the most British way someone can grow up?”

“Everyone’s got their own idea of it, but I like to think so for the sake of my spirit,” Oliver explained in a roundabout way. “Back on the topic of work, what else do you have to tell me, beyond what we’ll be told in the briefing?

“Just a friendly meeting, actually,” the American admitted. “The briefing’s pretty well put together, should be able to tell you all you need to know. It’s being given by my XO, Lieutenant Walker; he’s pretty good at them.”

“Really, now?” Oliver asked, somewhat surprised that. “I do wish mine was like that, he’s not very comfortable with public speaking. Still, he’s a fine pilot.”

"What's his name?"

“I’ll introduce you another time. Now you’re sure there’s nothing else to add? A briefing can’t cover everything.”

“It covers everything we could think of. I’m sure you’ll have some questions after but I’d like as many to be answered from the brief as possible. Might even bring up some new questions, too.”

“Alright, if you think you have everything, though I will say I’ve yet to come across a briefing that does have everything.”

“As much as I could. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“No… I suppose I just was not expecting… everything here.”

“I mean you are coming to a magical land out of a fantasy book. What did you expect to get?”

“Apologies if this comes off as rude, but I was expecting things to be a tad more incompetent,” Oliver admitted, happy that Cole did not seem to take offense. “Though most of this comes from Chinese Whispers and sensational rumors, which you have certainly proven wrong. I figured with a name like ‘pony boys’ would be in mockery.”

“Pony Boys?”

“You haven’t heard yet? That seems to be a common nickname for your lot when we stopped in America on the way here, at least in a newspaper headline.”

“I’ve heard it a couple times from the new guys arriving but I figured it was just a local nickname they came up with,” Cole recalled. “I guess it’s… not, though.”

“Would you prefer your squadron’s name?” the RAF pilot asked. “Though I’d suggest using something a little different than your fighter’s name; it’s a tad… vain.”

“Hey, it’s a good jet. Speaking of which, how are the Typhoons treating you?”

“Rather well, all things considered. Were you going to ask to take mine up?”

“I’d like the opportunity,” Cole admitted, not having the intention at first but happy at the opportunity, “maybe for another time though. When things have calmed down a bit and we’re not on the verge of war.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her to be a fine lady.”

The loud cries of multiple jets passing overhead interrupted their conversation, followed by a bit of rattling from the fighter’s apparently low altitude.

“Looks like they’re back,” Cole remarked, peering out the window to his left. “One of the Equestrian squadrons, I mean; my friend took them up for a little flying practice earlier today.”

“How is that coming along?” Oliver asked, the rattling concerning him somewhat, giving the implication the fighters were far lower to the ground.

“Mind if we go out and see? I need to meet her anyways.”

“Of course, though I’m guessing you haven’t quite gotten to the lessons on altitude restriction yet.”

“We’re doing about as well as can be expected given the circumstances,” Cole retorted as he led the way out the door and down the hall. “It’s only been a few days but they’ve been working like crazy. We’re rushing to get the Equestrians in the air as a force on paper, the rest of the training has to come later. It’s going pretty well all things considered.”

“It seems like things are a bit more desperate here than I was warned about. You certainly need our help.”

“We’re a little lucky in retraining all the current fliers. These pegasi have a natural knack for flying. Problem is, it’s still a very different form of flying when you’re in a jet, and there’s not as many experienced pegasi as we’d like. Now training the non-pegasi that we’ve had to let in, that’s a little harder.”

The two exited the building just as the last F-16 was touching down at the end of the runway. The landing itself was a bit hard to watch, with the tail coming close to striking the runway. It was a bumpy landing overall, and though it eventually calmed to simply rolling along the runway as the speed reduced, it left a bit to be desired, something Cole noted.

“Good Lord,” Oliver commented, watching the landing. “Why you can teach-”

“-monkeys to fly better than that?” Cole interjected, earning him a look of slight surprise from Oliver followed by a slight grin.

“Alright,” he simply replied, not having much else to add.

“Make yourself at home, Commander. I should probably lend a hand myself.”

Cole parted ways with the Englishman with a handshake before walking over to the flight line where the F-16s were parked, now immobile and lined up like a row of metal statues on wheels. Ground crews were already refueling some of the planes, as despite the safety caution of having jets with fuel tanks near constantly full, Cole wanted to ensure that they would be able to launch in a moment’s notice should the Bloc launch a snap air raid on the base; putting the fuel, munitions, and planes close together worried him, but if the radar was half as good as claimed they would have enough time. By the time he had reached the F-16 that he had watched land, it’s blue pegasus pilot was just getting out of the cockpit, standing up to stretch her wings.

“Hey!” he called out, causing Dash to shoot up and fly down to him.

She looked a little tired when he first saw her, but seemed quite energetic now that he had arrived.

“How’d it go?”

“Great!” she exclaimed, launching into the air again before setting back down. “We’re getting better every day! I can’t wait to show you how good I’ve gotten!”

“Well you can show me now,” Cole replied. “You still alright to fly?”

“You want to watch me?”

“No, I’m going to fly with you,” he explained, to Rainbow’s initial joy. “You’re doing good so far, but I need to start teaching you the basics of how to fight while you’re up there. We haven’t even gotten you a real wingman yet, and that’s dangerous in itself. I’m gonna give you a head start on how to dogfight. Sound good?”

“You bet!”

With the sun beginning to set, the two jets gave off a gleam from the light reflecting off their metal bodies. In the seat of her F-16, Dash gave another glance off to her left, spotting Cole once again in his own plane. He looked back, having done so periodically for the sake of checking up on her, and gave a quick wave and a thumb up. When Rainbow flailed her hoof in the crowded cockpit in another awkward attempt to signal that things were fine, he jokingly followed up with the V-shaped peace sign.

Seeing this gave Rainbow a flashback followed by a sense of warming realization; this was the first time since the contact that the two of them had flown together, alone and unburdened, as they had years ago. Though she had been out with him and others before, this was much different. Usually that was on a mission or patrol, and at all times there were other members of the squad flying along with them.
Now, however, it just them. Not the war, nor the deadly responsibilities that came with it, or any other outside requirement of focus. It was herself, her friend, and the wide-open sky, just as it had been before, at least in principle. The circumstances this time, however, were much different. Not the least of which being that she had a fighter of her own to pilot. Still, it brought back memories of times before, back when she had first met the human, back before there was war and all the changes that came with it, and further back to a world that had been lost and would never return.

“Rainbow lead, everything checking out alright, over?” the radio piped up in Dash’s helmet.

“Uh, yea… everything’s looking good Cole! Uh…o-over!” she responded, still not quite comfortable in radio lingo yet.

“Remember to use proper callsigns when in flight Rainbow One, over,” Cole said, continuing on before she could answer. “Just a reminder. This isn’t an official operation and I we’re going to be chatting a lot, so we can shelve the formal talk for now. I want to focus on teaching you what we came up here to do. So, you sure your bird’s ok?”

“Uh…I think so, yea,” Dash responded, fairly confident but wondering if Cole had spotted something wrong and was testing her.

“Handling feels normal?”

“Yea.”

“Fuel’s good?”

“Yea, the tank’s full.”

“Do your blinkers work?”

“Wait… my what?” Dash asked, worried she had missed something before she heard a chuckle.

“I’m just messing with you a little,” Cole admitted. “Everything seems fine. How’s it feel to fly a jet?”

“It’s pretty cool… I mean, not as cool as flying with wings, but still pretty cool!” the pegasus answered. “It does feel kinda… lonely… sometimes.”

“Lonely huh? I can understand that,” Cole agreed. “Y’know, I once met an old mechanic that told me that that was what flying was all about.”

“Being lonely? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, he never explained and I never found out,” Cole admitted. “But back to the topic at hand. Ready to put that Viper to use?”

“Totally!”

“Alright, well I know you’ve got some moves under your belt, though I’m not quite sure which ones,” the American Captain began. “Let’s start with the basics. You know what an Immelman is?”

“Of course I do! I’m not that new!”

“Alright then, let’s see it,” Cole challenged, drifting away a bit to provide some room.

Rainbow complied, pulling the stick back and causing her Falcon to pull up. As it did so, she turned it off to the side while keeping it back, causing the jet to roll as it performed a half-loop. Upon reaching the top of the half-loop, the roll had been completed, with the fighter now flying in the opposite direction as before.

“Not bad huh?” she asked while looking back, watching Cole finish his own Immelman to follow.

“Ok, ok, we’ll get to the action part,” Cole tampered down. “Now in terms of fighting, a lot of your engagements will be from beyond visual range, probably with your radar missiles. I still want to teach you the basic factors of close-in fighting. So open your ears, alright?”

“Don’t worry, I’m listening,” Dash assured him.

“I’ll admit I’m not a trainer, so I figured the best place to start is where it all started,” the American explained. “Dicta Boelcke, the first real rules of air combat. Created by a German pilot during the Great War, one of the first aces. It’s named after him too.”

“The Great War? That sounds like something.”

“World War One is probably what you’ve heard it called before.”

“Oh yea, Twilight’s talked about it a couple of times before. What made it so great?”

“Nothing but the size. They said it was supposed to be the war to end all wars, ‘course it didn’t end with that one.”

“What was flying like back then?” Rainbow asked, trying to wonder what came before the contraptions they were flying now.

“They flew prop-driven bi-planes made of wood and canvas. Open cockpits with mounted machine guns. Didn’t even have parachutes.”

“Geez… that sounds… pretty bad, especially when you guys don’t have wings.”

“I’ll tell you about the first knights later, gotta stop myself before I go on a long story tangent,” Cole said, once again trying to get back to the subject. “But yea, first basic air combat tactics. First of these are the individual factors that affect you. Ready to remember them?”

“Yea, c’mon, just tell me!”

“Speed, altitude, performance, and surprise,” he listed off. “The faster you are the, more energy you’ve got. The higher you are, the more room you have. The better your plane performs, the better chances you’ll get. The more surprise you have, the more opportunities you’ll get. Make sense?”

“Kinda,” Rainbow admitted lightly. “I’ll remember them, I guess I just need hooves-on experience with them first. I know my plane’s affected by them in weird ways.”

“In different ways,” Cole exemplified. “Each plane’s built different, and each plane has its own set of advantages and disadvantages. So when you get into a fight, you’ll have to fly in a way that’s best for your plane and puts you in the best position.”

“Take my F-15 for example, this thing is designed as a pure air-to-air fighter,” Cole continued. “My game is up high and fast, where it performs better. I can perform good at low altitude and speed as well, but not as much as yours. Your plane is a multirole jet, so it can maneuver better at low altitude; you’re better off in that area. The differences are relatively slight but they’ll matter a lot in a dogfight.”

Dash remained quiet, trying to soak up all the information.

“Understand?”

“Uh... yea?” Dash mumbled a bit. “I just need to… well.”

“Experience it?”

“Yea, kinda like practice.”

“Heh, don’t worry. You’ll get some more proper training eventually. I’m just trying to get you started.”

“So then can we practice the tactics a little bit?” Dash asked.

“Oh ho, think you can surprise me huh?”

“I bet I could!”

“Alright Dash, we’ll see about that,” Cole relinquished, pulling his jet up quickly and away from Dash. “I’ll pull a quick mock attack on you, and we’ll see if you can respond properly.”

“Bring it!” she called, though no response was heard.

She tried to keep eyes on Cole’s jet, but it quickly pulled out of her vision, breaking through a thin cloud behind her. She tried to turn her Falcon around and further pulled it up to follow him at a distance, but after breaking through the cloud she could not see anything. Turning a bit further she scanned the sky, but still could not see anything.

She turned her attention back to her radar, knowing it would be able to pick up Cole’s fighter. Sure enough, she spotted a dot not far off from where she was flying, facing almost directly ahead. She looked around, trying to spot him, but much of her forward view was restricted from the rays of the sun, making it hard at times even to read her radar screen.

Annoyed by the blinding light, she nudged the craft a bit to the side and increased the altitude a bit to continue her search. She continued looking in the general area he was supposed to be in, but there was nothing there either below or above her. The dot was moving closer now and quite faster too, indicating the attack was beginning. Dash again tried to search the direction was coming from, but was greeted only with further empty space and sunshine. It was starting to anger her a bit, she was sure she could have spotted Cole by now if it was not for the sun.

“The sun... the sun!” she finally realized. “He’s coming from the sun!”

“Bang!”

Rainbow jumped a bit in her seat, gripping the stick to keep from knocking the plane about. The Eagle dived out of the light and shot past her aircraft. She was a bit rattled by the experience, and was only calming down when her friend pulled up alongside her once more.

“You’re dead Dash,” Cole quipped. “Don’t ever rely only on technology. Make sure that you take everything into account, including the sun and clouds. Radar might help but it’ll still be hard to fight an enemy you can’t see with your own eyes.”

“Ok… I really won’t forget that,” she conceded.

“And for Christ’s sake, don’t sit still when you’re being fired upon,” he stressed. “You don’t want to be a sitting duck.”

“Definitely.”

“Ok, you good?”

“Yea… just a little shook up.”

“Don’t beat yourself up Dash, that’s why we’re up here,” Cole consoled her. “Let’s go over the rest of the rules, and then we’ll try again. Sound good?”

“Yea… sounds…good.”

“Hey, I’m sorry if I spooked you.”

“Not that, it’s just… something about that hit me the wrong way,” Dash said, trying to find a way of explaining it. “Maybe it’ll go away if we practice so more.”

“No, no, hang on Dash. I don’t need you flying with your head all cloudy,” he responded, trying to lighten her up with a minor pun. “What’s wrong? Don’t bottle it, just tell me.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing Dash, I can hear it in your voice.”

“It’s nothing!”

“You can get angry with me if you want, I won’t mind, but I’m not going to stop till I get an answer,” he pressed. “It’s more than just me being curious Dash. I’m your friend. Friends take care of each-other, I know they do, especially here.”

Dash was quiet for a moment before simply repeating the word ‘friend’ to herself.

“Please just tell me Dash.”

“Cole… I’m afraid,” she admitted. “I’ve been scared before… and I’ve had to fight before… I mean I’ve saved Equestria with my friends a few times. But something about this, about what could happen… it’s different. I’m afraid and I don’t know exactly why… and that’s making me more afraid… and… huh.”

“I understand-”

“Cole… I’m scared,” she mumbled, shaking a bit in her voice.

“Rainbow… if we’re both being honest… I am too. The way I am, with how much I worry… sometimes I’m outright terrified, and with my guys... and the comrades I lost... it gets rough,” he agreed, being truthful to his own suppressed anxieties. “But we’re friends, and that’s what’s important. And just like your friends I’ll help you out the whole way. They’ll be there and so will I, and all of our other friends, too. That’s what’ll get us through this.”

There was silence on the other end, with Dash was trying to absorb this. Cole, however was not finished and wanted to speak up again. In moments like this, when emotions started to hit, he was not the sharpest speaker. Admitting how hard things were could be like a hammer, but he figured that if his colleague felt it to, it might as well all come out.

"You know, before I got here my life was kinda... grey, kinda sad y'know? I had my wingmen, and they're the best I could ever ask for, but things were just low. I felt like a failure and I was always afraid of failing everyone else more. I never went to parties or bars or anything, my life consisted of work and moping to myself on how to do something right," the Captain recalled. "But when I saved you that first day it felt like I had done something, and after four years, getting to come here and fighting those bad guys... felt like I was making the difference I joined this to make. I wanted to save lives but after meeting you again you've showed me I have a life too, and I have to... appreciate that, live it, that's where you come in, you get it? Saving you was the most important thing, because I made a friend. You guys around here, as kidy as it feels, you Rainbow... you showed me how important it is to have friends in life, not just work but life. With the guys in my squadron... I couldn't do what I do without them... spending my time trying to help others... but you're showing how important it my life is at the same time. You're like my squadron, Dash, but... well, you're my friend, ya'll's kind of friend, the kind of friend Twilight told me about."

"Really? I never thought I... well... I... guess I didn't know how important I was," she said, doing her best to take in Cole's ramblings.

"We're all important Dash, you're important to me just like how the rest of my wingmen are important to me, and me to them. They watch my back while I'm up here, and I'll do the same with you. After all the crazy stuff that's going on, you're the one that's helping me see what life's about, how great it felt to save someone... and how grateful they felt in return... and them giving back and showing you things you didn't know. I helped you and you helped me, and just like with my guys... together... well, as hard as things can be we can get through it if we're helping each-other, sticking together. We've helped each-other before and we'll keep doing it. So we're both freaked out, right? But we're freaked out together, and when we're together we can get past it. We're friends, and when you're with friends can get through anything!"

Dash took a moment to soak in this mass of information that concentrated into a single idea, the idea that in this new, violent world, treating Cole like a friend of the old world, the world that now seemed like a distant memory, was the best thing to do.

“Just remember Dash. No matter what, I’ll always be up here with you.”

“Thanks,” she said simply, with the strength in her voice finally returning. “Ok… ok… so… the rest of the rules, right?”

“Right, we’ll flip through them real quick and try to do a few maneuvers if you’re up to it. Sound good?”

“Sounds great!”

Author's Note

Set Your Rainbow in the Clouds

October 12th, 2005
0833 Hours
Near Canterlot

It had taken long enough, but most of the air bases within Equestria were now operational. The term ‘operational’ was used rather loosely, as some were declared such as soon as the runways were complete. Regardless, the expanding military forces made due, and most now shuffled off to their assigned bases after stopping at Everfree, which served as a sort of entry and introduction point for most units, going there first and staying a bit before heading out.

For the Equestrians it was a matter of learning to fly their new machines, and for each member of the 7th Fighter Wing it meant something more. For Compass it was about constant improvement to prove himself. For Thunderlane it was about passing on wisdom to greener pilots like Compass to ensure they came home alive. For Wild Fire it was strictly about defeating the enemy.

She and Star Hunter debated that often; he claimed his reason was strictly to win, something that seemingly went together well with besting the opponent, but he did not entirely see it that way. Hunter had made the claim that the opponent did not have to be totally defeated to gain victory. To Wild Fire the only way to gain total victory was the total destruction of the enemy. They argued over this for about ten minutes on the side of the runway after a training flight, with Midnight Strike watching from a distance.

Strike usually did not worry herself much with the philosophical viewpoints like the others did. To her that only wasted time and brain power, she only wanted to focus on what was happening at the moment and the actions being taken. Simplification seemed best for her, and her only worry in the world at that time was trying to push the band to learn the 7th’s official march.

One of the many movies the Americans had shown while she was in Ponyville was an old Western film, The Magnificent Seven. She took a liking to it, along with many other ponies, and upon learning of the new unit she would be assigned to during the restructuring, she felt like fate had poetically stated that the film’s theme deserved a place in the wing as it's march. Some of the other pilots were not too keen on a glorious, thundering orchestral piece being the official march, not the least because of it being from a film, and a foreign film at that. The rest, on the other hoof, seemed to agree, and with the satisfied approval of Captain Cole backing them, ‘The Magnificent Seventh’ became the first full fighter wing of the new Royal Equestrian Air Force.

“Looks like they’re going at it again.”

Compass’ voice captured Strike’s attention, before directing it to Hunter and Fire, who were, unsurprisingly, still debating over their usual topics.

“Yea, I worry about them sometimes,” Midnight replied. “We need to be able to work together when we’re up there.”

“You… don’t think they actually… well, hate each other, huh?”

“I don’t think so; they’ve just got different ideas is all.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Compass said with concern. “Oh, did you hear anything else about the air show this evening?”

Strike shook her head lightly in the negative.

“Sorry, we don’t get to be a part of it,” she answered, dashing the young pilot’s ideas for the event. “It’s restricted to the professionals mostly. I heard we’ll get front row seats though!”

“So the other squadrons don’t get to go either?” he pressed.

“None in the regular air force, the lineup is mostly those two American trick squadrons. Only ones that are flying with them are the Wonderbolts,” she explained. “There’s one exception that’s being made is for Rainbow’s squadron, considering the whole element status and everything. And the Eagles, the ones that fought those battles not too long ago? They’ll be there to, but it’ll just be for a single fly-by.”

Two ambient voices from a short distance stopped Midnight from continuing. A short ways down the line, Star Hunter and Wild Fire were still arguing loudly, making for an awkward scene. The debates of the two were getting to be a common, and uncomfortable, sight.

“They’re still going at it,” Strike sighed. “Didn’t even get off the runway.”

“I should go make sure everything’s ok,” Compass said, taking off down the line and forgetting to say goodbye to his friend.

The young pilot headed down the line, taking his time as he trotted along. In spite of his eagerness to go, he did not actually want to get involved in a fight. Despite the increasing number of arguments, the two were sensible and level-headed enough not to come to physical blows; the problem was that Compass never liked the idea of somepony hating him. He was always a little afraid of saying the wrong thing and making a new enemy, and there were enough of those with the war going on already. Instead he stopped as he neared them, listening to their conversation, which seemed to have cooled down in temperament.

“I’ll admit the name you chose fits your style, dropping tradition so carelessly,” Hunter said, referring to the callsign she picked out for her squadron.

“Tradition doesn’t mean a lot anymore when we’re in a world like this,” Wild Fire countered. “I’m telling you, you have to get over it. Especially when we’re up there. If not, you’re gonna be in big trouble.”

“It’s more important than you think. Preferring to go up against more skillful enemies and giving them a chance isn’t ‘big trouble’.”

“It is when we’re at war! This isn’t some competition to see who’s better. You go in and you beat the enemy in every way, they don’t get chances. That’s how you get better and that’s how you win a war, by destroying the enemy!”

“Skill is what is necessary to help win battles, and you don’t get it by picking on pilots worse than yourself! You get better by flying against better pilots, that’s how it works,” he explained. “Not to mention the war ought to be ended sooner rather than later. There’s enough killing and destruction already and there’s no need to add to it when it’s unnecessary!”

“Is that what that American pilot told you? Orion?” she asked, seeming more honest than anything. “The one you and the other space brains hang out with?”

“No, actually; but where I learned it doesn’t matter. What matters are all the important aspects of that tradition and honor. Discipline, respect, trust… all those are important to making a good fighter and to winning a war without destroying your world in the process.”

“There is no war you win without tearing apart the enemy, and I did learn that from an American pilot. That’s how you know it’s true!”

“I think you’re putting too much faith in them, Fire.”

“I think you’re being stubborn,” she replied, thrusting her wings to lift off the ground. “And we’ll talk some more when you stop being stubborn. See you.”

Hunter watched her flap her wings and take off, leaving him there. Too many of their discussions were starting to end this way, with her storming off. Every time he hoped he could convince her of his point of view, and every time it ended the same way.

“You know, I think you had a pretty good point,” he recognized Compass Star’ voice, turning to see the younger pegasus watching him.

“You agree, Star?”

“Kinda… I mean, I think the best thing to do is to win the fight... I guess you do that however you can,” Compass tried to explain. “Sometimes you might need to do one way, sometimes it might need the other. I… guess I’m kind of in the middle.”

“You can’t always be in the middle, Compass.”

The younger pegasus paused for a moment, not wanting to have this discussion again.

“Right, yea, so… did you still want to go hang out with Ori- Lieutenant Hauser tonight? With the rest of the astronomy club?”

“Sorry, I can’t this time. I have to help out a few pilots in my squadron who need more practice with night flying.”

“Oh, alright, well… maybe the next day?”

“Star, look, you…” Hunter paused a minute, wanting to find an appropriate way to convey his thoughts. “You have to stop trying to drag me into things. I know you look at me like some sort of big brother, but you need to… stop, ok?”

“What? No! No, I’m… just thought you’d want to hang out.”

“No, Star, you know what this is about. You’ve asked if we’re related a few times before and every time it’s been no,” Hunter responded, becoming a bit annoyed. “I know you want to find some kind of family, or anypony you’re related to, but I’m not one of them. Just because my first name and your last are the same does not make us some kind of distant kin.”

“I don’t think… I’m not, ok!?”

“Yes you are! You have to drop it Star, just… let it go, ok?”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’ve got a family!” Compass shot back, angry over the topic being brought up. “I don’t have one! I’ve never had one! I hardly ever kept the friends I made because I kept moving around!”

“And now you’ve got a squadron to lead. You remember what Lieutenant Hauser told us, we treat our comrades like family,” Hunter recounted for Star. “Real family or not you need to look after them and vice-versa. Last thing we need is for you to be all screwed up and down if war starts. You need to have a clear head when leading your pilots.”

Compass Star wanted to retort then, but could not find the proper words. He wanted to shout that Hunter did not know what it was like but he felt like that would be redundant and lead to nothing. Another part of him felt like Hunter was trying to change the subject on him by bringing up his squadron, but he seemed sincere about it. Beyond that, Star knew he was right in the back of his mind about needing to take care of his wingponies.

“Just try and focus on what’s most important, alright? I know it must hurt but there are a lot of ponies depending on you, on all of us. You don’t want to let them down do you?”

“Of course not!” Star shot back, less out of determination and more out of irritation that Hunter would think he did not know this already.

“Great, so just try and keep it off your mind. There are plenty of ponies that care about you Star, you just need to focus on them, alright? I’ll see you around.”

Compass once more kept quiet as he watched Hunter move on before turning his attention elsewhere. He alternated his sight between the ground and sky and debated further on the issue, not feeling like anything had been resolved. He wanted to take his mind off of the issue but it was not as simple as Hunter put it. All he did was add more problems to worry about.

Of course he knew he had to take care of his unit. Of course he knew there were a lot of ponies depending on him. Of course he knew one had to keep a clear and level mind in vital situations like combat. But how could he keep a clear mind when the only other pony that was involved brushed off the issue and left him alone with it? Feeling totally abandoned in the world was not something he could simply ignore as Hunter suggested, and he felt a drop of ire at him for treating his problem like a foal with a tantrum. Squadron and friends or not, Star had always felt totally alone, and he would have to go through life’s troubles alone too.

“Hey, everything alright, Compass?” he heard another, more familiar voice call out. “I overheard the chat you two were having. You ok?”

Star wanted to say no, because he did not feel alright of course, but a feeling of guilt held him back. The new idea of saying no and brushing it off, as he had done plenty of times before, entered into the pony’s mind. Though Compass had his troubles, it seemed a bit rude to dump them on him, considering his were far worse.

Of all the ponies he knew, Thunderlane had probably changed the most from the war. He still looked the same, but his personality had evolved so much that when Star first met him again, he worried that Thunderlane was a Changeling. Thunderlane had been one of the first ponies in Ponyville, and Equestria in general, to sign up for the war. He did not tell anypony why before he left or after he got back, and he only talked about his more harrowing experiences on few occasions. All of what he had been through in the early stages of the war had transformed the dark grey pegasus. Though still possessing the ability and vigor of a young stallion, the way he talked and conducted himself was quite a different from what he was before, the experience he had gained now had him coming off as if he were far older than he actually was.

“Yea, I’m gonna be fine,” Compass lied, more to himself than to Thunderlane. “Thanks for asking.”

“You aren’t ok. I can tell, you aren’t even looking at me, you’re just staring at the ground,” Thunderlane stated rather directly as he ran a hoof over his long, light blue mohawk. “Hunter is right about needing to have a clear head to work well, but I’ll admit he should’ve helped you instead of avoiding you. So I’m going to help you.”

Compass took a minute to think on how he should respond, while Thunderlane waited in patient silence.

“How can you help me with… this kind of problem?” he asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. It’s not a problem I’ve had to deal with, or ever helped anypony with. I can’t exactly find you a family, but I can help look for some kind of solution. I am a big brother myself, you know, so I’ve got experience with that at least.”

“Well, I’m going to go watch a science-fiction show with the rest of the astronomy club tonight. We kinda do that every now and then. You can tag along if you want,” Star offered halfheartedly. “The American lieutenant that shows them to us said we’d be watching Star Trek tonight… he called it the ‘original one’, whatever that means.”

“Alright, sounds like fun. I’ve actually heard of that a few times, so I’m a little curious to see what it’s like.”

“Really? What’d you hear?” Star asked, wanting to test if Thunderlane was being sincere.

“It's just a name that’s popped up now and then when human shows and movies are brought up. One pony in my squadron rants about it a lot; though I’ll l admit I usually tune him out. But he mentions parts like ‘Mirror, Mirror’ plenty from being his favorite episode, so I know that a least.”

“Alright, well… I’ll… let you know when we’ll meet I guess.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it Star.”

“How do you do this?” the Private wondered. “How in the Hell do you this?”

“How do you pull this off, Sir?” Private Hugo asked. “How do you kill the battery on a tank? Did you leave the lights on?”

“That’s a need-to-know question, Private,” Lieutenant Fitzroy responded. “And just so we’re clear, you don’tneed to know.”

“Yes sir,” Hugo agreed as the tank’s gunner fiddled with the jumper cables.

The young infantryman sighed; annoyed this was cutting into his leave time. Being one of the few soldiers in Equestria to own a car had plenty of advantages, but it had its downsides as well. Other than being constantly asked to take friends on drives or make runs to the city, he now found himself helping in an attempt to jumpstart an Abrams tank with an old sedan.

The gunner called out to the driver to start the tank again. Hugo did not know very much about cars or engines, and he was half worried that jumpstarting such a large engine would drain his battery. As was often the case for troops of his low rank, he would have to go along with the plan regardless. Once the Abrams came to life once more and the cables were unhooked his fears dissipated.

“Thanks for the help Private!” the tank commander shouted, barely audible over the roaring Honywell engine. “We need to get to gunnery practice! See you later!”

The tank started moving slowly, traversing through the mostly empty parking lot and out towards the street. The private did not see why they would move so slowly, as there was not much to hit in the parking lot or on the street in terms of traffic due to the low number of automobiles in Equestria. However, he was not a tank driver, but an average rifleman assigned to the 3rd Battalion, 16th Regiment in the 94th Infantry Division. According to the brass it was his sworn duty to defend the northern half of the Papa Line from the evil Griffon invaders, should they ever actually invade to begin with.

Of course there was some truth to the whole thing in how important their position was. As with most of the major Equestrian cities, the city he currently in was not too far from the Papa Line. Manehattan, beyond carrying all the important factors of big cities, was also developing into a large and important port for all allied units in the northern sector of operations on the continent.

Having lost a good deal of his time to the tank crew, Hugo set back out to the street in search of the squadmate he had driven into the city with. They had only come for a quick lunch, hoping to find some food of a different quality than what was being served at camp, and to pick up a few random items on the request of their friends. He was hoping the trip would give him a brief break from the military, if only for a few hours. Those hopes had been killed when he was pulled aside by the tank crew, and now he only wished to retrieve Corporal Roth and return to the base.

He started making his way down the street towards the café he had left Roth at. It was a short and straight walk from the parking lot, and as soon as he walked onto the street he could see the Corporal happily talking with a group of ponies. Roth was a bit of a showman at times, but his biggest quality was the annoyingly infectious joy he displayed when happy. Considering how much he enjoyed being in Equestria, he was rather joyful most of the time.

“Hey Hugo!” he called out, waving and standing up from his chair. “You were able to help out that tank crew, I see.”

“What made you think that? Was it the big tank that rolled by?” Hugo responded as he approached.

“Everypony this is Private Todd Hugo,” Roth said, turning to the ponies. “Todd, these are my new friends.”

“Friends huh?” he asked, looking down at the group of five. “You all got to know each-other that quick?”

“Yea! Mr. Roth is really nice! He taught us some American songs to sing!” a young unicorn answered happily.

“Songs huh?” Hugo winced, knowing his friend’s history with music. “What kind of songs?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Roth beamed, pointing his fingers at the ponies. “Hey, you guys want to show him what you’ve learned?”

The ponies all gleefully agreed in unison, making Hugo wish he had not asked the question. Roth went over the process that with each gesture a pony would reply with a specific phrase followed by him singing his own parts. He started the number off, pointing to a pegasus who jumped up to shout his line.

“I got!”

“Rhythm!”

“I got!”

“Music!”

“I got!”

“My girl, who could ask for anything more!?”

“Aw Christ no,” the private groaned as his comrade pointed to another pony.

“I got!”

“Daisies, in green pastures!”

“I got!”

“My girl, who could ask for anything more!?”

“Alright, that’s enough of a demonstration,” Hugo interrupted, grabbing the man by the shoulder. “You won’t be doing a musical while I’m around.”

“What? You sure? I mean we didn’t get a lot of time to practice, but-”

“It sounds fine, I just want to get back to the base.”

“Really? We’ve still got plenty of time before we have to head back.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hugo confirmed, still not releasing his shoulder. “Come on, we can chat on the way back.”

“Alright, alright… jeez, hang on!” Roth replied, yanking his shoulder free and knelt down to the ponies. “I need to go now guys, but just remember what I taught you and we’ll do some more next time I’m here. Sound good?”

The ponies all nodded, allowing the two soldiers to head off once Roth had said his goodbyes. He seemed a little annoyed at being forced to leave early, but not to an outrageous degree, especially considering he only got to come to the city through Hugo’s ride. He was smiling again by the time the two reached the car, leaning back in the seat and recalling the memories from a few moments before.

“I don’t get why you’re so down to be here,” he said to Hugo as he cranked the engine. “This place is a wonderland! The natives are all pretty friendly and happy. You saw that back there? You know how hard it would be to get some random people on the streets of South Range to sing musicals with me?”

“I don’t like it because I miss all the stuff from back home. On leave you could go to the city and get real American food, go on dates with real women, have normal conversations, get good drinks,” the Private rattled off. “Not to mention things in general were easier. We were in our home country, not some weird foreign land where we have to be on alert all the time for an invasion that won’t come.”

“Who’s to say it won’t come?”

“The books. America and Russia spent years aiming at each-other only for nothing to happen. Once the two got to a point of being about equally strong neither wanted to attack. The same goes for today with the U.S. and China, and all those freaky evil monsters across the border.”

“Oh yea? I’d bet you ten bucks the war will start.”

Hugo simply grunted, more to himself than his friend’s offer.

“Why you want to get back so quickly anyways?”

“I just do alright?”

"Fair enough. You hoping to get some overtime hand-to-hand practice?" Roth asked. "You got to get used to those new moves they’re coming up with for the Griffons at some point."

"Yea... fighting a flying monster with claws and talons… yea I can totally beat them with my fists."

The colorful dusk signaled the finale events of military parade in Canterlot. The Equestrian capital had spent most of the day witnessing the parades and demonstrations of its newly reformed military, alongside those of America, Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom. Some troops from the occupied nations of Arcaia joined, primarily those of the Crystal Empire, but the affair was dominantly Equestrian and human.

The final part consisted of an air show, with which the Americans seemed to eagerly take up as a chance to display their two proud aerobatic squadrons, representing their Navy and Air Force. The Equestrian Wonderbolts, in spite of the painful fighting they faced in the past years and the hard work put in to adapt to flying machines, had successfully acquired the skills necessary for aerobatic feats with their new Super Hornet jets. In fact, one of their classic winged shows of the kind they would perform so routinely in the old world had been the opening act of the day, receiving ecstatic cheers and applause from the nostalgically pleased crowd of ponies who saw their old heroes flying by their birth-wings alone as they had done in a more pleasant past. They started it and they would be the ones finishing it, as per Celestia’s wish. The only other squadrons that would join would be the American volunteers and Rainbow Dash’s.

The last detail reminded Celestia of the one missing friend of Twilight’s that was not with them. Save for a few ceremonial appearances and a speech or two, the royalty and the Elements had observed the show from the city’s castle on the high mountainside. Each of them seemed to be enjoying themselves to some degree or another, but Twilight herself seemed troubled. Now, towards the end of the day, she was starting to look downright depressed, moving away from the group on the balcony and looking out over the city through one of the stain glass windows nearby. Celestia trotted over to check on her, hoping that she was simply tired from the long day.

“The amount of progress being made is incredible,” the princess stated, trying to start a discussion with her.

“Yea it’s… very impressive, Princess,” the unicorn replied, only giving a glance to her before looking back out.

“Something is bothering you?”

“N-no… it’s nothing I should… bother you with,” she mumbled back before changing her mind, knowing Celestia would not leave her in her worried state. “I just feel… helpless. Before all… this happened, me and my friends… we could solve any problem. We could help all the ponies that were in trouble. After seeing all this it just makes me feel kind of useless. I… I don’t know… the kind of war they’re fighting… I can tell I’m not made for that. But… well we used to be able to save the day with magic… just me and my friends… and now we just can’t. I was always a little afraid of it and seeing how this world works now… magic and friendship feels like it’s…”

“Replaced?”

“Y-yes,” Twilight agreed with a small sniffle.

“You’re not being replaced Twilight, nor is your talent or any of your friends,” Celestia comforted her; giving the calm, motherly look the unicorn was so familiar with. “Some ponies, and plenty of people, seem to think that, but from all my experience that is never quite the case. Things like these do not grow old, they simply change alongside the world around them, and in turn the role they play in that world.”

“Change?”

“Yes, in many ways,” the princess continued, recounting her thousand years of life. “If I must admit, I myself was a bit worried when the Elements were turned over to you and your friends. A part of me wished to retain control myself, to ensure they would not be so dispersed and I could retain control over situations that required them. But I placed my trust in you, and it was proven handsomely.”

“I suppose so… but I still feel like I can’t do as much.”

“Just because you can’t defeat an entire army here does not make your talent useless. I think you and your friends will be more important here than anypony realizes.”

Far above the stain-colored light of the castle, a few miles away from the city itself, Cole and his flight were cruising comfortably at a somewhat low speed and altitude. Their presence for the event was for the undertaking of a ceremonial flight and nothing more. Both the U.S. and the Equestrians would provide two squadrons for a grand air show to serve as the parade’s finale. The Eagles were there mainly by virtue of their actions thus far on the continent.

Cole wondered who had made the request for them, if it had been the Equestrians demanding it of the Air Force or if the humans wanted it themselves. Right after this, he tried to drop the idea of the two sides arguing. Maybe everyone in the Air Force did not see them as failures. Maybe the Equestrians had asked and the brass happily accepted without objection. Of course it could also be vice-versa, with the Americans asking for them to fly first.

At any rate, they would not be present for too long. Their purpose would consist of presence and recognition, and their actions would be a simple fly over the city to start the air show. There would be no great stunts or tricks here from them, not that they were trained to do such things. It was not the entire squadron either, but a single group of six aircraft consisting of the squadron leader, the executive officer, and the four flight leads.

“You ever wondered about joining the Thunderbirds, Captain?” he heard Runner’s voice ask over the radio.

“No, not really. They’re a wonder but I’m more set to… direct action, I suppose. Got to try and help out,” Cole replied, looking off and making out the red, white, and blue F-16s of the Air Force’s aerobatic squadron. “I’m not exactly a good enough pilot either. Some of the moves they pull… never in a million years could I do that.”

“That’s too bad; I was hoping to join a long time ago. Just didn’t turn out too well.”

“You know ponies would call jets ‘thunderbirds’ when they first arrived?” the Bravo Flight lead asked. “I didn’t know that till today.”

“No, but I do now.”

Cole could make out the capital approaching, and the range between them decreased consistently until everything was easily viewable. He could make out the gleaming blue-yellow Hornets of the Blue Angels off to the west, who would be the first after them to perform, followed by Rainbow’s Squadron, then Thunderbirds, and finally the Wonderbolts. Dash’s Falcons were passed early and were a short ways behind them now, as well as the bright-blue Wonderbolts. It was sad that his own wing would not be able to linger to witness the stellar performance of such a line-up.

“Alright, here we go. Remember keep it slow and steady; all we’re going to do is pass over the city and turn around,” Cole ordered, not needing to make any major changes in the flight path.

“You sure you don’t want to pull any fancy moves lead?” Lieutenant Desser asked jocularly.

“Nothing ridiculous, three, you don’t need any more applause for your ego,” Cole responded.

“You can’t tell me you don’t like a good cheer.”

“We don’t need to show off to get one. We’re fighters; people cheer for us before we even arrive.”

“Always so humble, huh Captain?”

The fighters remained at a constant speed, direction, and altitude. There was no need for change in any of it for the simple fly-by. Their altitude was low enough that they could be easily seen from the ground, but not in danger of striking any of the taller buildings in the city proper, and their speed kept relatively slow but still fast enough to come across as swift in a pass over the crowd.

The Eagles began their flight over the city, their sky-white noses gleaming in the dusklight. Cole could see the large crowds of ponies gathered below, as well as some of the assorted military units and pieces that had been parading through the metropolis. It was near impossible to tell the exact reactions of the onlookers but they seemed to be rather excited, as their excited actions and gestures combined churned up the sea of spectators. He did wish he could hear the cheers of the crowd, impossible to do so through the sealed cockpit.

“Nice work, wing, we looked pretty good on that first pass,” he stated as they passed the edge of the city, still retaining their strict formation. “Now let’s about-face and deliver the second for the wrap-up.”

The jets increased their speed slightly and broke their formation in simple, pre-planned movements. Cole and Walker both pulled up into an Immelman and leveled out heading the direction they had come from, reducing their altitude back to the appropriate level. The two aircraft on the left side of the formation broke off to the left and came around in stark, basic turn to form up with the lead aircraft, with the two on the right performing the same on their respective flank.

The flight leveled out in their formation, going at a faster pace than their initial pass. It was not to any dangerous or disturbing level, but noticeable enough, and Cole elected to retain it in their second fly-over. There was nothing wrong, he figured, with making their closing movements more exciting than the first. The fighters roared in, slowly drowning out the continual cheering of the crowd. To those below, the jets shot by at a much faster speed that gave off far more power than during the first pass. Even with the massive crowd, all the voices were drowned for a second as they blasted by, coinciding with an explosion of jubilation.

“Everfree, Eagle. Flight complete, permission to RTB over?” Cole called in to the tower back at their home base.

“Affirmative Eagle, you are clear to RTB to Everfree, out.”

“And that marks the end of our flight,” Cole said to the rest of his pilots. “Nice work gang.”

“Now that, gentlemen, was pure class,” Keno commented, clearly pleased with their show.

“Yep, now let’s get on back home,” Cowboy spoke up. “Don’t want to keep Cook and Orion waiting for their little movie.”

The sun was in the closing minutes of going down as Cole watched the last of Rainbow’s fighters taxi back to the runway. He wanted to wait to watch them come home while most of the others had left for Lieutenant Hauser’s event. The only other pilot with him was Cook, the fourth man of Delta Flight, who was sitting on the bench in front of the hanger next to him as he stood observing the jets.

As the nickname implied, Cook was a culinary expert, at least he touted himself as one. He had no official schooling or training on the subject as far as anyone knew, but even if not he was able to back up his words in the mess. He loved cooking meals for the squadron, and they in turn adored a homemade menu over the usual dining hall food they received; at least as homemade as could be with the ingredients that were available to him. Still, he did an excellent job with it, saying that the adoration of his work by his wingmen was one of the most satisfying feelings he ever had.

He also enjoyed drinking a good deal, like many fighter pilots. Usually he would reach for wine when it could be found, and it seemed to be increasingly common in Equestria. He would never get completely drunk though, usually only dazed and buzzed, and only ever on his free time when it would not cause trouble.

“How are you feeling?” Cole asked him, continuing to direct his gaze across the base at the setting sun.

"I feel... plump."

"Plump eh?"

"Like a grape," he affirmed, raising his arms out in front of him as if holding up some long log before bringing them down hard on his ribs.

"Sounds you drank a little too merrily."

“Nah, I’m fine Sir.”

Cole sighed a bit, hanging his head down and stretching his muscles to ward of the tiredness.

“Sorry to bring this up, but… well, do you think the war will actually start? Like actually start, not just little skirmishes like we’ve had.”

Cook scratched his head a bit while pondering the question.

“Maybe so, Captain. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just a little… overly-worried about something I remembered.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Ah come on, you can vent a little to me,” the Nevadan assured him. “I probably won’t remember all of it tomorrow anyways at this rate.”

“Alright, I just want to get it out of my head. Just don’t start calling me some religious nutjob,” Cole agreed. “God knows I’d never talk about this with Runner around, the poor paranoid guy.”

“What, you’re some kinda fanatic or something?”

“No, just paranoid myself I guess. Have you ever heard of the Three Secrets of Fátima?”

“The… no… what are they?”

“Back in Nineteen-Seventeen, three kids in Portugal said they were visited by the Virgin Mother Mary. A bunch of people witnessed a miracle involved with it and the kids were given three visions from her,” Cole explained. “The first was one describing Hell, and the second was about World War One and had a prediction about Russia and World War Two.”

Cook continued to listen as he continued on, paying some attention but not as if anything was at great stake.

“They held on to the last one for a while and didn’t tell anyone what it was. Back in Two-thousand the Vatican came out and said it was about the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II, but a lot of people say it pertains to something more…”

“Apocalyptic?”

“Y-yea, basically,” Cole caught up, wanting a less direct description for it.

“So… you’re scared that… this vision thing was actually a warning about a war coming up?”

“Considering some magical land fell onto the Earth out of nowhere in space and time, it kind of gets you wondering. Looking at everything… this pure little place and then things like the Shadows… your head just kind of wants an explanation, you know?”

“Well I don’t think you’re a fanatical nutjob, just paranoid,” Cook answered. “There’s been plenty of wars since then and there’ll be plenty more. This one’s no… well it’s different but I doubt it will be the end of the world. We’ll fight it and win it and figure out what to do with this place afterwards.”

“Still, even after all these years you don’t really get used to how weird this place is in just falling out of the sky. Though I guess the Europeans were pretty surprised when they got to the Americas too.”

“I say just stick to church and we’ll be fine; it’s better to focus on fighting the bad guys.”

“Yea, you’re right about that.”

Cole took a relaxing breath before hearing Cook chuckling to himself slightly.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Ah… it’s just funny… you think that’s a horseman of the apocalypse,” Cook said, pointing upwards to a cloud.

Laying on top of that cloud was Dash, resting after giving her own performance above Canterlot. She had landed first and, rather tired from her presentation, had grabbed a nearby cloud and parked it a ways in front of the two humans. She was relaxing up there, taking a brief nap as the remainder of her squadron touched down.

“Yea… that is kind of silly,” Cole admitted, walking forward a bit as the last of the planes were taken care of. “Hey Dash, they’re all done here!”

He heard Rainbow yawn loudly and stretch out, flapping her wings and swinging her tail. She rolled over and blinked a few times, looking down at Cole with a tired but warm smile. After a few more flaps of the wings she jumped up and hovered down to just above his height.

“You ready to head out?”

“Oh yea, I’m always ready for a good movie!”

“Well, it’s more of a television show than a movie this time,” Cole corrected her jokingly with a couple of movements with his hand.

The pegasus yawned loudly, sticking her tongue out jokingly at the same time.

“Yea, yea, let’s just get going before you make me fall asleep again.”

Author's Note

Thank you all for being patient, I hope you're still interested. Mostly just more character introductions and development for right now but we'll be getting to the main event soon. Do leave a comment letting me know what you think, it's more helpful than you'd imagine. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.

Reports on Reorganization

October 16th, 2005

General Gardner,

The reformation and training of the Equestrian military is proceeding well. There have been some problems but many have been resolved and operations have continued at a brisk pace. We expect the Equestrian military to be fully capable of withstanding assaults on it's own by summer to autumn of next year. Much of the equipment, particularly of the Air Force, is varying in type and may cause difficulties in logistics. However, this is the fastest way we were able to equip and arm a sizable force.

As requested, enclosed in this letter is a list of combat units of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. Most of their callsigns are based on the names of their squadron leaders, following an Equestrian tradition of naming the squadron after the founding leader. Though we have asked them to change this, due to intelligence concerns, but they have refused to relent.

In addition to the Equestrian units is a large wing made up of exiled forces from occupied nations, as well as the planned naval wing of the soon-to-be-launched Equestrian aircraft carrier. So far only moderate resources have been acquired for the latter due the need to arm the R.E.A.F. first, but we expect to fully man the carrier in time. Not included are a number of mercenary units the Equestrians plan on hiring, as we are still detailing on how they will be integrated with the rest of the forces.

-Respectfully,

General Leevie.

R.E.A.F. Unit List-
1st Wing
• Wonderbolt Special Operations Squadron ‘Bolt’- F/A-18E Super Hornet
• 1st Fighter Squadron ‘Rainbow’- F-16 Fighter Falcon
• U.S.A.F. 1st Tactical Fighter Squadron 'Eagle'-F-15C Eagle (Liaison Unit)

2nd Strike Wing
• 15th Attack Squadron ‘Glider’-F-15E Strike Eagle
• 16th Attack Squadron ‘Cerberus’-F-15E Strike Eagle
• 20th Attack Squadron ‘Clover’- F-15E Strike Eagle
• 21st Attack Squadron ‘King’-F-15E Strike Eagle

5th Fighter Wing
• 4th Fighter Squadron ‘Kicker’- Eurofighter Typhoon
• 5th Fighter Squadron ‘Chaser’-Eurofighter Typhoon
• 6th Fighter Squadron ‘Silver’- Jas-39C Gripen
• 8th Fighter Squadron ‘Flash’ -Dassault Rafale D
• 9th Fighter Squadron ‘Comet’- Mirage 2000C

3rd Support Wing
• 41st Electronic Warfare Squadron ‘Carina’-EA-18G Growler
• 55th Electronic Warfare Squadron ‘Exo’-EA-18G Growler
• 72nd Electronic Warfare Squadron ‘Storm’-EA-6B Prowler
• 74th Electronic Warfare Squadron ‘Frost’-EA-6B Prowler
• 89th Electronic Warfare Squadron ‘Siren’-EA-6B Prowler

7th Fighter Wing
• 3rd Fighter Squadron ‘Phoenix’- F-14D Super Tomcat
• 7th Fighter Squadron ‘Hunter’- F-15C Eagle
• 11th Fighter Squadron ‘Striker’-F-15C Eagle
• 13th Fighter Squadron ‘Thunder’- F-16C Fighting Falcon
• 21st Fighter Squadron ‘Compass’- F-16C Fighting Falcon

8th Attack Wing
• 10th Attack Squadron ‘Jackalope’-A-10 Thunderbolt II
• 19th Attack Squadron ‘Ray’-Hawk 200
• 27th Attack Squadron 'Snow'-IAI Kfir
• 22nd Attack Squadron ‘Blossom’- Panavia Tornado
• 14th Attack Squadron ‘Swirl’-A-4 Skyhawk

10th Bomber Wing
• 30th Bomber Squadron ‘Sugar’-B-52H Stratofortress
• 40th Bomber Squadron ‘Diamond’-B-52H Stratofortress
• 33rd Bomber Squadron ‘Twist' B-52H Stratofortress
• 48th Bomber Squadron ‘Riff’- F-111F Aardvark
• 39th Bomber Squadron ‘Belt’-B-1B Lancer

9th Command Wing
• 51st Command and Control Squadron 'Wand'-E-3 Sentry AWACS
• 90th Recon Squadron ‘Canis’-U-2 Dragonlady
• 91st Recon Squadron ‘Draco’-U-2 Dragonlady
• 100th Espionage Squadron ‘Ursa’-SR-71 Blackbird (Modification)
• 66th Drone Squadron ‘Parasprite’-MQ-1 Predator

1057th Composite Wing (Exiles)
• 3003rd Squadron ‘Kotew’-F-106 Delta Dart
• 1245th Squadron ‘Sword’-F-2A Viper Zero
• 1086th Squadron ‘Dicer’-F/A-18E Super Hornet
• 2087th Squadron ‘Crystal’-A-6E Intruder
• 3030th Squadron ‘Scimitar’-F-105D Thunderchief
• 1046th Squadron 'Sling'-F-111F Aardvark
• 3099th Squadron ‘Coyote’-F-4G Wild Weasel V
• 2200th Squadron ‘Nike’-F-4S Phantom II
• 1090th Squadron 'Bayonet'-SEPECAT Jaguar
• 1065th Squadron 'Fusil'-F-5E Tiger II

1st Carrier Air Wing-R.E.S. ‘Magic’
• VF-4 ‘Corona’ F-14D Super Tomcat
• VF-15 ‘Spear’ F-14D Super Tomcat
• VFA-1 ‘Hydra’ F/A-18C Hornet
• VFA-9 ‘Vampire’ F/A-18C Hornet
• VAW-18 ‘Fairy’ E-2C Hawkeye

Author's Note

When We Meet Again...

November 22nd, 2005
1214 Hours
U.S. 4th Army Headquarters

“So we’ll be keeping the same units in the line for Christmas?” the S-3 asked his superior. “We could pull some of them into reserve and let the Marines and British take their place. Both have told me they want to go up and see what the Papa Line is like, for preparation matters if they ever have to fight there.”

“No dice, General McBroom, we need those units to keep the rear secure. Last thing we need is internal trouble in the country,” Lieutenant General Hall denied. “At best you can send small-scale units from those divisions up to the front, maybe into the no-man’s land between the Papa Line and the border for a little familiarization, but nothing permanent.”

“Yes Sir, understood,” McBroom answered, not wanting to argue any further. “Anything else?”

“Did you make sure the Equestrian field drills aren’t at the same time as ours? We can’t have both armies practicing at the same time; someone’s got to stand at the ready.”

“Yes sir, I’ve checked with them. The schedule fits out.”

"That will be all."

McBroom saluted and stepped out of the officer of his superior. The command center of the 4th Army felt much less active than usual, now that the American forces had gotten settled in the country. To an outsider it would seem busy, but it was much less chaotic than when the Army had first arrived. He felt like he could actually breathe as he walked to the end of the hall to talk to the waiting executive officer of the unit.

“So what’s he saying now?” Major General Stokes asked as he approached.

“Same as before, nothing new. Most of the ground units are staying in place through the winter; only a few Air Force units are getting some leave for Christmas,” McBroom explained, leaning on the wall next to him. “All I got was that he’d allow some units to go up for familiarization; one or two battalions at a time, then when they get back to the rear they’ll rotate out with another two.”

“Well… at least I’ll have something to bring back to the Marines,” the XO sulked over the bad news. “I don’t get why he’s so set on keeping so many units so far behind the lines.”

“I’ve heard some whispers about that lately.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Walk with me, it’s better to talk about this in private,” the S-3 suggested. “I’m ready for lunch anyways.”

The two headed off through the halls, keeping rather quiet along the way till they reached McBroom’s car in the parking lot. There were few automobiles in Equestria, but being in the staff of the Army had its perks, especially when he had to move about so often. The two decided to simply head into the nearest town and find something before Stokes awkwardly brought up the issue again.

“So… what about the rumors?”

“Well… the Lieutenant General says he’s keeping these guys in reserve for ‘counter-offensive purposes’ and to ‘deter invasions into our rear areas’ but a lot of people think that’s just an excuse for him to hold them back,” McBroom explained as he turned out of the base. “From what I’ve heard… people say he takes the whole inter-service rivalry a bit too far. I’m not sure if you’ve notice but his decisions seem to prefer the Army and Air Force over the Navy and Marines.”

“Yea, it does give off that feel,” Stokes agreed. “We can talk freely, by the way. I’m not going to snitch to anyone that you think these are bad decisions or anything. Trust me.”

“Good to know. I’m not sure if a marine stole his lunch money or what but… shit he does not seem to like those guys. Even if war did break out I’m not sure if he’d use them much. Seems to me like he wants the Army and Air Force to get all the glory.”

“Hm… well you’ve been working with him longer than me, so I’ll trust you. Why is he like that, then?”

“I don’t know,” McBroom repeated. “I think it’s an overblown rivalry, honestly. If the Army and Air Force get the glory, they get the prestige, the extra funding, all that. I don’t think it has much to do with personal glory for himself, so at least there’s that, but I’m not sure… it just seems more… personal than that. I can’t really put my finger on that though.”

“Damn, that makes more sense than I’d like it to,” Stokes admitted, fiddling with the air conditioner. “How the Hell does someone like that get to command an army?”

“How do you think? He stuck around long enough. I’m pretty sure he’s gotten promotions through seniority and just being one of the few around to promote,” the S-3 said blatantly. “Though…I mean it’s not like he’s a terrible soldier. He just follows the books you know? Not exactly the best for field work but a by-the-books guy is something the generals love for headquarters, and you get to headquarters you get to know the brass, stay in long enough and outlast everyone, so on and so forth.”

“Christ I’ve known a few of those. Not a fan of promoting based on time over skill but I suppose you take what you can get.”

“Yea? Well we got one that’s trying to cut out two of our branches so his boys can get the spotlight.”

“Yep, at a certain point generals stop playing soldier and start playing politician.”

“A little take-away from your time in Washington?”

“One of many.”

“Alright turn in a bit, and make sure to delay a bit so we don’t make the exact same turn. Don’t want to play a game of chicken.”

The two planes had broken away from each other in opposite directions, only to turn and come back towards each-other. Cole’s F-15 turned in to the left, while Dash’s F-16 turned right. The Falcon’s turn was a bit tighter, and as a result, when the two found themselves going in similar directions, they were a bit off from each other. After the jets passed they went again, and the two continued the cycle a few more times, forming figure eights in the sky with the contrails. Each time they passed, Dash took a small aim at the imaginary fighter that they pretended was on Cole’s six, allowing the pretend MiG to be shot down as it passed through her gun sight each time. The idea of missing was not something she wanted to focus on, nor did she think she should.

“And that’s how you pull off a Thach weave,” Cole congratulated, leveling out and allowing Dash to form back up next to him. “Seems like it was easy enough for you.”

“I guess I’m just that good,” Dash joked. “Though I guess I’d never learn it if you didn’t teach me… huh?”

“So we went over the scissors variant of that,” Cole recounted, thinking her question rhetorical. “Let’s see… chandelle, the yo-yos, lag barrel… sandwich… I think- ah, there’s still a few others you need to learn. I’m just hoping you’re picking them up and I’m not cramming you.”

“Hey, don’t worry; I pick up things better when I fly anyways!” Dash assured him. “Besides, I’m doing better than you think.”

“Are you now?”

“Oh yea, I can already tell I’m back to being one of the best in the sky!” she exclaimed, though a small part of that was more bluster than honesty.

“You haven’t even had a real dogfight with a fighter yet,” Cole retorted, immediately thinking up his next lesson. “Alright hot shot, I’ve got a little challenge for you, if you’re fast enough.”

“Oh yea? What?”

“Keep up,” he ordered, quickly breaking off to the right and diving towards the Earth.

“H-hey!” Dash yelled, mimicking the maneuver. “What’s that about?”

“Keep up!” Cole repeated. “Think you can stick to my tail? Try and get into a position to shoot me down!”

Dash attempted to comply, but her friend was not going to make it easy for her to do. Cole came closer to the ground and leveled out, moving faster and juking about left and right each time she came close to leveling with his plane. The two jets shot along the countryside, dodging every which-way to avoid obstacles, and in Cole’s case his pursuer.

The F-15 screamed across the countryside, the loud roar echoing about the hills and hanging in the air. After every twitch and break Cole checked behind him to see if Dash was still there. In his mirror, the Falcon always popped up after a second or two, sticking to his tail like glue.

“That’s it kid, keep it up,” he thought to himself, pulling the stick back and climbing into the sky.

Dash followed in suit, trying her best to predict Cole’s next move. However, she quickly realized something he had mentioned at the start of their training, as she began to focus much more on simply reacting to the targets movement. She kept up with him through every maneuver, many of which they had practiced today. He probably thought that she was bluffing when she said her memory was better while flying, and in that case Cole was badly mistaken.

After a couple of failed slow-downs and another Chandelle, the Eagle began to dive for the ground again. Dash followed closely, going a little faster this time, and once her target leveled out it returned to skimming about the terrain. After pulling up to dodge a ridge and the rather tall patch of trees on it, the two broke out into an open field, giving Dash a much less restricted view. With this, and having decided she had sufficiently proved her pursuit abilities, she activated the targeting system on her jet. There was no hazard, as they were unarmed for the training mission, but the radar lock attached to Cole’s jet immediately.

“Whoa, what the Hell!?” he jumped, not expecting the lock.

“I win!” she proclaimed proudly.

“Hey, c’mon, get that lock off me!” the American demanded.

“Alright, alright. Jeez, you’re a little sore about losing huh?” Dash asked, forming back up with Cole as he returned to a cruising speed.

“I just wasn’t expecting that, just startled me,” Cole shot back. “You get in combat that noise can send a chill up your spine... and I was going easy on you anyways.”

“Oh come on, that old excuse?”

“Hey I’m not lying. I’m trying to help you, not beat you.”

Dash sighed a bit, a bit upset as she knew he was telling the truth, but still glowing from her victory.

“Anyways, you did great Dash. But that’s enough flying for today, I need to get back and start packing.”

“Wait, packing?” she yelled. “Packing for what? Are you leaving!?”

“Shit I forgot to tell her. I thought I had already!” Cole thought to himself before turning back to Dash. “Uh, yea… I’m real sorry I didn’t tell you before Rainbow. The whole squadron’s been relieved, and a bunch of other squadrons are going to be taking our place at the base. We’ve been given some leave for the holidays, so we’re heading back home for a few months.”

Dash huffed over the radio, clearly unhappy over not being told.

“I mean I won’t be gone forever, we’ll be coming back once it’s over.”

“Yea I just… wish you wouldn’t,” she responded. “Hey, you think I could come visit you?”

“At my place? I mean… if you ever got the time off I’d be happy to, but I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“I could always fly there,” she said, continuing on with the theory. “With my wings, I mean! I-I don’t mean steal a jet.”

“Heh, you’d fly all the way to the eastern U.S.? Just to chill with me?”

“I’d fly all the way there! To the end of the sky!” she confirmed with her usual determination.

“That’s sweet Dash, but you need to stay here. They need you here, you know that.”

“Yea… yea I know.”

“But like I said, I’ll be back. It’s not like I’m dying or anything.”

“I know, Cole… I know.”

Over the course of the new cold war’s buildup, from the year 2000 to the present day, the Rangers, the elite shock troops of the U.S. Army, had undergone a massive and almost economically unsustainable expansion, as had many other military units at the time. Over the course of five years the 75th Ranger Regiment had virtually doubled in size from three battalions to six. Knowing how powerful these troops could be in conventional battle, the Army clamored for more of them. They wagered that if one battalion could equal an average enemy regiment then six could out-fight a whole division or more.

That was what was expected of the 75th Ranger Regiment, and its mission in Equestria reflected that. They were deployed in the No Man’s Land in between the border and the American defense line behind it, and they were expected to aid the Equestrians in the event of an attack, or defend their base and hold up the enemy advance should the Equestrians collapse. To all, the latter seemed more probable, and all of the realistic precautions that could be made for the defense were in the process of being implemented. This was how the regiment came to be stationed in the small town of Saddleburg.

It was rather odd to see the sleepy area be turned into a base for troops foreign in both race and nationality. In fact by the time the entire 75th had gotten settled, there were more American troops in the area than native residents. The locals reasonably began to feel like they were strangers in their own homes, and more so that their homes did not even feel like home anymore.

The awkwardness and growing pains extended deeply into the culture clash as well. There was one unfortunate tale of a ranger who visited a local dentist for a check-up and, through a series of communications errors, had his canines filed down as the dentist did not know they were natural among humans. Still, in spite of all this, the ponies showed their natural warmness and welcoming kindness that was rather common throughout Equestria. One squad of troops, belonging to Charlie Company of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, pondered this over their morning meal at a popular local café.

“Kind of feels like you’re in a Disney movie, you know?” Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt asked. “Feels kinda weird, creepy too.”

“How?” Sergeant Crockett asked through a mouthful of apple.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s a personal thing. Us being here kind of looks bizarre too; like mixing Thin Red Line with Bambi.”

“I’ll take it; I spent some time over in Germany and man, it’s nice to be in a country that speaks the same language as you.”

“Hear, hear,” Sergeant Wakefield agreed, wiping some coffee from his mouth with a napkin. “I need to write back to my folks and tell them to look at getting a summer home for the family here. It’s really nice when you ignore the possible war.”

“Really? You thinking of getting it in the wilderness? I’d kind of like a little mountain cabin myself around here,” Crockett said. “Not a mansion, just a little something for hunting, if they even allow that here.”

“I’m not sure; my parents have always liked the coastline more. It comes with the territory around Connecticut.”

Crockett took a long sip of his own coffee and wiped his mouth with his arm. Wakefield came from money, and in origin felt like the most opposite to himself, being the more backwoods type. They got along perfectly, however, and neither felt themselves better or worse than the other. They were both rangers, and had become like family along with the rest of the squad. They all depended on each other, as in every other team. He was about to take another bite from the apple before he heard another one of his squadmates pipe up from the table behind him.

“Hell no. You seen those things? All dark and broody and foreboding, talking in the most evil way possible? They deserve to be the bad guys, they fucking earned it. This’ll be more one-sided than the Nazis!”

“Everything good Carlyle?” he asked, turning around to look at the table of three soldiers behind him.

“Uh, no sir… just boasting a little.”

Crockett felt as though he had to keep more of an eye on Carlyle than the others. While the rest of the squad seemed fine with the new territory, with the exception of the unease by Vanderbilt, he hated being here the most. It was not distaste for the locals, but a much larger issue. He blamed them for the new cold war that sprung up, and for the probability of another massive war breaking out. Though he was fine with the prospect of killing the enemy, he still believed Equestria should deal with its own business. His world seemed very blatant and black and white.

“Alright, just keep it down a little. Don’t want to cause a disturbance, you know?”

“Yea, my bad Sergeant,” he apologized before turning back to his table.

“You don’t honestly think he’s going to cause trouble with the locals, do you Crockett?” Vanderbilt asked, allowing the lesser Sergeant a moment to think.

“If I had to guess I’d say he won’t. He likes a fight but he’s not one to lash out over nothing,” he surmised, hoping he was correct in the assumption. “I’ll still watch for him though, we won’t take chances.”

“Padre seems to look out for him enough anyways,” Wakefield spoke up.

‘Padre’ was the nickname for Private Franklin Rockford, the fourth member of Crockett’s fire team. He initially wished to be a pastor, and joined the Army with hopes of becoming a chaplain. However, he switched to combat out of a desire to more closely watch out for others, ‘the shepherd tends his flock’ as he explained once, and somehow found his way to the rangers. He retained his chaplain’s nature even here, and hence the nickname came to be within the squad. Though he was not official, many of them were happy to have a would-be chaplain right with them in the squad, considering how quickly one of them could be felled by a bullet.

“That’s good; sometimes I think he’s the only one Carlyle will take advice from,” Crockett commented.

“Trust me, he listens. He just doesn’t show it at once, but he takes it to heart,” Wakefield assured him. “You know, it’s nice to not talk about war possibly breaking out for once.”

“You don’t want to go to war? You must be in the wrong outfit!” Vanderbilt joked. “But yea, it’s nice to imagine something other than shooting stuff every blue moon.”

“Or being shot,” Crockett added.

“I try not to think about that.”

“Yea, sorry… I sure wish I could,” he agreed solemnly. “You think the Shadows or any of the bad guys think about that?”

“Hell I’d assume so, but they’re a bunch of emo-looking freaks from another dimension. Who the Hell knows what goes on in their mind.”

“We waited too long, that’s all it comes down to,” Descent commented. “We need to be more aggressive from now on.”

“It’s the same thing that me and Blitz have been saying for some time now,” Drag added.

The Shadowbolt squadron rested about the room in various positions, some resting in chairs, others standing or floating by their wings. They all looked up at a map of Arcaia showing the new positions the Americans were thought to occupy, taped to the chalkboard of what had been a classroom. It was lit up by the light coming in through many windows, shining against the colorful paper. A red marker was used to mark the large number of possible positions, though the most projecting was the long line running vertically down the length of Equestria, representing the line that would block any progress of the Bloc.

“We should have hit them with everything we had!” Blitz agreed from the back. “We should have run them down until they couldn’t run anymore and crushed them! Being this timid only allowed them to entrench themselves.”

“Control your brother, Drag,” Descent asked.

“Why? He is right, we waited too long and now our hopes of ending the war quickly and avoiding one with America are gone. Many more lives and resources must be lost to drive them out, and we aren’t even sure if we can do that.”

“Enough!” the squadron’s leader called from next to the map. “There’s no need to focus on the past when we know what we did wrong. We need to focus on the future, that’s why we’re gathered here. Our plans ran into issues because of a squadron-”

“A very annoying squadron,” Blitz interrupted. “One I’d like to squash like gnats.”

“And we will, Blitz. But we must adapt our plans to do so.”

“What do we adapt them to? Any ideas, Nightingale?” Drag asked.

“Yes, actually. Descent and I have been talking a good deal with ponies in the rest of the armed forces. We clearly can’t defeat them in a straight battle, not anymore,” she admitted. “So, we must find a way to remove their advantages in sea, air, and land. Strike together, quickly, powerfully, and with surprise. The branches of the American armed forces are a system interconnected, each relying on certain pillars of power. Destroying these pillars and cutting them from each-other go hoof in hoof for achieving victory.”

Nightingale fluttered up from the ground a bit, leveling herself with one of the many red circles on the map that signified an air base.

“We should note that one of the greatest threats to us is their air power, from both sea and land. Defeating these two will give us the supporting fire we need to break their ground forces.”

“How do we beat their Navy and their Air Force at the same time?” another Night pony asked from her chair in the back of the room. “Their Air Force is equal to the entire Bloc alone in numbers and our Navies are even worse. You don’t expect the Chinese to join us, do you?”

“No, Zap, not immediately. But I do know of a way,” the Captain assured her colleague. “Have you ever heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor?”

Zap nodded her head in confirmation.

“It’s an event that resonates with Americans to this day, though not so much it’s lessons. They get too comfortable behind false protection at times. We should find a way to use this to circumvent these defenses, namely these radar sites that keep track of us so well,” Nightingale continued, gesturing to the two marks on Celestia’s and Luna’s points on the tips of Equestria. “Doing so when they have their guard down will give us full range to destroy their forces before they can come into play.”

“And we’re still trying to figure out how to do that?” Drag guessed.

“Yes, but we will find a way eventually. An opportunity will present itself, and when it does we must be ready to seize it to the fullest.”

“I was speaking with an officer in the Air Force a few days ago,” Descent recalled. “He was also telling me of a plan he thought up based on another decisive strike in human military history. A pre-emptive air strike by a nation called Israel, Operation Moked I think. Perhaps we can bring some of these plans together and come up with a way to disable their air power entirely, from land and sea. It would be stressful and taxing to ours as well, with the amount of flying we are asking of them, but it seems possible.”

“Try and find that officer again and ask him to meet with us. The rest of you ensure that we are ready for whatever operational plan is drawn up,” Nightingale ordered, finishing the meeting. “Shadowbolts dismissed!”

The Night ponies all got up and exited the room one by one, with Nightingale leaving last. As she did she noticed a Shadow pony waiting outside next to the door. She had promised to talk with him once the meeting was over, though she knew exactly what it was about and precisely how it would end. She felt it a waste of time but figured she would have to hammer in the point eventually, especially if they were to move on in working on invasion plans.

“Captain, how was your meeting?” General Vaquero asked.

“Productive,” she replied simply.

“Have you come up with any plans for a successful attack?”

“We are working on them,” Nightingale replied. “Though from what you said before, this is not your original reason to talk to me.”

“That name should belong to our fighters, Captain Nightingale,” Vaquero stated, returning to his original worry. “We are the Shadows, you are the Night. Returning us from banishment is appreciated, and you know that, but to take the name for your unit is too much. That very word is deeply important to us; it is a mark of pride and power to have our title.”

“There is no stronger shadow than that of the night,” Nightingale retorted, intent on ending the discussion at once. “We are the best in the sky, any sky. Don’t ever forget that. We will call ourselves what we please.”

“Very well, I suppose I can’t stop you… Please make sure to inform us when you have a strategy for defeating the enemy’s air power.”

“I will have one, just be ready to enact it.”

Author's Note

Red Flag Part One

February 5th, 2006
Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada
1300 Hours

For years, the United States and the rest of the outside world had been seen as a mysterious land. Because of the isolationist mood of Equestria at the time, nopony knew very much about what happened there. After some items made by humans slipped into Equestria through the black market, rumors began to circulate; some true and most false.

Both Rainbow and Spitfire felt a curious wonder when they finally arrived at an American airbase near the city of Las Vegas. Sadly much of the surrounding area was desert, which was perfect for military aircraft training but not so much for sightseeing. Perhaps they would be allowed to explore the city on the ground during their off-time, if the Americans would let them.

The two squadrons were the first Equestrian military units to journey to the U.S. There was some slight media buzz but no ceremony to greet them. They were welcomed in the same fashion that the other squadrons were, though upon exiting and moving through the base the caught the attention of almost all whom they passed.

They were here for Red Flag, a massive military training session for the air forces of multiple nations, hosted by the Americans regularly at Nellis Air Force Base. The foreign squadrons filled the base; F-18s from Canada and Australia, Typhoons and Tornadoes from the United Kingdom, some older F-4 Phantom IIs of the German Luftwaffe and the newer Rafales and Mirages from France. These all came from nations allied to the U.S., though Dash thought that odd as only the Canadians, British, and Australians had forces in Equestria. There was a long list of attending nations, and she had never recognized any of the others in Equestria, including the ‘closer allies’ of France, Germany, Italy, Spain, and several others that Cole told her were part of some mutual defense alliance.

It seemed rather lopsided, and it made her wary that these allies seemed to skirt around their obligations. However, Cole told her they were not obliged to anything as of yet, and not to worry about it. She took his word for it, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. Cole had stated that the key word to the alliance, NATO, was ‘defense’; unless one of them was directly attacked in their home there was no obligation. That did not count expeditions to odd foreign lands and personal inter-nation skirmishes; to Dash it felt like an excuse to escape duty.

Regardless, of all the oddities in coming to America, it was good to see Cole again. After having been away for months, the two ran into each-other while passing in a hallway, with Rainbow immediately pulling him into a tight hug. Unfortunately, he was rather busy, and they could only talk for a minute before he had to be on his way.

He, along with all the other squadrons, were preparing for the first day of Red Flag, which amounted to little more than a massive air battle to serve as an introduction for such large-scale air operations that would take place over the rest of the event with increasing complexity. She did not see him again till they were all in the air, along with the rest of the squadrons.

“Alright Rainbow lead, ready to start?” he asked, a ways off with his own squadron.

“We are, Eagle lead.”

“Ok, just remember you can’t call for my help this time. It’s up to you and your squadron.”

“We’ll make you proud!” Dash assured him.

“More than that! We’ll leave you stunned!” another voice cut in.

“Who’s that, Rainbow One?” Cole asked, having never heard the voice before in his time in Equestria.

“That’s my wingpony… the one I was telling you about. Lightning Dust, remember?”

“Ah yes, I do now,” Cole recalled, remembering some of the stories Rainbow had told her. “Well she certainly sounds eager.”

“I’m just ready to be the best flier around again!” she responded confidently. “You’re gonna see that natural fliers like me are better by default!”

“Let’s just get through the first day and we’ll see what happens, those aggressor squadrons are tough,” he retorted, sounding annoyed. “Good luck Rainbow Squadron. Eagle One, out.”

Dash sighed hard to herself as they waited for order from the commanding AWACS. She had hoped that Dust had become a bit less aggressive after her expulsion from the Academy years ago, though she only seemed slightly mellower in some situations. Despite having nearly killed ponies, she was a skilled flier, which Equestria needed. Princess Celestia and Twilight both agreed that, considering their past together, Dust should be paired with Rainbow as her wingpony with the hopes that the latter could better help the former’s attitude. It seemed to be a long process, as so far that had yet to happen.

“Dust!” she called out over the radio.

“What?”

“We talked about this, you need to be… less stubborn when flying,” Rainbow said.

“Stubborn? I’m just saying between the two of us we’ll blow these weird flightless aliens away,” Lighting responded. “They need to build these machines to fly; we’ve been doing it since we were fillies.”

“This kind of flying is different, Dust. It’s a lot more dangerous, and if we’re not careful we could get… well we would only lose here, but if it were real we could get killed!” Dash stated. “Or worse we’d… we’d get our friends killed.”

“We’ll do great Dash; you always worry way too much. That’s what stops you from getting better!”

“Well either way I’m the squad lead, so you need to follow me!” Rainbow shot back, signaling an end to the argument.

“Understood.”

Despite all the aircraft in the vicinity, Dash felt very alone in the sky. The Eagles were off on their own mission, and Spitfire and the Wonderbolts had another sector to tend to. The main practice for the day was to see how the squadrons performed in pairs, and as such her squadron was restricted to two aircraft for now, as were all the others. Every member of the squadron would get a chance for this, as the engagements would be small and rotating, but for now that meant Lightning Dust was the only one she actually knew.

“Rainbow, Stork, this is Lincoln,” the AWACS finally called to Rainbow and one of the French flights. “Four bogeys inbound, bearing zero-five-zero at a range of sixty mikes and closing, altitude at angels fifteen, speed five-hundred. Adjust course to intercept, copy, over?”

“Copy, Stork adjusting to intercept, out,” one of the French pilots acknowledged, adjusting his aircraft and not bothering to wait for Rainbow.

“Rainbow copies, moving to intercept, out.”

It was a bit rattling to be engaging in a dogfight with what was supposed to be the enemy, but it calmed Dash to know it was only a simulation. The French pilots in their Mirage 2000s were conversing on the radio in their native tongue, leaving the Equestrians in the dark. Dash kept an eye on her radar, feeling the contacts move closer to her. She simply kept along behind the Mirages, trying to follow their example until their lead spoke up.

“Rainbow, this is Stork, do you have the contacts on your radar?” the Frenchman asked through a thick accent.

“Affirmative, we do,” she confirmed, looking down at the dots on the radar screen.

“They are entering a defensive formation. We will climb to engage them, and you will stay here. If they begin tailing us, we will draw them back for you to engage, copy?”

“Copy.”

“Oh come on,” Dust groaned from her F-16 as the Mirages climbed away. “Why can’t we be the ones to lead them back?”

“It’s about teamwork, they’re probably more experienced at drawing them down than we are,” Rainbow theorized.

“Teamwork? It feels like they’re shelving us to the back so we can’t do any- hey, you see that!?” Lightning jumped. “Down there, past that big rock… mountain… thing! At two o’clock! I saw a flash!”

Rainbow looked around to where Dust was frantically referring to. It took a moment but Dash did catch a glimmer of light of what had to be another aircraft. Sure enough, there was another F-16 down there, one that belonged to the aggressor squadron they were facing.

“He’s all alone! Let me go get him Dash!”

“Hang on, Dust. The French said they’d lead some of the aircraft back to us,” Rainbow reminded her. “We need to be ready if they need us to help. We should just report it and wait.”

“Yea, but it’s just one! Just let me break off and I’ll shoot him down, and be back here before you know it!” Lightning argued. “Come on, you know how fast I am!”

“I don’t think we should, Dust.”

“Well I do!”

With that Lighting’s Falcon broke away, diving down to the right and charging after the target.

“Dust, come back!” Rainbow shouted. “You can’t go out alone!”

Rainbow debated with herself whether to stay where she was and wait for the Storks, or chase down her wingpony. She was torn between sticking with her mission and sticking with her team mate. Cole, and many of the other Americans, had told her how important wingman were, how they were responsible for each-other and how important it was that they come back alive.

“Dust!” she called out again, now turning her jet to try and catch up with them.

Down below, Lightning was chasing the enemy F-16 across the desert floor, leaving clouds of dust and sand in their zigzagging wake. The target looked to be fighting for its life, turning at ever extreme angles. However, its speed remained consistent, and its heading took them away from the main engagement.

“Sniper Two-Three, one on my tail,” the aggressor pilot called, keeping Dust in his rear site. “That’s it horsey, follow the leader.”

The two Falcons thundered through the desert landscape, with the aggressor’s desert paint job making it a bit harder to see when against the ground. They flew past some of the rock formations, pulling up and down but staying within the small area of the fight. Dust chased her target through the open sky, trying her best to get a lock on for her imaginary missiles.

“Come on, come on you dumb machine!” she grunted, listening to the beeping of the targeter as it danced around her hard-breaking foe.

Just then there was a long, unbroken tone that Dust thought was the one that signified a solid lock on. However, before she could start celebrating she noticed the beeping was continuing, and her targeter was still trying to lock onto the Falcon. It took another second to realize that it was actually a warning tone, and that she was the one who had been targeted by the enemy’s wingman flying down behind her from a much higher altitude.

“Rainbow Two, you are dead,” the AWACS announced. “That’s a kill for Sniper Two-Four.”

“Wha-what!? How did… you’re joking!”

“Good work Two-Four,” the victor’s wingman complimented.

“No problem, caught her like a fish- wait, I’ve got radar warning!” he yelled. “Two-Three, Sniper Two-Three! Something’s on me!”

“What? Who in the Hell?”

The F-16 turned away and dived, with Rainbow’s Falcon not far behind. She had watched the whole event unfold, just barely out of range to do anything. Now Dust was gone, but she was in a perfect position to gain vengeance for it. If anything she could even the odds and walk away with a victory.

The two Falcons spun in a loop towards the desert, leveling out above the ground and shooting across the open terrain. The aggressor Falcon pulled up into a chandelle and then an Immelman, with Rainbow still following close behind. He immediately turned back again, heading for the ground once more, but Dash was still behind him, just barely keeping up and vaguely within his view.

“Two-Three, this one’s way too close! Get your ass over here and help me!” the American pilot called.

He was attempting to change direction to get back to where his comrade was, but was hounded into simply buying time until he got there. The battle devolved from specific maneuvers to desperate, reactionary moves of banking, looping, and random variations of speed and height. The entire time he could hear the lock searching for him.

“Stick with him, just be patient… focus… stick with him,” Rainbow thought to herself, trying to acquire the F-16 with her targeter. “You can do this, you’re the best! You are good enough to win this!”

The Falcon was usually barely within her view as it tried to escape. He tried to cut his speed but she noticed just in time to reduce her own. Though she almost overshot as she followed him into a turn, she remained on his tail and the two sped up again. The targeter danced over the Falcon a couple of times, then stuck to it, turning bright red and singing the tone that allowed Rainbow to finally relax.

“Sniper Two-Four is dead,” the AWACS called. “First kill for the Equestrians goes to Rainbow lead.”

“Damn it!” the American pilot swore. “Guess you got me there.”

“Yes! I got him! I got him!” Rainbow celebrated, unconsciously trying to flap her wings in her seat. “I got-huh!? What’s-”

“Rainbow lead is dead, that’s a kill for Mobius One,” the announcer spoke up, clarifying where Dash’s warning lock came from.

“What? Where was he?” she asked. “Lincoln, where’s that plane? I don’t see him anywhere on the radar!”

“You can’t, it’s an F-22, snuck up behind you,” Lincoln clarified. “Don’t feel too bad; those Raptors are almost impossible to see on radar. More often than not you’re dead before you know it’s there.”

“That’s… that’s-”

“Unfair? Yea, just be glad they’re on our side in reality. Rainbow team, you are cleared to RTB, that’s enough for today. Lincoln, out.”

“I can’t believe we got tricked like that!” Lightning Dust complained as she and Dash sat alone in one of the squadron rooms at the end of the day.

The room was usually filled with pilots over the course of the day, the fliers gathering there in their free time to mingle with others from various countries. Thankfully, Dash had found a rare period in the early evening where it was empty, perhaps because many of the pilots were out on the town to enjoy Vegas. As the squadrons were only here a short time, there were few permanent decorations that marked usual rooms like these. Instead, it was stocked and colored with flags and banners from various countries and squadrons, draping the walls in radiant fabrics.

“You need to follow my lead, Dust,” Rainbow replied, trying to counsel her.

“I could have gotten him if you’d followed closer,” Dust continued to argue. “I just needed some more time. At least you got one of them, so nice work with that I guess.”

“I… thanks? Dust… like I said-”

She was interrupted by the door of the room being flung open, with Cole entering and closing it behind him. Rainbow was happy to see him but immediately noticed something was wrong. From the look on his face, he was not happy and was staring at her companion with a very cross demeanor.

“You!” he gestured at Dust, walking up to them. “What the Hell is your problem!?”

“M-me? What’s your problem?” she shot back. “Dash what’s wrong with this guy!?”

“Cole, calm down,” Dash asked, trying vainly to compose her friend. “What’s the matter? Where’s this coming from?”

“The problem is that Lightning Dust here is oblivious to the fact that she got you killed! At least from her attitude in the debrief-”

“I won’t make that mistake again,” Dust cut in definitely. "So some guy snuck up on me, he was just tricky. They won't get away with it next time."

"Dust, there won't be a next time in the real world. That's why you need to learn it now."

"I already did learn it!" she shot back sharply. "I'm not stupid with this! I was born with wings! I don't need apes telling me how to fly!"

"Then why are you the first one that got killed!?"

"It won't. Happen. Again!" Dust repeated heatedly.

“Yes you will if you keep acting like that!” Cole lashed out. “You keep acting arrogant and invincible! Like you know everything! Do you know what happens when you do that!?”

“I lose-”

“You get killed!” the American yelled. “And not only that, but you get your wingmen killed too! But you don’t think about either of those do you? You don’t even care if you get your friends killed, do you!?”

“I do!”

“No you don’t! You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be responsible for your friend’s life! And you know what else? I wouldn’t keep doing this if you weren’t a threat to the rest of your squadron.”

Dust and Dash were quiet now, both looking on at Cole as he went through his rant, the former now with an increasing degree of fear and the latter increasingly unhappy with the act.

“Keep acting like that and see what happens. Getting killed up there is the best thing you could hope for!”

“Cole!” Dash yelled, trying to interject to no avail.

“That’d be the best solution you could hope for! If you’re lucky your stupid act will only get yourself killed instead of your friends!” he shouted, losing his way in the anger. “All you’d be is a damned example for the rest!”

“Cole!”

“The fucking plane would be a bigger loss than you!”

“John!” Dash shouted back, flying in-between the two, “that’s enough!”

Cole seemed shaken a bit by her sudden move, as if he were suddenly knocked out of a trance. He blinked a couple times, seemingly just realizing what had happened. Taking a breath and stepping back, he tried to compose himself, and came out of it with his wrathful look replaced with a colder, more serious one.

“Sorry,” he said simply. “It’s still right… the general idea I mean, not the last… sorry.”

“Dust, head back to your quarters,” Dash ordered, dragging the human aside while her wingpony quickly flew out the room. “Cole, what was that!?”

“I was trying to get through to her, to get her to understand the situation,” he said, trying to explain his actions. “I went overboard, yea, but you have to be hard with stubborn ones like her. That’s… just how it’s done Dash.”

“I don’t care if it is! I don’t care if this is how you do it on Earth either! We don’t do it like… that, in Equestria! Especially not to our friends!”

“She’s your friend? She could’ve got you killed Dash. I want to make sure she doesn’t.”

“Well I need to be her friend, and if she is she’ll listen to me more than you yelling at her,” she explained.

Cole did not answer back directly, but took a string of audible breaths and averted his eyes to the grown. He could tell Dash was deeply upset with him, and she had reason to be, but even in being too aggressive he was willing to stand by the general idea behind the act. Lightning Dust had to be broken down and shown what could happen if her ego controlled her actions. He did not want to see an ego become the cause of death for her or Dash, or anyone else.

“I don’t get it Cole… you told me before that you didn’t like yelling… that you liked to talk with discipline so they’d listen,” she sighed, now calm and collected in her own right.

“I do but… I’ll admit I guess I just lose it sometimes… I’ll get angry and everything.”

“You have to control that; you could end up hurting somepony.”

“I know, I’m sorry, really-”

“Dust deserves an apology, not me.”

“Yea… I’ll give her one eventually… I don’t think she’d want to see me right now,” Cole replied, looking back to her. “I still owe you one doing that in front of you.”

“Well, someone needs to go talk to Dust; I guess she’s my responsibility anyways.”

The pegasus fluttered off the couch and landed behind Cole, trotting out to the door before coming to a halt at the sound of his voice.

“Dash, you’re… I mean you’re still a friend to me, right?”

“Wha- Of course… I think,” she replied, somewhat sheepishly. “I mean, I’d like to be. But you can’t do stuff like that Cole, you’ll do more damage that way.”

“I know Dash... but... look, you’ve got to be able to clamp down on mistakes. I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“I know you don’t,” she agreed before exiting and leaving Cole alone.

“Guess the road to Hell is paved with good intent,” he thought to himself. “That never is something you learned.”

“Shouldn’t stop me from trying to do the right thing,” he responded, now arguing with himself.

“Except you’re no good at doing the right thing. You’ve made the right call a few times but then you lose control and do stupid stuff like this.”

“I’ve done plenty of good things, I’ve made more than enough good calls.”

“And you’re still so petty on a personal basis when stuff like this comes up, huh? You can’t even apologize to her.”

“I will, I know I will. I just need to think of the right words. I screwed it up and I have to be careful to fix it… just need time to put it together.”

“How much time do you need? You’re still on a clock from what that dream told you.”

“I don’t need to think about that right now.”

“Your clock is ticking, and you have no idea for how long it’s got.”

The 1st Marine Division had been settled in the city of Las Pegasus for several months, and it was beginning to feel less and less like an actual military base. The city, far off from the front lines and a good ways away from any other large town, was crammed to the brink with marines who had very little to do. Though on the positive side, they were probably better connected with the natives of the metropolis than any other unit on the continent on account of the amount of free time.

The official missions were set as ‘reserve’ and ‘guard duty’ to the eastern areas of Equestria, but most felt like there was very little to guard the region from. Relaxation gradually became the norm attitude around the city outside of the few official activities and events on the schedule. The usual routines were enacted to keep the men at the ready and in good condition, but little else beyond that.

The only immediate issue was dealing with local incidents, which were bound to happen regardless of where they were on the planet. Marines would act as marines did, and that tended to clash harshly with the local culture at some points. Still, many took on the personal task of improving relations between the two species, which was part of the reason Sergeant Diego was speaking with battalion commander.

“So to summarize, Sergeant, stop giving joy rides in your vehicle to the locals,” Lieutenant Colonel Passmore demanded.

“Yes Sir, sorry. I just thought it would be a good way to improve relations,” Diego clarified.

“And I can appreciate that, but that cuts into fuel. Unless you want to start buying your own gas for your LAV I’d suggest you cut back on them.”

“At least we don’t charge for it like that douchebag Laurel,” Diego thought to himself, “running a fucking taxi service.”

“We’re going to need plenty of fuel for the battalion’s little camping trip up to no-man’s land, we can’t be wasting it,” Passmore continued, citing further reasons.

“Yes Sir, we’ll hold off on it. Has a decision been made on which of the infantry battalions will be joining us?”

“First of the Fifth.”

“Thank you, Sir. I’ll start looking into preparing with them.”

Author's Note

Just a few more chapters I wanted to write; felt like I needed to build more development. Not much beyond that. Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading. Should be more on the way soon enough.

Red Flag Part Two

February 7th, 2006
Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada
1200 Hours

Dash did not see or speak with Cole since the incident, mainly because there was little time for either of them to do so. Even when there was, she was reluctant to put in the effort to try and find him, preferring to spend time with what few other ponies were about the base.

Seeing him so angry proved to be an ugly and painful experience, and one she was not able to shake as of yet. To her, Dust had made a huge mistake, but Cole had too in trying to discipline her in such a brutal manner. Dash was responsible for Lightning not only as a wingpony but, as Twilight suggested before they left, making a friendly pony out of her. She could not allow her to be attacked even if it was from another friend. She was not angry with Cole, but felt some time keeping the two apart would be best, as well as keeping away herself to think. Cole had been right in addressing the dangers of Dust’s mishap, but it did not mean he could speak to her in such an overly-aggressive manner.

Dash was torn internally over the subject, as she had to admit to herself that she did not know a better way to get Lightning to listen. She spoke with Spitfire over the worries she held as the squad leader, but little actually came of it. Spitfire suggested to Dash that, after a short period, try to mend the affairs between the two by acting as a bridge and arbiter for them. That would still take time, and the more pressing matters of Red Flag took precedent.

The operations today proved more complex than a simple mass air-to-air engagement, encompassing multiple different factors. All the layers of air combat were represented; air interception, bombing, air-defense suppression, search and rescue, and so on. The Equestrians were given the mission of escorting a flight of B-52 Stratofortress bombers on a mock attack run. Thankfully this meant that Rainbow would be operation with the Wonderbolts again, and it would be comforting to fly with some more familiar faces.

“How are you doing back there, Rainbow Two?” she asked Dust as the squadron retained its formation off to the nine o’clock of the bomber flights.

“I’m okay lead, just trying to focus,” Lightning replied.

“You sure? You’re a little wobbly today.”

“Yea, I’ll be fine. I just need to focus.”

Rainbow and her flight of seven fighters held their position alongside the bomber formation, which itself contained ten bombers in two flights of five. The group maintained a holding pattern, which was little more than flying in a wide circle, until the Bolts arrived. Nine Super Hornets took up a position on the opposite side of the bombers and the entire group then corrected their bearing to the target.

“Morning Rainbow lead, how are things looking over there?” Spitfire called in.

“We’re doing okay, Bolt One, a little jittery but we’ll be fine once the action starts,” Rainbow answered.

“I said I’m okay!” Dust jumped in, sounding slightly annoyed.

“I hope so, Rainbow Two,” Spitfire responded.

“I am, I just… I just don’t want you all to worry about me,” Dust admitted. “There’s more important stuff to worry about than me.”

“This is Spur lead, is there any trouble with you guys?” the leading B-52 chimed in, sounding somewhat annoyed. “I got enough to worry about already with the SEAD not killing all the AA around the target.”

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about with us protecting you,” Dash assured the bomber pilot. “You won’t see a single enemy fighter with us around. Maybe if you finish the bombing quick enough we’ll have time to show you some tricks on the way back!”

“Oh great, a little daredevil. Can you just distract any bandits that fly our way and leave the heavy lifting to us?”

As with most missions it took time to fly to the target, and much of that time was spent doing nothing more than keeping up a watch for incoming bandits. There were engagements going on elsewhere but none close enough to be a threat to the bombers. Considering how important of a target the bombers were to the opposing force, it was worrying how few attacks were being made against them, and a good deal of anxiety rose from that. The interjection of the AWACS operator’s voice after a rather long period of silence caused Dash to jump.

“Bolt, Lincoln. Bogies inbound at two-four-two. Adjust course to intercept.”

“Understood, Lincoln,” Spitfire acknowledged. “Take care of the bombers, Rainbow Squadron. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“We will, Bolt.”

Rainbow watched as the Super Hornets broke away in their new direction, and before long they were out of sight.

“You think they’ll be able to handle it?” Lightning Dust wondered aloud.

“Yea, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Rainbow assured her.

Around eight minutes passed as Rainbow and the planes of her squadron were left alone with the bombers. There was no further discussion over the radio, causing time to slow to a crawl as Dash observed the sky and ground. The simple appearance of the desert below added to this effect, with the red and brown earth far below blending together, punctuated only by the random rock formations. Seconds ticked by one by one, and as they did so Dash continued scanning the area, looking for anything standing out from the usual scenery.

A flash of light caught her eye as she watched over the desert floor, appearing from behind one of the taller rock formations. It was followed in quick succession by several more flashes, indicating that it was an aircraft, one that did not seem to be of friendly nature. Clearly the pilots of the opposing force did not think the ponies had learned their lesson from last time, perhaps thinking, reasonably, that if it worked before it would work again.

The baiting aircraft below was a MiG-29, though not one of a hostile nationality. It belonged to the Indian Air Force, one of the few nations the U.S. was allied to that operated such equipment. To call them an ‘ally’ was a bit of a stretch, but they were friendlier to America than most other nations that used such equipment. Considering their belligerent history with China, they did not mind becoming more sympathetic to the U.S. themselves.

“Hey Rainbow lead, you see that?” Lighting Dust asked, having spotted the same MiG. “Looks like a Fulcrum down below us.”

“I see it. It looks like it’s alone.”

“Should we go after it? I-it’s your call, I mean.”

“No, we can’t. It’s probably a trap like last time,” Rainbow reminded her. “We were told to stay with the bombers and keep them safe, so that’s what we’re going to do. We call it in and stay where we are.”

“You sure? I mean… I hate to just let a target get away like that.”

“I know Dust, but we can’t be stupid.”

“Yea, I hear you… we’ll stay here lead.”

“Lincoln, Rainbow. One Fulcrum spotted below our formation. Looks like it’s tracking us, out.”

The MiG followed them from below for some time before breaking away. The remainder of the flight proved uneventful, with the only apparent bomber ‘loss’ coming from an anti-aircraft missile launcher near the target. The remainder of the B-52s successfully dropped their simulated payload on the target, destroying it and accomplishing the objective with little drama or fanfare.

The return flight was quiet and simple as well. The Wonderbolts did not rejoin them on their way back, and it was not until after they landed that Dash learned of their experience, which proved much more exciting. Apparently they had engaged and driven off the flight of aircraft they were detached to engage from long range in a relatively quick time. While returning, they spotted and ambushed another flight of fighters that looked as though they were preparing to attack the bomber formation, scattering them and defeating a number of them. They were also MiG-29s, which gave Dash an answer as to the Indian’s tactics and where the rest of the bait Fulcrum’s wingmen were.

It proved to be a rather simple and unexciting mission for Dash squadron altogether, and Dust was slightly dissatisfied with not having directly contributed to defeating the enemy. Rainbow was happy though, as the mission had been complete and without major missteps by her squadron. As she had learned, and as Cole and many others had told her, the mission’s completion came before most else, and was only surpassed at times by the well being of the unit. At the end of the day, on the grand scale, that mattered far more than glory or a personal record.

“You sure there’s no way my battle group can take part in the exercise?” the Rear Admiral asked.

“I’m sorry Allen, but you guys are going to be staying here,” the Vice Admiral replied. “The America is forty years old, and she’s the youngest.”

“They all still work fine though,” Allen Jay argued. “The oldest is the Sara at fifty, and she still turns like a top. There are some problems here and there but we’re keeping these carriers in shape.”

“I know, Admiral Jay, and I’m grateful for that,” Vice Admiral Benson stated. “Most people in this reserve position would just let the old ships rot. I admire you trying to keep your ships in their best fighting order, but you’re still in reserve; very deep in reserve. Even if war were to break out I don’t know if we’d call your ships up.”

“Yes Sir, could we at least hold our own small exercise?” Jay suggested.

“Not in the near future; we have enough work coming up with the Exercise Marshal and that’s enough work on its own. It doesn’t need to get more crowded,” Benson explained. “Once it’s over I can arrange something, but not at the same time.”

“I understand, Sir,” Allen relented.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“No Sir… was there anything you had for me?”

“No, that will be all.”

Jay stood and left his commander’s office, moving through the rest of the building at a slow pace. He exited the command building of the U.S. Pacific Fleet, being greeted by his driver and the warm Hawaiian sun. He returned the greeting and asked to be driven back to his ships, a short drive away from the headquarters. After a few minutes of a quiet ride the vessels came into view, resting peacefully in the waters of Pearl Harbor.

He was in command of the reserve carrier force for the Pacific Fleet, stationed in Pearl. This consisted of four old carriers, with his flagship being the U.S.S. America of the Kitty Hawk class. The other three were the Saratoga, Independence, and Ranger, which belonged to the older Forrestal class, all resting in line in the loch.

These four elderly warships were the backup power of the fleet should anything happen to the main carrier force. However, with the sheer number of them in the Pacific, they were unlikely to need it. These carriers had been sent here from a quick decision from a more panicked time, and there was little chance they would sail in major operations ever again.

The car came to a halt next to the ramp leading up to the grey hull of the America. Jay thanked the driver and began the long walk back up to the old, dutiful warship. It was disappointing that they were to be left out, but he had expected as much. For now he would focus his work on the same efforts he had been performing, in keeping the carriers in safe and operable condition; old ships like these required constant attention.

Author's Note

Red Flag Part Three

February 13th, 2006
Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada
1040 Hours

Red Flag was beginning to reach its conclusion, and it looked as though it had accomplished its mission. The general consensus was that the two Equestrian squadrons, though not exceptional, were more than competent and ready to fight if needed. With some more time, there was hope that the rest of the Royal Equestrian Air Force would reach a similar standard.

The briefing for the day was to take longer than usual, as there was some important information that needed to be shared. An American Air Force major, whose few strands of visible silvery hair were betraying his age, stood before the grouping of unit commanders in the auditorium. Behind him a large projection slide flipped through a list of aircraft belonging to the Bloc militaries, each containing a picture, name, and list of important information, all in neat bulleted format.

“This next part is some pretty important new information we’ve gotten, so if you haven’t been taking notes already I’d suggest you start now,” his voice commanded, prompting Dash and a few others to take out their notepads after neglecting them before. “Intelligence has put together a good picture that shows a massive buildup in new aircraft types from all three of these nations. They’re based largely on old Soviet designs that never went into production, but it’s doubtful they have the exact same abilities and specifications as the originals. So far we have been able to identify the following.”

He paused for a moment, allowing the next slide to flip on, before continuing.

“The majority of their buildup has been taken up by bomber aircraft. Il-54 design, codename ‘Blowlamp’, transonic bomber. M-50, ‘Bounder’, large-scale strategic bomber capable of supersonic. Two dedicated high speed and altitude supersonic bomber designs, the T-4 and the T-60S, codenames ‘Balloon’ and ‘Barrel’ respectively.

“These are followed by three new ground attack aircraft. The odd sawed-off looking one on the left is the Il-40 ‘Brawny’, the middle is the Il-102 ‘Blacksmoke’. Last one’s actually a Romanian design, the IAR-93 ‘Buzzard’. There are only two new fighter aircraft designs we’ve discovered so far: ‘Flipper’ and ‘Fixture’, the La-250 interceptor and the Ye-8 fighter.

“All of this points to a heavy usage of airpower to attack our ground forces on both a tactical and strategic scale. We’re not sure just how sure how far along the production of these are or how many they intend to make. Just know that you’ll probably be seeing them up there before too long.

“Now, we’ll get into the mission for today,” the Major moved on, now focusing on the training for the day. “There’s not going to be any actual engagements, because we’re focusing more on maneuvering and bringing the real world into this. We’ll be firing actual shots this time instead of just simulating through lock-on, and you all will be avoiding them through maneuvering and countermeasures.”

“What!?” Dash thought to herself.

“Needless to say they’re not active missiles,” he continued, as if he had heard her worry. “They don’t have warheads on them. In fact they’re generally far less capable than the average missile. They can’t track as well and are slowed down to where, even if they did impact the aircraft, they wouldn’t do significant damage. That being said the whole purpose of this exercise is to not get hit. Sounds simple enough right? We’ll see if you can dodge the real thing today.”

Dash waited amongst a number of other aircraft that were in a holding position over the desert. Each one waited their turn over the range to have one of the training missiles fired at them. They would be going one at a time so as to minimize chances of accidents and provide maximum control and space to the pilots.

It was concerning to her that actual physical shots were being fired at the aircraft. The Americans assured all that even if the missile impacted the damage to the plane would be negligible, with some claiming that the planes themselves could simply fly faster to avoid them. Still, the idea of one of the missiles flying into a critical area like the air intake was worrying. A long string of bad luck could lead to the death of a pilot, though that was not too different from the real world.

At some point in their career, should war break out, there would come the time that they were shot at with actual weapons. Vital and extensive as training was, it could never fully prepare one for the shock and feel of first combat; only with experience could one hope to become truly accustomed to it. Assuming that day would come, the commanders did not wish the shock to be overwhelming. They wanted the first shots to be fired at the troops in a controlled environment.

So far half of the aircraft scheduled for the day had completed their turns. None of them had been struck by missiles, which gave a positive sign for the remainder of the pilots. Now it was Dash’s turn as the last aircraft of the squadron before them exited the area, and she was called up to begin her turn.

“Rainbow lead, Lincoln. Are all your instruments operating properly, over?” the AWACS called in.

“Affirmative, over,” she answered simply.

“You’re up first. Adjust your course and head over the range. Once there you’ll be fired upon with ground-launched missiles from a healthy distance; one infra-red, one radar-guided. Use countermeasures and whatever else is needed to evade them. Lincoln out.”

Dash complied with the order, changing her direction and flying away from the rest of the planes and leaving her squadron and friends behind. Before long she was the only plane in the sky, and the solitary ride enacted its own effects on her anxiety. There would be no call to her when the missile was launched, she simply had to watch for it and listen for the warning system.

The desire to finish the exercise began to overtake her, and her speed increased progressively as she flew across the range. The seconds ticked away and no missiles were spotted, with nothing more than the muffled noises of the engine and her heartbeat. Her eyes constantly moved back and forth and side to side, unsure of exactly where the shots would come from, other than the ground.

Finally, her efforts were rewarded when she spotted something out of the ordinary when looking in her rear mirror. A long trail of white smoke rocketed from the ground, climbing quickly and leveling out at her altitude. It was clear that this was the missile, and the sudden loud blare of the warning system only further confirmed this.

There was no point in waiting for the range to close, and she immediately began to fire off countermeasures as instructed beforehand. The Falcon began to periodically drop groups off chaff and flares, creating a line of them behind the jet. As she had been told another time, it was best to fire off both rather than test with one or the other; there would be time to theorize what type of missile it was when she was on the ground, either at base or in a prisoner camp.

As the missile began to close she made a sharp turn to evade it manually, but it proved unnecessary. The missile became distracted by one of the flare bursts and flew off in another direction, a good distance away from Dash’s Falcon. Before Dash could relax, her warning went off again, signaling a second missile had locked onto her fighter.

She looked around, but could not visually find it, leaving her blind as to what direction it was coming from. Remembering to focus on evading rather than seeing, she began to launch the countermeasures again and increased the speed, enacting some turns to throw the missile off. Before long she spotted it as well, approaching off to her side and at a closer range than the previous one.

Rainbow turned to fly away from it, increasing speed and diving away from the shot. She approached the desert floor at a fast pace, having to level out quickly so that she did not fall too low. However, only after leveling out did she realize that the warning had ceased. A brief glance to her six revealed the missile flying off in another direction, diverted by one of the many chaff clouds that she had released in her escape.

“Rainbow One, Lincoln. Mission complete, you can RTB now, over.”

“Copy Lincoln, returning to base, out,” she replied, rather surprised at how easy the whole ordeal was. “Huh… that wasn’t too bad… guess it’s not as scary as it seems.”

“See? It isn’t so bad around here,” Staff Sergeant Braxley commented to the other soldiers as he fiddled with some hamburgers on a small, makeshift grill. “With a little decorating it might just feel like home.”

“Some burgers and a Packers poster doesn’t make home for me,” Sergeant Clovis replied.

“Well… sorry, Sergeant. You just got to… I don’t know, go along with stuff sometimes.”

The men were making a hearty attempt at relaxing outside of a large concrete bunker where they were stationed, one of many as part of the long static defenses of the Papa Line that stretched as far as the eyes could see. Long rows and systems of trenches and tunnels, pillboxes, bunkers, and other fortifications with variations to their position and number in accordance with the terrain they were built on. This particular bunker was one of the large ones, a monolithic three stories high and overlooking some smaller, one-story bunkers in front of them. A maze of trenches connected all the structures for safer movement when the line was under fire, but usually the soldiers simply walked about normally on the surface, trying to spend as little time inside the structures as possible.

Though the individual units were rotated out from time to time, this was to be the squad’s new home for the foreseeable future until they were relieved, and realistically no one knew when that would be. The larger bunkers like these also had a basement, which served as the bunk for most. Despite proper insulation and airflow, at least what could be provided without sacrificing protection, the structures could become bitingly cold at night and painfully hot during the day. The troops began to acquire a unique distaste for them, and many decided to take their chances sleeping outside on clear nights.

The barbecuing was just finishing when Corporal Henry returned, toting two large packs of water in plastic bottles in his sand t-shirt, with Private Yakubov in tow hauling an additional pack. Emigrating from St. Petersburg, Yakubov was one of a great number of immigrants that were joining the armed forces, helping swell its ranks with a rather effective baiting strategy. Oddly optimistic, if cold at times, he was a welcome addition to the squad, adding a degree of resourcefulness.

Altogether, the ‘White Russian’ was a strange standout. While a number of his countrymen wished for the days of the U.S.S.R., he went back further, saying quite a few times that he yearned for the days of the Tsars like Peter the Great, the builder of his hometown. Admitting he had been spoiled with bright stories of them as a child, he still basked in the days of the empire, a time even his grandparents never witnessed. He also claimed to share distant blood with the Romanovs, though just how distant was anyone’s guess.

“Foods done?” Henry asked, setting the water down next to the side of the bunker.

“Yea, take your pick,” Braxley invited. “No buns though, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s warm food. I can be happy with that.”

“Corporal, where’s Pistol Pete anyways? Didn’t he go with you two? He’s the one that scammed these things for us,” Clovis asked, trying his best to use one of the thick, dry slices of bread from their MREs as a substitute for a bun.

“Sergeant Peter will be back shortly,” Yakubov answered, setting his case down and stretching his arms, his sleeve falling to show the black double-eagle coat of arms. “The truck carrying the MREs was running late, so he sent us ahead.”

“You know, would it kill them to send stuff our ways for once instead of making us walk so far back there?” Henry asked, taking one of the patties for himself. “Can’t be that hard to set up a field kitchen or a laundry detail around here.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to send his clothes back to get washed,” Braxley reminded him.

“Yea, cause the cleaners always lose them! If anyone’s going to lose my uniform’s it’s going to be me-” the Corporal was interrupted by the sound of thunder from a closing storm. “Looks like the afternoon showers are here.”

“Yea, let’s get the stuff inside,” the Staff Sergeant ordered. “Pistol’s going to have to either trudge it through the rain or wait till it passes.”

“Knowing him he’ll probably chill in the rear,” Sergeant Clovis stated, “anything that keeps him out of the prison bunker.”

“You’re probably right; he can take care of himself.”

Author's Note

Over the Edge

April 17th, 2006
1930 Hours
South of Arcaia, Central Pacific

Source

It had been six years since Equestria had fallen to Earth, six years since he had commanded the Spruance, and six years since his subordinate’s folly had led to the destruction of a U.S. Navy submarine and the start of a new Cold War with China. Though he had been acquitted of any direct wrongdoing, the experience had a profound effect on Captain Raleigh Keith. Most of those years since then had spent trying to stay out of trouble and clear up the issues with the Navy.

It was not until recently that he had finally been given a new command with another of his old subordinates, Bailey, acting as his Executive Officer. The U.S.S. Audie Murphy, DDG-119, was one of the dozens of destroyers that were being built within the Navy. Though not the most recent of the Arleigh Burkes, it still had the look of a ship that was fresh off the line. Named for the most decorated soldier in American history, it seemed like a true opposite to Keith’s feelings.

It had been stunning to him that he had not been demoted, or removed from the Navy outright; though looking back that would have been more merciful. Now that he had a new vessel to command, it felt like an opportunity to repeat all the mistakes he had made before. He was wary of trouble, and was resolved to stay out of the spotlight as best as possible. The less attention he got the better; his only mission to him was to ensure a relatively normal career in commanding this destroyer to make up for his failed career prior.

“Exercise Marshal looks about wrapped up, Captain,” Commander Bailey observed.

“Yea, looks like it,” Keith agreed plainly.

“Everything alright, Sir?”

“Yea, you know how I am these days.”

“Content?”

“Anything but… you mind heading back down to CIC? We still got to keep track of things ‘till the exercise officially ends; shouldn’t be too much longer.”

IRON MILL sat on the top of a large cliff jutting from the southern part of Equestria known as Luna’s Point. For months now it had been used to track the movements of forces in the southern half of the Defense Bloc, as well as serve as a powerful listening post to spy on their radio orders. Being located rather close to the border, it could see far behind the lines and give early warnings for any possible attack.

However, there had not been an attack since before the station had been set up, and so far the station and its sister station in the north, STEEL MILL, had mostly just kept track of the Bloc’s movements. It was an important job, but one that took a toll on the operators of the facility. Spying on the enemy from afar could prove interesting at first, but once the general routine had set in it became monotonous. It did not help that the station was constantly active, requiring long hours from the crew.

Olsen was one of the workers who had the unfortunate luck of having the night shift. At times like these the station could get down to a bare-bone skeleton crew of men, and time would go by at a torturously slow rate with the lack of company. He took another drink from his coffee mug in preparation for the start of his shift before one of his companions got his attention.

“Hey Tom, you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” he asked, absentmindedly stirring his drink and gazing into the small whirlpool left in the cup.

“The screen, there’s a ton of contacts,” his co-worker emphasized.

“There’s always contacts; the bad guys are always active.”

“This active?”

Checking his radar screen caused Olsen to wake from surprise. Appearing on the long-range scanner were several clusters of small dots, aircraft contacts from the Bloc militaries. The mass of blips started over Bloc territory in the Shadow and Changeling Empires, and stretched for miles down into the Pacific. Disturbingly, the areas with the most activity seemed to be parallel with the three Navy battle groups that were supposed to be finishing their display of power.

“Uh… not that much.”

“You think it’s a malfunction? Solar activity or something? Maybe the Shadows are messing with us.”

“Maybe… hang on, let me call the LT and see if we’re getting any extra radio traffic on the listening station,” said Olsen.

He picked up a black phone on the wall off to the right of his chair, tugging the tangled chord over to him.

“Lieutenant Trumbull,” he called into the phone, getting no answer on the other side. “Lieutenant? This is Olsen. We’re getting some weird contacts, are you receiving an increase in Bloc chatter… hello?”

“Maybe he was away from the phone,” the other radar operator theorized. “Why don’t you go see if you can find him? I’ll start tracking all these contacts.”

“Alright, just don’t go nowhere.”

The room that housed the listening station was housed on the other side of the building complex, closer to the front entrance of the facility. The listening station had actually come online a few days before the radars had, and actually contained a larger staff due to the sheer volume of intercepted radio traffic of the Bloc militaries. However, as he walked down the hall that connected the main portions of the two, he saw no one. Even on later shifts there would be at least a moderate number of people there.

“Hello?” he called out, receiving no reply.

Though he was alone nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary until he opened the double-doors to the radio room. The entire post was unoccupied, though everything was operating in working order. There were some papers scattered about on the floor, but that was no cause for alarm. He wondered if the crew had gone AWOL for some reason when he heard the thump of boots outside in the hall he had come from.

“Hey, that you Lieu-”

He was unable to finish his words, as something hard struck his chest and pushed him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Shock set in as he tried to comprehend what had happened, followed shortly by a dull pain, and then the wet, warm feeling of blood on his chest. He had been shot, and by whom he did not know, being unable to sit up to see.

Lying his head on his side, he was someone move past him as if he were scanning for targets, followed by a number of his companions. He saw their uniformed shapes flow past him, and their few exposed areas gave the look of a dark shell. They were Changelings, special operators of their empire. The human was unable to learn anything else as they moved on down the hall to the radar room; he did not see them afterwards.

“Report,” Bailey asked the radar operator.

“Number of contacts has increased to twenty-two. Same course and speed.”

“Alright, I’m heading back to the bridge. Speak up if there’s a problem.”

The Audie Murphy’s XO trudged his way back to the bridge, where the Captain was still standing. Reports of long-range contacts had been coming in but there had been no fleet-wide statement regarding it, or even for the battle group. Keith was still in the same spot where Bailey had left him, gazing out the window at the bow of his vessel.

“What's the problem?”

“A bunch of contacts came up on the radar. You haven’t gotten any reports have you, Sir?”

“No, I haven’t,” Keith responded. “If I had to guess it’s just the Bloc doing some counter-demonstration to our exercise.”

“Still… the MILL is supposed to let us know if they see anything.”

“Yea... yea you’re right,” the Captain agreed. “Radio the Vinson, let her know we’re tracking them.”

Bailey nodded and turned away to perform his task, while Keith was called by the radar man with a new update on the formation.

“Bridge here.”

“Captain I'm getting an increasingly large number of contacts. The number’s more than doubled. Fifty plus and growing. Heading is zero-nine-two.”

The destroyer was not the only one picking up the inbound aircraft. Most of the formation was beginning to see them on their radar, and were also beginning to radio the flagship of the formation, the Carl Vinson. The aircraft carrier was the nucleus of the battle group, and one of three groups that were taking part in the exercise. Hers was the closest to Equestria, with the Abraham Lincoln’s group being farthest south and the George Washington’s in the middle.

Far above the battle group, the carrier’s combat air patrol circled protectively. The CAP was the first line of defense for a carrier battle group, having by far the longest reach with their aircraft’s weapons. Two of these were Tomcats of VF-31, just launched from the report of the new contracts. Unsure of what exactly was happening, the men of the lead jet talked back and forth as they awaited further instructions, trying to discern the situation and put off any anxiety that silent waiting usually brought.

“You think this is just some surprise practice?” the Weapons Systems Officer asked the pilot, who happened to be the Commander of the squadron.

“I couldn’t tell you, Lighter, but I doubt it. They already sent out all of the three-oh-one, I don’t think they’d do that if this was just some surprise finale for the exercise,” answered Commander Oscar before he called out to the second Tomcat. “Everything looking good, France?”

“Yea, yep! This baby’s still holding together,” his wingman replied, rocking the F-14’s wings to show his commander.

“Just don’t do nothing crazy, you hear?”

“Aw, you know I can’t promise something like that, Coin.”

“Felix, this is the Vinson; confirm a large number of bogies inbound towards the fleet. Heading is zero-nine-two, multiple varying speeds and altitudes. We do not know their intention but we can assume they’re not friendly,” their carrier called to them, giving them an update on the situation. “Devil is already moving towards the contacts, if needed the rest of your squadron will be launched to follow up. Be advised we’re launching a new Hawkeye momentarily; Seahawk will coordinate the CAP. How copy, over?”

“Felix copies, adjusting course now. Out,” the squadron commander affirmed before turning to his wingman. “You hear that France?”

“I hear you lead, let’s get going.”

As the fighters surged out to meet the mass of approaching planes, the vessels down below were bustling with confusion, trying to figure out what was happening. Keith and the Audie Murphy, sitting at the tail end of the formation, awaited their orders, anxiously eyeing the ever-closing bogies. The range had decreased greatly by the time a report was received from their flagship.

“Report from the Vinson, Sir. Similar tracks by the other two battle groups,” Bailey finally chimed up. “We don’t know what they’re doing but we can assume them to have aggressive intent. Still we’re told to keep weapons tight; they don’t want us to shoot first.”

“Figures as much, damn it I don’t need to get into a tough spot like this again, all this who-shoots-first bullshit,” the Captain lamented. “Son of a bitch the numbers are still growing! They’re closing in too… damn it they’re not coming to give us a parade! Shit… what… what can I do with this kind of-”

“Captain! Don’t worry about last time. Clear your head and just give the call and we’ll stick with it.”

Before the Captain could even begin this process, a new call came from the radar operator, who was noticeably more concerned than before.

“Bridge, radar! Contacts continuing to rise, some look like they’re spreading out!”

“Hell… they are coming for us, huh?” Keith grunted to his executive officer.

“That’s what it looks like, Captain,” Bailey agreed.

“Well, let's see if I can do something right for once. Get down the CIC, get everyone ready to engage but we won’t shoot first. We’ll be ready to respond,” Keith ordered, returning to answer the radar man as Bailey left the bridge. “Bridge here, report! Are those bogies doing anything different now?”

“No Sir! Contacts continuing on, some increasing speed and-” the radar operator stopped as a mass of new dots appeared from the formation, quickly pulling away at exceedingly high speed. “Vampire! Vampire! Vampire! Anti-Ship missiles launched! Repeat, Vampire, anti-ship missiles inbound!”

Far in the distance, well out of sight from the human eye, the formation of bombers released their Anti-Ship Missiles at the fleet of American warships. Once they were all released, the bombers turned and sped away at whatever speed their individual design allowed. The smaller fighters of the Changeling and Shadow Navies continued onward, some to engage the incoming American fighters, others with their mission of attacking the ships.

“Felix, Seahawk! Enemy bogies are confirmed hostile, you are clear to engage,” the Hawkeye called to the Tomcats. “Devil is already in action, move west to join them. The rest of your squadron and the CAG is launching to assist, now get going! We can’t let anymore of them through!”

“Roger, Seahawk,” Oscar confirmed. “Let’s snipe these bastards, Lighter; lock up the radar and get a target for the Phoenix!”

The ‘wizzo’ hurriedly complied, using the Tomcat’s powerful radar to select their first target, a far-off MiG that was moving towards the fleet. Getting a clear tone, the F-14 released its Phoenix missile, the largest and longest-ranged air-to-air weapon in the world. The missile dropped from the plane’s body and ignited its rocket, zooming away into the clouds. At the same time, a wave of missiles shot past the Tomcat, heading in the opposite direction and aiming for the American vessels.

Below, the mass of inbound ordinance was being tracked by each of the ship’s radars. The first to fire was the anti-air commander of the formation, the AEGIS cruiser USS Monterey. Its powerful radar tracked the targets as it volleyed its own complement of missiles. One-hundred and twenty-two shot out of the ship, concealing the cruiser in a dense cloud of smoke and causing any exposed sailor to seek shelter below decks for protection from choking and burning eyes. Two and a half minutes later her missile cells were empty.

In the dense fog of chaos and confusion that clouded the formation, another ship fired at the same time as her sister. The older cruiser Vincennes shot off of its own initiative when it saw the other Ticonderoga launching. Shortly after the Monterey finished, the Vincennes was also void of long-range weaponry.

Of all the American missiles fired, three-fourths found a target. A handful missed, two or three would sometimes lock onto the same target, and others were distracted by the powerful jamming emitted from some of the bloc fighters flying about. As the ASM’s approached individual American ships began to fire their own stores.

Inevitably, some made it through, leaving it up to the ship’s point-defense systems to defeat them. One locked onto the Vincennes, striking just beneath the antennae array and causing the mast to collapse to its side, falling over the starboard side of the ship and into the ocean. Another targeted the destroyer Carney, but was distracted by countermeasures and exploded above the ship, damaging the vessel but sparing it from a direct hit. Only one ASM targeted the Vinson, nearly reaching the formation before one of the carrier’s own Sea Sparrows blew it out of the sky.

The first wave had been repulsed, but another was already on the way. The CAP was already doing what it could, with the F-14s of VF-301 fighting against increasingly one-sided odds with the Bloc fighters and hoping relief would come soon from the rest of the carrier’s air wing. Oscar and his wingman were in the process of firing their last Phoenix missiles; his own aimed at an inbound TU-16 Badger bomber.

“Closing in… that’s a kill, Coin! Right on his nose!” the WSO shouted.

“Yea, but that’s only the second one, and we got to get in close now. Christ, how’re we going to deal with all these guys?”

“Felix, Seahawk. Multiple bandits have bypassed Devil and are closing on the fleet. Intercept them at once!”

“What about those bombers?” he asked in response. “What about the Devils!? They’re gonna get swarmed that far out!”

“No time, we need to set up a new CAP barrier. Devil will have to fend for themselves and pull back when they can,” Seahawk responded coldly. “The rest of your squadron will be there soon. Raider and Marauder are launching now. How copy, over?”

“Solid copy, Seahawk. Out,” he replied. “Alright Lighter, find me a target. One of those close, inbound ones.”

The leader of VF-31 allowed his partner to work as he attempted to contact the other F-14 squadron.

“Devil, Felix. Hoa, how’re you holding up out there?”

“Bad, real bad! Three of my guys are down! We could sure use some help out here, over!”

“You’ll have to hold on a little longer; try to make your way back to us.”

“I’ll see what I can do, we’re on the defense here and we’re down to close range. Pretty soon we’re gonna be left with guns… good luck, Felix, out.”

“Lead, radar’s tracking bandits below us, two o’clock,” the WSO spoke up. “Two flights of five at least; they look like Fulcrums. A bunch of others close behind. They’re closing in on the ships.”

“They’re well within missile range, what are they doing?” he wondered aloud before answering himself. “Better not let them go through with whatever it is.”

He put the Tomcat into a shallow dive without warning, causing his wingman to jerk in a surprised reaction and trail behind with his own. The targets appeared on his screen before he could visually see them in the fading light, ten green boxes clustered together in two formations, and several others bringing up the rear. Some of the MiGs noticed the approaching fighters on their radar, with one flight breaking formation as the other continued on their flight path.

The Fulcrums began closing to engage but Oscar got the first shot off, firing one of his Sidewinders. Easily tracking onto the hot engines of the MiG, the Shadow pilot attempted to drop flares but could not stop the missile from detonating just behind his aircraft, the explosion killing the engines. The remaining bandits began closing in on the Americans, who were soon joined by the remaining Tomcats of Felix Squadron and a number of Hornets. Before long the air engagement had turned into a large dogfight being waged on a sizable scale.

Down below, far past the swirling conflict miles above, the American Navy was just beginning to collect itself. The Audie Murphy’s radar tracked several dozens of targets and varying ranges, some aircraft and others the missile ordnance released by them. Despite the vigorous defense of the CAP, some twenty-two aircraft were closing to an increasingly uncomfortable range, and the bomber-launched ASMs were on their way as well. Many of the contacts were concealed by a terrific amount of jamming from escorting Bloc electronic warfare aircraft, and the destroyer Roosevelt fired multiple missiles into the cloud of interference, killing two jammers and fighters apiece. Keith was about to give the order to focus on the more distant ASMs when some of the lower-level MiGs broke away, followed shortly by panicked warnings from the sonar.

“Conn sonar! Torpedo in the water! Long range!”

“What, they have subs nearby!?”

“I-I don’t think so; I didn’t hear any launch transients! I’m not picking up any submarines!”

“None? They have to be there! How could they be shooting torpedoes at us without subs!?” Keith shouted. “Alright, we’ve got some distance, turn away and get countermeasures ready. We’ll maneuver away and see about finding that damn submarine afterwards. See about getting our Seahawk in the air!”

The destroyer turned to starboard, breaking formation so as to avoid the oncoming torpedo. However, she was not the only ship to do so, as every vessel had picked up the torpedoes coming at various angles and took individual maneuvers to dodge the lethal underwater weapons. Slowly but surely, the battle group disintegrated with multiple ships going in different directions.

Though none of the torpedoes struck, the American ships were not able to reform before the bomber’s missiles arrived. The vessels were now assailed by a wave of them, and without much coordination it could not be fully stopped. Most of the remaining anti-air missiles were launched, with many of the ships focused on defending themselves from attack.

Having always been the main target, the Carl Vinson received the bulk of attention. The carrier’s remaining RAM and Sea Sparrows were shot as the assailants closed in, leaving her with only the closest-range defenses. With three Phalanx guns, the carrier was still covered from most angles, and these succeeded in killing an astounding five missiles before they struck the carrier.

However, her luck could not last, and after the fifth was destroyed the victorious CIWS could not adjust in time to engage the missile that was coming in a second behind from a different direction. The missile crashed into the supercarrier at her bow, just under the edge of the ramp. The Vinson shook as if it were struck by an earthquake, and though there was no danger of flooding, further damage was to come.

The force of the impact had damaged the CIWS mount, and as such it was unable to stop a second missile from impacting some twenty seconds later. Here the carrier’s luck reversed, as the ASM flew past the one of the carrier’s elevators, jammed low from the impact of the first hit, and into the open hanger, detonating inside. Here, many of the remaining aircraft, including a number of F-18s being readied for battle, exploded. Most of the crew working in the area died quickly from the explosion, after which a sizable fire consumed the hanger and began to spread; though contained quickly through quick action of the firefighters, the Vinson was effectively crippled.

Left stunned and beaten, the carrier was left to absorb two additional hits before the nightmare was over. One hit just beneath the island, forcing it to be evacuated and further hampering operations. The other skimmed the waves impacted just above the waterline, causing some flooding and a list of two degrees but nothing beyond this.

“Captain, order’s been given to retreat!” said Commander Bailey to Keith. “Ships are ordered to make their way individually back to safe territory. All ships that still have anti-air missiles are to form the rear and protect the damaged ships as best they can.”

“Where’s safe territory?”

“They didn’t say, Sir. It could be as far back as Pearl and we wouldn’t know.”

“Give me an ammo count. How much do we have left?”

Bailey returned to him with a report in less than a minute. The Audie Murphy still retained half of her ninety-six SM-2 missiles, and plenty of ammunition for her other weapons. Of all in the formation she was one of the lucky few, as the number of ships that were neither damaged nor empty of ordinance was close to nil. Most could not comply with the order to form an attempted rearguard, and were already steaming west as quickly as their engines could drive them.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to turn tail and save our asses right now, I’d rather not lose my last ship with my back to the bad guys.”

“I can understand that, Sir. You plan on staying?”

“I plan on moving into the attack, Commander,” Keith clarified. “We’re going to try and break up their assaults before they reach the rest of the battle group, try and draw some heat off of the rest of our ships.”

“Got it, what do you want us to do?” asked Bailey with no hesitation.

“Make sure the rest of our missiles are focused on their ASMs, they’re the biggest threat. Any of their planes closes in for something fancy we can kill them with close-range weapons.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Helm!” he shouted, calling upon the sailor at the wheel of the ship. “Ahead full, come left to zero-nine-zero. Take us on an westerly course and be prepared to evade attacks if needed.”

With this the Audie Murphy began moving towards the Bloc aircraft, sailing headlong into the furious storm of bandits. She left behind the other American crafts, streaming east independently, leaving wakes in the water and long columns of smoke behind them from the damage and fires. The destroyer’s seemingly suicidal move achieved its purpose, as it attracted the attention of the next wave of incoming Bloc aircraft.

With the enemy closing in, Keith gave another order to the helm to adjust course in a northern direction, taking her abreast along the Bloc’s coming attack. The radar tracked a sundry of Bloc aircraft; Flankers, Fulcrums, Bears, Badgers, Backfires, Blinders, and a multitude of others. There were a noticeably lesser number of strategic bombers this time, due to the others having fired their missiles and returned to base, but they still posed a grave threat. Without a care for target selection, they volleyed their anti-ship missiles and began their own return.

These were picked up instantly by the radar and; thankfully, there were fewer of them than the destroyer had missiles. In accordance with the orders, Bailey in the CIC ordered the SM-2s to be fired, one for each ASM. Audie Murphy shuddered as the weapons launched from the bow of the ship, concealing the bridge and Keith’s view in rocket smoke. They were fired rather conservatively, with Bailey waiting to see which would impact and which would miss.

“Captain, enemy birds inbound! High and low from all over!” one of the crewmen warned. “Can we engage with Phalanx when they’re in range?”

“Certainly! I don’t think they’ll get that close, but see if you can pick off one if they get careless.”

“They’re still closing, Sir… I think they mean it… whatever they’re doing.”

“What are they going to do, strafe us? They can’t hurt us unless they’ve got missiles or bombs,” Keith remarked, before realizing the actual possibility of this. “Shit, they’ve got bombs! Helm, prepare for evasive! Ahead flank!”

The Audie Murphy lurched forward, cutting through the waves as fast as the General Electric engines could move her. She began to move erratically as the smaller aircraft closed in, hoping to dodge any ordinance dropped at her. The maneuvering caused her to sway heavily, with the grey hull rolling about in the sea in accordance with the rudder’s direction.

Keith’s guess had proven accurate, as a number of the high-altitude contacts were carrying bombs, hoping to drop them onto the ship and wreck her upper decks. A few more aircraft, lacking the weapons to hurt the ship but carrying powerful jammers, flew even closer in an attempt to distract the computer-assisted guns. The first flight that came after the destroyer was fortunately broken up by two Hornets several miles out from their target, and only two came in at separate times.

One performed a glide-bombing attack, dropping its bombs and zooming away before it ventured within range of the guns; having dropped from such a range, and with a sharp turn by the helmsman, the bombs exploded harmlessly in the ocean. The second arrived and, with a significant amount of elevation working for him, closed in and began to perform a sort of dive-bombing run. This was quickly noticed and another quick turn in the opposite direction spared the ship as the iron explosives crashed into the water close enough to soak the superstructure in the spray. This Fulcrum did fall within range of the CIWS and the gun rippled at the target as it pulled away; some hits were seen to be made but the MiG continued on, making its escape into the clouds.

As the Audie Murphy was distracted, another group of fighters closed in fast in formation at relatively low altitude. As they approached the ship they slowed down, dropping their height further in the process. This was called out to Keith from the CIC and many additional sailors, with one pointing out they were far too low for a bomb attack. Suddenly, the attackers pulled up, increasing their speed and altitude and jetting away from the ship. This, in turn, was followed by further alarmed warnings from the sonar operator.

“Torpedoes! Multiple torpedoes in the water!”

“Helm, turn us away!” Keith ordered immediately. “That’s why we didn’t pick up any sub contacts; they’re dropping fish by air. They don’t need subs! What other tricks do you bastards have?”

“Captain, Bailey here. We’ve got a lot of contacts bearing down on us. What do you want us to do?”

“Bailey, I need you to switch targets! Fire the missiles at the approaching planes! Break up those formations!”

“Aye, Captain!”

Bailey did not wait to ask if he wanted to conserve any more of the missiles. The remainders of them were fired at various targets, surprising the Bloc aircraft who assumed there were no more left aboard. At a relatively close range the planes were given little time to react, and the formations soon scattered in every direction. One of the missiles homed in on one of the accompanying jamming aircraft, a MiG outfitted for such purpose of diverting attention; in spite of heavy interference, countermeasures, and maneuvering, the SM-2 struck in the belly and turning the plane into a fireball of burning aviation fuel and metal. Two more connected with their targets in the bomber formation, with both detonating the bombs on the wings and destroying the Fulcrums in thunderous explosions. The last flight carrying torpedoes, laden with heavier ordinance, were unable to maneuver as sharply and were forced to abandon their torpedoes, as most did, or test their luck. One of these attempted to dodge while retaining his torpedo and met its fate to another of the missiles.

With the attack formation broken apart, the Bloc aircraft began individual runs on the fleeing destroyer. Two of the Fulcrums dropped their bombs from a distance but were far off the mark. Another flew in at high speed and released, with the bombs crashing into the water some eighty feet from the destroyer, rattling it greatly. It passed over the ship, afterburner fires lighting its tail, hoping to escape in the opposite direction. Before it could, the Phalanx locked on to the fleeing assailant and ripped the plane to shreds with a long burst of twenty-millimeter rounds.

The final two Fulcrums came from separate directions, one releasing from far off and the other attempting to dive on the destroyer. The Audie Murphy heeled over hard once again, shifting out of the way of the bombs and continuing in a circle. The bombs of both impacted the ocean at roughly the same time, thankfully a good deal away from the destroyer. The diving MiG pulled away, giving the CIWS another chance to score a kill. Before it could do so, the Fulcrum began releasing several clouds of chaff. The radar of the Phalanx locked onto one of these, mistaking it for the target, and fired several rounds harmlessly into the cloud as the aircraft made good on its escape.

Having lost their formation and with the main American fleet now too far to strike at, the Bloc aircraft had lashed out against the Audie Murphy and had nothing to show for it. Instead, the attackers chose another target that better suited them. The USS Roosevelt had earlier been struck in the stern by a Kitchen missile where her Phalanx could not defend, hitting low and damaging her screws, leaving her immobile. Firing all the weapons that were still operational, the crew was able to blow the wing off one MiG that ventured too close before bombs struck the hapless destroyer. After five hits, one of which struck amidships and exploded within the hull, the order to abandon ship was given.

Keith watched as the ship was wracked with explosions from the bombs. With no remaining missiles and well out of range of their remaining weapons, he could not directly defend his ally. Through binoculars he could see that the bombs had wrecked much of the superstructure of the ship, and that it was low in the water with its decks almost awash.

“Captain Keith, we’re clear!” Bailey called in excitedly, shaking him a bit from the sudden interruption. “All the remaining contacts are breaking off or withdrawing!”

“Alright… alright good… any damage?”

“No Sir, nothing major. Send my regards to the helm.”

“Will do. Is the helicopter still ready to go?”

“It’s ready, but we’re still not picking up any sonar contacts. Not even the torps, they ran their range out awhile ago,” answered Bailey. “Do you still want them to launch?”

“Send them up and tell them to head to the Roosevelt. We’re going to head there and pull our guys out of the water. Tell the medicals to expect wounded.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Helm, set course for the Roosevelt.”

As the Audie Murphy’s battle reached its conclusion, the battle in the air was reaching a climax as well. With all of the bombers and attack planes retiring, the Bloc fighters began to slowly disengage as well. Some stayed for the hope of shooting down more Americans, but their fuel was beginning to run short and few wished to risk not making it back to their far-off carriers. The American fighters, battered and exhausted but still holding their thin line, were in no position to pursue. Commander Oscar himself had expended his last missile on a now-deceased Flanker and had spent much of the remaining time trying to survive.

“Devil, Felix. Bandits are breaking away here. Can you get back to us, over?”

“No, negative! They’re still on us over here, some fresh squadron jumped us! A bunch of black and blue Foxhounds! I’ve lost more than half my planes! Shit, these things aren’t normal!” the VF-301 leader shouted in an increasingly panicked voice. “Felix, these guys are a league up on us! We can’t kill one of them! They’re Bugs but- fuck! When did they get pilots li-”

The sound of the Commander’s voice cut suddenly, without warning or further noise. A deathly static hung over the airwaves, resonating in Oscar’s head. He waited a few more seconds before attempting to call out to his comrade again.

“Devil? Devil, this is Felix are you still there?”

No reply came beyond the same scratchy static.

“Seahawk, Felix. Is Devil still on your scope? We can’t raise them, over.”

“Negative, Felix. Devil is down. We need to disengage immediately.”

“Damn it,” he swore to himself. “They can’t all be gone… can we get a chopper over there to search for them? No… no, with all those bandits and no cover? Stupid, that’d just be more dead people… how the fuck did this happen?”

“All aircraft are to head inland and make for the nearest allied base, how copy over?”

“Seahawk, we can’t head back to the boat?”

“Not a chance, she’s beat to Hell. We can’t even land on her, much less defend her,” the AWACS clarified. “Now get your feet dry ASAP. The bad guys didn’t just hit us here. This is war now; we’ll be needed again before long. Seahawk, out.”

“Damn right it’s war, anyone could've told you that,” Oscar groaned, pulling his Tomcat in a new direction to follow the remaining aircraft towards the continent. “Bug Foxhound huh? God, what else is happening out there?”

Author's Note

Well, it's finally started. Life's kinda hectic with Uni wrapping up soon and such, it's hard finding writing time. Apologies if I misses any errors in editing like grammar or such anywhere. Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoy.

Into the Abyss

April 17th, 2006
1930 Hours
North Pacific

Source

It had been weeks since Cole had met with or spoken to Dash or Dust. Not since their final conversation in Nevada. He did not feel excessively bad about it, though he tried not to think about very often. Too much focus on such distressing events tended to lead his mind astray, and if his mind went astray it could enter a deep, depressing vale. That kind of mindset is not healthy for flight.

It was not that Cole did not wish to see them again; it was not truly his fault to begin with. After Red Flag, the squadron was redeployed to Equestria, but not to the Everfree. They were sent to a small auxiliary base called Brumbay Field the northern coast. Their vacancy near Ponyville was filled by other units, primarily the Second Fighter Squadron, the ‘Beagles’.

The squadron had not originally been slated to take part in Exercise Marshal, the Navy's multi-carrier display of power, but after arriving at Brumbay, Cole and some of the naval officers there agreed to let the Eagles join, ‘observing’ from a ways away. It was healthy to practice inter-service cooperation in operations. No branch could fight a war alone.

The term ‘observing’ was used in a strict sense, however. The squadron itself played no real part in the exercise, and some requests by the Air Force pilots to spar with their Navy counterparts had to be denied. Doing so would only interfere negatively with the Navy activities. Before they knew it, night was beginning to fall and the exercise was coming to an end.

“Eagle One, everyone’s starting to leave. Can we head back yet?” Parrot asked, clearly tired from his tone.

“In a minute, we just need to wait for the call,” Cole replied. “Didn’t you say you wanted to come out here?”

“Only because I had a score to settle with that 'cat driver,” answered the Alpha flight pilot.

“Hey, if it makes you feel better I had ten bucks riding on you,” another flight mate chimed in.

“Bursa, any wingman willing to lose money over his friend’s dumb ass is a good wingman.”

Down below, riding on the churning waters, were the actual participants of the exercise. Three American carrier battle groups were positioned from near the Equestrian coast up to the cold waters of the North Pacific, covering a vast swathe of ocean. These were, respectively, the Enterprise, Gerald R. Ford, and Ronald Reagan.

The first of these was the most hodgepodge of the three, being made up of a collection of some of the oldest and newest vessels in the Navy. The Enterprise was the center and most famed among these. Still performing admirably after forty-four years of duty, the carrier was still slated to be decommissioned on some still-unknown date in the near future.

Conversely, the ship given the duty of protecting her was the young cruiser Bastogne, her crew still beaming from their successful first cruise. Her captain observed the carrier from the bridge of the cruiser, watching the final Tomcat of VF-14 land, now finished with the exercise operations. Even from such a distance, he could still vaguely make out their tail markings; the pitch black fins with a white circle and black top hat in its center.

“That should be about it. Exercise should be wrapping up soon,” Captain Harrison remarked. “Commander, you mind taking the rest of the graveyard shift?”

“Yes Sir, I got plenty of sleep earlier,” Thomas answered, knowing the Captain had been up for much longer. “You might want to wait a minute though. There have been some strange contact reports coming in from far off.”

“Figures… alright, let me take a quick look,” Harrison acknowledged, going down to the CIC to check on the radar. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“There’s an Air Force AWACS reporting multiple contacts heading our way, callsign is Spyglass,” one of the crewmen explained, pointing to the radar screen. “You can see the link on our screen. They’re keeping track of them, and so are we.”

“Huh… well… have they got anyone looking into it?” Harrison asked.

“Affirmative Captain, they’ve got an Air Force squadron on it.”

“Good, keep tabs on them. We shouldn’t let our guard down.”

The crew did as told while the E-3 Sentry continued to send information on the unknown aircraft. As promised, the AWACS contacted the Eagles with the request for investigation. They were the closest American unit to the formation, and as such it was their job to make contact with it.

“Eagle One, Spyglass. We have some… strange contacts at bearing two-five-five, can you adjust course to get a visual confirmation on them? See what they're doing, over?”

“Uh, confirm Spyglass… Eagle is moving to ID, out,” Cole acknowledged.

“Think the Bloc is sending out some planes to spy on us?” Runner asked as the squadron turned northwest towards the contacts.

“Don’t know… maybe. It doesn’t look like they’re trying to hide though. Might just be a show of force in response-”

“Hey, what is that? Is my radar on the fritz?” Firebird interrupted, seeing a large and growing number of dots on his radar. “Anyone else see that? There's a ton of contacts over there.”

“It's showing up on mine too,” Cole confirmed.

“How come the blockheads at the MILL didn't tell us about this?” Runner wondered aloud with ire.

“I swear to God, those morons fell asleep,” Cole groaned. “Still… focus… those bogies are still there.”

“Understood lead, range decreasing,” Runner reported. “Twenty-two miles left before intercept.”

The range continued to drop steadily, as the Eagle Squadron flew to meet the incoming armada of planes. Some calls were sent out on open channels to no answer, and the number steadily continued to grow. No one else seemed to realize something was out of the ordinary.

“Radio contact is failing,” Spyglass reported.

“Guys, get ready,” Cole warned. “Spyglass, you ought to report this.”

“We are, but we can’t shoot unless we know what they’re doing. We have to be sure about what’s happening.”

Cole could hear the doubt in his voice, and he knew just as well what this meant. Cole understood everything had to be official to avoid disasters, but this was clear as to what was happening. The number of bogies and their heading gave off the feel of an attack, and his stomach began to twist with anxiety and his mind began to race. What could he do when the fighting started? He was vastly outnumbered, so what tactic should be used? How would he keep his squadron alive with this? How could he stay alive? Would he stay alive?

The range dropped to ten miles, and fell further and further. In the failing light and rainy weather, Cole was able to make out some of the cluster of dots that constituted the Bloc wave. He strained his eyes as best he could in an attempt to identify them, and when he did so all became clear.

“Bombers!” he shouted. “Bombers and fighters! Blinders, Blowlamps, fucking everything! Spyglass, they’re coming for us!”

“E-Enemy approaching! All units return to your combat air patrol stations! Protect the carriers!” the AWACS called out to all American units that could hear. “Warning red! Weapons free! Repeat, warning red!”

“Eagles, engage at once!” Cole ordered. “Alpha, engage the fighters! Runner, we’re going after the bombers! Copy?”

“Got it, One! Breaking to engage fighters!”

“I got your back, lead,” replied Runner as the other squadron members broke away.

“Break off and go hunting on your own, two. Don't worry about me,” Cole replied.

“You sure?”

“Our priority right now is to kill as many of those bombers before they launch their weapons. Alpha will keep most of the escorts occupied. I'll call if I'm in trouble, you got it?”

“Understood lead, breaking away to engage now!”

With his wingman going off on his own hunt, Cole turned his attention to the scattered bombers. Going over the radar he selected the nearest target as his prey, a Backfire jet from the looks of it. Selecting a Sidewinder missile and locking onto the aircraft, Cole loosed the missile at his target. The Backfire attempted to go supersonic and evade, but the missile struck before they could do so, detonating against one of the engines and causing the bomber to fall into a death glide.

As the commanders of the squadron chased the bombers, Lieutenant Desser and his Alpha flight waged a high-speed battle with the enemy fighters that were double their number. Surprise combined with an aggressive first attack had thrown the Bloc escorts off balance, but they were quickly organizing themselves. It was now a matter of attempting to survive in the dim rain squalls and twisting confusion of the aerial battle.

Desser and the flight continued their offensive, trying to draw more fighters to them. The radio was filled with the pilot’s various calls declaring firing, kills, and enemy aircraft formations. Working on his own, Firebird jumped a MiG and downed it before any evasion could take place, only to have its wingman turn and tail the flight leader in retaliation.

“This is Parrot, I got one-no-two bandits on my six! Can someone help me out here!?” the Alpha pilot shouted out amongst the many other calls for assistance.

“I got one of them on me too!” Firebird replied, annoyed over the distraction keeping him from his flightmate.

“Four here, I can get them off you,” Orion offered, having just lost his own attacker. “Just head to your right about four o’clock so I can get in position.”

“Hauser you better hurry the fuck up! These guys are firing off their guns all around me!”

“Yea, I can see the tracers from here. Sure is a waste of ammo on their part.”

Parrot followed the advice, allowing Orion to drop behind the Shadow planes and shoot one down while the other veered away as Lieutenant Hauser pursued him. The rest of Alpha Flight faced simultaneous dilemmas. One of the other pilots, Spark, was able to ward off the jet chasing Desser, while Parrot himself scored a kill in revenge for the fright he had been given before. The pilot in the flight’s third position, Bursa, was assailed by a number of Flankers at a time when no other Airman was able to assist; he calmly reported two bandits trailing him and continued calling for aid before his radio went silent mid-sentence.

“Spyglass, this is Eagle One-One. When’s the rest of our squadron going to get here?” Desser asked through the ire and desperation.

“Bravo Flight is still four minutes out, One-One.”

“Well tell them to light the fires and hurry the Hell up!

Off on his own, Cole was now in the process of riding through the second attack wave. There would be no interference with these bombers, as the enemy fighters were now bearing down on the lone F-15. Flying from one rain cloud to the other to keep in some visible concealment, he noticed the glint of two bandits preying on him, diving down to attack. Releasing some chaff and flares to scramble their targeting, he pulled out to his right while cutting his speed, causing one of the Fulcrums to overshoot him. The Shadow pilot’s wingman, however, was more attentive and was able to slow down in time to keep to Cole’s tail. The enemy pursued him up again as he tried in vain to target the first Fulcrum, having to break off and focus on staying alive.

“Runner, I guess they noticed me! I could use that help now if you’re not too busy!”

“Be there in a minute Cap… kinda… got my own bad guys to shake first,” replied Cole’s wingman.

“Take your time!”

Cole noticed one of the fighters pull up on the other side of him and pull ahead while the other did the opposite, trying to sandwich him between their jets. He dove out and broke in the opposite direction, closely pursued by his predators, before nosing up to climb again. As he did he briefly noticed another gray dot ahead of him, followed by missile warnings and a number of tracers flying off to his left side as a third opponent charged at him. The American turned sharply again from the attack, but as he did so he noticed one of the pursuing fighters pull up sharply and drift in front of his jet, apparently having had to dodge his ally’s move from the danger of collision. Not daring to waste the opportunity, Cole locked a Sidewinder onto him in fired in only a second, the missile closing fast and detonating amongst some flares just behind the jet, more than enough to kill its engines. The other MiG was able to keep better control, but suddenly exploded from a radar-guided missile, signaling the arrival of the Captain’s wingman.

“Sir, you’re clear now,” Runner called in.

“Thanks. You got any of those bombers?”

“I got one, a Blinder.”

“Good. You heard anything from Alpha flight?”

“No Sir, nothing since we split up. Things have been crazy. Spyglass said some more of our guys are launching from the field, but that was awhile ago. It’s just us for right now, at least till the Navy gets here.”

“Damn it, I separated myself, lost control of the situation,” Cole openly chastised himself. “Damn it, damn it, did I lose another wing?”

Far away on the ocean, the target of the Bloc bombers, the American fleet, was scrambling to defend itself. With the prior warning from the Air Force and having spotted the enemies rom a good distance, the air defense of the fleet had a brief but important minute to organize itself. Receiving an order to fire first, the venerable USS Yorktown locked up the individual missiles and fired away. Clearing its cells, the cruiser succeeded in shooting down all but five of the targets its computer selected.

With the remaining missiles still closing but their horde reduced to eighty-nine in number, it was now the turn of the destroyer Mahan, the outermost ship in the formation. Loosing all of her shots, she succeeded in clearing out the remaining targets, with the final one being killed a scant mile from her. The battlegroup of the Enterprise had weathered the first wave and come out unharmed, but several more were coming.

The crew of the old carrier was racing back and forth to ready their aircraft for launch. One of the carrier’s F-14 squadrons, the recently re-established VF-12, had been launched piecemeal into the battle at the first alert under the callsign of ‘Cutlass’. The crew was now attempting to coordinate VF-14 in a better way, lining up four of their Tomcats on the flight deck. Among them was the squadron leader, Commander Francis ‘Boston’ Taylor, shutting the canopy of the jet and continually calling for the aircraft to launch and swearing to his RIO as he waited.

“Sneaky SOBs, they should’ve shown up when I was up there!” he yelled. “I swear Donnie, I am not going out by getting caught on the fucking deck!”

“We won’t, Boston!” the RIO assured him.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Taylor repeated to himself until clearance to launch was finally given. “Alright, we got it. You ready, Radar?”

“Hit it!”

The other three Tomcats launched before Taylor’s, shooting off the deck of the Enterprise one-by-one, their afterburners propelling them into the sky. Finally, it was Taylor’s turn, and with the kneel-and-point by one of the deck hands, the catapult launched the F-14 off the ship. Taylor nosed up and joined with the rest of his wingmen as the crew below moved to set up another flight of fighters for launch.

“Alright I’m airborne! Come and get me!” shouted Taylor. “Let’s see how well you fight when we’re actually flying!”

“Camelot, this is Screwtop,” the carrier’s Hawkeye AWACS called. “Adjust heading to bearing two-five-eight, meet up with the Air Force squadron there, callsign is ‘Eagles’. Make contact with their AWACS, callsign ‘Spyglass’. Some fighters from Cutlass squadron were already sent out but they’ve been heavily engaged. Destroy any bandits that you come in contact with, your primary mission is to defend the fleet. How copy, over?”

“Copy, Screwtop! Let’s get moving, Tophatters!”

From aboard the Bastogne, Harrison observed their departure and hoped they would be able to shoot down some of the bombers before they could fire. The group had already launched a number of its missiles, and it would only be a matter of time before the supplies were exhausted. In the brief reprieve following the first attack, he attempted to return to the bridge, tripping and swearing along the stairs. Having to fight off weariness was difficult enough on its own without a war breaking out.

“Shit shit shit!” he cursed, tumbling through the door and onto the bridge. “Commander!”

“Evening Captain, what orders have you got for us?” asked Thomas, his expression seeming to have remained the same as when the Captain left him.

“Our job, coordinate the air defense,” Harrison answered. “Anything new? We got any picture of the incoming bandits?”

“Not a clear one. Jamming’s picked up immensely but the reports from the planes are saying there are a fair number of them. Order’s been sent for the battlegroup to move north and rendezvous with the others; course is already set.”

“Good, good work Thomas. Let’s see about organizing the ships a little more.”

As the Americans began to organize themselves, the Eagle squadron continued to peck away at the Griffon and Shadow attackers. Cole and Runner, still separated from the rest, had finally gotten a moment of peace. A second wave was coming, but as they were alerted to the presence of the American fighters, it would be impossible to get through to the bombers.

The brief relaxation did little to help Cole, only allowing his mind to run again, this time over the bigger picture. How was the fleet holding out? What was going on in Equestria itself? Was it being invaded from the ground? Was it being bombed? How was everyone there holding out? Were the Equestrians fighting, or were they collapsing? Was Dash flying well enough to drive them back?

He stopped there as a chill shot up his spine and through his muscles, causing him to jerk in his seat. There was a war going on and she probably did not even know it. Alternatively, she did know and was fighting it right now. She could even be dead right now. She could have died before it even started. She could be gone and he would not know. After all that time he was away from her, wasted in avoiding a simple contact or apology, she could be gone from this world as of now.

Cole noticed a series of dimmed flashes in the corner of his eye, near where the enemy formation was supposed to be. These came from the carrier Tomcats, firing most of their long-range phoenix missiles in quick succession. Not long after the radio crackled with a new voice calling out to them.

“-in. Repeat, come in. Eagle, if you're reading us, pick up the damn phone!”

“This is Eagle lead, I'm reading you.”

“Ah, finally. Your AWACS was kind enough to patch us through to you,” the voice clarified. “This is Camelot, coming in from your west, over.”

“Who? I don't know that callsign.”

“Navy, off the Enterprise. You're talking to Boston right now, lead aircraft.”

“Ah, good to finally have you guys here.”

“Glad to be here. You seen Cutlass Flight anywhere? They came off the carrier before us,” the Tomcat pilot asked.

“Negative, you guys are the first Navy pilots we’ve seen out here.”

“Well shit, where the Hell is the rest of your squadron? Are they still active?”

“Maybe, they could be dead,” Cole thought before choosing another answer. “Rest of my unit engaged the enemy escorts closer to the coast, kept most of them fighters from the first wave occupied.”

“Alright, well you'd better get back to them. Thanks for holding off the tide but we can handle it from here.”

“You sure? I still got some shots I want to burn.”

“Captain, I don't think we can,” Runner cut in. “Most of our fuel’s been burned up, and we don't have any tanker to meet up with. We need what's left to get back to the field.”

“Go on, the Hornets should be following us shortly,” Boston reiterated.

“Ok, Godspeed Camelot team.”

“Same for you, Air Force.”

Having given the Bloc forces a bloody nose and broken up the attack, the F-15s turned and headed for home. The duty of defense now rested solely on the Navy pilots, who quickly set to work engaging targets in an attempt to buy time for the fleet. If the three carrier battle groups could combine into one, the combined defensive firepower of the force would be able to stave off most attacks.

What they did not know was that this plan had already been stopped. Though the Enterprise group had so far avoided damage, part in thanks to the Air Force’s actions, the other two groups had no such warning. They suffered the full night of the enemy's attacks without interference.

In the center, the Bloc bombers attacked the carrier group of the Gerald R. Ford, newly built and practically right out of the shipyards. Most of the missiles tracked the unique signature of the battleship Colorado, the second largest ship in formation behind the Ford. Still retaining most of her missiles and bristling with automatic weaponry, the massive battlewagon opened up in a grand spectacle. Shooting down most of the enemy weapons, a number closed in none the less.

One was destroyed by Phalanx fire ahead of the bow, the explosion rocking even the mighty warship, while a second was shot down extremely close to the port bow, showering the massive number one turret in shrapnel that ricocheted off. The third missile came in farther to the side of the port while the guns were engaging the previous ones, and they turned too late to engage. The rocket pierced into the hull underneath the second CIWS and exploded, sending a spout of flame upwards and engulfing the Phalanx as it shot skywards.

Though the battleship had been designed with all the knowings of modern naval warfare in mind, and all the necessary armor that came with it, it was still a very damaging impact. The second Phalanx had been torched, and the explosion and taken the one across from it temporarily offline. Defenseless from this side, the Colorado was struck by another missile not a full minute later. Luckily, this exploded on impact, and despite leaving a hole in the armor no critical systems were damaged.

It was hoped the carrier would escape damage, but she was not so fortunate. Her new complement of F-35 fighters performed admirably in defending their vessel, but there was simply too much pressure in the way of numbers and confusion from the enemy. In the third salvo of ASMs, one struck the side of the carrier near the starboard bow, opening a large hole in her side from which black smoke poured out. In the chaos, the Americans were unable to see that some of the closing Griffon aircraft carried torpedoes until the weapons were already in the water. Though they were few in number and launched at great range, one was able to reach its target and detonated on the side of the Ford, sending a large spout of water skyward and causing the carrier to slow and list slightly.

In the far north, the Ronald Reagan was faring better. As the Bloc aircraft had to travel farther to get to her, she had a few more precious minutes to prepare a defense. Though some of her escorts were hit and damaged, she escaped the wrath of the Bloc for much of the battle. However, in the final missiles launches, one lucky Kickback missile passed through the defense nets and struck the Reagan near the crew’s living spaces in the forward part of the ship. This left the southern group, which was just fighting off another wave, as the final target that needed to be hit for the Bloc to claim a vital strategic victory.

“Here come the rest of them!” Harrison warned to the crew. “Be ready to engage!”

“Captain, there’s a number of smaller aircraft closing on the fleet at high speed,” one of the crew warned.

“Focus on the missiles first, they're the main threat,” the Captain ordered before noticing his XO coming back to the room. “Thomas?”

“Rendezvous has been canceled, Sir. The other two carrier groups got hit hard and they're scattering to get out of the combat zone. We’ve been told to get out of here ourselves and make for the nearest allied port, and that's Baltimare.”

“The other groups were stopped? How bad were the casualties?”

“Unknown right now, Sir, but both carriers were damaged, and a few escorting ships were lost. They can't wait around anymore.”

“Fucking Hell this went from terrible to downright fucking abysmal in less than an hour… we have to get the Enterprise out of here. If she gets taken out the Bloc’s going to have a monopoly on carrier power in the North Pacific. Any of the-”

“Torpedoes in the water! Multiple torpedoes inbound!” one of the crew yelled.

“What!? From a sub?” Harrison asked from across the room.

“I-I don't think anyone's seen one! No launch transients! They just appeared near a group of bandits, I think they're air-launched!”

“Shit! Alright Thomas, you stick in CIC and coordinate fire. Don't let any of their planes get too close, and get another ship to focus on the missiles, got it? I'm heading back to the bridge to steer the ship in the right direction.”

As Harrison charged back to the bridge, the ships of the formation were already taking their own evasions to escape the oncoming torpedoes. However, in the sudden chaos, there had been no coordination amongst the group. Each vessel headed off in its own direction, and though they evaded the torpedoes the group had been splintered and broken.

With the formation broken, each ship was now virtually on their own as the missiles and aircraft closed in. One ASM locked on to the Mahan, which attempted to counter through chaff bursts and CIWS fire. The Kickback missile became distracted by one of the chaff clouds fizzling its tracking radar. Shooting over the destroyer, it continued on, making a sharp turn towards a new target and ramming into the unsuspecting destroyer Gonzalez. Exploding on impact, it wrecked much of the stern, leaving the destroyer with a long trail of smoke pouring from the burning gas on the deck from the helicopter pad. Harrison saw this explosion as he entered the bridge, breathing heavily and coarsely attempting to get to the seaman at the wheel of the cruiser.

“H-Helm!” he shouted. “Adjust course, come starboard to zero-nine-nine! Keep us close to the carrier!”

The Bastogne heeled over to her right, heading west and attempting to keep up with the retreating carrier. One of her few remaining missiles shot out as she did so, flying off to impact one of a number of inbound bomb-toting Fulcrums. The rest of the fighters scattered, attempting to bypass the cruiser and reach the carrier before it escaped. Two were shot down while attempting this, both to missiles from the Bastogne.

The remaining Fulcrums, all piloted by members of the Griffon Navy, bore down on the Enterprise. Her Captain, Murray, observed the inbound fighters with the same calm that had characterized him through the entire battle. The three MiGs attempted a synchronized bomb-drop, with one falling to the Enterprise’s Sea Sparrow missiles. All three bomb loads missed, falling well off to the side of the carrier in a great splash.

As a number of other aircraft moved in to attack the ship, Murray had to decline multiple times for the carrier to power ahead at full speed as it would have outrun her escorts, much to the displeasure of the crew. Under the direction of her Captain, the Enterprise waded through four other attacks of similar nature, with one bomb falling close enough to rattle the ship but do no damage. Slowly, between the efforts of her fighter aircraft and the escorting ships, the number of remaining enemy contacts was reduced. Despite everything that had been thrown at her, the Enterprise steadily slipped out of the combat zone, undamaged and still ready to fight.

“I think we’ll make it,” Harrison said to himself after receiving a report from the radar. “I think we’ll make it, thank God. Still can’t relax though, nope. Not one fucking bit. We’re at war, can’t let our guard down… Christ I wish I could sleep.”

He jumped a bit at the sound of jet engines overhead, but was relieved to see that they were Tomcats, returning from their defending mission along with the rest of the carrier’s air wing. Counting them as they landed, their overall number was much less than they were before. He felt his heartbeat in his chest, still having trouble slowing down after the scare the jets had given him.

“I swear if I die from a heart attack from our own planes,” he thought.

There were a few more missiles launches from other ships, but another check with the radar confirmed that no more enemy aircraft were following them. Harrison was thankful, though only for a moment before reminding himself again that they had to be ready for another attack, followed by wishing for rest once more. What he and many others in the battlegroup did not realize was that the Enterprise was now the only active American carrier near Arcaia and in the Pacific.

Though few knew of this at the time, everyone realized the overall situation. The war they had dreaded and prepared for had finally begun to a grim and awful start. Everything would change in the coming cataclysm as the two sides struggled to determine the victor and the defeated, and the survivors and the fallen. Here history took a great turn; nothing would be the same as it was before, not just in the coming years, but for all time. Just what changed remained to be, and it would be chosen by the side that won and whoever was left.

Author's Note

Academy Attack

April 17th, 2006
2230 Hours
Academy

Source

“I really wish I hadn't been up for a night patrol tonight,” lamented Spitfire as she made her way out to her Super Hornet. “Hey, is it almost ready?”

“Almost ma’am!” the crew chief shouted to her over the engine noise. “Just need to load the missiles and we'll be done!”

As she waited another jet’s engine filled the sky above with noise. Their attention was directed upwards as two unknown aircraft shot over the base at high speed and altitude, concealed in the darkness. The sounds took Spitfire by surprise, and she became annoyed at the idea of some of her pilots taking a nighttime joy ride in their fighters.

“Who’s that supposed to be?” she asked the crew chief. “I thought I was the only one flying tonight.”

“I don't know, I haven't sent any other jets up!”

An explosion rocked at the other end of the base, near where the radar site was, with the shockwave pushing at the unsuspecting ponies. This was followed by two more at other places, and a third that landed uncomfortably close by. Several other aircraft flew over the base, with some strafing at buildings and exposed equipment. The hangar across from Spitfire was struck by a bomb, collapsing it and setting the Hornets housed within it aflame.

Acting largely on reaction, Spitfire flared her wings and flew up to the cockpit of her jet, with most of the ground crew having already fled to cover. Shutting the canopy she performed a minuscule check of the planes system before guiding it to the runway, her eyes constantly shifting skyward in search of any attacking planes. The F-18 began rolling down the tarmac as soon as it was lined up, not bothering to wait for the control tower’s approval. Pushing ahead at full afterburner, the plane lifted off as a missile passed under its wing in the opposite direction, shaking the jet and the pilot and striking an unknown target behind it.

Rather than climb, Spitfire dove down in an attempt to hide, as the Academy had been built on a rather high portion of land. Leveling out as she neared the ground, the night suddenly became calm again, with no further aircraft or explosions, the only noise being made by the Hornet. She did not turn on her radar for fear of being detected, as getting into a fight alone in such conditions and without support seemed foolish.

Biding her time, she continued to hold near the Academy, debating what she should do. Left alone and missing most of her armament, she first thought it would be best to wait the attack out. It was only after this that the image of her team being assailed, fired down and destroyed from above, began to guilt her mind. So many had been lost in the years of fighting leading up to this, but now that they had equipment of an equal footing. Spitfire committed to ensuring that no others would fall. It was her team, and the ponies in it looked to her even more than each other; there was no reason to lose more of them.

Gaining altitude once more, she saw the glowing fires at the academy, lighting the base in the darkness. She briefly spotted a plane flying low over the base. Electing it as her target, she activated her radar and began to give chase to an Su-24.

Moving in at high speed to get into gun range, she failed to notice the Fencer’s escort, circling protectively above. The quickly spotted the lone Hornet, and an Su-27 turned down to attack her. Spitfire heard the warning signals of searching weapons just as she was entering gun range. With a good deal of annoyance, she was forced to abandon the short chase and evade, breaking hard to the left and diving again as the Flanker followed.

On the defensive in a one-on-one dogfight, Spitfire did her best to either lose or trick the Shadow pilot. However, working without her squadron proved to be a grueling task. Every move she made was matched by the pursuer, every dive and climb, every break and turn, every attempt just barely left the Shadow pilot still in attack position. He was a first class pilot, and Spitfire groaned from the near constant warning alerts, always having to move to avoid a clear lock on for the Sukhoi.

Attrition began to eat away at her. Unable to outrun or outmaneuver her foe, all she could do is stay alive and delay until a opportunity presented itself. As the pursuit continued, it seemed that such an opportunity would not come. Spitfire was steadily chased away from her home, and her team, across the Equestrian countryside.

The turns grew lazier as Spitfire felt the Flanker’s targeting system edge ever closer. She readied the Hornet’s countermeasures for the inevitable missile before an explosion drew her attention to the Shadow fighter and the warnings finally ceased. She straightened her craft and drew a long breath, releasing it with a shake as her wingpony’s voice came over the radio, an immeasurable and appreciated break in the lonely silence that had covered her since she launched.

“Spitfire! Hey, you alright?”

“Soarin! Thanks for that, I don’t think I would’ve lasted much longer,” she answered. “And yea, I’m fine. I’m shook up but I’m fine. How’s everypony else in the squadron?”

“Don’t know. I just got in my jet and took off when there was a break in the bombing,” replied the Wonderbolt’s second. “I didn’t see anypony get hit, just a bunch of planes and buildings that got blown up.”

“So it’s just you?”

“I’ve got Fleetfoot and Rapidfire with me.”

“Good… I guess we should… do something then, huh?”

“Any ideas, Bolt Lead?”

“And the attack is still underway?”

“Last I saw it was; there was a second wave closing in when I took off. A big one.”

“Well, we don’t have enough planes to take them head on… let’s try a hunter-killer.”

“A… what?”

“Simple, you three stay back here and hide low. I’ll climb up high and make a pass on the enemy formation,” Spitfire clarified. “That’ll draw some of the escorting fighters off. Then I’ll lead them to you and you can take them down.”

“You’re going by yourself? But that’s-”

“Yes, Soarin, there’s no reason to risk any of you,” she said, cutting him off. “Besides, I don’t have any missiles. Now drop down and wait till I bring some targets back.”

“Alright… good luck, Lead.”

Spitfire’s Super Hornet pulled up above the clouds as her wing flew down in the opposite direction. Alone once more, she found herself wishing she had brought at least one of the three along with her, if only for the company and security. Pushing this regret aside, she reminded herself that it was unnecessary. She was the only one without long-range ordinance and she was the leader of the Wonderbolts; there was no reason to put the others in danger or weaken the ambush. One fighter would be enough to draw off some escorts.

Turning the radar back on, she saw the second attack wave of eighteen aircraft flying in the direction of the base. She adjusted her heading to intercept them, increasing the altitude even further over the course of three minutes. Some of the dots on the radar screen broke away from the formation, indicating they had spotted her, but were too low to attack at close range. Spitfire began to fire off countermeasures periodically, ensuring any targeting systems or launched missiles would have difficulty finding her as she flew straight on.

Finally arriving above the formation, she reduced her engine thrust, tipped her plane over, and began the long dive towards the bomber formation. Burning flares and metal chaff poured out of the Hornet as she dove, creating a long, falling line of light marking her trail. The bombers came into view on her Heads-Up Display, showing themselves as Tu-22 Backfires, older jets that could still crippled the base if allowed to break through. They remained in formation despite knowing of the Hornet diving on them, hoping the escorts would drive it away.

Spitfire changed targets twice before settling on the Backfire in the farthest right of the formation. Some missiles were launched from the escorts but the angle combined with the countermeasures saw them fly past harmlessly. The bomber came closer and closer, and Spitfire began to lead the target in preparation. Finally, when the range fell low enough, she fired a long burst from the Hornet’s cannon, seeing several flashes on the Backfire before shooting past and pulling up, darting out to the south towards her comrades with two of the escorts in tow.

The bomber shuddered under the impact of multiple twenty millimeter shells. Two of the high-explosive rounds had struck the left engine, forcing it to slow. As the pilot attempted to keep the Backfire level, but the altitude was dropping uncontrollably, and the crew bailed out before their craft spiraled into the earth below.

Three of the escorting Flankers turned and gave chase, attempting to catch the escaping Hornet. Spitfire leveled out low and used the speed from the dive to escape, seeing the engine fires of the pursuers in her mirror. The Flanker pilots followed, wanting to avenge their lost bomber.

Spitfire continued twisting through the night, ensuring the Su-27s tailed her into the trap. Pulling off to the right, she passed her companions lying low behind some of the hilly terrain to the south. As the Flankers passed, the three Hornets sprung the ambush, rising up to attack the hostile jets from behind.

Each F-18 volleyed multiple radar missiles at their targets. Two of the Flankers exploded simultaneously, with the third surviving only a second longer before it joined the fallen. Watching the ambush go off perfectly, Spitfire reduced the throttle and leveled her plane, allowing the other three to catch up.

“We did it! Nice work Wonderbolts!” she congratulated.

“What next?” Soarin asked.

“Let's get back to base. We might be able to catch some stragglers.”

The four Hornets joined into a single formation before beginning their return. Despite Spitfire’s hopes, no hostile aircraft remained overhead. Nor were there any other friendly jets in the sky. They were the only ones.

The Academy burned in the night, lit up by the numerous fires started by the bombing. Buildings, aircraft, and stores were blazing away to give a disheartening view of their home. They could not land as the runway was cratered in several areas by the bombing. The control tower was also gone, with only a pile of rubble to mark where it once stood.

Finally, Spitfire was able to make contact with the base when one of the ground crews got a reserve radio set up. The news was almost as bad as she feared. Most of the remaining fighters on the base had been destroyed, leaving the squadron virtually disabled as a combat formation.

Still, those aircraft could be replaced; the pilots could not. To her great relief, none of the Wonderbolts themselves had been hit during the raid. Spitfire retained her hope, thankful for the outcome; keeping her wingponies, her friends, alive was the most important thing. It had been a terrible first night of the war, but they were alive. That was her own goal, her personal mission that would last as long as she did.

The fuel gauge on her panel began to show that the Hornet was running dry, an unfortunate result of the high-speed dogfighting. Landing back at the Academy was neither possible nor desirable at this point. The shattered runway could not support the act, and even with it the base was virtually defenseless and at the mercy of any follow-up assaults.

With fuel running low and not wanting to suffer further material losses, she ordered the base abandoned by the squadron. It was of little use with the runway lost, and there was no point in lingering there to get picked off in a follow-up attack. She ordered the Wonderbolts on the ground to utilize their own wings and retreat east to the nearest safe airbase. She then turned away and led her flight of Hornets in the same direction.

Author's Note

Trouble On The Border

April 17th, 2006
2400 Hours
Equestrian-Crystal Border

The border that separated the Crystal Empire was a peaceful, calm place not a few years before. In the previous world, relations were so good that there was little to indicate where the line ran, aside from the rare sign at seemingly random places. Those moving about the land could easily cross from one to the other without notice. The entire countryside came off as identical, with some of the locals using nearby landmarks to show where the border ran, such as an old oak tree or a small knoll.

Now those lines had become much more physical and visible. With their neighbor still under the painful occupation, defensive lines were constructed along the border on the part of great effort and courage by the Equestrian engineers. Disconnected positions of trenches and other defensive positions pocketed along the border in an awkward line.

Charro, having lived on the other side of the large nation as most of the exiled Shadows had, did not know much of this place. He had passed through the area once before when he was young, when his family went on a spring trip to the Crystal Empire. He remembered little of it, and it was a sad thing that seeing it as it was now would most likely take precedence in his memory, restricting the land to its militarized state in his mind.

The 3rd Dragoon Division, of which he was assigned to, was one of the many Royal Equestrian Army units stationed along the border. Most of the days were spent guarding the border from infiltration or observing the enemy from their own positions in the small slit trenches and wooden bunkers. He counted himself as lucky that the squad he led was never posted at one of the forward observation posts, situated in isolated spots well ahead of the front. With little support and protection, such positions were rather precarious, yet necessary to serve as forewarning of enemy movement.

Charro and the other Equestrians spent most of their time doing this, as there was little to do in their free time. Charro spent much of it exploring the local area, being rather unremarkable as far as the countryside goes. The most notable landmark was a small bell pepper farm a few miles behind their lines, which also served to mark the area their unit was guarding. Not a large farm with long lines of crop, but a small family one that did not cover more than a couple of acres. It was tended to by a young and kind, if rather stubborn, couple, who were unwilling to leave their land in spite of the danger. They were always happy to offer some of their fresh peppers to the troops, and Charro would often go there to visit them, seeing their field dotted with red, green, and yellow fruits.

There were few times like these where peace could be found, but it could be found nonetheless. One of the other times was at night when he could sleep, which he was presently doing. He preferred to sleep in the shallow bunker that lay farthest to the right in the rear, which served usually as storage. It was located next to a small, unnamed stream that fed the earth. The sound of lightly running water eased his mind, reminding him somewhat of his home in the port city. The noise filled his mind as he rested, mixed with the chirping of crickets and the running of the breeze in the leaves of the trees.

His tranquility was shattered in an instant by a sharp explosion and rocking vibrations, followed in quick succession by several more. He quickly recognized it to be artillery, instinctively hunkering down inside the bunker. Random artillery strikes along the border were not uncommon, and Charro had grown accustomed to them, but after a few minutes something felt very wrong to him.

The nature of the bombardment quickly gave away that its purpose was different from the usual attacks. Artillery fire was a common threat, but not of such intensity. Often the shells would fall in a harassing pattern, striking randomly one or two at a time over a very wide area for a prolonged period, a cheap way of psychologically disturbing the Equestrians. This barrage had a far greater number of shells covering the space of their lines, and was meant to do direct damage.

“The squad, I have to find the rest of the squad, I have to make sure they’re ok!” he thought to himself.

After another minute, the bombardment seemed to ease up as the sounds of explosions moved behind him, the barrage shifting to targets behind the frontline positions. Recognizing this opening, he charged out of the small dugout into the darkness and quickly fell into a large shell hole, one of many that now pocketed the area. Collecting himself, he scurried out of the hole and took off again, taking care not to fall into any other craters.

The scenes around him were surreal, and nothing like he expected. Ponies ran about in different directions, trying to carry out their jobs. Some lay collapsed on the ground, either wounded and groaning or deceased outright. The wind carried the smell of gunpowder and the air was dominated by the sounds of explosions and shell whistles that drowned out the yelling of individual ponies.

An area ahead with a small bivouac, the place he had last seen Ferrus and Backscatter, was torn apart by the shelling. He did not recognize any of the ponies there as his two sergeants, and continued on to the position of one of the forward command posts of the platoon. This position, which was little more than another deep underground dugout, was thankfully still intact, as was the commander, Lieutenant Silver Charge.

“Staff Sergeant Charro!” he yelled, seeing the pony gazing into the shelter from the opening. “What are you doing!? Get inside!”

“Sorry, Sir! What’s going on? I’m looking-”

“We’re under attack! That’s what’s going on! And it’s not some random shelling like usual, there’s fighting up at the front!” the unicorn explained. “Where’s your weapon?”

“I… I think I left it in the supply bunker near the stream… when the shelling started-”

“Alright, here just take this one!” the Lieutenant interrupted, grabbing one of the M-14 rifles lining the wall. “You can find some ammunition for it in the forward trenches! And find the radio operator! We need to call the artillery and bring it down on the front line, got it?”

“Yes, but where’s my squad, Lieutenant? I haven’t seen them since the shelling started.”

“I ordered them to their forward positions with everypony else, where you should be too! Now stop with the questions and get out there!”

Charro did not wait to get thrown out, running back up to the entrance of the bunker and checking outside for shelling before heading back out into the night. Running forward, he could see the tracers of machinegun and rifle fire, indicating that a fierce firefight was in progress. He did as the Lieutenant had ordered, finding the section of a trench that was assigned to his squad and diving into it.

“Char!” he heard a familiar voice cry out, barely heard over the racket. “You’re alright! Are you alright?”

He looked up to see Backscatter looking down at him, searching for any signs of wounds. Not far from him, Sergeant Ferrus was with the three other ponies of his fire team, shooting away at the front. Charro wiped the dirt from his face and leaned up against the shallow dirt wall of the trench.

“Yea, yea I’m fine. Where’s your team?”

“I don’t know, I mean… I went to where they were sleeping and there was nothing there! Just a big crater! I didn’t see any sign of them!” Backscatter replied, his voice cracking over the battle. “I-I… think they got wiped out!”

“Just start shooting back!” Charro shouted. “Where’s the artillery guy!? Where’s the observer!? We need him to start calling in support!”

“He’s in that bunker over there,” Backscatter pointed to the right at a smoking, wooden position. “Go get him! We’ll be fine!”

Charro obliged, grabbing his rifle and moving to the edge of the trench before stopping. It was only a few meters to the bunker, but any distance seemed massive when one’s life is at risk. Several times he tried to summon the will to push himself forward, only for his legs to lock up and keep him frozen in the small dirt dugout. Finally, he slung his weapon over his back, took a breath, and darted out of the trench on all fours, reaching his destination in five seconds time.

The bunker was a small position made up mostly of wooden logs to provide greater protection, and an overlook of the valley. A high-explosive shell must have struck just outside as the front part was partially collapsed and smoking. Checking inside, Charro found the artillery’s forward observer still huddled in the back, fiddling with his larger radio pack.

“Hey, are you the artillery spotter!?”

“Yea, that’s me!” the earth pony shouted back in frustration. “I’m trying to get a hold of somepony but I can’t hear anything on this! It’s all static!”

“Keep trying!”

“I am trying!” the observer shouted, trying the radio again. ““Sling Three-Three to Spear, come in! We need assistance, over!”

“Well, at least follow me! It’s too dangerous to stay here, we need to get back so my squad can cover us!”

“Alright, alright… where are they?” the forward observer agreed, packing up his radio in a tumbled hurry.

“That trench, over there,” said Charro, pointing it out for him. “You go first, and I’ll keep an eye on the front to cover you.”

“Sounds good, just be ready,” the observer warned, readying himself at the bunker’s small doorway. “Now!”

The observer ran out of the emplacement, his radio and M-16 flailing around wildly on his back, as Charro stuck his head out the side of the door and peered down into the maelstrom of fire below. The observer reached the trench with little difficulty while Charro continued his overwatch, finding it difficult to find good targets in the darkness. Occasionally some of the many Shadow soldiers below would be seen for a brief moment, illuminated by muzzle flashes, burning fires, and star shells, but the Equestrian’s reaction was consistently slow.

Finally, as he was about to move, he noticed a Shadow soldier taking cover behind a tree trunk, revealed by another burning trunk not far from him. Charro quickly trained his sights on him, lying against the ground awkwardly and taking his time to ensure a proper shot. Some things bumped about in his mind but he suppressed them, remembering to follow what he had been told. In training the Americans told the ponies time and again not to stop and think in these specific situations. If you had a surefire target, kill it, because if you hesitate the enemy may not, and if the enemy does not he will kill you. Everything else was pushed out of his head, blanking completely, not thinking of anything but his aim.

With a loud pop the rifle kicked back as it expelled its bullet, and within a heartbeat the soldier down below jerked and fell to the ground, lying completely still. Charro felt a brief moment of exhilaration for having killed an invading enemy, but this was replaced by realization of the same action. He had killed somepony, he had actually done it. Such an act had been scarce in the Equestria of old, carrying with it only the harshest punishment in the civilian world. Even for the guards who went off to war at times, their descriptions had not been the same. Even for that, something about this was horribly different.

Growing up, he had learned of how important it was to settle differences, as did all Equestrians. The stories and Celestia’s power and wisdom of such were so impeccable. The heroic actions of Twilight Sparkle and her friends had spread throughout the world. They had even been able to return Princess Luna, giving credence to the philosophy. Now, in this world, he had killed somepony, one not terribly unlike himself, who thought and lived and in times past could have become friends with an Equestrian. War had now become the primary action, and the Equestrians were now all forced to indulge in it.

A burst of automatic fire struck the bunker, shaking him away from his inner angst. He realized he had to get back to the trench, and once again shouldered the battle rifle on his back. He made a few gestures with his hooves until the team understood that he was returning and assuring him they would provide cover. As they increased the volume of fire, Charro backed into the bunker to get a running start before sprinting back to the trench and diving in, noticing the observer shaking the radio angrily.

“Hey, where’s the artillery!? Is it coming!?

“No! It’s no good, it’s not working!” the observer grumbled and dropped the radio to the floor, picking up his M-16 and firing into the valley. “Isn’t there any other help coming for us!?”

“I don’t know!”

Not having much other choice, Charro also grabbed his rifle and began to fire down into the enemy. All along the line, tracers, explosions, and fires lit up the border. Occasionally an armored fighting vehicle from either side would be hit, brewing up into a massive torch and illuminating those around it. Without contact, the team had no idea as to the direction the battle was flowing. As Charro scrambled to grab another magazine from the pile below, he heard the radio crackle with a voice.

“Hey, your radio’s working!” he informed the observer, scooping it up off the floor of the trench. “Sling Three-Three to Spear, come in! We need help!”

“Come on, give it here!” the artillery spotter yelled, yanking the radio from Charro’s hoof. “Spear, this is Sling, request fire mission! Urgent!”

“Spear copies, send it.”

“Fire plan Bravo! HE rounds, barrage pattern! Fire for effect!”

“Copy, Sling Three-Three… shot out!”

“Shot over!” the artillery spotter responded, peering out to keep watch over the target area to gauge the incoming impact.

Over the crashing chaos, Charro heard something crack close to the side of him, as if a rock broke through a damp board. Looking over in horror, he saw the spotter slumped on the side of the trench, a bullet having struck his forehead. It took Charro a minute to realize it, but beyond the misfortune of his loss, with him went what little fire support was available.

Not a second later, his attention was grabbed by the voice on the radio yelling ‘splash’ followed jarring strikes into the land before them. The high-explosive shells impacted the earth with bright flashes, lighting up the valley floor. Each one sent large plumes of dirt and debris into the air. Any Shadow soldiers who were unfortunate enough to be underneath one of these falling projectiles were annihilated completely, while others were blown away or cut down by the jagged metal shrapnel fragments of the shell. Many of them fell to the ground and made attempts to reach nearby cover, slowing their advance.

“We have to get out of here!” he yelled suddenly, grabbing Ferrus. “We can’t stay here any longer!”

“We can’t just run away!” the older stallion shouted back.

“We’ve got no more support!” said Charro as he pointed to the fresh corpse. “The Shadow troops are breaking through! Look there, all along the line! They’re getting through!”

“You’re saying we give up!?”

“We’re all going to die if we stay here! This battle’s over, and we can’t defend Equestria if we’re dead! Listen, you and Backscatter and the others get out of here, and I’ll hold them off for a little bit longer and follow you! Don’t stop, you just keep going until you know you’re in a safe place! You guys can’t die here, you hear me!? You can’t!”

“Alright, fine! Just don’t stay here too long!”

“I won’t! Just go!”

Charro placed a fresh magazine in his M-14 as Ferrus gathered his team and Backscatter, exiting the trench through a rearward line and filing out. Ferrus himself was the last to go, wishing his sergeant good luck before going. Charro initially made an attempt to accurately fire on the Shadows soldiers, but this quickly became inefficient and slow. Switching the battle rifle to fully automatic, he fired long bursts blindly into the valley below, not knowing if he was hitting anything or if the enemy troops were actually being slowed.

Each time was met with return fire kicking up the dirt and wood in front of him. He kept low, moving along the trench line and firing over the top, quickly going through two more magazines and causing the barrel of the gun to burn from the heat. After loading another magazine, he noticed a large missile falling down from the sky to the north, looking to be a ballistic missile. He did not see the impact, but the massive explosion caused by the missile sent fire flowing up above the treetops in area behind the lines. Not wishing to stay any longer, Charro decided now was the time to leave.

He reached the exit portion of the trench, running down it to the opening. He initially tried to shoulder his rifle on his back again, but quickly shook it off as he felt the searing metal of the weapon through his uniform. After barely avoiding getting burned by his own weapon, he allowed it to dangle off to the side, taking off in a mad dash for safety, wherever that would be.

The artillery began to fall again in its various forms, driving him further from the battlefield. He saw some other ponies as he went, some staying where they were, others collapsed on the ground, but most running in the same direction he was. None tried to stop him, and he had no intention of stopping himself. His mind and body became solely focused on escape and survival, for all their reasoning.

He ran past the Equestrian positions and past the small stream. Even as the sounds of battle began to fade in the distance behind him, he could not stop. He did not stop when he noticed the artillery had ceased, nor when he realized his M-14 had gone missing, fallen off from his body in his escape. He reached the small pepper fields, seeing two small craters scarring the farm while the colorful fruits were tossed about on the ground. He continued, heading west, not halting even after the sun rose.

Author's Note

The Clock Strikes

April 18th, 2006
0144 Hours
Canterlot

Source

It was a good night for natural flying, cool but not cold, calm, and not too windy. It had been so long that Midnight Strike had almost forgotten how nice it was. Night flying was one of her favorite pastimes before the war and the displacement event, a habit that translated into jet piloting. Even with all the new technology in the fighters they had been given that allowed around-the-clock warfare, she and her squadron had excelled at night combat. However, much more time was now being spent in the seat of her fighter than stretching her own wings.

Tonight was off time for her, which she spent going into town with several human pilots and a handful of other ponies on the offer of the Americans to see her first baseball game, one of only a few that were being played in Equestria. She rode in one of the many personal vehicles with Captain Chalmers, who had originally suggested the idea, and three other Americans. Chalmers, skinny as a pilot could be and usually by-the-book, seemed ecstatic in introducing what he called ‘America’s pastime’ to Midnight.

The day encompassed three goodwill games in a small stadium, the first of which had already passed earlier. Midnight watched a close match between the White Sox and Red Sox, respectively from the cities of Chicago and Boston, neither of which she knew anything about. Despite not knowing the rules she quickly found herself enjoying the sport and loudly supporting the latter team, much to the chagrin of Chalmers as a Chicago resident. When Midnight’s team won, he and the others prepared to head back to base, but Strike sent them off without her. Despite not having a car to ride back in, she elected to stay and see the final match of the evening between the Colorado Rockies and Los Angeles Dodgers.

With the clock ticking towards twelve as she exited the stadium, she flapped her wings and took off into the night sky. Getting back to base was not a problem in itself, but entering through the gates and guards was much more difficult at night, especially with pegasi flying about and making the guards jumpy. One pegasus made the mistake of landing right outside the guard booth and the Airman on duty pulled his weapon and held the poor mare up until she was properly identified. She knew that the usual guard at this hour would be quite unpleasant over this act of hers, but still it led to where she was now: flying naturally in the solitude of eventide. In this way being late was a good thing, and Midnight Strike tried to focus on the positives of every situation, even if she did not show it.

Flying away from Canterlot proper, she arrived at the outskirts of Canterberry Air Base. The largest of the many air bases being built by the Americans, the Equestrians insisted on naming it themselves without compromise. This was much to the vexation of the humans who took to nicknaming it ‘The Cherry’, along with other, more unbecoming names, to suit their own comforts. Landing outside the base and trotting into the artificial lighting from the gate, she was greeted by the Airman eyeing her from the booth.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he greeted, sounding more tired than angry.

“Good evening,” answered Strike, trotting up to the gate. “Mind if I go in?”

“Need to see your identification first, ma’am.”

“You sure? It’s pretty clear I’m me, isn’t it?”

“I have to check your ID ma’am,” the Airman repeated, now sounding very annoyed. “We’ve got procedures to follow, especially this late at night. I’m not letting some Changeling spy in. You know that, Captain Strike.”

“Yea, yea, I know.”

Shaking her head, she reached into her saddlebag and retrieved the small plastic card that identified her as a member of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. Taking it, the guard held it under the light and rubbed his eyes, studying it. To Midnight, he seemed to be taking his time with the process.

“So… how are things looking tonight?” the Equestrian asked, trying to make small talk.

“Normal and quiet, how I like it,” the Airman remarked, handing her the card back. “Go ahead ma’am, have a good evening.”

“Thanks, you too.”

With this, Midnight trotted past the gate, looking forward to a restful night and a comfortable sleep-in the following morning. Making her way into the facility, she did notice that there was more activity than usual, with some of the Americans seen running a ways off, but she thought nothing of it. Even as the subtle signs began to grow, she ignored them, being too drowsy to pay any mind. It was only with the sudden wind up of attack alarms, followed almost at once by a sharp explosion on the edge of the base, that she was snapped into action.

The entire world changed in an instant from peaceful night to a maddening chaos. Further detonations erupted around the base at the runway and hangars, the radar positions, and other miscellaneous buildings. The surviving anti-air emplacements opened fire, sending red bursts of cannon shells into the air. Surface-to-air missiles rocketed into the air, appearing as flying torches as they trailed through the dark towards unseen targets.

Even though it was obvious, Midnight was still in a daze as to what was happening. Her mind stopped, unable to make sense of what was happening. It was only after an air-to-ground missile struck the ground close by, rocking the ground and causing her to stumble, that she realized that they were truly under attack.

“Hey! Hey, you alright!?” an Airman yelled, noticing her as he ran past. “Can you hear me?”

“Wha- Y-yea! I'm fine! I just fell!” Strike answered, standing again and shaking the dust off. “What’s going... who’s attacking us?”

“Fuck if I know! But that doesn't matter a lot right now! We have to get moving!” said the Airman. “Where are you headed? You a pilot?”

“I am!”

“Well shit, hurry up and get to your bird! Can't get taken out on the ground!”

“I will! I will!”

“Good luck, and be careful! Don't get hit!”

With that, the Airman continued on his way, heading for the runway. Midnight followed soon after, jumping at every bang and constantly looking about, trying in vain to keep track of everything. She got within sight of the flight line before another missile struck ahead of her. The Airman she had been following, who had already put a fair amount of distance, vanished in the great flash.

Midnight Strike collapsed onto the cold concrete again, her vision obscured by the dust kicked up. Coughing and choking, she heard another explosion rock the area, and her instincts took control, driving her to survive. Returning to her feet, she changed direction and ran right, entering a partially collapsed building. She took cover there under the rubble, watching what looked to be an Su-24 make a low bombing run over the base, releasing it’s string of ordinance on the runway.

Strike knew she had to reach the runway, and her fighter, but could not summon the control to do so. Her body and mind remained locked there, hiding from the terrifying assault under the rubble. The battle continued to rage around her, thrusting the peaceful region and its occupants into the hell of a full modern war.

Examining the building around her further, she spotted the familiar pattern of an American uniform, partially buried under the debris. The Airman’s face was in full view, showing a peaceful and horrific emptiness of the recently passed. The American lay there, motionless and hollow, cloth and flesh partly torn and stained from blood here and there, which formed a small slick that crept from his body.

Midnight hid her eyes in her hooves, away from the horror of the outside conflict. She waited there, weathering the onslaught and even afterwards. Hours later, daylight came to reveal the full carnage of the attack, and Midnight was still there, hidden away safely, now secluding herself in shame.

Author's Note

Three if By Air

April 18th, 2006
0400 Hours
Ponyville

Source

The months after the Equestrians’ trip to the United States had been quiet, at least relative to the massive and chaotic buildup that had come before. Much of the time was spent training and preparing for any action, but at a much more relaxed pace. This served as a fresh breath for the Equestrians and, ignoring the massed military increase, odd new aliens, and new technologies, life began to show resemblance to what it had been before they were thrust into the new world.

These months seemed to go by quickly for Dash, primarily due to the 1st Tactical’s absence from Everfree Air Base. The Americans that replaced them were all kind and helpful, but the absence of the friendship developed between the townsponies and the 1st Tactical was noticeable. She did not worry much in those days, but now and then she would wonder when the squadron would return. A few hours before, she treated herself to the view of the sun setting glow in its brilliant orange; having the odd feeling in knowing it was not the sun she had grown up with but being beautiful all the same. Perhaps she would be able to catch this one someday. Without prior thought of it, she pondered if Cole was also watching the sunset from where he was, before quickly shaking the thought out of her mind.

The nights were quiet as of late, and this one was no different. With all the hard work, she often slept soundly and hard in her home nestled amongst the clouds. She was already several hours into a deep sleep before she heard the roar of several jet engines and the cracks of sonic booms in the distance, followed by several deep rumbles. She stirred and awoke in a perturbed state, assuming it was some unscheduled exercise at the base, and covered her head with a pillow and her blankets. The American Navy was enacting a massive demonstration exercise throughout the day, and as such most Air Force bases took the time to ease off a bit. Why they would want to perform maneuvers so late without warning was a mystery she was too tired to solve.

“Dash!” she heard Lighting call from her doorway.

“Come on! Tomorrow’s supposed to be a day off!” she whined, rolling in her bed. “Just let me sleep a little more.”

“Dash get up! Hurry!”

“Dust? Ugh… whatever it is it can w-”

“We’re getting attacked!” Lightning shouted, yanking the blankets from her bed. “Not like test attack or anything! Somepony’s bombing us! We’re getting shot at!”

“W-what!? Bombed!?”

“Yes! Come on, get up!” Dust yelled, dragging Dash out of her bed and taking off back out the window.

Stretching her wings out, Dash took off after Dust, trying to keep low to avoid attention from any prowling fighters. The base ahead flashed at seemingly random intervals as explosions pierced through the black night. Fires began to erupt to and fro, and the sky above was marked by the afterburners of fighters and the long, red lines of anti-aircraft fire. At times she would look back at the town, and see one or two fires glowing brightly. Her thoughts turned to her friends, hoping they had not been hurt, before trying to refocus on the task.

It took three minutes to fly from her home to the base, but in that short time the whole world seemed to be blowing apart around her. She landed at the gates to the base at was greeted by a nervous guard and his pistol. The guard called for identification at first, but upon seeing the recognizable pony, he stopped himself and moved aside, yelling to continue on. The base itself was a mess of confusion, with personnel scurrying about like ants on a broken hill. Firemen ran trying to extinguish flames, maintenance and ordinance crews were attempting to prepare the jets to take off, and several other miscellaneous personnel ran simply trying to find cover from the attack.

Dash went to the briefing room first but, finding it empty an assuming every pilot was simply rushing to get in the air, she moved on to retrieve the necessary equipment. Here was where she found Dust again along with a group of other pilots, both human and pony, trying to dress and equip themselves. Dash had to rush clumsily to get everything that was needed, and had to apply most of it herself. She grabbed her helmet and began rushing for the door, but was stopped by one of the American pilots grabbing her suit.

“Captain Dash?”

Rainbow looked back and was greeted by the cross face of the 2nd Fighter Squadron’s commander.

“Simon-I-I mean, Colonel Ellsworth! Sorry, what was-”

“Damn it don’t worry about that right now! Just hold your horses, for Christ’s sake!” the American shot back.

“What? What are you talking about!? You don’t want us to fly!?”

“Not yet, we need to wait till things calm down. Enemy’s all over the base; anyone tries to take off now and they’ll get blown away before getting to the runway. I already lost one of my guys that way.”

Rainbow did not reply, trusting the more experienced American’s advice. There were some more explosions, and the fear of one of the bombs hitting the room they were in began to creep up on her. Ellsworth moved to the other end of the room, talking to another man waiting by the doorway. Time seemed to drag by, and when the Colonel called for everyone’s attention she was surprised that only a minute and a half had ticked by.

“Alright listen, the tower’s said the runway’s still active and they think the first attack wave is almost over,” he explained. “The ground crews have some birds ready for us to fly. When things let up, you haul ass direct to a jet and you take off. Don’t dick around, don’t worry if it’s yours or not, don’t fiddle with procedure too much. Just get in the air. Hooah?”

“Hooah!” the Americans replied, leaving Dash and the few other ponies to nod awkwardly.

Rainbow spent most of the time waiting in the room in silence. There was no lack of noise around her, between the commotion of the pilots and the attack outside. There was simply nothing more to do right now that she could think of, only to wait for the Colonel’s call. Occasionally an explosion would erupt outside, but eventually these subsided. A quiet came over the room as the sounds of battle outside stopped before the silence was broken by the Colonel’s shouting.

“Alright, go! There’s an opening! Get out there!”

Rainbow allowed the humans to go first, darting out of the room last and quickly overtaking them with her wings. In spite of the Colonel’s directions, she did go for her own F-16 first, reaching it in no time and settling in to the cockpit. The usual ground crews were not there, taking cover nearby after having completed their hazardous task of fueling and arming the jets. Some waved their hands or hooves at Dash, yelling and signaling for her to go as quickly as possible.

“Dust, are you there!?” she called over the radio, trying to check in with her wingpony.

“Yea, yea I’m here! I made it!” Dust answered, sounding relieved and trying to calm herself.

“Great! Did you see anypony else in our squadron?”

“I saw Lillypad and Nectar got to their jets, so we’ll have a full flight at least. I think all the Americans made it, too. There’s six of them.”

“That’s it? Where’s the everypony else?” Rainbow asked, looking at the long lines of jets.

“Not sure, both the squadrons got really scattered. I just came to get you first.”

“Rainbow Lead, do you copy? This is Beagle Lead,” Ellsworth called.

“Beagle, I hear you,” she answered.

“Alright, we got a small window to launch here, my squadron will go first. Once you’re airborne get as much altitude as you can fast. Don’t let the enemy bounce you from above,” the Colonel instructed. “When you’re up start engaging the enemy craft. Keep them off the rest of the parked planes so the others will still have something to fly when they get here.”

“I got it, we’ll follow you once you’ve taken off,” Rainbow answered before turning back to her own squadron. “Alright guys, the Americans are going to launch first. Then we’ll go after them. Got it?”

“Fine with me, I’m still trying to warm my plane up!” Dust yelled as she fought to start her engines. “Come on, come on come on come on!”

Off on the other end of the base, Rainbow saw the flash of a rocket launch from the ground as one of the surviving American launchers shot a surface-to-air missile. She followed it until it exploded with a flash, striking the intended target and sending it falling and trailing flame. The brief moment of triumph quickly changed when she realized the burning Fulcrum was falling directly towards the parked planes. Suddenly, part of the wing broke away and the MiG dropped like a flaming rock, crashing into two of the F-16s and detonating both with a large explosion as the burning aviation fuel detonated the ordinance on board.

It took Rainbow a second to realize the two Falcons had not been unmanned; both had pilots in them that were part of her squadron. Lilypad and Nectar were both gone now, and they had stood no chance against poor luck. Dash could do nothing about it, but continued to stare at where the two fighters had been, unable to really collect her thoughts.

“Got it!” Dust shouted, calling Rainbow’s attention back. “Ok, I’m ready to launch. Looks like the Americans are taking off. You all ready?”

“Dust, they’re gone!” Dash shouted, unsure of how to word it properly. “Lilypad and Nectar, they both got hit.”

“No… oh no… so it’s just us two?”

“Yea, until some more of our ponies can get here,” Rainbow confirmed. “We have to launch Dust, we have to! We need to help up there!”

“Ok, I’ll go first.”

Dust’s jet taxied to the end of the runway, with Dash’s following shortly behind. Already, Rainbow could tell that there was an air battle occurring overhead between the attackers and the 2nd. Dust’s Falcon rolled down the runway, and Dash took position immediately. Pushing up the throttle, she quickly increased speed and pulled back on the stick, trying to get into the air as soon as she possibly could. The wind lifted her jet from the tarmac and she rapidly gained altitude as Dust came around and formed up on her right.

“We made it!” Dash shouted. “Tower, can you hear us? Rainbow team is flying!”

“This is the control tower, copy that! Engage any enemy bombers; don’t let them destroy our runway!”

“Rainbow, this is Beagle. I see you managed to make it up. Is your plane alright?”

“I think so, everything looks good,” Dash answered the Colonel.

“That’s why you thank the mechanics, keeping it in good shape pays off,” Ellsworth answered. “My team will keep their fighters busy. There’s some low-flying attackers you need to kill. Can you do that?”

“Copy, we’ll get to it, out!” Dash answered. “Tower, this is Rainbow. Where are the attacking aircraft?”

“Rainbow, this is the tower. We’ve got enemy Fencers hovering over the Everfree along with some Brawnys coming around for another pass. They hit our radar first and killed a lot of the AA in the process. You’ve got to stop them from hitting us again, over.”

“Copy, we’ll get them! Alright Dust, over the Everfree. You see anything?”

“I see them! At least five all together! Which one first, Dash?”

“We’ll dive and break them up first. You break off and attack the one farthest right, and as soon as it’s down form back up on me. I’ll hit the other ones.”

The two Falcons dove and turned simultaneously, each aiming for an individual target. Dust picked the one assigned to her, one of the Il-40 ‘Brawny’ attack planes, and launched a Sidewinder at it. The target did not have time to react and the missile struck the aircraft square on top and sent it falling into the woods below as Dust pulled back to regroup with her lead as ordered. Dash selected another Brawny and quickly killed it in a similar fashion, causing the rest of the group to scatter. She picked out the next closest target, one of the two Su-24 ‘Fencer’ jets assigned to electronic warfare support. Despite heavy jamming from the Fencer, Rainbow locked on with another heat-seeker and fired, only for it to be distracted by a burst of flares. She quickly locked on again and fired another, this one successfully striking the Fencer and sending it crashing. The surviving aircraft of the group scattered away, giving the airbase a brief respite from the assault.

Farther above them, the dogfight between the 2nd Squadron and the attacking aircraft was getting intense. Two of the American’s F-15Cs had been lost along with three Flanker fighters from the enemy’s formation. The crashes of explosions and the roars of engines combined with the flashes of explosions, the fire of engines, and the lights of tracers and missiles to conquer the night sky over Ponyville and Everfree Air Base. One of the Flankers spotted the duo, diving out of the fray to attack them in an attempt to avenge his fallen allies.

“Dash, one of them is coming after us,” Dust noticed. “I think it's going after you.”

“Ok, keep calm. Back off a little and you can get a shot at him, I'll lead it off to the left.”

The Flanker dove fast and Dash banked left in response, cutting her speed down in the hopes it would overshoot her. The attacking pilot noticed, reducing his own speed sharply and beginning to level out in accordance with his target. Dash turned further, exposing the tail of the Flanker to her wingpony. Dust watched nervously, tracking the Su-27 until one of her radar missiles locked on to the target. The ordinance flew off the rail and shot towards her target just as the Flanker pilot was getting a lock on Dash. He attempted to continue on, hoping to shoot the Falcon down, but Dust’s missile was fastest and struck the aircraft, tearing it apart and sending the wreckage into the forest below.

“I got it! Dash, I got it!”

“Good work, Dust! I knew I could count on you!”

“Tower, this is Beagle! We’ve got them tied up but we need help! Did any more pilots get here, over!?” the American called out.

“Tower here, we’ve got some trickling in but they've been held back till the bombers are down. Rainbow, what's the status on those hostile bombers, over?”

“T-they're already down,” Rainbow replied, realizing she should have reported this earlier. “They're either down or scattered.”

“They are? Good, we’ll get the rest of the jets moving!” the tower replied, quickly turning to the grounded fliers. “Rest of you pilots get up there and engage those bandits! You got it?”

“Rainbow, this is Beagle. We’ve got another wave closing fast. They're probably going to go for the tower and runway this time. Get up here and we’ll engage them together.”

Down below, the remaining pilots on the ground scrambled into whatever plane they could find. The surviving jets took off one at a time at random intervals, rushing to join the battle above them. One of them caught Dash’s eye, an F-16 taking off at full afterburner.

“Hey, who’s that taking off?” she called out. “This is Rainbow One, who are you?”

“Beagle three-three here! Sorry Rainbow Team, had to steal one of your birds,” the human pilot answered. “I just ran for the first plane I saw and it was this one.”

“Jarret, that you?” asked Colonel Ellsworth.

“Yes Sir! Had to commandeer one of the horsie’s birds. Fucking cramped in here, too!”

“That'll work! Get over here and cover my six!”

“Hey, did you see anypony from my squadron?” Rainbow asked.

“Yea, I saw a few. Should be launching soon.”

Down below the bedlam continued to increase and play out on the ground around the base and town. Twilight’s slumber had been shattered by the crashing of explosives, and upon realizing the situation she began organizing much of the town to respond. Once the chaos around town had been partially brought under control most of the populace took cover away from the town, with those that could staying to battle fires or aid those who had been hurt or trapped.

With the situation in town under a semblance of control, Twilight headed to the airbase to see what could be done there. Teleporting there in an instant, she was greeted by scenes of paralyzing devastation. Fires raged in the night, consuming everything and everyone in their path, as explosions rocked the earth and military personnel ran about. Seeing the closest person to her was an Air Force firefighter, she got his attention in hopes of aiding him before noticing the surprised and annoyed look on his face when he saw her.

“What the Hell are you doing!?” he yelled.

“I’m here to help!”

“Help!? Haven’t you realized what’s going on? We’re getting bombed! We don’t need civilians to run out trying to help! We can’t afford to worry about you!”

“I can’t just let this happen! This is my home, and ponies and people are dying! You can’t just-”

“You shut up! Just shut up and fucking listen!” he yelled. “This isn't the place for you! You're going to get in the way and you're only going to get yourself killed!”

“But I can help-”

“You see this!?” the Airman replied, pointing skyward. “This is a war! Not some weird fantasy problem that you deal with! It's a fucking war! I don't care what weird-ass wizard spells you can cast, but you won't help if you stand out in the open and get vaporized by a bomb!”

“I-I’m sorry! I don't want to cause trouble, but I can't just… not do anything either!” the unicorn persisted. “Please, I'll stay out of the way, I'll listen to you. Just-”

“Fine! You can float stuff right?”

“I-yea, yea I can!”

“You see that building over there next to us? That's an ammo storage, and the fire’s going that direction. We already got some guys clearing the area, so you can help them. Get everything flammable out of there, the ammo too! Pile it in that little office off to the right, behind us. Got it?”

“Got it!” Twilight answered, being drowned out and shaken from another explosion on the other side of the runway.

“Don't float it all at once either, take your time! Do not drop that shit or there's a chance it'll go off, be gentle with it!”

“I will, I promise!”

“Got another Eagle taking off,” one of the American pilots noted. “Dwight, that you?”

“Roger that, I'm up in Beckett’s bird. Did you know he keeps a picture of his girl in here? Looks like I got something new to mess with him, eh?”

“Hey, where’s my team!?” Dash persisted.

“What, we’ve resorted to launching ponies into battle now? We’re toast aren’t we?” Dwight answered. “Check again horsie, some of yours are following me up now.”

“Stone Tail, Jackpot! You two are alright!” she jumped.

“Yea, barely. Sorry we’re late Dash,” said Jackpot.

“Rainbow, you got your team together?” asked Ellsworth. “Next wave is closing fast, they've got heavy bombers with them. Same plan as before, we’ll keep the escorts busy. Don't let one of those bombers get through or they'll wreck the runway.”

“Copy that,” Rainbow affirmed, picking up the formation on her radar. “Bearing two-zero-zero. Five strategic bombers.”

“What do you want us to do, Dash?” Jackpot asked, only now reaching the team’s formation.

“Everypony break up and go after a target, and shoot them down as quick as possible.”

“Roger!”

Rainbow's Falcons broke away and charged up at their individual prey as the Shadow fighter escorts sped up to engage the 2nd squadron. Each of the four F-16s reached their firing range at the same time, launching their missiles at the bombers. Within a minute’s time, four of the ‘Bear’ bombers were hit and fell from their group.

“Just one more,” Dash pointed out. “Jackpot, you and Stone Tail kill that thing quick! Dust, let’s go help the Americans finish those fighters!”

Again, the squadron did as commanded, with Dash and Dust charging further up to reach the dogfight. The Americans had already succeeded in destroying most of the fighters, on account of the latter believing the airspace would already be cleared. Still, Dash spotted an F-15 diving down and away from them with a Flanker following close behind.

Not seeing any others moving to help, she adjusted her own course towards the fleeing Eagle, leveling out and diving down after them. Watching the American break left, along with his pursuer, she gained a steady lock on the Su-27 and fired, striking the Flanker down and greatly rattling the human pilot.

“Jesus, say next time when you're shooting!” he yelled before calming himself. “Thanks for that, I really owe you one. Isn't your team supposed to be killing those Bears?”

“They are, don't worry,” answered Rainbow, checking on her other pilots. “Jackpot, did you stop the last bomber?”

“Any second now lead… got him!” he answered, a light flash from the explosion signaling his victory. “Is that it? Anything else?”

“This is the control tower, all bombers confirmed destroyed. Thanks for protecting our base everyone,” the operator reported, the relief noticeable in his voice. “You're all clear to land, the red carpet runway’s wide open.”

“Copy that, Beagle is three planes down from the air fight. Think one pilot made a nylon letdown off to the north,” the Colonel reported. “Rainbow squadron, great work. You lose anyone up here?”

“Up here… no,” answered Rainbow. “We didn't lose anypony in the air fight.”

“Huh, guess we didn't need to worry about the ponies after all,” Dwight chimed in. “That's a good call for a little celebration party, don't you think?”

Author's Note

Lead the Way

April 18th, 2006
0611 Hours
Saddleburg, Equestra

“Guess this is it, huh?” said Roche to Sergeant Wakefield. “The war’s finally happening… geez I was hoping it wouldn't be until later.”

“Yea, it's happening. War doesn’t like waiting for people,” the Sergeant replied, handing Roche a light anti-tank weapon. “You get to carry the team’s LAW today, got it?”

The Rangers in Saddleburg had been roused just before dawn as the word spread of war breaking out. The squad’s platoon, along with the rest of the battalion, were just finishing the final preparations for combat. Their mission was still unknown at the time, only that it would be difficult and deadly. When Captain Roland entered the room and everyone stopped to greet him at once, their stomachs jumped and twisted, knowing the news he was bringing.

“Men, I’d give you better encouragement than a few short words, but I was taken a bit by surprise, as I'm sure all of you were,” Roland stated. “Since we’re short on time, I'll keep things simple. The regiment is mobilizing around the town, but we still need to send men west to help the Equestrians. That mission has been assigned to the sturdy gentlemen of the Second Battalion. C Company is going out first as the tip of the spear. Lieutenant Tassingay, your platoon will be the point of that tip. You'll head out first and secure blocking positions west in preparation for the rest of Colt Company. Understood?”

“Yes Sir!” the Lieutenant replied.

“Good man. Follow me and I'll share further details with you. The rest of you men continue your preparations.”

The men finished their preparations as their Lieutenant spoke to Roland outside of the building. Weapons were given out and the various supplies were distributed amongst them, ammunition, medical, technological, and otherwise. Once completed, they were left to agonize over the coming battle, attempting to prepare for what they did not know would happen. After stowing a final magazine for his rifle, Sergeant Crockett walked over to the waiting Private Franklin Rockford, leaning against a wall and going over his M4.

“You ready, Franklin?”

“I am, and you Sergeant?”

“Almost, yeah… you… got anything you’d like to say?” asked Crockett. “Like, anything you’d like to say for us? For the team?”

“I… don’t follow.”

“Y’know, some wisdom or something.”

“Uh… hm… sic transit glorius mundi I suppose, if you want me to get theological.”

“Come on padre, not the cryptic latin stuff. Like a passage or something.”

“You want a prayer?”

“Maybe? I just want something to keep in my head during all this.”

“Of course, Sergeant. I think I know a verse for you. Here, take my hand,” offered Rockford, joining his free hand with Crocketts as their guns lingered in the other and their heads bowed down. “Dear Lord, please protect us and give us strength in this coming battle. Provide us with the fortitude necessary for us to see through this virtuous endeavour. Now the verse… how did it go? Ah… I’m sorry Sergeant, give me a minute.”

“Take your time brother, I’m in no hurry,” the Sergeant mumbled.

“Hm… ah yes, I remember now. ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep you away… When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.’ Does that help? I believe I got-”

Rockford was interrupted as the door next to them opened and stopped against his back while the Captain

and Lieutenant opened again, trying not to cause much distraction.

“My apologies, I didn’t see you two there,” Roland said sincerely. “Was I interrupting something? You two were looking down, rather distressed.”

“No Sir, just praying,” answered the Private.

“We were about done anyways,” added Crockett. “I think I got what I needed.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry. It’s a good thing to pray, I think,” the Captain professed, retaining his heartfelt tone. “Even the strongest men need a blessing.”

“Well, I’m glad you see it that way, Sir.”

“Of course Sergeant. Just remember, the Lord made America, and America made the Rangers. Hooah?”

“Hooah, Captain Roland.”

The Rangers filed out and mounted the waiting Humvees that would ferry them to their blocking position. Once everyone in the platoon was aboard the vehicles rolled away, passing through the town and checkpoint gate on the west end. The convoy was now alone, following a large dirt road towards the border.

Around them, the evidence of war was progressively making itself clear. Above, the dawn was filled with jets flying west and anti-aircraft fire shooting up and bursting in the sky from a ways away. They passed a small fire that marked the resting place of a Fulcrum that had fallen victim to those shells.

Soon, the passing aircraft grew from small fighters to large transports, and the sky was dotted here and there with white spots floating softly to the earth. It was clear these were paratrooper units from the Bloc, but the mission continued on.

Sergeant Vanderbilt’s humvee, the third in line, skidded to a halt to avoid hitting the vehicle ahead of it, which had suddenly stopped. The entire convoy came to a stop and he was about to call the front when he noticed why. From the left, from behind a small barn, a Russian-designed IFV rumbled across the road. The BTR-90 turned its main auto-cannon on the convoy, opening fire and quickly striking the first two vehicles.

“We got a BTR!” Vanderbilt cried, pushing the door open. “Get out! Get out!.”

The men of the squad scrambled out of their transportation to cover on either side of the road, with the third and fourth humvees being hit moments later. The remainder of the convoy retreated, while the BTR pushed its way down the road, knocking the mangled vehicles aside in chase. As it passed the final wrecked humvee, a launcher shot from close behind and hit the inattentive IFV, piercing through the armor. Roche had been wise enough to save the LAW in his escape and a single crewmember, a Shadow pony, to attempt escape was cut down by Byrum’s shotgun, tumbling from the deck of his smoking carriage and falling to the road in a hard, dusty impact.

“Rally up!” Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt called. “Where's the rest of the platoon? Where's LT Tassigny?”

“He was in the second Humvee when it got hit,” answered Byrum. “No one got out of those.”

“Rest of the convoy backed up real fuckin quick when they saw that BTR,” Crockett added. “We’re on our own.”

“Alright, we’re not going to stick around here. We got to get back to Saddleburg. Davy!”

“Yes Staff Sergeant?” Crockett asked.

“You take Trench and Carlyle with you on point. I'll follow up with the rest. We can't get into a major firefight so keep it on a low profile. Hooah?”

“Hooah. Let's move, guys!”

The three rangers hustled along, attempting to remain in wooded areas. Despite the Shadow airborne drop, they encountered no other soldiers along most of the journey, Shadow or American. Nor were there any of the retreating ponies from the border. Aircraft roared overhead, parachutes floated down in the distance, anti-aircraft fire burst in the skies, but they were all alone. It made for an exceptionally uncomfortable journey.

Halfway back to town they came across the first structure, a small two-story cabin off to the side of the main road. Going one at a time, the three bounded across from the woods they hid in, along the road and up to the house. Upon reaching it, the wooden cabin was empty, with evidence of a hasty eviction from miscellaneous missing items and shattered windows.

“Damn, whoever lived here got out in a hurry,” Crockett observed. “Must have seen the planes overhead and took off. Wonder who owned this place.”

“Lumberjacks, astronauts, horror movie cannibals, who the Hell knows. They’re gone now,” noted Byrum.

“Damn, I feel bad for them,” the Sergeant lightly lamented. “It kind of feels like we brought all this on them, huh? The war and everything.”

“Really? It feels more like they brought it on us,” Carlyle contended. “We sure as shit weren’t the ones dropping onto their planet!”

“Well, ain’t nothing we can do about that now. You guys set up watch on different sides of the house and I’ll call up the squad.”

The three waited there as Crockett radioed to the rest of the team. The three waited there for their squad, keeping nervous eyes shifting around the perimeter of the building for any possible hostiles. In spite of the multiple enemy planes above and the multitude of Shadows flying out of of their transports and down from the sky, no contact was made. Before long the others arrived and, one by one, ran across to the shelter of the building, with Vanderbilt being the last to enter.

“Any word on what's going on?” Crockett asked Vanderbilt as the Staff Sergeant wiped dirt from his weapon.

“Nothing. We're being invaded but not much besides that. Rats are dropping from the sky, I know that much,” Vanderbilt stated to the Shadows and their paradrop.

“How the Hell did they pull that off anyways? Did the Air Force get hit that bad?”

“Must have; I haven't seen one of our birds all day.”

“Fucking chair force… leave it to the Army to do the heavy lifting.”

“Same as usual then, huh?”

“I got movement!” Carlyle called out from the second floor. “Another BTR hauling ass across the field to the north!”

“They heading this way?” Vanderbilt asked.

“Negative, moving east.”

“Have they noticed us?”

“Doesn't look like it.”

“Then hold your fire.”

“You think Saddleburg is even still secure?” wondered Wakefield from across the room.

“Dunno, but I've got no other plan.”

“More contacts!” Carlyle called again. “Foot mobiles, five of them! They're heading our way.”

“Ok, Marcus get the SAW up there and get ready to fire!”

The ranger complied, with the others taking up various firing points around the house, awaiting for the order to shoot. A group of Shadow paratroopers, four in number, moved across the field towards the building, their camouflaged battle uniforms attempting to blend them into the green and brown countryside. They advanced calmly, on all fours rather than on hinds legs with weapons ready, thinking the area already cleared by the previously passing forces.

At once Vanderbilt gave the call of ‘fire!’ and the house was filled with the echoes of automatic weapons. The first three died before they realized they were under attack, crumpling to the grass under the impacts of multiple bullets. The fourth saw this and stumbled backwards, turning to run before a rifle round struck his neck, followed by several more. In three seconds four soldiers were dead, shot down in the cold efficiency of war, in a rather small and simple example of hundreds of similar encounters that were now taking place across the country.

“We’re clear!” Carlyle yelled from the top floor.

“Well we can’t stay here now, they’ll know we’re here,” Vanderbilt said. “Everyone form up and let’s get back to town! We’re all going together this time!”

“Sergeant, have you been able to make radio contact with anyone else?” Rockford asked.
“Some local jamming’s kept us in the dark, but it might clear up if we get closer to town, so let’s hustle!”

The squad exited and made their way east towards the heavy sounds of gunfire. They made their best attempt to stay concealed, moving through the patches of woodland and running quickly through any open areas they came across. The troops began to slow down as they neared the town, and as the sounds of battle grew louder. Though a usually worrying sound, the gunfire spelled some relief for the men as they realized that it meant the other rangers were still in Saddleburg.

As they approached the first checkpoint, they were met with a grisly scene. The bodies of several soldiers, both Shadow and American, lay scattered on and around the road and amongst the roadblock. Two other BTRs sat still as they burned, with one on the road and the other off to the side against a tree, the flames engulfing the wood as well. The large concrete barricades normally there were pushed aside or destroyed. The small guard post was filled with bullet holes, and the top of the guard tower was gone entirely, only the mangled remains of the legs still standing.

“Look at this… they sure hit our guys hard,” lamented Roche as the squad took cover in a ditch near the road.

“Shit, you think anyone’s left?” Byrum wondered.

“Oh yea, just not here,” Vanderbilt answered, pointing past the checkpoint to the buildings that marked the start of the town proper. “See that? Muzzle flashes coming from there. That’s where they’re holding. De Soto, Franklin! Look around here and see if any of the guys here are still breathing, I’ll see if I can contact the Captain now.”

The Staff Sergeant once again took out his small, portable radio as the other two began to check the corpses of the Americans for any sign of life.

“Colt Actual, Colt Actual, come in. Colt Actual, this is Colt Two-Four, do you read?”

Again, the radio gave no answer but static.

“Colt Actual, this is Two-Four.”

Noises began to pierce through the interference, sounding as though someone was making an attempt to converse, but the words were too jumbled to make out.

“Colt Actual, is that you? This is Two-Four, we’re at the checkpoint. Do you read?”

His efforts were met by the same response, frustrating him as the squad was so close to their goal.

“Say again, Colt Actual. Read you one-by-one. Two-Four is holding at the checkpoint. We need to get back to you, do you read? Can you hear me?”

“Hey Sarge,” Byrum interrupted, gesturing towards the building again.

On the roof of the restaurant, a single ranger who had spotted them was waving in their direction; Vanderbilt began to wave back in recognition, and the ranger made a motion calling for them to run to safety.

“Sorry Sergeant, we didn’t find anyone,” De Soto reported sadly, returning from the fruitless search.

“That’s alright, we need to get going! You see that?” said Vanderbilt, pointing to the buildings. “They see us, all we need to do is get to them, got it? On me! Go! Go!”

The squad filed out and began the short run to cover in a broken line, some shooting at random as they went to keep the Shadow’s heads down. Thanks in greater part to the suppression provided by the other rangers in the buildings, all of the squad reached safety. Diving into a rectangular diner, they were again met by Captain Roland, taking cover behind the counter.

“Sergeant! Good to see you're alright,” the Captain greeted. “When the rest of the platoon rolled in without you we thought you were lost. Have you got anyone else with your squad? Where's the Lieutenant?”

“He's dead, sorry Sir. Just us,” Vanderbilt answered, leaning down against the counter next to him. “What's the situation? Where do you need us?”

“Is your SAW still operational?”

“Yes Sir, Corporal Marcus!”

“Sir?” the exasperated machine gunner answered.

“Corporal head up to the roof at lay down fire from up there. Use the ladder in the kitchen, there's some belts in there if you're running low on ammunition,” ordered Roland.

“Got it!” Marcus replied as Roland turned back to Vanderbilt.

“I also need you to send a runner to that book store to the west. Our FO was stationed there and we’ve got hostiles approaching from that direction. Send a man there and tell them to pull back to this position, rest of you spread out and help with the defense around here.”

“Wakefield, that's you,” Vanderbilt called, choosing the sergeant. “Take De Soto with you. Get that observer and his team and get your ass back here.”

“Will do, come on Disco!”

The two headed out, deliberately making their way forward from one piece of cover to the next as the fighting continued around them. The distance to the store was not long, no more than fifty feet, but as with all measures in war even the smallest seemed too long. With quick bounds, they reached the rear exit of the book store, little more than a flat-roofed, one-story building converted to a library.

De Soto called out as loud as he could over the fighting through the door, hoping the jumpy men inside would not shoot him by accident. He entered first, followed by Wakefield, to find a corporal guarding the door with his M4 from behind a shelf. Clearly happy to see friendly faces, he nodded to the two before shutting the door behind them.

“You guys here to help?”

“Negative, we need to get you guys out. Captain wants the forward observer to fall back to his position,” Wakefield answered.

“Good, was getting a little too hot for us to stay around here,” he replied. “Sergeant’s up front with the FO.”

“Thanks, just be ready to move when we are.”

The two moved through the store, seeing various books scattered amongst the ground with glass from shattered lights. At the front were four other rangers firing through the windows and open door at the front, with the observer crouched behind the front counter next to the sergeant. The former was working on his radio pack, shouting into it as the gunfire echoes bounced amongst the enclosed building. The observer, whose primary role had so far been moot due to the intense jamming, had finally made contact and was in the process of directing an artillery battery as Wakefield and De Soto scrunched down next to him.

“Christ, it’s good to get someone! I’ve got a fire mission, stand by for coordinates!” “Fire mission, seven-four-two-zero, three-eight-zero-four! HE, tight pattern! Fire for effect!” he yelled, before tapping the sergeant’s leg. “Hey sarge, Sergeant Josewitz! I got through! They’re firing!”

“About damn time!” he proclaimed, kneeling down to replace his magazine with a fresh one and noticing the two new faces. “Who are you two?”

“Sergeant Wakefield, pleasure to meet you,” the younger man calmly greeted. “We were sent here by Captain Roland, he wants you to pull back to his position. I suggest getting your men together and getting out of here quick, we can lead you back.”

“Shit, it took him long enough! We’ve been holding here with our necks stuck out since the rats hit us!”

The conversation was interrupted as a salvo of shells from the American artillery exploded among a Shadow position far in front of the building, greatly slackening their assault.

“Alright, let’s get out of here! You two lead the way back!”

Wakefield and De Soto did as they were asked as Josewitz gathered his men and followed them out the exit. The two retracted their steps, unknowingly putting up a brisker pace returning than they had on their first journey, with the rest of the Josewitz’s team in tow. Returning to the restaurant in good order, they found firing positions amongst the building and continued the battle, while the observer now followed Roland directly. He was now able to give Colt Company the fire support it needed to stave off the increasingly vicious assaults, and artillery shells began to fall periodically in front of the town, keeping most of the Shadows at bay.

Along the line, teams of rangers in the cover of various buildings traded fire with Shadow paratroopers at their firing locations. Small arms rounds flew back and forth over the minor area between them. Several times a Shadow pony or two would be struck and their group forced back, while occasionally a defending man would be hit and tended to by other rangers as the shootout continued.

The battle for Saddleburg was now unfolding as Shadow paratrooper forces converged on the town. Effectively pinned down and encircled, the 75th hunkered down, as attempting to drive away with only humvees and other unarmed support vehicles would have been suicidal. It now became a race between which main force would reach the town first, the heavy Shadow army formations breaking through the border, or the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment striking west through the paratroopers to rescue the rangers.

The 1st Battalion, facing the northwest, deployed its Alpha and Charlie companies into the line, and held the Shadow probing attacks on the outskirts of town. The 3rd Battalion came under sustained assault from the troops and vehicles from an understrength brigade of the Shadow’s 34th Airborne Division, and only liberal use of ammunition kept the paratroopers at bay. Of all the battalions, the 4th to the south suffered the most, being attacked by only moderate groups from the 46th Airborne Division but receiving multiple bomb attacks from aircraft of the Shadow Air Force, the first time American troops had received such an attack since Korea.

Back at the 2nd Battalion’s sector, the pressure was increasing with consistent attacks. The rangers were holding their own, but the unforgiving assault was becoming intolerable as mortars began to explode amongst the sector, throwing dirt and rubble about. With another unfortunate call to Captain Roland, exhausted troops were now going to be stretched thinner.

“Sergeant Vanderbilt!”

“Captain?”

“Sergeant, I've got some unfortunate news. The enemy has made a breach in the defenses of Bravo Company on our right flank. They're repositioning but I need that store retaken to hold our right and make sure they don't slip around us.”

“Which one, Sir?”

“The flower store, white one with a yellow stripe along the top, its named ‘Petals’.”

“Yea… alright I see it.”

“Take your team and counter-attack, and try to hold to the best of your abilities. But leave some of your men behind to bolster the defense here.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“I know you can, that's why I'm counting on you,” Roland encouraged before turning to the observer. “Lieutenant! I need a large, harassing, high-explosive barrage over to the right in those woods, on my command!”

“Davy, get your team together! Roche you're coming along too!” the Staff Sergeant ordered, assembling his men. “When the artillery hits, we’re going to head out towards that white two-story flower shop, right over there. We’re going to retake it, got it?”

“Would the Captain like us to bring back some roses for him?” Corporal Marcus asked in a half-hearted attempt to keep morale up.

“Not now, Sandman. Once we’re across take up defenses-” the string of directions were cut out by the random impacts of artillery a short distance away. “That's it! Move! Now!”

The group left the other rangers behind, charging over to the shop in bounds. Upon reaching the wooden building, they moved along its side until they reached an open doorway and prepared to enter. Byrum went first, moving in with his shotgun and finding a Shadow paratrooper looking the wrong way, out a window in the direction of the artillery. A quick volley from the weapon dispatched the invader and the rest of the men entered and began clearing the structure.

Taking their time at each room and around each corner, they discovered and killed four more Shadows spread amongst the building. They also found the corpses of three rangers near the front, all lost to bullet wounds. With the shop secured, the squad spread out and found defensive spots.

“Colt Actual, Colt Two-Four! We’ve retaken the flower shop! Setting up defenses now!”

“Copy Two-Four! We’ve-wait! Enemy fast movers!” Roland yelled. “Take cover! Everyone down!”

Vanderbilt dropped to the floor before Roland finished his warning as two MiG-29s swept in low to attack the embattled company. One carrying a laser-guided bomb dropped it on a house close to Roland’s position, destroying the front corner and those men unfortunate enough to be there. The second released a cluster bomb that scattered in-between the diner and the flower shop, peppering the area with the sub-munitions and damaging both buildings. Luckily, the two suffered only moderate damage, and none of the rangers were hurt in the strike.

“Colt Actual, you still there?” Vanderbilt called on his radio, brushing off some of the flower petals that had fallen on him.

“Roger that!” Roland replied, coughing heavily. “Listen up, we’ve got eyes on hostiles moving in towards your position! Looks like at least two squads, maybe more, copy?”

“Copy, we’ll hold on here.”

“I’m sending the rest of your squad over to help you out! Just hold on, Blackhorse is entering the town now! The cavalry’s on it’s way, just hang on!”

“Understood, Two-Four out!”

Vanderbilt moved to the front of the shop, firing out of the blown-out windows with much of the rest of the squad. The Shadow troops were already trying to move in, close on the heels of the airstrike that had preceded them. Fire from rifles and machine guns began to bathe the wooden building, sometimes punching through and endangering the rangers taking cover inside. The intensity was such that Vanderbilt barely noticed Wakefield, De Soto, and Carlyle joining them.

The firefight continued as the Shadow’s attempts to move in were continually frustrated. One Shadow machine gunner, trying to supress the building with his RPD, was hit by a burst from Marcus’ weapon from the second floor. Another paratrooper was attempting to cross an open area and was cut down by fire from Roche and De Soto. Another stood up to throw a smoke grenade, not knowing by bad luck he stood right into Wakefield’s sites and was shot, the grenade covering his body and his allies’ position with smoke.

Slowly, the Shadows began to close in on the building. Vanderbilt was moving to cover a side entrance, expecting them to attempt an entry there, when he heard Roland calling to the company on the radio and a string of small explosions erupted along the Shadow’s positions. Coming up from behind the shop, a Bradley Cavalry Fighting Vehicle rumbled up and fired into the enemy positions, driving the paratroopers back. At long last, the 11th had arrived. The cavalry had won the race to Saddleburg, and with it the prize of the 75th Rangers.

“Colt Company, the convoy has arrived! Everyone mount up!” ordered Roland.

“Hey guys, the convoy’s here!” Vanderbilt shouted to the squad, who were already happily aware. “Mount up, let’s get the Hell out of here!”

The team exited the building to the relieving sight of Bradleys and Abrams tanks pushing back the Shadow forces. Most of the Bradleys stayed back, lowering their ramps to allow the rangers to enter while firing their autocannons. The tanks advanced, spraying the area in front of the town with machine gun fire and occasionally firing from their main cannons to remove any troublesome positions. One M1A2 tanks moved up next to the shop and fired its cannon in a deafening blast, following up with bursts from its machine gun as a Bradley moved up behind the structure.

All along the line, the battered American soldiers poured out of their buildings and individual positions to reach the convoy. Some carried wounded comrades who could not move themselves, others tried to carry some of the more vital equipment that they refused to abandon. Sergeant Crockett motioned the men to enter, wanting to be sure his whole team had made it.

“That everyone?” the vehicle’s commander asked.

“We’re good to go!” he called out from the back.

“Jesus, I swear I’m never going to shit-talk you cav guys again!” De Soto promised.

“Thanks brother, no problem,” the commander replied. “Alright, we’re rolling!”

Having finally reached relative safety, Crockett was finally able to calm himself. Even over the noise of the Bradley’s guns, he was able to find some peace as he looked around. His eyes scanned over the cramped interior of the CFV, going over the faces of all his comrades.

It was here that he realized they had all made it. Many other rangers were not as fortunate, but in his squad, his friends had all survived. He looked over each of their faces once more, seeing the relief and life in their eyes. Marcus, Byrum, Franklin Rockford, Wakefield, Roche, Carlyle, De Soto, and Vanderbilt. He mumbled a brief ‘thank you’ as the cavalry bore the ranger regiment to safety.

Author's Note

Thanks for taking your time to read. Please do let me know what you think; feedback of any kind is an important thing. Especially for the three guest writers we have in this update. A big thanks to them for adding their talent and spending their time on this story; it's wonderful to have friends like that.

Thanks again, and take care. Enjoy the other chapters.

Bolt from the Blue

April 18th, 2006
0800 Hours
Canterlot, Equestria

Source

The initial attacks on Canterlot had been focused on the airbase there. Canterberry Air Base, the largest airbase in the country, was still operational. Repair crews had been working constantly since the attack, repairing what damage they could. What could not immediately be fixed was the losses to the squadrons stationed there.

The 27th fighter squadron, one of the few that flew the deadly F-22 Raptor, had been nearly wiped out before it could even get off the ground. With 19 of its aircraft destroyed or damaged on the ground, what was left pulled back to an airfield in the east of the country to recuperate and replace the losses, and leaving only one operational Raptor squadron in the theater for the time being. The other squadrons fared slightly better, with Midnight Strike’s being one of them.

Star Hunter and most of his had been away the night of the attack, returning to the capital in a hurry to join in the war. Strike had requested to talk to him when he arrived, though she did not say about what. Upon arriving at Canterberry, he headed straight for the dining facility, where Strike asked him to meet. He found her sitting at a corner table alone, looking down in silence.

“Morning, Strike,” he greeted, taking a seat in the chair across from her. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yea… I think… well you're the only one around here that can help… I mean Thunderlane’s still away and...” she sighed, burying her head in her hooves.

“Strike? Are you alright?”

She did not reply immediately, keeping her head down beneath her mane.

“Strike, you have to tell me what's wrong if you want me to help.”

“I have to quit,” the mare replied finally, lifting her head and leaving a small teardrop on the table. “I… can't do this, I… I have to quit. I'm… just not cut out for fighting, or leading a squadron... or anything.”

She took a moment to wipe her reddened eyes with her hoof before continuing.

“When the base was getting attacked I just… I ran and hid! I-I didn't even try to get up and get to my plane! I hid like some scared little filly! I didn't even try… I didn't even try to help anypony around me!”

“Calm down Strike, I think you're being too hard on yourself,” Hunter replied.

“How? I'm a coward… I… I hid.”

“You're not a coward, Strike. You got scared and your reaction was totally natural. You just have to find a way of getting past that.”

“That still means I'm not fit to fight yet,” she continued. “Why should I stay if I can't control myself?”

“Well, foremost, I don't think you'll be allowed to leave,” Hunter stated the obvious.

The mare's eyes opened up wide from the realization before she turned her attention back to the table.

“O-oh… yeah… I guess that's true.”

“Even if you're afraid, you're a good pilot, Midnight, I've seen that for myself,” he continued. “We need good pilots, especially now that the war has started. We can't afford to lose you in any way.”

“Well… if you say so,” she mumbled, looking back to the table.

“Feeling better?”

“Not rea- uh… I guess so… in a weird way,” she mumbled, now wanting to change the topic. “So… how is Compass doing? Since the war started I mean. I haven't seen him around, or anypony else from the wing.”

“Not sure, I haven't talked to him either. His and Thunderlane’s squadron were away, but they'll be back here soon enough. I'm sure he's fine.”

“Just keep an eye on him, please?”

“Compass can take care of himself. He doesn't need me to look over him.”

“I don't know, you know how he is. Please, just-”

Their discussion was cut by the shriek of the air raid siren.

“Another raid? They're here faster than I thought,” Hunter responded calmly. “We’d better get going. Try not to worry too much. I’ll see you again when the attack’s over and we’ll go over it some more.”

The atmosphere of the air base was far more chaotic compared to Hunter’s initial reaction. The attack had not yet reached the air base, but the frenzy to prepare and launch the aircraft was as fast as could be. The infectious rushing attitude caught on to Hunter, and he found himself pushed into a hurry to reach his fighter by an American First Lieutenant.

“We’re not going to have a briefing first?” Hunter asked next to his F-15 as they waited on the final preparations to finish.

“No time! Those bandits are already here and we need to get everyone into the air ASAP! First wave just finished it’s strikes!”

“Finished? I didn’t see any strikes around here.”

“Not here, the city,” the Lieutenant clarified. “Your bird’s ready! Get going!”

“Canterlot!? Why did they attack Canterlot itself?”

“I don’t know! Now get up there and follow your orders before it happens again!”

Hunter boarded his fighter with some help from the crew and began to move forward, halting alongside two other jets. Despite the war starting the night before, the Americans and Equestrians were still scrambling to ready what they had. It all felt very last-minute, but perhaps the full realization of the beginning and scale of the conflict was not realized, along with the scale of the crippling strikes from hours before. The constant flow of chatter from the radio reflected this as he waited for further instructions.

“Control, we need to get our planes up fast,” the Falcon pilot ahead of him called. “We got clearance to takeoff?”

“Ah… confirmed… alright that group of three, you all taxi to the runway and takeoff immediately!”

“Control, who’s attacking?” Hunter asked.

“Exact nationality is unknown at this time, just take off and rendezvous the the other airborne aircraft at the given rally point.”

Hunter’s F-15 rolled onto the wide runway flanked by planes from two other squadrons.

“You head up first, Hunter Lead. Make sure you got everything squared away, then we’ll see about shooting down the bad guys,” one of the American pilots ordered. “Don’t get over-eager, just do what you always do!”

The Equestrian pilot increased the throttle on his plane and the engines lit their afterburners, pushing him down the runway. Hunter did not wait for the air to lift him on its own and began to pull back on the flight stick. With the speed increasing, the F-15 soared into the air, flanked by the other jets taking off shortly behind him.

“This is Hunter, I’m airborne. Control, can you vector me to a target, over?”

“Proceed to the designated point, Hunter, you’ll receive your instructions there. Don’t ask me again!” the operator in the control tower demanded before turning to focus on his other duties. “Alright, their launch is confirmed. Cerberus team, runway clearance granted, takeoff when ready!”

“Hunter Lead to any Hunter units, please respond, over.”

“Hunter Lead, this Hunter Two-Two. Me and Two-Four are holding at the rally point, over.”

“Is there anypony else from the squadron there?”

“We haven’t heard from any yet.”

“Alright, get into formation behind me.”

The two wingponies did as commanded, falling in behind their leader, one on each side. The three pulled up and away to join the motley collection of planes gathering away from the airfield and city. More joined periodically in random numbers as more took off from Canterberry Air Base as a sole American AWACS attempted to organize them into a proper force to fight off the attack.

“This is USAF Airborne Warning and Control System Ghost Eye to all scrambling allied aircraft,the situation has not yet been ascertained. We must implement an emergency reformation,” the operator explained. “You are now under US Airborne Command’s jurisdiction following takeoff for this engagement. All Equestrian squadrons are to be paired with a USAF unit to ensure effectiveness and stability; follow your individual instructions.”

“Two-Two, is there any word on how bad the city was hit?”

“From what I heard there’s extensive damage from strategic bombers, and a number of civilian casualties,” answered his wingpony, Tailored Top.

“Strategic bombers? This far out? Were our fighter squadrons hit that hard?”

“It seems like it.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste any time. We don’t need an American units to watch over us,” Hunter said, switching back over to the AWACS. “Hunter to Ghost Eye, please vector us to a target. We’re ready to engage, over.”

“Negative Hunter team, you don’t have a liaison squadron. We need to give you some wingmen,” the operator countered as he tried to find an available unit. “Let’s see… Shamrock! Shamrock is Garuda team alone too?”

“Affirmative.”

“Very well, Garuda is now going to back up Hunter squadron for this operation.”

“Okay,” the human pilot acknowledged as the two-jet team moved over next to Hunter’s. “Hunter team, this is Garuda Two Shamrock with Garuda One Talisman. It’s nice to be working with you. Don’t worry, we’ll have your back.”

“Likewise Garuda Two, thank you for the help.”

“Happy to; no time for introductions now though, we’ve got to clear out the sky. I’m just gonna be following Garuda One’s lead on this, never was good with directions anyhow.”

“Garuda, Hunter, you are authorized to engage any hostile aircraft above Canterlot,” the AWACS announced. “Flight of eight bandits at bearing two-nine-eight, angels thirty. Looks like Bears and some escorts. Adjust your course to intercept.”

“Roger that!” Shamrock called out as the team dived off in the given direction.

“Let’s follow on,” the pony ordered as his flight shifted in accordance. “Our sun will shine on us today.”

Throughout the airspace a spread out battle erupted as the Allied fighters engaged groups of hostile aircraft both above the city or inbound towards it. With the Shadows having struck the air base the night before, most of the new attack was focused on Canterlot itself. Dark pillars of smoke began to rise up at various locations, either from the attacks themselves or from the graves of downed aircraft. The initial commotion in the city evolved to panic, and soon spread much faster than the damage and casualties.

Hunter’s group arrived close enough to fire their missiles at the oncoming bombers, their escorting fighters being entangled on the whim of the human pilots accompanying them. With no interruption, Hunter and his team volleyed their long-range missiles at the formation, each Eagle firing two or three of the weapons. Each hit and three Tu-95s were turned into balls of fire and metal debris in seconds.

“Bears are down, let’s switch over to the fighters now.”

“Garuda already took three down,” Shamrock notified. “Take care of the rest so we can move on.”

Hunter’s team shot down the final two escorts themselves, with his wingpony Top destroying one that attempted to tail his commander. The other, a Flanker, also attempted to get behind Hunter but moved too fast to do so. The Equestrian calmly reduced his speed and pulled into a shallow turn, allowing the Su-27 to overshoot him. One Sidewinder later and the final enemy of the formation died, allowing the pilots to switch to other targets.

“We’ve got an idea on the invaders. We’re engaged with the Griffon military,” the AWACS announced, having finally discerned the identity of the assaulting jets.

“I could’ve told you that! I’m seeing plenty of Crow symbols on these birds over here,” one of the Americans responded.

“The Griffons?” Garuda team’s two asked.

“Figured the Shadows couldn’t hit us again this fast, but I didn’t think the Crows would be nuts enough to hit us this far out. The Bugs yeah, but not them. You’d think they’d be a little more stable.”

“Their country’s been in shambles for years before we came to Earth,” Hunter returned. “Looks like they finally snapped.”

“Hunter team, this is Comet. Us and Nickel squadron are engaged with a few more of them to your northeast and could use an extra hoof if you’re not busy,” called another Equestrian squadron. “There’s another flight of bombers making runs on the Tower District and New Town, and another passing by us towards the Castle Quarter.”

“We’re on our way, Comet.”

“I can’t believe they struck us hard enough last night that they can launch air raids on Canterlot,” Top commented. “I was hoping the city would be safe from all this. The Americans told us it would be.”

“Those bastards think they can just barge into someone’s house without even calling first,” remarked one of Nickel’s pilots.

“Unbelievable!” I say we teach them a few manners before we kick ‘em out!” Shamrock suggested.

The various planes continued their battle in the muddled, extensive dogfight that raged over the entire area. Any wandering eyes from the pilots caught full sights of the war extending its reach over the city. SAMs launched from missile launchers on the ground, their white smoke trails mingling and contrasting with the black plumes. A string of explosions ran in a line along the ground among the buildings as a bomber released its payload. One of Hunter’s wingponies shot it down moments later with his guns, unintentionally causing additional devastation as the bomber crashed.

The two sides tangled mercilessly in the skies above. The citizens below who were too awestruck to seek cover acted as unwilling observers to the battle, trying to make out the fast-moving jets through the clouds and the bright sunshine. Most ponies below, in spite of some moderate wartime preparations, could not tell the difference between models they did catch glimpses of.

Depending on the individual pony’s view, each explosion in the air signaled either triumph or disaster. Either way, all they could do was search for a glimpse of anything in the confusion. A Falcon chasing after a Flanker, a Mirage trailing smoke, a Fulcrum nosediving earthward, a Strike Eagle running through the clouds with another Falcon on its wing. Whatever small pieces those below clamoured for would be completely inadequate for them to understand the way the battle was going, and only those who were fighting it could have a reasonable grasp of the situation.

The Griffon raid began to falter as losses mounted. Hunter watched Garuda team’s lead destroy the final bomber in their area as it tried to flee, its life ending as the pilot’s sixth kill of the battle. As the bombers either retreated or died, the fighters found little reason to stay. Bit by bit, the Griffon fighters disengaged from the battle and flew back west, at times tailed by some of the more aggressive Americans.

“Looks like the Crows are running out of steam. Had enough boys?” one of the American pilots taunted over an open channel.

“Nickel One to all units, I’m reforming my squadron to chase them down. Any plane that has enough fuel and ammo left feel free to join us.”

“Nickel this is Hunter One, I have to advise against that. Our primary objective is to keep the city safe, and there’s already been widespread damage,” the Equestrian fighter suggested.

“We’re at war now, we can’t just let them get away,” the human shot back. “We need to chase those buzzards back to their nest and slaughter them!”

“He’s right, our job above everything else right now is to protect the city. We still don’t know how bad it is out there, and another raid might be on its way,” Garuda Two pointed out. “We need to rearm and reorganize. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“Damn it, alright. Let’s get everyone back on the ground again. I’m sure we’ll have more coming soon enough.”

“Lead… I can’t tell… did we do good?” asked Top.

“We turned the enemy back, the mission was accomplished,” Hunter answered.

“Yes but did we do good? Look at the city.”

“I… Maybe. It could be worse.”

“I hope we can stop it from getting worse.”

“I do too.”

Author's Note

Change of Plans (TotallynotaBrony)

April 18th, 2006
1530 Hours
Sasebo, Japan

Source

Captain Hart, USN, read over the plan of the day with a frown. His cruiser, USS Tippecanoe, sat pierside in Sasebo harbor waiting for an Expeditionary Strike Group to get underway. Apparently, that wasn't going to happen today.

Hart sensed that someone, somewhere, had fouled up. The ESG was supposed to have gotten to sea already. The big, slow amphibious landing ships loaded with Marines required armed ships like Hart’s to sail with them for protection and support. Along with his cruiser, a destroyer, frigate, and submarine waited to get underway.

It was a shame to see Tippecanoe sitting still. She was a Flight II Ticonderoga, and built to be on the open ocean. Hart had been fortunate to inherit a golden crew, and under his leadership they had only gotten better. The maintenance was award-winning, morale was high, and the entire ship was currently enjoying an unexpected and rare reprieve from military sequestration. The ship was Hart's second command, and he intended to make it a highlight of his career. Despite that already lofty goal, several Admirals had expressed their opinion that he deserved stars of his own.

With that in mind, Hart was well aware that proper motivation was the key to advancement. However, he also knew that one couldn’t go pressing the front office for answers. The military was a bureaucracy, and moved at its own pace.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t make some polite inquiries about the delay, though. He decided to speak to the Colonel in charge of the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit that would embark on the amphib when it was finally ready to deploy. Perhaps he could shed some light on the situation.

Hart stepped out of his stateroom but took a detour along the way, having a walk through the ship. He surveyed the spaces and spoke to a few people. His tour ended in the hangar where the two Seahawk helicopters resided. Tippecanoe had been lucky to get experienced aircrew embarked.

After trading salutes with the Officer of the Deck, Hart went down the gangplank, pausing to salute the ensign that flew from the cruiser's stern. Continuing onto the pier, Hart headed down the way to the amphibious squadron shore headquarters, where the teleconference facility was located.

Physically going to see the Colonel would have taken a lot of effort, as he was located in Okinawa. The wonders of modern communication reduced that to merely sitting in front of a camera. Borrowing a workstation, Hart set up the call.

The Colonel, when he answered, did not look surprised to see Hart. “Captain. I take it you want to know about the amphib.”

Hart nodded and the Marine went on. “So do I. I haven’t heard anything, and that worries me. I knew they were shaking it down trying to fix a few nagging problems, but I’ve never known a ship to be so troublesome.”

“I have,” said Hart, “But only rarely.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t put us in a bad mood for deployment,” the Marine observed. Hart agreed. The only thing worse than spending months away from home was sulking about it.

He was just about to sign off when a small alert flashed at the bottom corner of the computer screen. Clicking on it, a blinking notification popped up, indicating a base lockdown.

“What’s this?” the Colonel muttered, apparently staring at the same thing on his computer.

“You got it too?” Hart asked. “It doesn’t look like a drill. What could cause two bases hundreds of miles apart to simultaneously go to lockdown?”

The Marine frowned. “Whatever it is, it must be serious. They’re probably just about to restrict communi-” The video and sound abruptly cut off.

Hart got up and left the building without lingering. River City, or restricted communications, was put in place to prevent leakage of information during times of crisis. That, combined with the message, clearly indicated that something was happening. In the distance, he heard the Giant Voice PA system indicating a base lockdown and requesting personnel to shelter in place. Maybe that meant Hart should have stayed put, but he felt safer aboard Tippecanoe.

He hurried back to his ship and went directly to Combat. The relatively roomy compartment in the center of the cruiser was the nerve center through which everything was routed. It was lit by dim blue lights and had four sixty-inch TV displays on the forward bulkhead. Smaller monitors were placed at workstations crammed in everywhere.

The ship may have been tied to the pier, but that didn’t mean its ears weren’t open. It was in CIC that Hart learned the news. Through secure communications came the message that the amphib they were waiting on had been attacked.

It was no accident. It wasn’t even an isolated incident. Someone placed a message scroller on one of the screens at the front of CIC. Targets all across the Pacific had been struck.

Of the six carrier groups in the northern and southern sectors, all had suffered some kind of damage or loss. In the south, both the Abraham Lincoln and the George Washington had been hurt and rendered combat ineffective, while the Carl Vinson was crippled, disabled, and still under threat. The Ford in the north had come off better but the few hits had badly hurt the new carrier's systems and her green crew, sending her stumbling back towards Seattle. The Reagan had suffered badly as well, but was able to reach Japan. Only the Enterprise had escaped damage and was sheltering in an Equestrian port with her group and various other vessels that escaped.

The news on the ground was little better. The Bloc air forces had struck overnight, catching the Allied forces sleeping. Virtually all air bases in the western half of Equestria were struck and many from the central region, leaving most disabled and destroying many aircraft in the process. The most disturbing, and most unclear, was the ground invasion; the overall situation was hazy but it was known that the Bloc was attacking all along the border line and Equestrian ground forces were melting away.

As the list of damaged ships and facilities continued to come in, Hart began to realize the scope of what had happened. The attack on Pearl Harbor that brought the United States into World War Two had been one base bombed. This was much worse.

The only positive news was that the identity of those behind the violence had been established beyond a doubt. It was the Arcaian Defense Bloc. The combination of Shadow Ponies, Griffons, and Changelings were known to be aggressive, but nothing like this had ever been expected.

Hart knew he didn’t have the whole story, but it was a given that he would be forced to react to it. He had already begun to recall personnel and make ready to move.

Not half an hour later, the message came in:

As Tippecanoe is the only ESG ship ready to steam, your orders are to detach and sail at once.

The orders had come down from Seventh Fleet in Yokosuka, the headquarters responsible for the western half of the Pacific. Simple, straightforward. Hart double checked that all sailors had been recalled and that his ship was as ready as it could be for battle. It was clear that the United States would not take an attack lying down. The press conferences hadn’t started yet, but no one doubted that they were going to war.

Crisis was never an ideal circumstance, but it was how one responded to it that mattered. As messages of attacks kept pouring in, there was no place Captain Hart would rather be than aboard Tippecanoe.

Reading the details of the orders, Hart had been ordered to take his ship out of port and proceed at best possible speed to the site of the attack on the amphib. Hart ordered his sailors to make it happen, but not before speaking with the commanders of the Expeditionary Strike Group that his ship was detaching from. His primary reason for doing so was to borrow some equipment. There was no telling what they could be facing out there.

To that end, both his Seahawk helicopters were sporting some new gear, numerous small arms had been signed for, and a small detachment of operators had come aboard with a ScanEagle UAV.

And now, they were on their way, violating the harbor speed limit in the charge for open ocean. The cruiser's sleek bow cut through the waves as the ship accelerated towards its maximum speed in excess of thirty knots. The four turbine engines sang with a combined output of more than one hundred thousand horsepower, all of it kicking a white foam from behind the ship as it steamed out of Sasebo.

Once on station at the target, they would set up a patrol and scour the area for any survivors that rescue aircraft had not yet pulled from the water. CIC put the operational picture up, displaying the area around the ship as seen through radar, sonar, infrared, and optical cameras. Feeds from the national data network were also piped in, putting together a global picture.

One of the sailors jerked his head up. “Sir, I've got some more information on the target area.”

“I haven't heard anything through official comms,” Hart replied.

The sailor nodded. “Yes sir. You always say to think outside the box, so I connected with a friend at the NRO who works with the satellites. He tells me that the amphib is still on the surface, but listing heavily and probably can’t be salvaged.”

Hart's jaw tightened, but it was not anything he hadn’t expected. “Very well.”

“Message traffic, sir,” called another sailor. Hart turned to take the printout from him.

Tippecanoe, be advised that you are nearing the last known location of USS Kearsarge. The ship reported that it was being tracked by a large, unknown vessel before the attack. McInerney is coming to assist you, and should catch up to you soon. First priority is locating Kearsarge. Attempt to locate the unidentified vessel and reveal its intentions. If it is hostile, destroy it.

Rules of Engagement still hadn’t been officially established, and hostile intent was up to the commander to interpret. Hart actively maintained his cool head, but he knew the gloves were off now and a fight could start at any moment.

He went over to the helicopter controllers. “Get the Sixty-Sierra warmed up just in case.”

At his order, the MH-60S Seahawk in the hangar was pulled out and its blades unfolded. It was a capable helicopter, with sensors galore. It was primarily a utility helo, but just like its hangar mate, the sub-hunting MH-60R, it could carry machine guns and missiles.

McInerney, a frigate, appeared in the distance, catching up as Tippecanoe slowed to begin the search. Having a friend alongside was welcome. The two ships greeted each other with the bridge-to-bridge radio and established a search pattern. If the enemy vessel was out there, they would find it. If it wasn't, they would at least find evidence of where it had gone.

Information reports from Fleet kept coming. The Bloc attacks had tapered off, but it would be foolish for the Americans to let down their guard now.

The watch officer in CIC caught Hart's attention. “Sir, we have a contact. AIS, radar return, and electronic emissions rule out a merchant ship.”

“Interrogate over common frequencies. In the meantime, get the helicopter spinning, pass the information to McInerney over the tactical data link, and inform Seventh Fleet.”

The CIC burst into a flurry of activity.

“Based on ELINT characteristics, we make the contact to be Krivak-class frigate.”

Hart nodded, considering the information. He waited while the technicians continued to pore over the electronic signals until they were sure exactly which Krivak they were looking at. Every radar system, particularly older ones, had a kind of electronic fingerprint that could be detected. The Office of Naval Intelligence was good about keeping the databases full. The results came back. The ship belonged to the Shadow Empire.

That certainly made things simpler. A valid target was a valid target. Hart ordered the helo to lift off and turned his ship to an interception course for the Shadow ship. He called over to his counterpart aboard McInerney. The other skipper was more than willing to engage.

The distance between the ships was down to sixty miles when the helo got a solid image back. Hanging carefully outside the hostile frigate's SA-N-4 missile range, the Seahawk transmitted video back to Tippecanoe. Sure enough, it was a Krivak, although the Shadow Ponies had been busy modifying it. It had weapons systems that the old Soviet Union certainly hadn't installed.

Considering that the helo hadn't been shot down, apparently the surface to air armament was unchanged. But as Hart and everyone in the CIC watched the video feed, a bloom of fire erupted from the deck of the frigate, a sure sign of a heavyweight missile launch.

It was not a time to panic, and no one did. Intensive training helped, but so did the knowledge that they could do something about the incoming missile. The primary missile defense system on the cruiser was the SLQ-32 “Slick Thirty-Two” electronic warfare suite used to jam missile seekers. At closer ranges, that would shift to hard kill weapons like the cruiser's two CIWS gatling guns.

Hart saw that the defensive measures were in place. The ship's battery of SM-2 missiles were also being warmed up in case it looked like the jamming wasn't working. Once the defenses were set, he ordered his crew to go on the offense.

On Tippecanoe's aft deck, a pair of Harpoon anti-ship missiles burst out of their tubes and raced away. They passed the Shadow missile in mid-flight.

Hart studied the radar picture. The enemy missile was visibly being swayed by the jamming. It looked like it was going to miss aft by more than a mile. The Harpoons, on the other hand, scored hits on the Krivak that were broadcast in spectacular detail by the helo's camera. The ship started to burn and Shadow Pony sailors could be seen jumping over the sides.

Battles fought from sixty miles' distance didn't seem like that much in the age of missiles, but it took almost two hours for Tippecanoe and McInerney to close with the crippled Shadow ship. By that time, the helo was overhead and making preparations to round up the floating and flying Shadow Pony sailors. Their derelict ship was slowly taking on water, but still managed to keep afloat. McInerney received permission to close with the target and finish it off with a barrage of 76-millimeter rounds.

Hart's thoughts turned to picking up the survivors. They may have been enemies, but his orders were currently to pick them up. That thought was broken, however, as a report from the helo came down. “Periscope spotted, bearing zero eight eight true, one mile.”

Ships were not very effective submarine hunters. Despite miraculous technology, submarines were still most often detected visually. Still, the news sent the cruiser into a burst of activity. The engines kicked up.

Armed with an approximate location, the sonar technician activated Tippecanoe’s bow mounted active sonar, almost immediately getting a return. “It’s big, sir. Not a very traditional signal, either. It sounds about half biological. I’m thinking it’s Changeling."

The Changelings were the least conventional species living on Arcaia. Despite all the new species’ naïveté regarding human technology, such as spy satellites, it had not been easy to obtain surveillance on them. Weather manipulation could obscure shipyards and facilities. As a result, the Changeling-built submarines were known, but not very well understood.

Hart caught sight of the helo's camera feed as the surface of the ocean near the disabled Krivak began to foam. A hulking black vessel rose from the waves, the surface of its hull mottled as if organic. It had a vague sort of shape that was clearly a submarine, but even more strange-looking than some of the eccentric Russian designs.

The waves of its sudden surfacing rocked the Shadow Empire ship, throwing off its buoyancy and causing it to sink the rest of the way beneath the waves.

McInerney stood less than a mile away, clearly just as surprised as Tippecanoe. The foreign submarine's misshapen sail split open, revealing a core that pulsed ominously green. McInerney’s gun fired just as a glowing ball zoomed out of the submarine and struck the frigate's superstructure.

It was not an explosion that followed, but more like a splat. What seemed to be green slime coated the ship's topside, congealing over the bridge windows and fouling the weapons. Smoke or steam rose from the gelatinous mass, signifying that whatever it was carried an even greater risk than just blinding and disarming a ship.

Hostile intent had been more than met. Tippecanoe's fore and aft five-inch guns, already trained, began to fire. At such a close range, it was nearly impossible for the computerized targeting to miss. Seventy-pound shells moving at thousands of feet per second reacted far faster than the time it would have taken to target and fire missiles.

Explosions raked the Changeling vessel bow to stern. Hit dozens of times in less than a minute, the submarine heeled over, its destroyed topside awash. It vanished beneath the waves in seconds. Sonar reported it breaking up as it sank.

“Get the fire hoses up, we're going to see if we can wash that stuff off McInerney,” Hart ordered. He didn't have to tell his men to keep on the lookout for more danger.

Hart made his way to the bridge to oversee the hose efforts. There was limited communication to the frigate, and as Tippecanoe came alongside, he saw a large antenna melt to slag and fall off.

The frigate sailors were trying to clear away the green substance, but all of them were understandably reluctant to touch it. With help from the cruiser, the decks were slowly sanitized, but it was clear that McInerney was out of the fight. She wasn't going to sink, but Hart wondered how long it would have taken for the mysterious weapon to have completely melted the ship.

Kearsarge was nowhere to be found. While survivors might still be out there somewhere, land based rescue aircraft would more quickly be able to cover the many square miles of ocean to locate them. Hart saw a Japanese P-3 appear as a symbol on the radar scope, the aircraft identifying itself in the datalink.

Given the choice between collecting survivors of the Shadow ship and assisting McInerney, Hart’s choice was easy. Tippecanoe took the damaged American frigate under tow back towards Sasebo.

Hart had a feeling that the port was soon going to be full of damaged ships. He read message traffic on the way back. There still wasn’t an accurate count on how many allied units had been damaged or destroyed.

It was a sick feeling, knowing that he’d likely lost personal friends today, and the war was only just beginning. The first battle was over. The question was how many remained.

Piracy

April 18th, 2006
0714 Hours
North Pacific

Source

After the first battles of the war crippled American naval air power in the Pacific, a scramble commenced to offer some form of challenge to the Bloc navies. The RES Magic, Equestria’s first aircraft carrier, was not due to be commissioned until later in the year. Most of her time was spent training in the seas around her home port of Baltimare. The news of the attack on the nearby fleets brought that training to an immediate halt, with the ship shifting to wartime stance and sailing west to try and cover the retreating American ships. In the space of a few hours, the Magic had changed from a greenhorn warship in training to one of the few operational Allied carriers in the theater.

The initial reaction to the news of war was a sort of rushed frenzy, with the ponies clumsily readying to apply what little they knew on the deathly subject of modern naval conflict. Even the orders themselves seemed to be in a reactionary delirium. Their direct task, as the Equestrian Naval Command worded it, was to ‘move west with all speed, cover retreating Allied ships, and defend the northern coastline from any attack’. After the battlegroup had steamed a good distance, and the Equestrian admirals had time to collect their thoughts, it came to them that dispatching their sole carrier, not fully trained and virtually alone in the face of the Bloc navies, was a suicidal waste.

With most of the American ships retreating to safety, the orders were changed to the extreme opposite. The Magic and her group turned east at full speed, making for the east coast of Equestria to Bostrot until she was determined to be ready for war. To her luck, the Bloc navies had pulled back to rest and reorganize after their attacks the previous night, thus sparing the Equestrian carrier from an uneven slaughter.

This was an exciting turn of events for Sunspot, the commander of one of the carrier’s two F-14 squadrons. The outbreak of the war itself was hardly surprising as she had been predicting it for months. She had been looking forward to putting the powerful fighters to use, and the time had now come for that.

Trotting across the flight deck, she reached her F-14 resting on the edge of the carrier, hovering up along with her R.I.O. to the cockpit. The Tomcat was directed slowly to the left catapult by the flight crews, moving about the deck in their colorful uniforms. The jet was set up to launch while her wingpony’s was taxied to the other catapult next to hers. She called to him over the radio as the final preparations were made.

“Alright Windjammer, give me a basic repeat of the mission so I know you were paying attention.”

“Follow the set patrol route, cover the carrier, rendezvous with the mercenary squadron coming from the coast, engage any contacts,” her wingpony replied as the final checks in his Tomcat were completed.

“Good to see you were able to stay awake,” she congratulated sarcastically.

“Well I need to now that the war’s on,” he countered. “Somepony’s got to be. You heard about how hard the air bases got hit last night.”

“All that means is the Navy gets to save the day now,” Sunspot boasted. “Don’t worry, Windjammer. With me, we’ll send the baddies running! They’ll learn not to mess with Royal Equestrian Navy pilots!”

“I’ve been in the navy longer than you have.”

“Hey, Key, everything looking good back there?” queried Sunspot to her R.I.O., ignoring Windjammer’s point.

“Yea, I think so. Everything looks like it’s working from back here,” Light Key answered from the back seat of the Tomcat.

“Windjammer, are you set?”

“Ready to go.”

“Magic, this is Corona. Ready to launch, over,” Sunspot called to the carrier’s control.

“Copy, Corona, you’re clear to launch. Good luck, out.”

The metal barriers rose behind the F-14s and Sunspot pushed the throttle forward. The Tomcat’s powerful engines began to blast out fire in shock diamonds while the plane itself was held in place. In an instant, the catapult activated, slinging the heavy fighter forward and throwing it off the ship. The already burning engines propelled the jet as Sunspot pulled back on the stick as the Tomcat carried her into the sky. Windjammer followed only seconds behind, forming up on his leader’s wing as the two flew out in search of the enemy.

“Corona, this is Goodfellow. Do you copy, over?”

“Goodfellow copies Corona, we have you on radar. Be advised, we’re tracking a large aircraft formation at bearing three-three-two, heading south.”

“I see them on mine, too,” Sunspot confirmed. “Where’s that PMC squadron of yours?”

“Affirmative, we’ll patch you through to Arrow now.”

“Corona, you copy?” a gruff voice called on her radio. “This is Viper, lead plane of Arrow. Can you hear this?”

“We hear you, Viper.”

“Good, you should see us soon. Flight of five, moving up from your six. Try not to get spooked.”

The mercenary flight came into visual two minutes later, paying little heed to the Equestrian Tomcats they passed. It hardly resembled a serious military force besides the aircraft, though each of these was a different model, perhaps due to the restrictions or price of operating such a business. Two of them were Falcons of vastly different blocks, the third was a Typhoon, the fourth a Strike Eagle, and the final a regular F-15C.

“You guys are flying a pretty loose formation there,” Windjammer noted.

“Worry about yourself, not us. We’ve got a big haul ahead of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those bogies ahead of us? Looks like a crow transport formation, a big one,” the human clarified. “You’re lucky, most rookies don’t strike gold like this in their first fight.”

“What’s a Griffon transport formation doing all the way out here?” Sunspot wondered. “Is it an airborne operation?”

“Must be, that’s the only reason for there being so many of them,” Viper agreed. “Looks like they were trying to swing around over the ocean and drop through the back door.”

“They weren’t expecting us to be here.”

“Bad luck for them, good luck for us,” he continued as they approached the Griffon aircraft. “Now look alive and get ready for a fight! Viper to Goodfellow, do we have permission to engage?”

“Affirmative, you’re cleared on all hostile aircraft. Shoot down as many as you can before they reach land.”

“Alright, let’s get this party started!”

The planes dived at the lumbering formation of transports like lions charging into a pack of antelope. The few escorts they had were woefully ill-equipped to deal with the oncoming threat. Hoping to achieve surprise, and with their air forces already stretched thin and occupied elsewhere, only a few Griffon fighters protected each group, armed partly with bombs or anti-radiation missiles to counter ground threats.

Two of them fell almost immediately to radar-guided missiles, along with one of the Il-76s they were protecting. The cargo plane fell from the sky, it’s wing torn off and all it was carrying spilling out the back to leave a long trail of debris. The Tomcats of the Magic followed close on the heels of the Arrows, with Sunspot locking onto on of the other transports. It was not difficult to gain a hard radar lock on the large jet and, with one press of a button later, she had gained her first victory. The missile hit the forward half of the Ilyushin, causing it to stagger and fall. The brief feeling of celebration she felt was immediately curbed when the mercenary pilot cut in again.

“Hey you, Corona lead, the horse with that stupid emblem,” Viper called out. “You’re with me, I want to see what you’ve got.”

“What are talking about?”

“Considering you all aren’t exactly used to a good old fashioned fight like this, it might be nice to teach you something,” he continued as the slaughter developed around them. “I figured you had a few preconceptions about us pirates, so I’d say a lesson in humility is an order.”

“You think a battle’s the best place to do that!?”

“There’s no better place. You think you’re good enough? Let’s see you get more kills than our rookie in the number four spot.”

The Griffon formation had by now broke and the aircraft scattered in individual attempts to escape. Sunspot picked out the next closest to her and launched her missile. In the rush to destroy it, flustered by the human pilot’s challenge, she fired too early, shooting before a lock was achieved.

The missile flew harmlessly past, and she was forced to drastically break her aircraft to ensure she did not overshoot as well. After leveling out, a quick switch to one of the plane’s heat-seeking missiles rectified the previous mistake. The Sidewinder flew off, striking the aircraft in one of it's engines and sending it into a death spiral.

“Hmph, stupid emblem? Who’s he to talk with that one on his tail?” Sunspot asked her RIO. “That ridiculous snake crossed over itself like that. These mercenaries are so full of themselves.”

“I don’t know, did you see the reaper emblem on the number four craft?” Key responded. “It really freaks me out, feels like I’m getting haunted.”

“Well then quit staring at it and find me another target!”

“There’s a couple of Flankers at our three o’clock, above us at thirty-two thousand feet.”

“Then they’re next! Let’s hurry and get there first!”

The Tomcat nosed down into a light dive to gain momentum before pulling up and charging at the Griffon fighters. Sunspot locked the radar onto the leader from its maximum range and let her third long-range missile fly. The two fighters, already alerted by the battle, had plenty of time to react and split in two before diving down, with the leader dropping a line of chaff and flares. The tiny pieces of metal glistened in the Pacific sun in a bright trail as the missile guidance locked on to them rather than the Flanker.

Watching her first shot fly off in the wrong direction, the Equestrian immediately followed up her attack and launched another at the now turning Flanker. As she banked hard to track him, she selected her second Sidewinder and, after hearing the continuous tone of the lock drone in her ear, she shot her last missile, not bothering to wait. It turned out to be a gratuitous assault, as seconds after the launch the radar-guided missile found its target on the rear of the Griffon fighter. The Flanker lurched, falling seawards in a ball of fire with whatever remaining frame being torn apart when the Sidewinder struck moment later.

“Got him! We got him!” Sunspot jumped, causing the plane to jolt lightly by accident. “Did you see that Key?”

“Yeah, but-”

“That’s the third one!”

“Sunspot, we’ve got one starting to come after us!” Key warned, his neck craned over to watch the rear of the Tomcat. “I-I think it’s the other one! The other Flanker!”

“What!? Hold on!”

The Tomcat was put into another dive, pressing the ponies back into their seats. As her prey had done before, Sunspot released long trails of countermeasures to preempt any missile lock on. Leveling out two-thousand feet above the North Pacific, the Griffon was still tailing the fleeing Equestrians, being even closer now than he was before. Sunspot kept an eye on him in the mirror of the cockpit and tried to think of her next move; consequently, she did not notice the other aircraft diving down in front of her, heading in the opposite direction. As she watched, the Tomcat was shuttered by the fast-moving F-15 from before. Her competitor shot past at close range, firing one of his own missiles as he did so and hitting the enemy fighter on the nose, saving Sunspot the trouble of further evasion.

“Ugh… that felt a lot closer than it should’ve been,” Sunspot groaned audibly.

“You still alive in there, Corona One?” asked Viper as the skies calmed momentarily. “Looks like our guy is three ahead of you, you’re lucky I don’t add to his score for saving your butt from that Crow.”

“Just.. whatever.”

“It ain’t over yet neither. Goodfellow’s tracking a second wave of transports. You ready to engage?”

“I don’t think I can, I don’t have any missiles left.”

“You still have your guns, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but… against all those-”

“Their number doesn’t matter; more of them just means more kills and money for us,” Viper cut her off. “You want to be one of the best? You need to be hungry. Stay aggressive. Long as you got something on your bird to kill the enemy with you go after them.”

The squadron was soon leaving the Corona team behind once again as they tore into the second group of transports. There was hardly any real coordination in the fight, and the herd was already in the process of scattering. Sunspot took a look over the expansive battle and radioed her wingpony, whom she had virtually forgotten about during the fight.

“Corona Two! Windjammer, are you still there? You have any missiles left?”

“Copy lead, I've still got some.”

“Alright, you cover my six. I'm going to close in on one of those running targets and take it down with my guns, out.”

She did not bother waiting to hear the response, wanting to get a final score before the remaining Griffons escaped. Nor did she contend the idea of letting Windjammer go off on his own, being far more likely to gain a kill with his missiles; the fright of being surprised by the escort earlier was enough to warrant a lookout for her. She selected an Ilyushin flying out to the east, alone and hoping it would not be noticed.

Catching up to the transport was an easy task for the fighter, and Sunspot now gathered her patience to get a good shot on the target. The gun sight steadied over the huge plane and she shot a long burst from the Tomcat’s cannon, ripping into the fuselage of the plane. The Ilyushin slowed and dipped down, slowly descending to the sea. The plane’s Griffon passengers filed out the back, having no need for individual parachutes, and spread their wings out to each make their individual escape.

“Hah! Look at those pigeons scatter,” Viper observed. “Well horsey looks like the fun’s over. You got the last kill but our rookie got more than twice your number.”

“Let's hope our Reaper can keep it up!” the Typhoon pilot chirped through an odd English accent.

“He’ll do fine. You Navy pilots on the other hand.”

“We’ll be fine!” Sunspot answered. “It's our first fight, we’re just getting used to it.”

“Well, you better get used to it quick. You're in our world now, and with this kind of war you adapt or you die. There's no good witch to wish all your troubles away,” the Arrow leader continued in his lecture. “In this environment you need to get good quick, cause our Reaper’s not always going to be around to save your tail. Next time the real grim reaper’s going to take off your head, got it?”

“I got it,” she resigned. “Still, we did alright didn't we? Everypony’s alive, and we got a good number of those bandits.”

“Yeah, yeah, you did fine. There might be hope for you guys after all,” commented Viper. “Just remember the lessons you picked up. You want to win you need to get better. Cash, glory, whatever the Hell you’re aiming for; that all depends on your strength and skill. Power drives you to victory, simple as that. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” the pony repeated. “Thanks guys.”

“Just doing our job. I'm not trying to push you into the ground, just trying to cram a bunch of lessons into one quick fight. Remember what you learned and you'll be okay,” he finished. “Alright, let’s get back to base. I’m sure they’ll have some more work for us to do.”

Sunspot watched as the squadron pulled away back towards land, leaving the F-14s to make their return trip to the carrier.

“Ready to head back, Corona One?” Windjammer asked.

“Yeah… let’s get back quick.”

“Not too bad for our first day of war, but I’ve seen enough for right now.”

“The more I score, the better I get, and the better I get the more I'll kill,” she theorized to herself as the two planes began their journey back. “And both of those will help stop… will help win this war. That's what it's all about, isn't it?”

Author's Note

The Dragoons

April 18th, 2006
0900 Hours
Northwestern Equestria, near Manehatten

“You know how much longer we’re gonna be sitting here Sergeant?” the fair-headed Albertan asked.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Sergeant Palmer answered, washing down his simple toast breakfast with another swig from his canteen. “Why’re you asking, Lane?”

“Well the war’s been going on for a few hours from what I’ve heard, and we’re still sitting here.”

“Don’t be in a hurry to die,” Palmer cautioned.

The Royal Canadian Dragoons, the northern country's contribution to the standoff in Arcaia and the only unit of the Canadian army on the continent so far, had already spent a good deal of time waiting. Thrown into the open ‘no-man’s land’ between the American defense line and the border held by the Equestrians, the men had begun to feel somewhat abandoned by their allies, being seen as almost a sacrifice to buy them time. However, now that the war had begun, few orders and pieces of information had filtered in to them.

“Men, form up!” the voice of Lieutenant Lecerf sounded, calling up the dragoons from their half-hearted morning rituals. “It’s time, the regiment is moving out.”

“Moving to the front, Lieutenant?” Lance Corporal Lane asked.

“No, the opposite direction I’m afraid. The Griffon army has already broken through the front line at the border,” Lieutenant Boisson replied, gesturing his hand in an arc over the west. “Still, we’ll have plenty of enemies to battle on the way. The Griffons have dropped several airborne units behind the lines in hopes of cutting us off.”

“Ha! Good luck with that!” Private Burton chipped.

“Oui, for some reason it seems the enemy has some strangely dispersed drop zones from our reports, as if they didn’t have enough troops or aircraft. That is fortunate for us,” the Lieutenant explained, hoisting up a folded map for Palmer. “Sergeant, I need you to send one of your teams to Hill Eighty, here. It has a good view over the surrounding area, and covers part of the main line of retreat. Have them escort one of our observers and call down fire support on any targets they see, he’ll be waiting by the Coyote that will take you there.”

“You heard him Lane, you and Bravo get going. We’ll see you when this is all over with.”

“We’ll take care of it for you, Sir,” Lane assured the Lieutenant.

“I’m sure you will, bonne chance.”

Lance Corporal Lane and his fire team moved away, leaving the rest of the dragoons behind.

“Them damn Frenchies, man,” he said to the others with a grin and a shake of his head.

Much of the rest of the Regiment was organizing for the greater movement east towards the American lines. A convoy of Leopard 2 tanks and supporting infantry was already assembling, with another convoy of support vehicles forming up to follow. They would be the main force to lead the Royal Canadian Dragoons out of encirclement, and it would be Lane’s job to help keep them safe.

Lane’s team, consisting of Privates Degoutte, Burton, and Oswald, reached the waiting Coyote APC waiting near the gates of the camp. After confirming the mission with the vehicle’s commander, the four ducked into the armored hull. Lane entered first, finding the short observer sitting close to the front, and greeted him with a barely-heard ‘good morning’ through the engine’s noise.

“So you’re the observer?” Lane asked, shaking his hand as the rear door of the Coyote shut.

“Yep, that’s me. Private Rich, pleased to meet you,” he replied, grabbing hold of his radio pack as the Coyote jerked forward to begin its journey. “Kind of sucks we have to meet under the circumstances… the whole war thing y’know? But considering that, it’s nice to have you guys with me. Was never the best shot myself with a rifle, that’s why they give me binoculars instead. Lost easier to kill a target with a salvo of explosives, you know.”

“Well, as long as you’re good with that. What kind of fire support you got on standby?”

“Plenty of artillery, served up in all shapes and sizes!” Rich answered happily. “Thankfully we got in contact with the Americans behind the Papa Line, so their batteries are going to be answering my call. Rockets, HE, DPICM, incendiary, all the good stuff.”

“What about air support?”

“None, sorry Corporal. Allied air bases have been hit hard, and they’re still getting hit.”

“None!? They can’t help us at all?” Lane asked before a rumble shook the Coyote, spooking him and the others. “The Hell was that? Hey, commander, we getting shot at?”

“No, we’re good,” the commander answered, not taking his eyes from his post. “From back in the camp. Looks like some Griffon flier made a pass over it. Hang on down there, we’re going offroad and should reach the hill soon.”

“Fucking Crows,” Burton groaned, referring to the Griffons.

“Yea, no air. Pilots have got their hands full just trying to ward off air raids into our rear. But don’t worry, we won’t need them,” Rich assured the team.

The ride to their objective continued at a slower pace as the APC bumped along the uneven ground. The soldiers inside were blind and cut off from the outside world, being completely ignorant to the situation of the world around them. Whether the rest of the regiment had completed organizing and begun pushing down the road, or was already pinned down and on the verge of destruction, was anyone’s guess. As the Coyote slowed upon reaching the base of the hill, the dragoons were eager to get out and begin their mission, with Oswald pushing open the door before the vehicle even stopped.

“We’re at the base of the hill. This is as far as I can take you. We’ll hold here at cover your rear on this side,” the commander told Lane as the engine was shut off. “You guys get up there. We’ll be ready to go when you are.”

“Thanks for the ride!” said Lane simply, exiting the Coyote to join the rest of his team. “Alright, everyone get to the top of the hill! Rich, you stick behind us and bring up the rear till we hit the summit; we don’t need you getting shot.”

The Canadians raced up the hill, hoping that the enemy had not reached it before them. The closer they got to the top, the more confident they became, and it was soon apparent that the Griffons were nowhere close. Degoutte reached the summit first, waving his rife along the top and searching briefly for any sign of hostiles before running to the edge and scanning the downward slope. Around Hill 80, the call of ‘clear’ went up. The Griffon airborne forces had not arrived yet, but they would not be long in coming. The Lance Corporal formulated a basic defense plan and called the men together to enact it.

“Alright, hill secured. Everyone take up defensive positions and cover a side of the hill. Rich, you stick with me and get to watching,” Lane ordered. “Burton take the LMG and cover the front slope of the hill. Degoutte you watch the left flank, Oswald has the right. Keep your eyes open and call out if you see anything. Make sure not to give away your position either, cause we won’t last long if we’re spotted. That means don’t shoot unless you have to. Questions?”

Burton shook his head and lugged his C6 machine gun over to the front of the hill, setting it up against a partially-fallen tree trunk and eyeing the countryside. The other two soldiers did the same, fanning out and finding spots with good visibility while Lane and Rich began to scan the fields and woods below the hill. Rich reported their status and began to contact the American artillery; Lane spotted their first potential victims at the same time.

“Hey, take a look at that,” he said, pointing in the direction of a patch of woods. “Targets, at our three o’clock, near the treeline.”

“Uh… yep, I got them,” the observer agreed, holding his binoculars in one hand and the radio in the other.

“I count… at least five infantry… doesn’t look like they’re moving.”

“Spaniel, this is Otter, do you read?” Rich called as he fought to get his grid map out of his pocket with his other hand. “Say again Spaniel, do you read? This is Otter, over”

“Spaniel copies, can you give us a SITREP, over?”

“Be advised movement has begun and has reached phaseline Oscar but we need immediate artillery support, over.”

“Affirmative, relay fire missions and we’ll send them through, over.”

“Copy, thanks Spaniel. Stand by for fire missions, Otter out,” thanked Rich as he set the radio down to the grass and unfolded his map. “Hey, Corporal, you’re real lucky. We get to sit up here and drop fire on these guys. It’s always a fun show!”

“Then let’s get to work, we got more of them on the way.”

“I got you, hang on… alright, got the coordinates! Spaniel this is Otter, I’ve got a fire mission!”

“Copy, send it,” the artillery officer responded, waiting to pass on the request.

“Grid nine-nine-two-two, five-one-one-two. HE, tight, fire for effect, over!”

“Copy that, stand by… shot out.”

“Shot, over.”

A synchronized series of roars coincided with Rich’s call as the artillery battery fired as one. The 155mm guns, tucked safely away behind the strong American defense line, launched their deadly ordinance into the air at their unseen victims. Seconds later, Rich echoed the call of ‘splash’ and six high-explosive shells impacted in the woods. The Griffon airborne rifle troops that were using it as cover vanished in a flash as a cloud of dirt and dust flew upwards, settling hard upon the churned ground. The old oak trees, and any of their innocent inhabitants that were unfortunate enough to be resting in them, were uprooted or split entirely. A group of birds, varying in species, scattered out of the other end of the woods to escape the unknown threat; none of the Griffons were seen to flee.

“Good effect!” hooted Rich into the radio.

“Got more targets, looks like they’re moving in,” Lane announced, tracking different groups of Griffons moving about in front of the hill, now on alert from the artillery strike. “New target, looks like a mortar unit, far off at our twelve.”

“Alright, let’s see… fire mission grid nine-eight-five-four, five-three-two-two, HE tight pattern, fire for effect, over.”

As the request went out, a number of other sharp bangs came from further down the road to their east, far too close to be the artillery. The rest of the regiment was already passing them by on the simple dirt road Hill 80 covered in a long, strung-out convoy. In the lead, a platoon of Leopard 2 tanks attacked a roadblock of Griffons that stood in their path. A BMD-1 armored vehicle sitting across the road was dispatched with a HEAT round and lead Leopard pushed it out of the way. The infantry scattered and took cover or fired what anti-tank weapons they had as the Canadians machine-gunned anything that moved ahead of them.

The road began to transform into a thin cauldron as the Griffons bombarded it with what fire support they had and attempted to move in and cut it. Occasionally a tank or transport with infantry would veer off to the side of the road to defend the convoy or dispatch some of the assailants, holding in place only as long as they deemed necessary before getting on the road again. In spite of the heavier armor and firepower of the Canadian Dragoons, the Griffon troops were still well-trained and held the numerical advantage. The Dragoons raced to escape before the airborne troops could consolidate and take them apart.

This hasty charge, while necessary, would exact a price from the Canadians. Mortar fire fell all along the length of the road, endangering any exposed man. From time to time an anti-tank missile would fly out from its hidden position and strike the vulnerable flanks of the vehicles, other times some infantry would sneak close enough to fire an RPG. Over the course of the retreat, they would be struck twice by Griffon planes, both Su-24 Fencers touting cluster bombs that caused a number of casualties and causing the convoy to halt.

Each time a vehicle was struck, another would peel off to extract any surviving casualties, admirable acts of camaraderie that still slowed the convoy further. Lane and his team remained atop Hill 80 through it all, still holding the Griffons in their sector at bay with artillery fire. Two teams of mortars were destroyed, then a concealed ATGM position, all in the same deadly fashion. Rich then spotted a platoon of BMDs gathering with some supporting infantry to make a concentrated push and called for the Americans to fire cluster munitions. With one salvo of DPICM bursting overhead, the threat was removed in a brutal manner.

“I’m starting to think they know we’re here,” observed Lane. “Seeing a lot of them group up in the trees to our ten, behind the short knoll. We’d better get ready for a fight, the Crows aren’t stupid, much as I wish they were.”

“We won’t last long in a firefight,” Rich pointed out.

“We’ll have to.”

“Christ, that’s not exactly a plan,” the forward observer complained. “I’ll call in some mines in front of our hill, should slow them down long enough for the convoy to get through.”

Lane nodded in approval before returning to his binoculars as Rich contacted the American batteries again.

“Otter to Spaniel, I’ve got a couple of urgent fire missions. You copy, over?”

“Give us a minute Otter! You’re not the only one who’s asking for help!” the American officer said before hanging up, returning two minutes later to retrieve the desperate Canadian’s order. “Alright Otter, what’ve you got?”

“I need some mine, ADAM rounds in front of my position! Grid nine-eight-one-one… four-two-two-two! Wide dispersal! Also need an HE barrage at nine-eight-zero-one, four-nine-seven-seven! Fire for effect! Expedite! Repeat, hurry it up! Out!”

Lane got up to join Burton to his front, finding a comfortable firing point behind the cover of a bolder lying next to a pine tree. Just as he was readying his weapon, the sharp crack of weapons fire began to sing on the warm morning air. Muzzle flashes began to appear at the Griffon’s position, behind a small mound in front of the hill.

He heard Burton’s weapon ring out in long bursts as the requested artillery arrived. The rounds burst in the air, scattering their payloads of minlets in the grasses below. The area between the opposing sides was turned into a deadly maze for anyone hoping to move through it.

“That'll slow them down,” Lane thought, taking aim and firing a few shots at the Griffons.

A moment after, a barrage of small arms fire erupted in their direction, forcing Burton and Lane to duck down. Lane leaned up against the tree and peered around the other side to determine the source of the suppression. As he did so, he was greeted with the disheartening sight of a number of Griffon soldiers taking flight with their own wings. Methodically, they made their way over the minefield to the horror of the Canadians below.

“Fuck! Shoot them!” Lane yelled, more to himself than anyone.

From his spot scrunched behind the rock, Lane caught one of the flying soldiers in his sights and fired a three-round burst. The bullets struck the Griffon in the chest, causing him to stagger and fall with a quick screech. His body fell to the ground and, upon impact, caused a brief and powerful explosion that stole whatever life remained. The mine he had landed on tossed his body a few more feet, leaving it to act as a gruesome marker for the death field.

The remaining Griffons landed at the base of their hill, taking cover and returning fire towards the Canadians. The volume of fire forced the two men back up the hill, with Lane calling out to Oswald and Degoutte to rally with them at the top. It would only be a matter of time, an ephemeral amount of time, before the weight of the paratroopers forced the small group of dragoons from the hill. They would hold as long as they could, but Lane understood that would not be very long; through death or retreat, they would be evicted soon.

“Contact!” Oswald shouted, seeing the first Griffons crest the hill. “To our front!”

“Suppress them! Keep them pinned at a distance!” Lane ordered.

The firefight developed again at the hilltop as the five Canadians tried to pin down the growing number of Griffon troops with a heavy volume of fire. At least two were seen to fall, one to Rich’s C7 as he stumbled on a loose stone and exposed himself, and another to Burton’s machine gun when one of the many rounds ricocheted off a boulder and struck the unlucky paratroopers in the side of the neck. One of the Griffons sent a smoke grenade out, covering the area between the two sides in a dense cloud.

“Rich!” called Lane to the spotter, grabbing him by his sleeve to gain his attention over the noise. “It's time to go! Get back to the Coyote and tell them to get ready to pull out! We’ll be right behind you in a minute!”

“Will do!”

Just as the spotter hustled up and down the opposite side of the hill, bursts of fire began to strike to ground in front of the men. They continued to fire through the smoke, but both sides were shooting blindly in hopes of hitting the enemy by chance. For another thirty seconds this visionless fight dragged on, with neither side harming the other, until Lane’s attention was gained by Private Oswald.

“Enemies on our flank! Flanking left!”

“Fall back, now!” the Lance Corporal commanded, not wishing to stay any longer. “Get back to the APC! Run!”

The men began a mad dash to their escape, with Lane firing several final rounds at the direction of the flanking Griffons before running. The soldiers moved as fast as they, trying their best not to stumble in their haste. The move back to their vehicle felt much too far as each man feared the Griffons would move in to take the hilltop and fire down on them. Safe flight and being shot in the back would be determined by mere seconds.

Lane saw the main gun of the Coyote swing towards the hilltop, opening fire with its machine gun and Bushmaster cannon as the vehicle crew tried to keep the Griffons at bay. Lane watched as each of the men reached safety one at a time; Degoutte followed Oswald in ducking in the back, then Burton staggering in under the weight of his weapon, and finally himself. He heard Rich call to the driver to move as he shut the door behind him, feeling the Coyote lurch and speed forward before he could center himself.

“We got everyone right?” the vehicle commander asked.

“Yeah, that’s everyone!” Lane answered, fumbling on the floor and trying to reach a seat.

“Good, cause I’m not stopping! Crows are about to completely overrun the whole area!”

“Did the rest of the regiment get out?”

“I hope so!” the commander replied before realizing he should give a more satisfactory answer. “I think they are. I haven’t seen any more victors moving down the road in a while.”

“Can you get us out of here in time?”

“Gladly!”

The Coyote moved onto the road and drove off, following the trail of the rest of the Dragoons. Occasionally they would pass the scenes of loss, a destroyed vehicle or an abandoned corpse, consisting of former troops from both sides. The squad kept to themselves, only waiting and hoping they would not be spotted by some concealed enemy position and destroyed instantly. Lane felt the Coyote slow as it came upon a turn in the road, continuing to decelerate until it came to a stop.

“We got wounded men off to the side of the road!” said the vehicle commander before Lane could ask what was happening.

“Shit, will we be able to pick them up?” the Lance Corporal asked.

“We can’t just leave them there.”

“Do we have enough time?”

“Don’t know, so make it quick!”

“Fucking Christ,” Lane muttered as he opened the doors again, half expecting to be shot as he exited. “Alright, Burton and Rich on security detail! Let’s move, we got to get this done fast or we’re dead!”

To their right was another Coyote, destroyed and shattered by what seemed to be an ATGM. One Private was slouching next to it, cradling his right arm in a daze. Another was propped up against the side with his head hanging low, and a third lying on the ground. Lane ran up to the first as his squadmates looked over the other two casualties.

“You alright man? Where are you hit?”

“Arm, got some shrapnel in the arm I think,” the man replied wearily. “Nelson there… guy against the Coyote… bullet in the chest, hit a rib I think. I got the bleeding to stop, I don’t think he can walk.”

“Alright, him first,” Lane ordered. “Degoutte, get him back over, and be careful with him.”

“Yes, Corporal!” the private acknowledged, looking over the soldier before slowly dragging him back.

“What about the other guy?”

“Don’t know, he’s out… unconscious I guess. Concussion? I don’t know, I’m not a medic.”

“Hell, is he even still alive? Did you check?”

“He’s alive, I hear his heart!” Oswald confirmed with his hand over the poor man’s chest. “Got two injuries though. One’s in the hand, I think it went all the way through though cause there’s an exit hole on the other end. Other’s in the thigh.”

“I bandaged that one,” the wounded man added. “Not the hand though… missed it maybe… tried to focus on Nelson, was carrying him for a while.”

“Ok, let’s get him up, you take the head Os.”

The two men carefully lifted the inert soldier, with one on each end, and cradled him slowly back to their Coyote. Thankfully there had been no signs of Griffon activity yet, but that did not ease the tension very much. They all understood they could be spotted at any moment, and there was no time to slow down. Lane called for the security detail to board the Coyote before helping them load the unconscious soldier.

Spread lightly along the floor, the men inside took care to secure him and stop any more unnecessary damage. Degoutte had already rested the previous soldier on the seat closest to the crew compartment; he was moaning but seemed to realize he had been saved. Lane sent the final wounded man, still holding his arm close, into the vehicle followed by Oswald and himself. The passenger compartment was now badly cramped, but they managed to fit all of the men inside. As Burton noticed and began to clean and work on the wounded hand of the motionless dragoon on the floor, he notified the commander that they could continue on their way.

“Thanks,” the injured private moaned, breathing heavily in his comfort. “Didn’t think anyone else would be passing this way… I was getting ready to surrender… trying to keep my guys alive.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lane replied.

“That wouldn’t be bad huh? Shit… I couldn’t fight like this… just needed to keep them alive.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lane repeated. “It didn’t happen so there’s no reason to worry about it. You’re safe, we’ll be back behind our own lines in no time.”

“Yeah… yeah.”

“Hey, Corporal, you guys did real good,” the vehicle commander told Lane. “Sorry I stopped, I know we were in a bad position. Just couldn’t pass those guys up, and I didn’t see any hostiles either.”

“It was the right thing to do, I would’ve agreed anyways if you had asked.”

After another twelve minutes of travel, the Coyote and its passengers passed through the American lines and joined the rest of the Royal Dragoons in their new rest area. Coming to a stop, the men dismounted and allowed the waiting medics to take up and tend to the wounded. Thankfully, they all seemed to be in stable condition, and the medics thanked them before bringing them to the medical area for proper treatment.

The small fire team met up with the rest of the squad, who had spent the morning in a less precarious position, barely needing to call for artillery fire from lack of targets. Sergeant Palmer and Lieutenant Lecerf congratulated the men on their efforts, apparently being rather critical to the mission’s success. There had been worries that the fire team was lost until their late arrival into camp alleviated these fears.

According to Lecerf, in spite of heavy fighting, the regiment had made it through with moderate damage. Three Leopard tanks and five other vehicles had been destroyed, and a number of others damaged, along with at least twenty men killed and an additional fifteen wounded in some form. The damage done to the Griffon airborne units, though still unknown, was accurately guessed to be around thrice that number. With a gloomy first day of war for the allied forces on the continent as a whole, the Royal Dragoons had delivered another small, important victory. The attempts by the Griffons to cut off and destroy them had failed with disproportionate casualties, and the armoured regiment had successfully escaped to a safe haven to fight again.

Camping Trip

April 18th, 2006
0720 Hours
Southwestern Equestria, ahead of Papa Line, near Vanhoover

“I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.”

“The Godfather, come on man you think I wouldn't know that one?” Roycewicz answered. “What do you take me for, huh?”

“I don't know what you did and didn't get up there, man,” replied Chaffin from the gunner’s seat. “Hell I'd be surprised if you got any movies at St. Paul.”

“Hey, you hearing this San? This guy is taking me for an uncultured caveman!”

Sergeant Diego groaned irritability from the back of the LAV. His form stretched awkwardly over the metal bench that would normally seat passengers, but for now acted as his makeshift bed for a nap. The blouse of his uniform was folded neatly and put to use as a thin pillow, though there was nothing to protect him from his crew’s little game.

“Rice, unless you want to volunteer to take my shift tonight, you better let me sleep.”

A small portion of the First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, along with part of the Fifth Marines, had been alone in the wooded area for two days now. The group was enacting field exercises and practice with self-sustainability in the relative wilderness of the area. In between this were bouts of enjoyment as the men got away from the city of Las Pegasus far back to the east. Diego, and many others, were enjoying the trip, though military matters were still enacted which in his case stole his sleep.

“Alright, let me think of one,” the driver continued. “Hm… aha! ‘You fools! You’re in danger! They’re here already! You’re next! You’re next! You’re next!’”

“Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

“Shit I was hoping you hadn’t seen that old one.”

“How about… shit, how’d it go? ‘Nothing is over! Nothing! You don’t just turn it off! It wasn’t my war! You asked me, I didn’t ask you! And I did what I had to do to win, but somebody wouldn’t let us win!”

“That's First Blood, man that movie was awesome.”

“Hell yeah it was,” agreed Chaffin. “Remember, ‘You’re not hunting him!’”

“‘He’s hunting you!’”

“That was the shit man.”

“Boy was it… I got one, I think-”

Roycewicz was interrupted by an outburst of noise from the radio, which was usually quiet at this time.

“Huh? Hey Sergeant!”

“What,” Diego grumbled, not bothering to look up.

“Radio’s going crazy.”

“Shit, what now?”

“Hey! Hey!” a panicked marine called out, bursting through the woods and across the open to the campsite as Chaffin watched from the turret, popping out to greet him.

“Whoa, slow down! What's going on?” Chaffin questioned, as the rifleman came to a halt.

“Shooting! Someone's shooting at us!” he exclaimed. “Don't know who, squad’s right behind me though!”

Before Chaffin could question him further, a long string of metallic clangs impacted along the side of his LAV. He instinctively ducked back inside as bullets ricocheted off the armor. The noise quickly stirred his two companions to action, with the sounds breaking the peace of the forest.

“Hey! Friendly! Blue on blue!” Chaffin yelled as loud as his voice permitted, believing the shooters to be another group of marines. “Cease fucking fire! We’re American! Stop shooting you dumbasses!”

Contrary to his demands, the rate of fire increased as a firefight developed around the campsite.

“They can't be friendlies!” Diego shouted as he pushed to the front. “Rice, crank this thing up! Chaff get on the radio and tell everyone we're under attack.”

The Sergeant gingerly moved up from his spot to reach the machine gun mounted on the turret. The skirmish developed around the campsite, with scattered marines yelling in confusion to one another and firing in the general direction of the enemy. Two marines were taking cover next to the LAV and, using them as reference, Diego was able to orient the gun in the proper direction. He let out several long bursts into the foliage of the forest, causing a notable dampening of fire from the unknown assailants.

In spite of some small arms rounds continuing to impact the side of the LAV, the Sergeant retained his position, acting as the involuntary covering force for the infantry. The marines, confused and improvising but aggressive as they always were, began to counterattack the aggressors, flanking around both sides as the LAV commander sprayed the woods with bullets. Occasionally Diego would spot a muzzle flash and direct his attention towards it, but he never directly saw if he killed anything.

The distinct sounds of the American’s weapons spread out among the woods and slowly decreased. Diego reduced his firing, knowing the riflemen were closing in, and as such did not want to hit them. Eventually the call of ‘all clear’ went out; the entire engagement was rather short, lasting no more than three minutes. Having not planned to be ambushed, Roycewicz only now was able to get the vehicle running.

“You guys stay put, I'm going to find out what the fuck’s going on.”

Diego pulled himself out of the LAV and onto the deck before jumping down the the ground below. He moved timidly, not sure if there were further enemies hiding and waiting to pick off an unsuspecting marine, though the infantrymen around him seemed to have calmed and were on lookout. He made his way to a clearing, where a group of them was gathering around a corpse, lying face down in the dust and dirt.

“Hey!” the Sergeant Kalway of the infantry squad called to him. “Thanks for the suppressing fire back there.”

“What the Hell is going on?”

“We got jumped by these guys and fell back to your position.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all I know, I don’t know anything beyond that.”

“Not even who shot at you?”

“We were about to find that out,” Kalway responded. “Leahy, flip that thing over.”

Though they could tell by the form of the body, the men still held their breath for the final confirmation of their enemy's face. The marine private turned the corpse over cautiously, taking care in case their victim was still alive. Once he did so they were greeted by their foe, through the camouflaged uniform and equipment, with the dead, full blue eyes and black skin of a Changeling.

“Oh damn it!” the infantry Sergeant exclaimed as he looked over the body. “Son of a bitch!”

“Bug, I fucking knew it,” a nearby corporal added.

“That's a Changeling para,” the private observed as he went over the corpse. “Real Changelings… not some spies or anything, they're army. Crack troops.”

“You're telling me, Leahy.”

“Real Changelings? What does that mean?” Diego asked. “What are they doing here?”

“I wish I knew, Sergeant,” Kalway replied.

“Why would they be here? You think-”

“I do, but I really fucking hope not.”

“You think they're invading, Sir?” the Corporal asked, being the first to say what the two sergeants were theorizing.

“Maybe, I don't know. Maybe that or this is just some fucked up accident,” answered the squad’s sergeant. “Either way Jim, we are seriously fucking overmatched here. These are expert soldiers and they caught us with our pants down. And we don't know what the fuck else is going on.”

“If it's an invasion… shit we need to get back together with the main force,” Diego realized.

“Yeah, we can't stay here in the dark. What about the rest of the guys?”

“Get your guys together and mount up. Let's go link up with them.”

After ensuring there was nothing useful on the fallen Changelings, the infantry packed up what they had and followed the Staff Sergeant back to his LAV, filing into the back.

“Who was shooting at us?” Chaffin questioned him as he put his blouse on.

“Changelings. Paratroopers. We need to meet up with the rest of the unit.”

“They’re already ahead of us. Finally got in touch with them on the radio while you were away, told us where to link up with them. They didn’t tell us anything beyond that.”

“Rice, get us moving,” Diego ordered, picking up the radio himself. “This is Aegir 2-3, Aegir 2 Actual. If you hear us we came under fire from hostiles but we took care of them. We’ll try not to attract any more. We are oscar mike to your position and will maintain radio silence until we arrive, out.”

The armored vehicle moved out, leaving the battle in a cloud of dust. It followed a trail through the woods towards the rally point, moving at a cautious pace and keeping watchful for any more Changelings that could be hiding in the woods. The trip was spent in total silence, with no words spoken as they passed through. The first noise was a relaxing sigh from the Staff Sergeant as they finally came upon the collection of marines, with the other LAVs of the platoon waiting in a line along the dirt road.

“Stop just behind them driver,” Diego ordered as the LAV came to a halt at the rear of the line. “You guys stay here and be ready to move. I'm going to head up front and see what's happening.”

He dismounted along with the infantry they carried here and followed them up the path. The other LAVs of the unit were holding under the cover of the woods on the shallow reverse of the hill they were on. Among them was a number of anxious marine infantrymen, each holding serious looks of concern. As he passed the leading LAV, he came upon the hill’s small summit and the clearing of the forest, overlooking a horrific scene in the valley below.

The clearing greeted the men with a great number of paratroopers either falling or setting up in the valley. Their encampments of supplies and equipment, sandbags and other miscellaneous necessities, covered the valley floor among the brown and green. Up above the sky was dotted with lumbering transport aircraft and descending parachutes, some carrying armored vehicles, others canisters and boxes. From some of the planes came swarms of Changeling troops that buzzed to the ground, while some had parachutes for an indiscernible reason to the men. One of the transports passed low over their position, giving a clear look to the identity.

“Oh my God! Look at all those transports!” exclaimed one of the riflemen. “Holy fucking shit! You’re shitting me!”

“This is really it, this is an invasion,” Diego added, seeing the commanders of the infantry unit and his own LAV company speaking to each-other while observing the area. “Captain Taggert Sir!”

“Morning Staff Sergeant. I’m glad you could make it,” Taggert answered. “Was just talking with Colonel Tang. We’re about to step off.”

“Step off?”

“Wait, we’re going down there?” Kalway asked in disbelief.

“Of course we are, Sergeant! There’s a war on now and we’ve got to fight it!” Tang responded.
“Yes Sir, I understand but there’s way more of them than us, and we’re alone out here with no support.”

“I’m with you on that,” Diego added. “Sorry Colonel, but out in the open like that? We won’t last long.”

“We are not going to sit here Sergeants, is that understood!?”

“Staff Sergeant, you see that little bridge at the edge of the valley?” Captain Taggert asked, handing San his binoculars. “That’s why we need to do it. You remember who else is in this area?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t.”

“Part of the Royal Australian Regiment. They’re a ways off but that’s their way back.”

“The Australians? Do we have contact with them? We even know if they’re trying to pull back or moving up to the border?”

“The point is that the bridge over there is along their only route back to our lines,” Tang interrupted, pointing out towards it. “If the enemy controls it they’ll be cut off and wiped out.”

“Shit, do we even know if they’re still there to begin with?” Kalway added.

“That’s enough questions Sergeant! Get your men together, we’re all going down there!”

“Diego listen, I’m going to take most of the victors off to the right and leave a couple in the middle to support the infantry. The ground boys are going to be all going up the middle through that enemy camp,” Taggert described as he pulled the platoon sergeant to the side. ‘Your platoon is going left, into that open field. Engage any hostiles there and support the push but don’t get in their way and don’t outrun them. Take it nice and slow and support the line of advance. I haven’t heard from Lieutenant Edmund so you’re in charge; for now you’re Aegir Two Actual. Felder’s LAV is going to be attached so you’ll have a full four. Ooah?”

“Ooah Captain- shit we can’t really do this can we?”

“They’re paratroopers; they have to assemble their troops and supplies first. They may outnumber us but if we hit now while they’re organizing we’ll have the upper hand. It’s the only time we will. Get to-”

“Men, fall in and prepare to move!” Tang shouted.

Diego left the officers, sprinting back to the end of the line past the rest of the marines.
“Hey San, what’s happening?” Chaffin questioned as his commander as he reboarded the vehicle. “Heard there was a shitton of Bugs ahead of us.”

“Yeah, we gotta take them out.”

“Really huh? Figures.”

“We’re gonna shift left and support the infantry as they advance. No going too far ahead; we can’t afford to get seperated.”

“That’s the plan they came up with huh?” Rice asked rhetorically, unable to develop anything better himself.

“Yeah, let’s get going. Driver, move forward.”

“Yes Sir, moving out.”

“We can’t go through them. No way, no how,” Chaffin added.

“Get ready to shoot, Chaff.”

The marine infantry moved first, running down the hill and trying to close the distance before the battle began. Incredibly, though the few Changeling sentries noticed, they seemed stunned and confused on what to do, not expecting any forces in the area they had selected for a drop and assembly zone. The shock quickly wore off, and individual soldiers began to fire their weapons, forcing some of the charging grunts to take cover where they could behind boulders and wooden fences. Some reached the small stone wall running along the dirt road, where they halted and began to fire at the paratroopers as the Changelings scrambled to get their guns and organize a defence.

A few marine machine gunners and snipers that had been left back on the slope of the hill for support began to fire down at their enemy. The armored vehicles rolled past them one by one, with Diego’s being the last to go by virtue of positioning. The LAVs peeled off left or right depending on their individual assignment and formed up. Already they began to blaze away with their cannons, taking apart the Changeling positions.

“Gunner, target! Enemy troops near that field gun! Far right at three o’clock!” Diego called out.

“I got them!”

“Engage with the coax!”

The armored vehicle’s turret-mounted machine gun opened fire, sending bullets tearing into the unassembled weapon emplacement and ricocheting off the metal gun.

“Aegir Actual to all units, form line,” Diego ordered over the radio, with the LAVs in his platoon forming a line parallel to his. “Okay, all units advance slowly through the field. Engage any hostiles you see. Be ready to stop when I say; we can’t outrun our infantry.”

The LAVs began to roll forward at a snail’s pace, methodically firing at any movement ahead of them. The slow movement did make it easier for the gunners to maintain accuracy, and the cannons and machine guns of the vehicles tore apart the elite Changelings bit by bit. Without having the time to assemble, there was little they could do against the marines except battle the infantry, which they took to with great determination and desperation.

Here and there, Changelings were cut down by small arms fire. Any that ventured into the open ground were quickly cut down by the LAVs. Most stayed in their camp where they could find cover, doing battle with the American rifleman. In spite of the disadvantage, the paratroopers did not break and run, or even retreat. They were still dangerous and steadfast troops, and amongst the battlefield individual marines began to fall dead or injured to their opponent’s fire.

“Gunner, target! Enemy fire team behind that wall!” Diego yelled. “Use the cannon, take the cover apart!”

“Engaging!” shouted Chaffin.

The Bushmaster cannon shot its 25mm rounds with a heavy thumping sound. The shells erupted in small explosions, breaking apart the rocks that made up the wall. The Changelings behind it suffered as well, being struck by the fragments or the shock from the barrage. At least one took the full brunt of several shells and had parts of his body bloodily torn off, killing him and leaving the green blood to mix with the grass and the camouflage of his uniform. The remainder were wounded, with another trying to crawl away, wings buzzing inefficiently, before giving up and writhing on the ground until he passed out.

“Drive! Halt!” commanded the Staff Sergeant, upon seeing the marine grunts stop. “Aegir Actual to all units, halt!”

“We’re stopped, San!” Roycewicz announced.

“Scanning for targets,” Chaffin added.

“Enemy IFV spotted!” warned the LAV farthest down the line. “Counterattack incoming!”

A Changeling BMD raced bravely from the left flank, not daring to stop to give the marines a stationary target. Despite the speed, the gunner of the vehicle scored a hit on the farthest LAV with his first shot. The cannon round penetrated the front armor and found the ammunition storage, destroying the LAV in its entirety. The remaining three all targeted the BMD, and after a barrage of high-explosives it came to a halt. One of the LAVs switched to armor-piercing rounds and continued to assail the BMD until it caught fire, after which the line of armored vehicles began to advance again alongside the infantry.

“Three-Four is down,” Diego murmured. “Shit, that was Jake. I knew this was going to happen, damn it!”

“More infantry across the field! Engaging!” the Gunner announced.

The Americans continued to push up towards the other end of the valley, clearing the camp and the area around it. Casualties continued to rise as they did so, particularly among the infantry. The riflemen continued their aggressive push forward, knowing they did not have the time to stop for a prolonged firefight. The paratroopers fought back desperately with all of the determination the marines had, prisoners had yet to be taken save for the critically wounded. The ground and individual pieces of cover were peppered with the signs of the battlefield, from bullets and explosion marks to the blood and bodies of the infantry on both sides. An LAV would erupt in smoke from sudden enemy fire, or a BMD would be struck and destroyed from the infantry’s anti-tank weapons or the Bushmasters.

Diego’s team suddenly suffered a second loss. A well concealed Changeling paratrooper toting an RPG rose from his cover behind a bush and some netting to launch his rocket. The projectile flew out and struck the side armor of the second LAV in the line, one belonging to Staff Sergeant Roberts, with a minor explosion. Though the LAV was still in one piece, and some of the crew survived, it was taken out of action completely.

Diego did not stop to anguish, returning his eyes to the front and ordering the last other LAV to close ranks with him. The remaining infantry hustled over a minor rise and over the other side, continuing their attack against the last pocket of airborne troops before the bridge. He ordered Chaffin up to the edge of the crease, just enough for the gun to be fired past and keeping the vehicle in defilade cover.

Once they did so, their immediate attention was attracted by another BMD that was attempting to engage the infantry with its machine gun. Both surviving LAVs selected it as their target and soon the armored vehicle was smothered in 25mm shells and smoking badly. With their last pieces of armored support burning, the remaining Changelings fled in various directions while under fire from the marines. As the chaos of the battle finally subsided, the remnants of the American force assembled and overlooked the concrete bridge they had finally seized.

“Aegir Two to Six, do you read?” Diego called Taggert over the radio, receiving no response. “Aegir Actual do you copy?”

“Hey San, I think I see the Colonel,” noted Chaffin. “Over there, next to the road.”

“Alright I'm going to go talk to him and see what's going on. You guys stay here and keep watch.”

The Staff Sergeant pulled himself gingerly out of his vehicle and onto the deck, hoping there were no remaining Changelings waiting to pick him off. He nudged himself off and walked the short distance to where Colonel Tang was, along with another group of soldiers. From this viewpoint, Diego could see their numbers had been badly reduced by the lack of men. The Colonel himself seemed to be embroiled in a debate with the infantry surrounding him.

“I don't have a squad to dig in with!” one of the Sergeants yelled. “All my men are dead or wounded!”

“Mine’s not much better. I lost a whole fire team, all dead. They're all gone,” another added. “Sir, I think we ran right into a full brigade.”

“We’ve secured the area, that's what we had to do!” Tang shot back. “We will not lose it and waste everything we've given today! We are going to dig in, and some of us are going to push up to secure the rest of the road past the bridge for the Australians.”

“We don't even have enough to hold this place as is! We can't spread ourselves out like this!”

“That aggressiveness is what keeps the enemy off balance! We leave them be they'll reorganize and overrun us!”

“Sergeant Kalway, you seen Captain Taggert?” Diego asked as the two watched.

“He's dead, got hit by an ATGM.”

“Christ no… no way.”

“Yeah, there's not much left.”

“Staff Sergeant, give me a SITREP,” requested Tang as he gestured to the LAV commander.

“My Captain’s gone along with half my platoon,” Diego summarized bitterly. “I don't even know what the rest of the company is like.”

“Do you have enough fuel and ammo to continue pushing down the road?”

“We don't have enough men to push down the road,” he retorted before trying to find a more satisfactory answer. “I don't think we do. Most of our ammo’s used up. We weren't expecting a fight, Sir, so we weren't loaded out for one.”

“Go as far as you can. I'll make sure you have infantry support riding with you. Sergeant Kalway.”

“Yes Sir, we’ll go.”

“Kal, no. We are all dead if you leave. We’re fucked,” one the infantry sergeants protested, whispering to him as Tang turned to another marine. “I've got some pretty serious reservations about this guy. We need to get out of here!”

“I'm with him on this one. We’ll get wiped out to a man if we go out there,” Diego concurred.

“Sergeants Kalway! Diego! Mount up and push on as ordered!” Tang demanded as one of the enlisted marines on lookout shouted a terrified warning.

“Fast air! From the west!” shouted Leahy.

The men were stopped by a low-flying jet screeching over them, causing them to duck and generating an uproar among the surrounding men.

“It’s not ours is it!?”

“That was a Frogfoot! Not a chance!”

“Did he see us?” asked Diego.

“I can’t tell!” Kalway replied.

“Did he see us!?”

“I can’t fucking tell-ah!” the Sergeant grunted as his eyes caught a bright reflection of the sun from the aircraft’s wings. “That shine… he turned around!”

“He’s doubling back!” another marine warned. “Holy fucking shit run!”

“Hit the deck!” Kalway yelled to Diego, dragging the hapless LAV commander behind a cluster of unassembled artillery pieces.

The marines scattered in various directions, seeking the nearest cover from the attacking Su-25. The plane’s cannon opened fire, trailing a line down the dirt road and tearing apart anything unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. The jet swooped past, going back the other direction and setting up for another run.

Diego could not tell much of what was happening from the dust and comotion kicked up by the first run. Not far off, he saw his LAV with it’s crew poking out, motioning for him to run back. Though he could have, the immediate thing that struck his mind was how much of a bigger target it was to the attacking plane than himself or the infantry on the ground. His main concern was the survival of it and his two crewmen, and a stationary target like that would not survive for long. He returned their calls with waving and yelling, ordering them to start moving again, evade the attack, and run for the best cover. It took a few tries as the two were not willing to abandon their Sergeant, but they eventually complied and drove off at high speed, leaving him to run forward with the rest of the infantry like a herd of sheep running cluelessly from a wolf.

“We can’t do fuck all to that thing!” Kalway exclaimed.

“We don’t have any AA?” asked Leahy.

“Nothing! We have to wait till he runs out of ammo! Watch it, here he comes again!”

Diego again took cover, diving into a shallow, dry ditch and pressing his face into the ground as the Frogfoot’s shots impacted around the area.

“We got to find some better cover than this!” he called out, hoping the infantrymen would have a better idea as to what constituted that.

“The bridge!” Kalway cried. “Get to the bridge and get under it!”

Diego did not question the idea, nor did the other soldiers for lack of a better option. They continued sprinting up in bursts, taking cover where they could from each pass of preying Frogfoot. Some did not wish to wait and see if they would survive each run, and opted to sprint the full length to the bridge. Regardless, the Sukhoi jet had its fair share of targets.

Though it was not far, for Diego and the others it felt like miles away. With each strafing run his heart felt like it stopped as he waited to see if he would live. Gruesome sights began to surround him, with marines falling here and there as the gun’s shells knocked them down or, in the worst cases, blasted parts of them off entirely from direct hits. At one point he noticed one or two more LAVs from a separate platoon being hit, but was unable to think anything of it. His focus was entirely on reaching solid cover.

Finally, with one last sprint, he reached the river bank and rolled over the edge, falling down the somewhat steep side and barely stopping himself from falling hitting the water. He calmed himself when he noticed the stream was far more shallow than he thought, and turned to clamber up. With the help of a few other riflemen, he and several other marines crowded beneath the underside of the bridge against the abutment.

Several more men joined bit by bit, causing serious concerns about crowding. Thankfully, their attacker did not seem to have much left to use. The Frogfoot made a few more strafes of the bridge, with two causing small chunks of concrete to fly over and worrying the Americans huddled beneath. After this the strafing stopped, and the Su-25 loitered a few minutes longer before exiting the airspace to leave the surviving marines to collect their dead and treat their wounded.

Those men and vehicles that survived gathered around the bridge that had been established, which was now littered with holes, debris, and wrecks from the strafing runs. Diego’s company had not fully formed before they attacked, and as such true casualty numbers were unavailable, but as he counted he knew at least seven of their vehicles had been destroyed or disabled in some way. The jumbled together infantrymen of various companies of the First Battalion, Fifth Marines, which suffered the same issues prior to battle, had an even murkier outcome. It was clearly grim, as less than half of the men Diego initially saw in the woods beforehand seemed able to bear arms.

At this cost the ad hoc marine force had won the Battle for Brook Valley, one of the many names on their map that held virtually no importance and would be entered into books on the subject in the years to come. They had succeeded in a conflict they had no prior knowledge or preperation for, something they would later take pride in. For now the was only a melancholy air of focus as they tried to save what wounded they could and watched for more approaching Changelings, wanting nothing more at this point than to survive.

Thankfully, one of the groups to make it through the final air attack was Diego’s LAV, which came rolling to the bridge to retrieve their Sergeant. Some light smiles were exchanged and the three voiced their happiness at each-other’s survival before he ordered them to the other end of the bridge to guard it. There they dismounted, finding Sergeant Kalway among a handful of other marines, going over the corpse of another American.

“It’s Tang,” he clarified as Diego approached. “I think he was trying to run across the bridge. One round went through his back and punched through his whole chest, right out the front side. He went quick, I think.”

Diego only mumbled lightly, looking over the bloody, hollow body.

“I’m gathering up everything important on him. Tags, papers, ranks. Everything we don’t want the Bugs to get,” explained the rifleman before standing to face him. “Let’s see about getting our guys together, organize a perimeter around the bridge and treat the injured. Dig in and see if we can make contact with anyone. We’re not fucking going out there any farther.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll get a couple guys to scout ahead a little, make sure we’re clear. Nothing beyond that. Soon as the Aussies get across this bridge we’re leaving.”

“Alright,” Diego repeated, turning to look off to the west.

In contrast to the other end of the bridge, the rolling fields and hills ahead looked peaceful. Beyond a few stray bullets or shells, the battle that had raged not a mile back had not touched that land yet. To the side, he noticed Roycewicz going over the corpse of a Changeling paratrooper. Apparently noticing something of interest on the sleeve of the front right leg, the driver retrieved his knife and set it to the fabric of the uniform. After a few tough cuts he tore off a piece and walked back to Diego, showing him his new treasure.

“Check this out, San,” he said, handing it to his commander.

The fabric held the shoulder patch of the Changeling’s unit, containing what looked to be a yew tree, its branches stretching out and down in an old and noble way.

“I know that patch, I’ve seen it before,” Roycewicz continued. “In some intel briefings I read a while back.”

“Oh yeah? Which unit is it Rice?”

“The 45th Aerial Division. One of the best divisions in their military,” he explained. “And we beat them.”

“I guess we did. Barely, but we did.”

“Damn right we did,” concurred Roycewicz as Diego handed the patch back to him. “And they were supposed to catch us with our pants down. Not in their life.”

“Yeah, we did… we did something impressive today, Rice,” Diego agreed.

The Diggers

April 18th, 2006
0900 Hours
Southwestern Equestria, near Vanhoover

The lush habitat of fields and meadows covering the hills and valleys in the area gave a moderate contrast to most areas of the southern island. Though the oddness of the land’s inhabitants understandably proved to be far more queer to the men than the local terrain. The culture shock of the strange land of magic and creatures gave a sort of sensory overload to them at times, trying to get a grip on the rules of reality. What carried over from the regular world and what could best be researched by guessing mythology was up in the air.

Regardless, the Diggers of the Royal Australian Regiment were enjoying their deployment. Disregarding the rather annoying orders provided by the American strategy designers that left them alone in an awkward position between the border and main line, it was a calm mission that left many of the troopers satisfied. Leaving the strangeness of the Equestrians for the solitude of the countryside, colored green and tanned brown by the sun, was a relaxing experience for Private Waters.

Of course even in a lovely peace, a soldier cannot stay inactive forever. Things became so eased that when a war broke out the Australians practically jumped at the chance to take an active role in the vital action their unit had been raised for. To Waters, and all the others, the eruption of conflict put paid to the belief in the job they thought so important for the battles that seemed so inevitable in human nature. They intended their fight to be sharp and powerful, and act as proof of why they were here.

“Well Waters, hope you’re ready for a shit-hot fight!” declared Lance Corporal Juno, strolling own the face of the knoll to Waters’ position.

“So they finally decided? What’s it going to be? Plan A or Plan B?” Waters asked.

“B, since the Equestrians couldn’t hold on to the border over the night. Command figured it’s best to pull back now while we still got our arms and legs attached to us.”

“So why’re you saying we’re in for a nice fight? We can’t be moving that slow, can we?”

“Nah, it’s those Changeling paratroopers man. They’re dropping all over; the horsies we picked up say they’re organizing faster than we thought.”

“Christ, that quickly!?” exclaimed Waters, jerking his head too scan over the open land ahead of him. “Fucking Flies trying to pin us down. We’ll give them a proper Aussie salute!”

“We’ll need to, we’re covering the rest of RAR till they can get everything out,” Juno stated. “Lucky for us some Yank marines cleared up our MSR, so we’ve got a clear path out of here once we’re ready to go.”

“And when will we be ready to go?”

“Not sure, but it’ll be a while; a couple of hours maybe. Everything needs to be packed up. It’ll be on us to hold the Flies off until then, so no falling back.”

“Oh it’ll be a ripper blue alright.”

“Aye, no one drinks with the Flies tonight, okay? Just dump all your lead into them and swat them off,” Juno advised.

The machine gunner gave a look over their positions from his gun-pit. The Milan anti-tank team played a game of Draughts with Private Ward on his makeshift board of cloth. The ASLAV crews dug in below continued chopping at small branches and bushes to acquire more camouflage material for their vehicles. It was a soothingly busy kind of calm.

Waters and his platoon were dug in on a small hill overlooking a good portion of the area. Referred to as ‘Objective Boulder’ officially, it served as an excellent defense position for the men as it the front of the regiment. The main drawback was the obviousness of the choice, and it was likely the Changelings would correctly guess that their enemy lay in wait there. This did not worry the men too terribly, as they simply decided to dig in and await the coming battle.

“Tank spotted, everyone down!” one of the lookouts yelled.

Waters ducked down into cover, along with the other soldiers, before the order was passed on to hold fire.

“What is it?” Waters called out.

“ASLAV crew’s saying it's an Abrams,” answered Sergeant Blackwood, his section commander. “Probably an Equestrian one.”

“Any orders Sergeant?”

“Aye, they said we could fold in any retreating troops in the briefing, and we could use a tank. Head down there and drag the bastards over here.”

Waters followed his orders, worried that the tank would fire on him on sight in spite of approaching from their front with his hands up and empty. To his relief they did no such thing, perhaps realizing that he had to be an ally, considering he was human. As Waters approached, however, he had the dreadful fear return as he realized that, despite his calls and signals to do so, the tank was not slowing down. The Australian jumped off to the right off the road and out of the way just as the driver of the machine hit the breaks, bringing the Abrams to a slow halt a few feet past Waters. Before the tank could take off again, he was already climbing on the deck, banging angrily against the top.

“Oi! You hear me!? Open this fucking thing up you bastard! Right-the-fuck-now!”

The tank commander did as he was asked, pushing open the hatch and nearly trapping Waters’ fingers. From it appeared a small pony in a tanker’s uniform which covered most of his grassy green coat. He was greeted by the greatly irritated Digger, staring him down with a sharp glare that could cut steel.

“Who are you?” inquired the man.

“I’m, uh, Lieutenant Ring. Lieutenant Rainy Ring! Who are you?”

“Waters, and you damn near ran me over,” the human grunted. “Where are you running to in such a hurry?”

“Back… somewhere secure, I guess,” the Equestrian officer replied, not exactly sure as to where he was heading. “The Changelings attacked us last night and overran the border. W-we’ve been trying to get back to ah, to regroup with some other unit, so we can defend a new position better.”

“Well you came to the right place.”

“Wait, you’re all planning to fight?”

“We’re not planning on doin’ a flit, mate. I know that much.”

“A-a what!? But the Changelings are all around us! We need to get back to the American lines, all of us!”

“We will, and we’re going to march back in order. Until we’re set and ready to move we’re staying here,” the Private shot back. “Now I’d ask if you’re staying or leaving, but from what you told me you seem like you’d want to stay and ‘regroup’ with us. It’s a good little position to defend, and we could use the heavy armor. Unless you plan on making it back to the Americans solo.”

“No! Not at all! I… we’ll stay with you all.”

“Right, get back there and talk with the ASLAV boys. They’ll know the best place to put you.”

After getting the tank to return, the Australian made his way back to his own position. Waters came back with a slightly odd pride in having stopped and virtually conscripted an officer into their ranks, though the broken nature of the recently shattered Equestrian forces did not make it a difficult task.

The morning continued to pass rather calmly as the men continued the arduous task of waiting and watching for their enemy. Eventually a call came in from a pair of forward scouts that Changeling forces were massing. The call of ‘stand to’ rang out among the defenses. This was followed shortly by the cry of ‘contact!’ among the men as rounds began to fly into the Australian positions.

Hearing the call mixed with the sound of bullets impacting the dirt, Waters ducked into his pit. The camouflage on his uniform and the grasses and leaves strapped to his helmet helped to cover the open patch of ground his position made. Other than the pit, this simple illusion would be his only other protection.

“Contact! In the trees, at three!” someone shouted.

“Return fire!”

“Waters!”

Sergeant Blackwood, pulling himself along the ground, crawled into the small gun-pit.

“Hostiles, near that pine tree cluster!” he yelled, pointing his hand towards the enemy. “Suppress them! Don't let them close!”

“Aye Sergeant!” the Private confirmed as his commander pulled himself back out to tend to other matters.

Waters chambered a round into his F89 Minimi machine gun and took aim. Holding the trigger back, he felt the weapon rattle against his shoulder as it shot long bursts of bullets towards the targets. He let up for a moment to judge the impact and adjust his aim before firing again. The continued fire left long muzzle flashes that blew back the grass surrounding the barrel as the gun chattered away.

After two long bursts the order of ceasefire was passed down the line progressively over the noise. Section by section the men ceased fire as word was passed down. The gunfire had stopped all together and Waters poked his head up to see what had become of the targets.

“Enemy is scouting our lines!” another soldier called, passing down the information. “Keep watch and gather up your ammunition! Be ready for artillery and air strikes!”

Waters began the process of reloading his gun to a full drum, but in less than a minute the forewarned dangers struck. Indirect fire began to strike the Australian line, forcing them to dive for the cover of their pits and trenches to hide from the shrapnel. Luckily, the bombardment was small in caliber, being merely mortars rather than larger tube artillery. The few large guns the Changeling airborne units brought had not yet deployed, and their mortar units contented themselves with lambasting the humans, causing them to seek shelter but doing minor damage in total.

All around the line the earth burst upwards at random as small explosions churned up little clusters of dirt, grass, and rocks. Waters did not look up to watch the spectacle, instead ducking his head deep down into his gun pit. There was no need to risk getting a shrapnel piece in the head.

Waters began to count the seconds to himself as the shallow explosions continued. One minute passed, then two. He had almost gotten to three when he heard the shouting of his comrades again over the bombardment.

“Enemies advancing on our position from the west! Open fire on them!”

The line once again opened fire in lessened amounts as the mortars continued on. Waters looked up and followed the tracers towards his new target. A group of Changeling paratroopers, two squads at least, were moving up the hill.

Waters set up his gun again and opened fire, with weapon chattering on once more. He saw at least one figure collapse to the ground as it was moving up, followed by another close behind him. The remainder also fell to the ground in search of cover, not daring to move into the gun’s line of fire. The Digger could not directly see his targets in the grass, but he did not dare hold his fire, continuing to send the lengthy bursts in their last direction to keep them suppressed. Unfortunately, this also made him a larger target and fire from supporting Changelings back in the cover of the woods was soon directed at him, making his job far more difficult.

The situation was similar along much of the Australian line as the Changeling paratroopers advanced in sizable groups with little warning. Weapons from both sides traded rounds between the AUGs and AK rifles, PKMs and Minimi machine guns. The mortar barrage that was meant to keep the Australians hunkered down let up in accordance with the attack schedule, but the Changeling infantry itself had not yet reached the Australian lines. The attackers soon realized they would not be able to do so and retreated rather than suffer more casualties. The pressure on the line ceased though fire continued to be exchanged with the Changelings in the woods, and men were unable to move about easily.

“Lim! Can you hear me!?” Waters called out to his squadmate over the noise.

“What is it?”

“Bring me some more ammo!”

“Right, I’ll go grab it!”

Waters returned his attention to his front, continuing to fire in the direction of where he thought the enemy was until Lim returned, sliding into his hole with two drums in his hand and belts of bullets dangling along his neck.

“They didn’t have any more drums?”

“I couldn’t take all of them!” Lim answered.

“Right, hold on!” Waters said as he fired a final burst from the now-empty drum container. “Belt first, help feed it in!”

Lim complied and helped the gunner set the long ammunition belt, then began to feed it into the machine gun steadily as Waters continued his work. From their far left, the two men noticed combat vehicles moving in from the Changeling’s direction. They paid them little attention, having to focus on their job of keeping the enemy infantry at bay. Three of the BMDs advanced in a brisk pace towards the Australian lines on the hill, firing their guns as they did so. Before they could get close, some of the ASLAV gunners in the valley turned their main guns on them. They died in terribly quick succession, with the first two being struck by multiple armor-piercing rounds and the third increasing speed and backing up, only to be hit by a TOW missile from one of the ASLAVs and explode with a horrible fire brewing up from the metal carcass.

“Fucking Flies are going to have to try harder if they want to get us, ey!?” Lim asked.

“Get the next belt up, mate!” Waters replied, keeping his focus on the situation.

Lim allowed the last of the belt to pull from his hands as the Minimi ate it up and spat it out. Waters’ bullets had chipped away at the Changeling cover, tearing up trees and bushes in a quick fashion. He had not seen it, but the bullets had also cut down three other Changelings over the course of the engagement. The Minimi fell silent momentarily before the two Diggers secured the second belt and continued the battle.

The deadly accuracy of the Australians with every weapon was beginning to tell as Changeling casualties mounted. Some of the humans were inevitably hit, but the ratio was increasingly becoming one-sided. Regardless, the humans had to be defeated, and another attack was organized with much heavier support.

In Waters’ gun-pit, the men sighted another Changeling vehicle crawling through the woods ahead of them. The BTR targeted one of the other pits containing a machine gun and silenced it with a barrage of cannon shells, killing the operator and destroying the weapon. It then turned its attention to Waters and the two ducked down in expectation of the same treatment. Instead, there was a louder solitary crack as the Equestrian tank finally fired its main gun, destroying the BTR.

The momentary victory was replaced by another, more dire sound. The dull roar of jets flying in low filled the air. Knowing that the Allied air forces were on the defensive, each man understood they would be the target of the bombs. Various warning calls went up but the sound itself spread the word faster, as everyone sought cover and hoped they would be lucky enough to survive.

The Changeling attack jets, IAR-93s touting loads of high-explosive bombs, began their runs on the Australian positions. The first attacked one of the lower valleys where the ASLAVs were hidden, destroying two in its run and turning to further strafe the position before retiring. The second continued on to bomb the main force of the battalion behind the lines, sparing the men of the company at the front but killing a number of support troops as they attempted to complete the loading.

The Diggers had barely gotten over the shock of the bombing before an artillery bombardment struck them. This round was more than just the mortars, and the heavier guns of the Changeling division’s howitzer battery added their weight to the attack. The larger shells proved to be far more deadly, tearing the ground apart along with the men taking cover in it. Some of the pits were struck directly and became graves for the Diggers sheltering in them, or in the worst cases sending the few remaining pieces of them skyward, mixed with the clumps of dirt and grass before it all fell back down to the Earth. Waters and Lim huddled in their cramped gun-pit, trying to survive the attack.

“Christ, just make this fuckin stop!” Lim yelled, vainly begging anyone who listened to end the torture.

“Just keep your head down mate!”

“I can’t even fucking hear myself anymore! I’m going to go fucking deaf!”

A final round of shells fell along the Australian positions, bursting apart and covering the area in a dense cloud of white.

“Agh shite!” shouted Lim as he coughed. “Gas! Is this fucking gas!?”

“Smoke, not gas… just smoke!” Waters calmed him. “Just-ach! Ugh, just keep your head low and breath through your nose! Keep it shallow!”

“They’re smokin’ us, they’re going to be moving in on us!”

“Waters!”

The gunner turned around to face the voice, watching Sergeant Blackwood jog up to his position from the rear and awkwardly cradling one of the larger radio kits.

“Sergeant?”

“Hold on!” Blackwood replied as he stopped and set the radio down, shoving a finger in his left ear as he attempted to talk on the radio. “Gum Tree Four-Four to Sunshine! Gum Tree Four-Four to Sunshine! Be advised, Objective Bolder is under heavy pressure from artillery and ground assault! We have casualties and it is not known how long we can hold! Repeat, Boulder is under serious attack! Status of other objectives is unknown, out!”

“Waters!” the Sergeant jumped as he turned his attention to the gunner, casting away the radio. “They’re moving through the smoke! Get shooting!”

“Which direction Sir?”

“In front of you! The smoke won’t stop bullets, just don’t stop shooting!” Blackwood ordered as he laid prone along the grass. “Lim, you and I are holding fire till they get close! Full auto and don’t miss! Get ready for hand-to-hand!”

Waters heard gunfire pick up from the surviving vehicles that used their infrared sights to pick out targets in the smoke, indicating an attack was moving in. He retrieved one of the drum magazines for his gun as Lim retrieved his AUG to cover their left side. The Minimi erupted once more, not bothering to stop this time. He blew through the ammunition at a much faster rate, and he hoped that he hit something through the cloud, or at least caused the enemy to slow down. The barrel of the gun began to glow red from the heat as Waters fired all along his front. Relief only came when the drum ran dry, and Waters quickly scooped up another an attached it to continue his desperate task.

Blackwood noticed something moving through the smoke to his front and took aim, firing a long burst from his weapon that caused the figure to drop. He fired another short round to ensure it was dead before searching for other targets. A second ran up much quicker and the Sergeant dumped his remaining rounds into his chest, causing the Changeling paratrooper to fall five feet from his spot. Lim sighted another moving past them on his side and did the same, though it took another two bursts before the attacker was finally dead. Another had the poor misfortune of running right in front of Waters’ pit and was easily killed by the machine gun, rolling back down the hill and leaving a green blood trail that would be masked by the grass that survived the artillery, while obvious against the bald patches of dirt.

Such was the action all along the company’s front. The Changelings had hoped the Australians would run, or at least be too devastated by the bombardment to offer real resistance. However, in each slit-trench and every gun-pit the individual teams of Diggers stood their ground, frantically firing into the smoke and violently cutting down any figure that approached to their front. The battle of bullets soon closed to grenade range as the two sides lugged the small hand bombs at each-other, with the Australians having a greater advantage thanks to being on top of a hill.

Still, the smoke cover allowed the Changelings to move close and the battle evolved again to a much more personal status. The fighting began to become desperate as individual fights broke out with gun stocks and knives. Even so the Australians fought them off one-by-one as the black hoofs and fangs were answered with kicks and fists.

To his left, Lim let out a yell as he gave a vicious strike with his rifle to an unsuspecting Changeling, breaking his snout and sending him to the ground before the Digger fired into his head. Another spotted Blackwood through the smoke and opened fire, but was off too far and was too slow to correct by the time the Sergeant hit him with his own burst. The smoke slowly began to dissipate and was carried off by the wind, revealing more and more of the hillside and the combatants on it as casualties began to mount.

The whistle of artillery shells came again, but from a different direction. When they struck, it was nowhere near the human lines. Instead, they struck the far off positions that the Changelings had occupied and harrased the Australians from. Contact had finally been made with the American artillery farther back behind the lines and, firing from a great range, the massive artillery guns pounded the positions in front of the Australians. The great shells struck in two long salvos that tore apart the Changelings hiding in the woods and hills, followed by a saturating barrage of rockets from an MLRS battery.

The hefty destruction wrought by the artillery finally broke the Changeling attack. With the smoke clearing and their own supporting teams behind them being wiped out, the surviving paratroopers began to turn and escape little by little. Most took to the air with their wings to avoid having to run back through the explosive bombardment, taking all manner of wild maneuvers to avoid being shot by the vengeful humans they left behind.

The smoke cleared away to show a beautifully devastating sight. The positions ahead of Objective Boulder were thoroughly smashed and Changeling paratroopers were flying back as quickly as they could. The air cleared to reveal several dozen groups as the bodies of paratroopers littered the hillside from base to summit. It was a dreadful image in itself, but one of victory for Charlie Company of the Sixth Battalion. The Diggers began to hoot and yell and raise their helmets and rifle to the air at their survival.

“Get stuffed you fucking drongo bugs!” Lim insulted, shaking his AUG at their retreating foes. “Don’t come back unless you mongrel flies want another arse beating! You hear me!?”

“Damned fine work,” Blackwood sighed, slouching behind Waters’ pit and grabbing the radio as the gunner nodded in agreement. “Sunshine, do you copy? This Gum Tree Four-Four. Got a SITREP for you, over.”

“Send it, Gum Tree.”

“Enemy attack is broken, area secured. Give my regards to the Yanks, even if they were late.”

“Understood, we’ll pass that on for you. Be advised that Battalion’s almost ready to move out. We’re sending medical personnel to your position, so get your wounded together and collect your men and equipment. We’re moving out soon, out.”

With the Battle of Objective Boulder won in a rather decisive manner, the 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment gathered all their equipment and men, alive or not, and began the ride back to the Papa Line. The journey itself was uneventful, and the men passed the weary survivors of the American marine unit that had opened the door for them. With a knowing ‘thank you’, the Australians passed on, with the marines following once the last of them had passed through. After the dreadfully broken and routed state of the Equestrian forces that had flowed back from the border, the American infantry were shocked to see their allies returning in good shape and order, something the RAR took a deserving amount of pride in.

Maiden Voyage (An Iowa Class Battleship)

April 14th, 2006
25 Nautical Miles South of the Marshall islands, Pacific Ocean
Royal Australian Navy Aegis Battleship H.M.A.S Sydney (ABB-01)
Australian Battleship Squadron

It’s been over seventy years since the biggest war in our history. The largest ocean on earth was once a massive battleground between the Allied and Imperial Japanese naval and aviation forces. Now the flames of war are brewing again in the Pacific. In the past few days, tensions have worsened on Arcacia between the Sino-Arcaian Defense Pact, with China and the Bloc nations, and the Five Stars Alliance, the local name for the human coalition in the pacific of America, the U.K., Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

In the wake of the recent war exercises, the Australian Defence Force saw this as a critical opportunity to send a naval taskforce on practice operation runs itself. Leading this taskforce is the pride of the Australian Navy, the new Aegis Battleship HMAS Sydney (ABB-01). The Sydney was a multi-billion dollar collaboration between the U.S and Australian navies to prove that battleships can still play a vital role in the 21st Century. Thankfully this expensive gamble has paid off when the proposed design was approved by both parties. This success would lay out the foundations for the Washington class BBG program the following year after construction began.

Although the Australian Navy is still re-adjusting back to big-gun warfare since retiring its last big-gun era warship, H.M.A.S Vampire back in 1986. During the final phase of Sydney’s construction, the Australian Defence Force launched a special Naval-Gunnery program to help train new and active Royal Australian Navy servicemen and women everything they need to know about operating the large calibre guns of a battleship. With the aid of U.S.N advisors, gunnery experts, and Iowa-class veterans, the program was a complete success with up to five hundred navy servicemen and women qualified to maintain and operate the 16” guns onboard the Sydney. Alongside the gunnery program, another program took place in the selection of the ship’s officers. There were candidates who had potential, but none came close to the “Boxing Kangaroo” himself. That man is Captain Elfyn Ian Jones.

Elfyn is a renowned veteran who has been in the R.A.N for over twenty years. He’s mainly recognised for his actions in the Persian Gulf War. He was a junior officer onboard the guided missile frigate; Adelaide when it was struck by an Iraqi “Silkworm” missile, killing most of the senior officers.

Through quick thinking and determination, Elfyn took control of the damaged frigate and held off an assault by a large Iraqi patrol force until being relieved by the U.S.S Theodore Roosevelt’s taskforce.

In the following days since his return from the Persian Gulf, Elfyn would receive the Victoria Cross for Australia and be promoted to Captain. In 2003 upon Elfyn’s return from his second Arcacian deployment he meets Holly, the daughter of a wealthy couple whose private jet disappeared the night Arcacia dropped into the Pacific. The two would spend the next two years dating eventually tying the knot in late 2005.

Things began to shape up for the newly-wedded couple when Holly announced she was expecting twins by April 2006, Elfyn immediately filed for service leave for when Holly would be expecting to give birth. As things couldn’t get any better, Elfyn would receive a notification that he has been selected by the Chief of the Navy, Vice Admiral Ray Griggs to become the first commanding officer of Australia’s new aegis battleship Sydney.

Then, tensions on the Bloc/Equestrian border exploded into all out war following a Bloc airstrike on the American Carrier Task Forces. At the time of this incident the Australian Navy had organised the H.M.A.S Sydney into its own Surface Action Group designated as the Australian Battleship Squadron.

Joining the Squadron is one of Australia’s only operating destroyers, H.M.A.S Perth (D 38). The Perth was the lead ship of a subclass of the U.S Charles F. Adams class guided missile destroyers constructed in the 1960s and is Australia’s oldest serving warship in commission having surpassed her 30+ year lifespan, well passed her 40th year of service with the R.A.N while her two sister ships were already decommissioned and sunk as dive wrecks. The ageing destroyer is to remain in commission under the request of the Howard and Spink Governments until a new class of guided missile destroyers could be acquired.

Alongside the Perth is the Guided Missile Frigate, Darwin (FFG 04). The Darwin is the fourth ship of the Adelaide subclass of the Oliver Hazard Perry class guided missile frigates built in the mid-80s and has, along with her five sister ships, been the workhorse of the Royal Australian Navy for the past twenty years. To enhance the squadron’s Anti Submarine Warfare capability two Anzac class helicopter frigates have been assigned.

H.M.A.S Anzac (FFH 150) and Parramatta (FFH 154) were the two of the eight ships of the class assigned to the Battleship Squadron to serve as ASW escorts for the Sydney. The last ship to be assigned to the squadron is H.M.A.S Success (OR 304), a Durance class multi-product replenishment oiler of the RAN. However at the time of Bloc’s surprise attack the Success was deployed to Hawaii for joint naval maneuvers and has already been assigned to a joint Australian/Canadian Commonwealth Surface Action Group led by Canada’s newly commisioned aircraft carrier, H.M.C.S Presence.

With the squadron assigned and organised it was only a matter of getting to Hawaii via the Central Pacific, by taking the direct route we would sail on through unchallenged or face little resistance should Bloc respond, or so we hoped…

“Captain’s log, April 14th, 2006. Day 8, could’ve sworn we’ve left Sydney yesterday. Five days ago when we were passing the Fijian Islands we had been shadowed by a Chinese submarine operating in the area and had transmitted our position to what we triangulated to was the Gryphon capital. On the following day we received unconfirmed reports that a Bloc submarine squadron and a possible Bloc SAG had broken out into the Central Pacific from Changeling territory in an attempt to intercept us. At the time however, we already knew our primary route was compromised and we had shifted to our secondary route by sailing north towards the Marshall Islands before swinging right towards Hawaii via the Johnston Atoll.

Which brings back to now, we’re due to conduct our first refueling-op once we reach the heart of the Marshall’s as our escorts have already burned through most of their fuel supply with the current speeds we’ve been running since we left Sydney. Not that it can be helped but for every day that passes with us nowhere near Hawaii is a closing day for Bloc to snatch up an opportunity for them to strike out at us while we are outside of any allied support till we reach Johnston Atoll where we’ll eventually rendezvous with the Presence and our fleet replenisher, Success.

If all goes well we should reach Johnston atoll in the next five days if we don’t encounter any trouble along the way, end log.”

With the click of a button the personal hand held voice recorder wound down to a halt and the tape was ejected out of the device. The tape was then marked and tucked into a small envelope before being placed into a secured safe tucked underneath the captain’s study desk. Once the safe was locked and secured I lean back against my office chair for a quick stretch before I stood to proceed to my next task. I take a quick glance around the open space of my cabin which more or less resembles a luxury unit in Sydney.

Refurbished to modern Australian Navy standards the main cabin space still retains its similar layout to that of the Iowa but outfitted with a private kitchen area for the ship’s C.O which includes a mini-bar fridge for stowage of alcoholic beverages. Though alcoholic consumption by senior officers is strictly prohibited when not in port, junior sailors are entitled to at least one standard drink a day and have to bring their own supply which have their own restrictions on exactly how much can be brought aboard per sailor. Crimson red carpet pave the entirety of the cabin minus the tiny kitchen space and the bathroom with a large rug modeled after Sydney’s insignia. A small lounging area is set up just in front of me and a large, highly decorated eucalyptus table set alongside the kitchen to seat eight people when the main space is being used for high value diplomatic meetings should such events need to be conducted on board as Sydney has the facilities and the contingencies to conduct such meetings involving key international delegates, leaders or collaborating naval officials.

Just to the right of my office desk is the doorway that leads to my bedroom and the cabin door. The layout is the same to that of the Iowa’s along with the bathroom, I was generally surprised that the designers left the bathtub in place as the schematics of the USS Iowa was used as the main template for the AEGIS conversion. At least they’ve added in an adjustable showerhead that’ll be making more frequent use of throughout the next couple of months. Just by sheer coincidence as I was gazing into my own cabin three knocks rang out on the cabin door.

“Enter!” I called out.

The cabin door swings open in response revealing the guest as he entered my cabin. The gentleman closed the door behind him then turned to attention as he greets me with a salute.

“Mornin’ Skippy.” The man greeted with a friendly tone.

“Husky.” I returned the salute.

The man standing before me is Sydney’s X.O and long term friend of mine, Lieutenant Commander Jonathan ‘Husky’ Hughes. John and I first met in our early school days and our bond of mateship would develop through the years following into high school and the local community cricket team. Once we reached year 10, I made a personal choice to drop out of high school and to join the navy while John would continue through the senior years to pursue a career in the national cricket team. Long story short, things didn’t turn out well in his goal so upon returning from the Persian Gulf I convinced him to join the navy as well. Since then he never looked back as he trained to become one of the finest officers I had the privilege to serve alongside.

“Everything ship-shape?” I asked.

“Green across the board and on all decks.” John chimed.

“Good to hear.”

Following a brief pause of the conversation me and John proceeded into the main cabin space as john took a seat at the lounging area while I headed over to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Wanna drink, mate?” I called out.

“Nah, I just picked up a cup of coffee on the way up, I would’ve enjoyed it had ‘Chef’ not served it in a bloody foam cup. I brought me’ mug down and he serves my coffee in a foam cup and puts the foam cup in my mug!” John replied with irritation.

I paused as I opened the mini fridge. “Why do I have a feeling that was Chef getting back at you for losing his lucky ball during that game of cricket we had while we were conducting trials off Darwin.”

“Aw, bugger off! Who’s idea was it to host a game of aft ends while we were underway?” John glanced my way.

“Yeah… not the wisest decision I made in my career.” I chuckled as I sorted through the choices of beverages I had before me before picking out a small glass bottle of apple cider.

“So how’s Holly by the way, have you been in touch with her since we left Sydney?”

“Yeah, she Emailed me when we passed Fiji about her recent scan.”

“Aw yeah, so are you expecting a boy or a girl?” John asked curiously.

“Girls.” I simply replied as I turn to see Husky shoot off his seat in shock.

“Girls! You’re expecting twins!?” John almost shouted in joy.

“Yep, seven months with twin girls,” I repeated myself.

“Mate, no wonder she ballooned out so quickly in the first five months, thought she was gonna pop out a big boy. Oi, pass me one of those ciders, this calls for a brief celebration.” He called out.

And so for the next half an hour me and John went over what me and Holly were gonna name the girls, some of the stupid shit John and his ADFA buddies did at the Academy and then wrap it up with a briefly planned course of action should we encounter either the Bloc SAG or the submarine group that got out into the Central Pacific.

Central Pacific
0234 Hours
HMAS Sydney Combat Information Centre
Status: Defence Stations

Since our refueling stop in the Marshall Islands we received additional reports through the comms traffic regarding the Bloc submarine group and the SAG that got out into the Central Pacific from before. The SAG was forced back into their territorial waters after encountering a stronger U.S Carrier Task Force. The submarine group however, has now been causing some disruptions on vital shipping lanes in the area.

From what we’ve gathered there are at least two submarines operating together in this group. Their last known position was reported when a civilian tanker was torpedoed approximately four hundred and fifty nautical miles south-east of our position before disappearing sailing on a north-west bearing. That was ten hours ago and it had become apparent that we were now being hunted. I had reorganised the squadron into the ASW formation with Sydney as centrepiece of the formation, Darwin is positioned at the front of the formation, Anzac and Parramatta are on Sydney’s flanks with countermeasures deployed and S-70B-2 Seahawks running ASW missions ahead of the formation, and Perth taking up the rear of the formation.

I monitor the squadron’s movement via a plethora of monitors and displays set up at the front of the CIC with the occasional glance at the surface radar and sonar plotters. Unlike the small, confined compartments you see on modern warships, Sydney’s CIC offers a wider versatility in our ability to project the battleship’s capabilities. From air defence to heavy naval gunfire support, and conducting joint spec-ops missions with the ship’s detached commando unit which is comprised of joint Special Air Service Regiment commandos and R.A.N Naval Clearance Divers.

Under the circumstances of submarine warfare Sydney’s large hull offers plenty of room to apply the latest of active and passive sonar technology and subterranean tracking systems in one complete package such as a large sonar dome was outfitted onto the Battleship’s bulbous bow. For the past six hours we had four of our Seahawks running ASW ops ahead of the squadron in three hour rotations. They have just performed their third rotation between the two pairs as the relieving helicopters return to their assigned ships and the dispatched pair makes their way to the designated patrol area.

“Parramatta, this is Kilo-five-seven-three with Kilo-five-seven-six from the Anzac, we are approaching the A.O from south-south-west. Seven three and seven six will be splitting to cover more of the area and we will be dropping our Sonobuoys, over.”

“Kilo-five-seven-three this is Parramatta actual, proceed to the A.O and commence ASW operations, over.”

“Rodger that, Parramatta. Kilo-five-seven-three going on station, out.”

“Ops, thisthe Tower.” The Gunnery Officer hailed.

“Tower, this is Skippy, go ahead.” I replied.

“Copy, actual. We’ve run into an automated re-calibration issue with the laser designators on the forward rangefinder. We’ll have to either reset the system or complete the re-calibration manually, over.”

“Reset the system, Gunny. I don’t want a repeat of what happened during the initial trials.” I sighed.

“Aye, sir. We’ll reboot the system. Be advised, forward automated gun fire control systems will be down during the system reboot, recommend switching to the analogue backup systems till primary systems are restored up here, over and out.”

This wasn’t the first time that we had minor problems with the automated gun fire control systems. The software and the major automated components of the system is experimental and they’re still a few kinks that need to be ironed out. Though nothing major that would compromise the ship and the crew’s safety has occurred, and should a major system failure occur, we have fail safes in place and the designers and engineers have kept the analogue gun fire control systems from the Iowa’s as a backup system that we can switch over to.

“Kilo five-seven-three to fleet, sonobuoy is in the water.”

Two hours have passed since the fourth rotation of the Seahawks and still haven’t encountered the two hostile submarines. I take a quick glance at my Citizen Skyhawk Blue Angels Edition watch to see how long this Op has running for.

“Four thirty in the morning…”

I should’ve gotten some sleep and let John take over. I don’t know whether it was Chef’s good coffee or the elegant voice of Belinda Carlisle that’s kept me up around this time. Everyone in the Ops Centre seems to be enjoying the music broadcasting through the ship-wide P.A system from the ship’s dedicated radio station we have set up alongside the main communications centre. Normally music is only played in non-essential compartments and corridors to avoid communication disruptions, but I decided it would help keep the active operators in good spirit and should the need to sound General Quarters arise the broadcast can be interrupted. It makes me happy to see the crew in high spirit. As my dad once said; A warship and her crew in high morale is a tidal wave that cannot be stopped.

*Ping*

As quick as that sound reached my ears I flick my attention to the overhead sonar display.

“Sonar, what have we got on scope?”

“Sir, we’re picking up multiple large contacts about thirty nautical miles bearing zero-one-nine on passive, current heading is two-one-zero.” the Senior combat systems operator called out. “Return readings indicate a large pod of blue whales with two larger unknowns in the mix designated Sierra one and two.”

“Do you have a clear reading on the unknowns?” I asked the sonar operator.

“It’s hard to say looking from the waterfall sir, they’re moving in a tight pack. I can just barely identify a calf in the pod, but the larger unknowns stick out like a pair of sore thumbs.”

“What do you think, Elfyn. Could be our two subs?” John whispered to me.

“Only one way to find out.” I replied. “Kowalski! Divert one of our birds to the pod, have them drop their buoy nearby.”

“Aye, sir!”

Eight minutes pass as Kilo-five-seven-three makes its way over to the pod. The two larger unknowns had broke away from the pod and are moving towards the battleship squadron at an increased speed. As Kilo-five-seven-three closed in the two unknowns disappear off the Seahawk’s onboard sonar suite.

“Kilo-five-seven-three to fleet, the two unknowns have just dropped off our sonar and are no longer tracking them. Do you still have eyes on them Sydney, over?”

“Negative, Kilo-five-seven-three, they’re off our scopes too. Maintain intercept course for another four nautical miles and proceed to drop your buoy, over.”

“Roger Sydney, maintaining intercept trajectory. Over and out.”

By the time Kilo-five-seven-three arrived at its intercept point the helo crew were unable to retrace the now illusive submarines.

“They couldn’t have gone too far from their last known position. We’ll drop the buoy here and we should hopefully pick them up again.” The Tactical Coordinator spoke confidently.

“We’re down to our last buoy, ‘Milkshake’. After this it’s on you with the MK. 46’s,” the Sensor Operator warned.

“Aw shit, really ‘Floppy-Disk’? That was quick.” Milkshake looks behind her co-pilot seat at the Sensor Operator nicknamed Floppy-disk.

“Yeah, how we doing for fuel, Jonno?” Floppy-Disk asks the pilot.

“About thirty minutes till we hit reserves. Another ten minutes of no action and we’re gonna have to R.T.B back to Parra’, unless you plan on swimming?.” Jonno replied.

“Copy that, dropping the buoy.”

“Hey Samantha.” Jonno grabs Milkshake’s attention. “How did you earn the nickname Mil-”

Jonno’s question was interrupted when what was to be an inaudible splash of the buoy hitting the water was instead met with what sounded like a loud clanging noise of the buoy hitting something metallic underneath the helicopter.

“What the fuck was that?” Floppy-Disk called out.

“No idea, Jonno, bring us about.” Milkshake replied as she takes control of mounted spotlight.

The Seahawk makes a sudden bank to the right as it pulls away to maneuver to a better position, the helicopter’s spotlight lights up the ocean surface. The illumination of the light sways towards the buoy, revealing the floating device and a long, pitch black periscope poking out of the water.

Milkshake was surprised at what she was seeing. “Oh shit, is that a periscope!?”

*Ping*

The Sonar Operator looked back at his console, the two submarines had reappeared when the newly deployed buoy activated and Floppy-Disk now has a clear picture of what the fleet was dealing with. Two Sierra-III class Fast Nuclear Attack Submarines pictured as clear as daylight on the sonar suite. But these Sierra’s are in reality the Changeling Vampire class sub-variant of the Russian submarine.

“Vampire’s! We got hunter-killers.” Floppy-Disk called out.

“Fuck me dead, hold on!” Jonno pulls the joystick as had to his left as the Seahawk sharply banks in the same direction away from the now spotted attack subs and moves into an attack position to launch the mounted anti-submarine torpedoes.

“Break, Kilo-five-seven-three to all stations, we’ve located two enemy attack submarines, both Sierra-III class. We’re repositioning to engage.”

“G.Q. All hands to Action Stations, Action Stations, Action Stations! This is not a drill! Set condition one throughout the ship, condition: Zulu. Portside up, Starboard-side down!”

From the first blare of the klaxon all hands were on their feet running through the corridors like the blood vessels that breathes life throughout the ship. Damage control teams assemble at their stations, the engineers kick into overdrive to push the ship’s eight liquid petroleum gas boilers into their “Superheat” state to bring maximum power output for the four Vickers Iron-Horse geared turbines should a hard maneuver need to be pulled. The gunnery crews led by their designated Gun Captains pour into the large 16” guns that serve as Sydney’s main armament, and shipboard medics are on standby in the ship’s hospital.

“Elfyn, all hands are at action stations and we’re ready to maneuver at short notice.” Husky announced.

“Thank you, John.” I replied before hailing the damage control centre. “Ops, damage control, seal all watertight compartments.”

“D.C, Ops, closing doors. All damage control teams are on standby, ready to go.” The senior damage control officer responded.

“Copy that.” I flip a switch on the 1MC to make a ship-wide announcement.

“Attention all hands, this the Captain. We’ve encountered two enemy submarines to our north, One of our Seahawks have engaged the pair and we’ll be maneuvering our screen into attack range. I update you all as the situation develops, out.”

“Sir, Aegis is active and we’re tracking the enemy Sierras’ periscopes on the X-band.”

“Kilo-five-seven-three to Parramatta, we’ve gotta lock on one of the subs requesting permission to engage?”

“Kilo-five-seven-three, this is Parramatta actual. Permission to engage is authorised, weapons free.”

“Aye sir, going in fast and low.” The seahawk pilot rang out as the ASW helicopter made its attack run.

What followed was a brief pause in the chatter as everyone anxiously waited for the outcome.

“Seven-three, one torpedo away… Both torpedoes in the water!”

*Ping*

“Both torps have locked on.”

*Ping, ping*

“Enemy subs are hard maneuvering, they’re deploying countermeasures.”

*Ping, ping, ping, ping*

“Its too late for them, the torpedoes already slipped through.”

*Ping, Ping*

“Large detonations on scope, one of the Sierras’ is hit.” The sonar operator called out.

“Please confirm the target is destroyed, Able Seaman?” I called out in response.

“Standby… Confirmed secondary explosion on the struck Sierra, possible magazine detonation. I can hear her breaking up sir, she’s going down.”

“Seven-three to fleet, kill confirmed.” The seahawk reported.

“It’s not over yet, we got another Sierra-III out there.” Perth’s C.O chimed on the frequency.

“Kilo-five-seven-three to Kilo-five-seven-six, what’s your eta, over?”

“Kilo-five-seven-six, we’re ten minutes away. Hold on.”

“Anzac actual to seven-six, double time it!”

“Moving as fast as we can, sir.”

“Sir, contact is making noise, she’s accelerating. Thirty thousand metres, closing fast and maintaining periscope depth.”

‘She must be attempting to close the gap to get off her torpedoes of or whatever close range missiles she has loaded in the tubes.’

“Enemy sub’s flushed her tubes, four torpedoes in the water bearing two-one-five, moving at a speed of sixty three knots.”

“Deploy countermeasures, standby for evasive manoeuvres.”

“Aye sir, bringing out the bait.”

“Two more torpedoes have been launched- Correction, they just went airborne! We got ASMs fast and low, fifty seconds to impact.”

“Aegis is tracking the missiles on the S-Band, interceptors ready to go.”

“Give firing solutions to the Perth and launch missiles!”

“Targeting solutions locked, missiles away.”

Just forward of the battleship’s A turret is the MK.41 Vertical Launch system comprising 48 missile tubes.

Two of the vertical tubes open up allowing two Evolved Sea Sparrow Missiles to be hot launched out of their tubes. Two more ESSMs are launched from the Perth using the cold launch method as they fly off towards their targets with the Aegis Combat System on the Sydney guiding them.

Me, John, and whoever had a clear view on the surface radar displays watched with uncertainty as our missiles closed in on theirs. We didn’t have to wait too long as the missiles closed the gap quickly and locked onto the sub-launched missiles and make the intercept. One of the ESSM’s makes the kill on one of the ASMs with the following missile reacquiring the other ASM but misses.

“One missile intercepted,” one of the Combat Systems Operator called out.

Around the same time our missiles intercepted, Perth’s missiles made their intercept. Unfortunately, being in a tighter group causes both of the ESSMs to miss the ASM as it breaks through our long range AA sphere and locks onto the Parramatta.

“The Missile’s gotta lock, its going for the Parra’!”

“Parramatta, popping the CIWS!”

As the ASM entered the Squadron’s close range AA sphere Phalanx 20mm gatling guns on the Sydney, Parramatta and the Darwin acquire the missile and unleashed a hail of bullets, evaporating the missile before it got within two hundred meters of striking Parramatta’s portside.

“Crickey! That was a little close for comfort.” John exclaimed.

“Too close for my liking, now let’s start worrying about those torpedoes. Scope, where are those fishes at?” I turned to the Sonar Operator.

“Twenty five thousand meters and closing. We still have time to get clear of their active sonar cones before they activate.” The operator replied.

“What’s their current bearing?”

“Same as before, still no signs of active tracking yet.”

“Alright, chances are those torpedoes haven’t acquired us yet which gives us time to sink that boat. Passlow, aren’t we carrying a few anti-submarine missiles on board?” I asked the senior weapons officer.

“Yes sir, we have eight RUM-139 VL-ASROCs in the tubes armed with the new MK.54 torpedoes that was recently introduced into our arsenal. Perth is also armed with ASROCs” The weapons officer Christine Passlow chimed in.

“Alright, is Kilo-five-seven-three still tracking that sub?” I asked.

“Yes sir, they’re glued to that sub like a snag’ to a slice of bread.”

“What’s the effective range on the ASROCs?”

“11.2 Nautical Miles, the enemy sub is sitting just under 12 nautical miles.”

“Righto, that’s close enough. Wada’ you reckon John, Shove a couple of 54s down their throats?” I turn to my X.O.

“Sounds good to me. Spook em’ with a pair of ASROCs and straddle them with a 16-inch salvo of high explosive shell rigged with timed fuses. Give them something to write home about.” John suggested.

“If they live through it. Passlow, give me a firing solution for the remaining Sierra. Two ASROCs with their payloads set to active sonar tracking once deployed.” I ordered.

“Missiles prepped and set for max range deployment.” Passlow responded as she inputs the Coordinates for the missiles.

Upon looking at the missile trajectories I felt the torpedoes could be deployed at a better angle. “Have the ASROCs launch their payloads a good distance apart, I want the torpedoes to home in on that sub with a pincer attack.”

“Adjusting… Done, ready to fire.” Passlow says as she readjusts the missile's trajectory.

I pick up the 1MC to hail the fire control tower. “Ops, Fire-Control, load main batteries with high explosive shells. Time delayed fuses installed and set to two decimal zero seconds.”

“Fire-Control, Ops, main batteries are being loaded and will be ready in thirty seconds.” The tower responded.

“Torpedoes have passed the twenty thousand meter threshold and closing.” The sonar operator informs me.

“All stations, standby to take evasive manoeuvres. All able ships have your noisemakers ready to go.”

“ASROC anti-submarine missile system ready to engage.” Passlow Announced.

“Permission to engage granted, fire when ready.” I granted the fire mission request.

“ASROCs, away!”

There was a sudden shudder that could be felt in the room as the two anti-submarine missiles are cold-launched out their tubes and sent flying towards their target. The next couple of minutes will be the longest I’ll ever endure.

The enemy torpedoes were almost passed the ten thousand meter mark and it was time to get the fleet moving. “All ships, reel in your towed arrays and push ahead at flank speed. We gotta get clear of those incoming torpedoes.”

“Rodger!” Came the mixed responses from the other ships as John relays the same order to the bridge.

“Ops, Fire-control. Train all three turrets to bearing zero-one-nine, elevation three two decimal four."

“Main batteries to bearing zero-one-nine, elevation three two decimal four, aye sir.” The fire control officer replied as the muffled mechanical whirs of the three 16-inch gun turrets are brought to bear on the tracking sub.

“Rangefinders are linked to Aegis, main guns are loaded and tracking the sub.” The combat systems officer informs me.

“Okay, bring them down by three degrees for a leading salvo, hold fire till I give the word.” I asked the CSO for the required adjustments.

“Aye sir, making adjustments… Done, 16-inch gunnery systems ready to fire on your mark.”

“Parra’ to Sydney, we’ve cleared the wake zone and is now safe to discharge the big boys, give em’ hell.” Parramatta’s C.O informs me.

“Sir, the enemy sub has passed the predicted drop point for the ASROCs, switching to manual drop. ETA, fifteen seconds.” Passlow announced.

“Alright, it’s now or never ladies and gents. Let’s put this bastard down.”

“Ten seconds.”

“C’mon, let’s give them the thunder from down under.” Husky muttered to himself.

“Five, four, three two, one. Weapons away!”

At the push of a button the MK.54 torpedoes are separated from the missiles and splash into the pacific. Their active sensors go live and immediately lock onto the Sierra.

“Enemy sub’s dropped her periscope, she’s crash diving and dropped a noisemaker.” The Sonar Operator informs me.

“Our torps are closing in, pincer maneuverer achieved.” Passlow calls out the movement of our torpedoes.

I watched the sonar displays as two blips closed in on the larger blip. What felt like an eternity the torps make the intercept as the Sierra executes a hard nose dive.

*PING*

“Scope, report?” I called out to Passlow.

“Those were our torps sir, they just missed the target and collided into each other.” Passlow claps her hands in frustration.

“Do we still have the sub?” I turned to the sonar operator.

“Negative, lost her to interference from the explosion.” The operator replied.

“The second we reacquire that sub, I want shells on the way!” I called out to the CSO.

“Kilo five-seven-three to fleet, we got the sub back on scope. She’s bleeding a lot of speed and rising to the surface rapidly.” The Seahawk pilot alerts me.

Husky was surprised. “What are they doing? Did we actually hit them?”

“We’re about to find out.” I shrugged back.

“Kilo five-seven-three to fleet, the enemy sub has surfaced. It looks like they blew their ballast.” Jonno reports.

“Do you see any signs of damage?” I asked the helo pilot.

“Nothing along the fore and mid-ship casemates- Hold on, the aft end looks badly damaged. The torpedoes must’ve been close enough to inflict serious damage to the nuke-boat’s propulsion system and the aft ballast casemates.”

“Contact, the enemy submarine just launched two more ASM’s. Torpedoes have passed the ten thousand meter mark. We’ll be in their active sensor range in two minutes.”

“Ops, fire control. Reacquire the enemy sub and send the wankers to Davy Jones’ locker!”

“Target locked, final firing solutions plotted in. Salvo away, salvo away, salvo away!” The fire control officer warns the crew as the main battery discharge alarm sounds three times prior the firing of the battleship’s main guns.

As some of the crew in the Ops room braced for the discharge, I, John and many others couldn’t contain our excitement as we waited. What brief silence there had been was completely pulverized as all nine 16-inch guns fired their salvos simultaneously leaving a bracketing muzzle flash in their wake and the deafening explosive force thundered through the hallways and compartments, leaving unprepared sailors almost shitting themselves and those waiting were rewarded with a sense of nostalgic satisfaction.

“Parra’ to kilo five-seven-three, you got friendly artillery homing in on your position. Get clear of that sub!” Parramatta’s C.O warned the Seahawk orbiting the crippled submarine.

“Copy that, mission parameters complete. Come on home Kilo five-seven-three. Kilo five-seven-six, disregard previous orders, return to Anzac.” The Anzac hails the other Seahawk.

“Rodger, heading home now.” Kilo five-seven-six responded.

“Alright, that’s a wrap, let’s go home.” Jonno announced.

“Hold up Johnno, surely we can stick around for the fireworks?” Milkshake pleaded.

“I don’t want to stick around for too long, just in case those changelings start thinking of some payback on us for fucking up their boat.” Jonno replied with unease.

“We don’t have to worry about them for too long once they get our going away gift.” Floppy disk reassured Jonathan.

The helo crew makes the decision to hang around the crippled submarine and wait for the incoming salvo to which they didn’t have to wait too long. The shells straddles the crippled Sierra with only one striking the nuke-boat as it burrows itself into the forward crew compartment just aft of the weapons space. The time delayed fuse kicks in and the shell detonates, killing all in the forward sections as it sets off a chain reaction with the weapons stores. The helicopter crew watches in awe and joy as the submarine is ripped apart and her crew caught on deck evacuating the submarine are sent flying into the seas.

“Whoa! Please tell me we got footage recorded on that?” Milkshake asked Floppy-Disk.

“Oh you know we do.” Floppy disk grinned.

“Oh-oh, yes the lot back on board are gonna love the footage.” Milkshake giggled.

“Well, that’s a sight I won’t be forgetting soon. Had enough, Milkshake?” Jonno turned to his co-pilot.

“Yes sir, let’s get outta here.” Milkshake replied with a yawn.

What followed up till the early morning was the fleet’s close call with the enemy’s torpedoes when one of them locked onto Perth after her noisemaker malfunctioned, but the old destroyer still had some reflexes to pull a last minute hard turn to throw the torpedo off her before it ran out of fuel and self-destructed.

Kilo five-seven-three was pursued by the survivors of the last Sierra back to the fleet with sufficient numbers that made some good target practice for Sydney’s 5” guns to put the autoloaders through their paces for future air attacks. A handful of Changelings that lived through the turkey shoot surrendered to us and are under our custody until we reach Pearl Harbour. With the threats neutralised we can look forward to some much needed sleep, now that we are better prepared for future attacks.

200 Nautical miles west of Johnston’s Atoll

Pacific Ocean

April 18th, 2006

Status: Nearing rendezvous point with HMCS Presence ETA: 12 Hours

In the hours since the Bloc submarine attack our enemies have been keeping their distance. Occasionally they would send a reconnaissance plane out to shadow us every couple of hours but haven’t made the commitment to a launch major air attack. We had some one off incidents where a Bloc fighter would attempt to buzz us to test our anti-air defences, we kindly responded with a salvo of five-inch proximity shells once they enter the 10km threshold of the secondary’s anti-air range.

Normally a sea sparrow would suffice, but as I like to say; you can counter a missile in this day and age, but what use are countermeasures for when they can’t counter unguided shells? Some of those ‘Buzzers’ learned that the hard way when their fighters end up being reduced to a burning wreck from flying through several shrapnel packed mushroom clouds of death. Since then the last two days have been unusually quiet.

We managed to get close enough to Midway to gain air support from the allied aircraft stationed there. As of today, HMCS Presence’ own fighters with additional support from the Hawaiian National Guard have relieved the units from Midway. With Canadian CF-18 Hornets and F-22 Raptors stationed in Pearl ready to provide air support, it would be a near suicide mission for Bloc commit a bulk of their air power to put us down. Well, Bloc aren’t the type of bad guys that never shy away from testing those odds.

“Mark two cee. Early warning, multiple air contacts bearing one-two-seven.” The radar operator announced loudly.

John and I moved to the radar console to investigate. “What’s their return signatures?” I asked.

“Six fast movers up front and four heavies in the rear with two escorts, identified as Flankers and Bears. Formation is maintaining speed, five-three-seven knots.” The operator replied from his initial observations.

Husky leaned forward for a closer look. “What’s the range from ESSM threshold?”

“One hundred and ninety three nautical miles and closing.” The operator turned to her X.O.

“Current altitude is at?”

“Three-five-zero-zero feet.”

“Conn, does our Canadian friends know they are coming?” I called out to our communications officer.

“AWACS is on top of it sir, friendly birds are moving to intercept.” The communications officer called back across the room.

Husky straightened back up from the console from analysing the information. “Looks like Bloc wants to give us a going away party before we reach Pearl, Skippy.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting.” I answered back with a smug. “G.Q, Air-Defence stations! Stand to-targets of interest.”

“Mark two cee, Aegis, targets of interest!” John repeated my order through the 1MC.

“X-band has the enemy birds locked on, bears marked as priority targets.” Aegis announced.

“Alright, we’ll leave the Flankers to the Canadians for now. Once we dealt with those bombers we’ll lend assistance to our air cover unless we absolutely have to save someone’s ass.” John added.

Aegis nods in response and turns to me. “Aye sir, all bears have been acquired. Permission to engage.”

“Permission to engage when in range.” I granted the authorisation.

“Friendly hornets have made contact. The enemy have broken formation, but the bears and their escorts are still on track.” The communications officer calls out as he monitors the chatter.

“Alright people, this is what we’ve been preparing for. Let’s make every sea sparrow count.” I called out loudly to the crew.

“Enemy birds have entered the ESSM threshold. We got lock on, lock on, missiles away.”

Ten of the bow MK.41 VLS tubes open up as their payloads fly out away from the battleship and soar towards their targets. Our escorts also launch their share of ESSM missiles at the enemy aircraft. The oncoming flankers detect the oncoming missiles and bank inwards ahead of the bomber formation, dumping flares in front of the bears to distract the oncoming missiles. But with so many sea sparrows to counter it is impossible to counter all of them as some of the sea sparrows find their targeted bombers. Only one of the bears managed to launch his ordinance, an AS-4 ‘Kitchen’ anti-ship missile detached from its bomber and takes off towards the SAG. As soon as we detected the missile it had already reached its maximum speed as it locked onto the Sydney.

“Kitchen-knife! Kitchen-knife! It’s gotta lock onto us!” The maritime warfare officer shouts.

I instinctively turn to Aegis. “Drop the knife Aegis!”

Aegis was one step ahead of me as she programs two more ESSMs to launch. “Already on it, interceptors away!”

Another pair of ESSMs launch out their vertical missile tubes and take off towards the oncoming anti-ship missile. The two flankers that were escorting the downed bombers followed the kitchen-knife towards the SAG in an attempt to launch their anti-ship missiles.

“Both of the flankers are closing into the 5-inch threshold, bringing the ‘turbo-lasers’ to bear.” The gunnery officer for the 5-inch guns announced as he programs Sydney’s secondaries to attack the incoming fighters.

The nickname “Turbo-lasers” came from the initial trials when the 5-inches were being tested with practice-tracer rounds at night. Some still shots captured by the media made the guns look like they were firing laser beams, and the nickname officially stuck on.

“Bonza! Kitchen-knife is back in the draw.” Aegis claps her hands with relief.

I gave Aegis a thumbs up. “Excellent work, let’s put the pressure on these bogeys.”

“Flankers have entered the five-inch threshold, proximity rounds loaded, engaging hostile birds.” The gunnery officer alerts me as he gives the kill command to the five-inch guns.

As the firing solutions were locked in the twin 5” 38.Cal MK.29 guns on the Sydney’s portside were quickly brought to bear onto the approaching fighters. Due to being rendered fully autonomous the 5-inch guns on the Sydney and the Washington’s have a slightly improved, consistent rate of fire of 34 rounds per minute over the original MK.28s 30 RPM on the Iowa’s. What makes the MK.29s unique is the independent auto-loading and firing system, the guns can be loaded separately with different shell types and the rifles, like the 16-inch’s can be elevated and fired independently. These traits are what makes Sydney’s secondaries very versatile.

No sooner as the two flankers entered the 10km threshold the three 5-inch guns on the portside start to blaze away at the oncoming fighters. The initial burst of flak caught the fighters by complete surprise as one of them flew through the wall of shrapnel and came out the other side a raging fireball. The other immediately aborted its attack run and attempted to turn away, full afterburner while furiously dumping flares. But the Mk.2C targeting computers are able tell the countermeasures apart from the aircraft and remained unfazed as they maintained their target solution on the last flanker. Salvo after salvo, every burst of shrapnel slowly tore the evading aircraft apart till a 5-inch shell got on top of the fighter and exploded, tearing the aircraft in half as its pilot bailed out.

“Aegis, Mark two cee, enemy aircraft destroyed.” Aegis calls out to the radar operator.

“Good work lads and lassies, now let’s see if our Canadian friends need some help.” Husky commended the crew’s efforts.

“Looks like they got this in the bag- Hold on, AWACS has got something… Vampires! Three of them, fast and low, bearing two-one-seven.” A maritime warfare officer calls out.

“Launch interceptors, prep countermeasures.” I ordered with haste.

“Interceptors away, SRBOCs CWIS and Nulka’s ready to go.” Aegis replied in unison.

The three ESSMs fly out the tubes and accelerate towards the oncoming ASMs. Two of the ESSMs would successfully intercept their targeted ASMs while the last vampire slipped past but would be shot down by Darwin’s phalanx.

“Missiles intercepted.” Aegis sighed with relief.

“Good work, our air cover should have the skies cleared.” Husky gave Aegis a pat on the back.

Just to the corner of my eye I just catch what looked like one of our hornets taking a missile up the tailpipe from the live drone footage. The cry of panic over the coms confirms my fears. “Mayday, mayday, mayday! Lynx one-three, I’m hit ejecting!”

“Conn, was that one of ours!?” Husky turns to the comms officer.

“Affirmative sir, a fellow wingman has visual on a parachute.” Conn looks up from his console. “AWACS is requesting we send a chopper to fish him out.”

“Righto, get the Darwin on the horn. Have their bird bring him here for medical treatment and I want a medical team and the operations theatre on standby just in case.” I asked the comms officer to which he gave me a thumbs up in return. “Aye, aye sir.”

Husky came up on my left side. “Looks like we’re gonna make it to Pearl unscathed.” He gave me a friendly pat on the back.

I sighed in relief. “Yeah, we made it this far. Hopefully the Canadians brought the ‘Battle-Tanker’ with them, our frigates are running on fumes keeping pace with us. Fleet Base East didn’t give us time to top up our reserve tanks to keep our escorts topped up.”

“Don’t worry, Success is with them. We’ll just have to clear it with Rear-Admiral Dolmann first.” Husky added.

“Will do.” I assured my friend before picking up the 1MC. “Attention all stations, this the Boxing Kangaroo. The last couple of days have been the start of what will be the toughest fight the Australian Navy has participated in. I couldn’t have asked to stand with some of the Navy’s best and brightest sailors. I am proud of everyone’s efforts over the last four days, so enjoy what shore leave you’re given once we reach Hawaii, because when we get back into the fight the enemy won’t be showing any restraint. But we’ll be ready for what they throw at us and be more than happy to hit back with the thunder of Australia. That is all for now, Dismissed.”

The second I put the 1MC down I was inundated in applause from the crew. The level of appreciation and respect from the crew goes to show that no matter how well disciplined we Aussies are, the true bond of mateship is what helps us overcome these challenges and makes us one hell of a fighting force.

April 19th, 2006

The rendezvous with Canadian carrier group went off without a hitch. Lucas Bradley, the downed hornet pilot we picked up after the battle had been cleared to return to the Presence following a brief medical check and having a beer for him. With the COMMSAG formed we make our way back to Pearl Harbor with Bloc attempting a last strike against us, but the combined arms of the Australian and Canadian ships and embarked fighters from the Presence was more than enough to repel the attack thanks to the Aegis system that allowed us to network our ships defensive capabilities into a near-impenetrable anti-air/missile defence grid.

The day we sailed into Pearl Harbor we were given one hell of a welcome reception from the residents who crowded the shore lines to greet the Commonwealth taskforce. When Sydney rounded the heads the overwhelming joy you could hear from the public reminded me of the time the North Carolina first sailed into Pearl shortly after the USA’s entry into WWII. Where the old dreadnoughts laid battered and bruised from the Japanese attack on December 7th, the North Carolina’s arrival symbolised hope and salvation to the people. The Bloc’s surprise attack on the American carrier exercise last month came as a great shock to everyone and we know that there is no going back now. All we can do now is to cherish the calm that we have left before we are consumed by the coming storm.

While we are waiting to move into the base the harbour-master had us temporarily tied up alongside the Missouri, Sydney’s American sister-ship till we get the clearance to dock for replenishment. Until then, the crew have been cleared for shore leave to explore the Mighty-Mo. Husky, myself and some Midshipmen have taken some of our leave time to organise my day cabin for a special meet and greet dinner with some of Missouri’s former crew members, who are now volunteers in the preservation of their great ship.

Being out at sea to explore the world and the limitless opportunities to hear great stories from the old veterans and to fight alongside our allies. This is why I love being in the Navy.

Of Flankers and Hornets (Lt Rainbow Slash)

April 18th, 2006
1050 Hours
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

"...You know, this has to be one of the best ports to be based in," muttered Henrik Svenson as he lay in the tropical sun.

"Yeah," the woman sitting beside him replied enthusiastically. They were both wearing swim suits and sitting on the Hawaiian beach. It was a beautiful sunny day, with a light breeze blowing off the water keeping the temperature comfortable. The only sounds were the waves and the voices of the people having a good time. Almost like there wasn't a huge war going on.

Raina Gunderson frowned at the thought. Damn ponies and their damn war, getting her involved. She honestly couldn't care less. As far as she was concerned they should have stayed isolated. It wasn't her problem. She brushed away some of her brown shoulder length hair that had blown into her eye.

She heard some shouting and turned to look. Two familiar men were wrestling in the surf. "Boys," she muttered with a shake of her head.

They were off the HMCS Presence. The Canadian carrier had moved to Pearl Harbor soon after the war had began. They had been there for almost two weeks now. The Admiral had decided after the first week that a small portion of the carrier battle group's crew would be given shore leave each day. Today it was her flight, and some of the flight deck crew. The four CF-18 pilots had decided to have a beach day.

The two in the water were Lieutenants Lucas Bradley and Jonathan Banzer, her numbers three and four respectively. Henrik was her wingman, and she was the flight and squadron lead.

She watched the two in the water as they finished up their fun and came up the beach towards them. Lucas walked over and grabbed his towel beside her. Raina looked back out at the sea. When she looked back she caught him looking at her. She returned the stare for a second before he realized.

"I...uhhhhh..." he stammered, caught red-handed, "Hell with it. Has anyone mentioned that you look good in a bikini, Rainy?"

Henrik, who at some point had dug out a beer, did a spit-take while Jon looked like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

She just continued to glare at him unimpressed. "You're lucky we aren't on duty, Canuck."

"Awww. I love you too, Rainy!" he replied sarcastically. At that moment the radio in the group's beach bag squawked.

"Rainy, you there?" a female voice called. Raina quickly dug into the bag to retrieve the handset, all business.

"Yeah. What’s up, Rich?" she replied.

"I need you guys back on the ship ASAP. Gunderson, meet me in the Combat Direction Centre for a Squadron Leader's briefing in twenty." The radio said.

"Yes ma'am. I'll be there," Raina quickly replied. She returned the radio and turned to the three boys. "You get that?"

The three nodded and began to pack their meager beach supplies. They quickly stopped to change into comfortable civvies before heading to the docks. They quickly passed security and made their way to where the HMCS Presence was docked. The carrier was a thing of beauty. She was a British Queen Elizabeth-class modified for conventional flight operations. The four pilots went up the gangway into the hangar deck. Here Raina said goodbye to her flight mates and headed to her cabin.

It was a small thing with barely enough room for her bunk, desk, and a cabinet. That said, it was much more than most of the crew got. Perks of being an officer, she thought as she changed into her comfortable olive coloured flight suit. A minute later found her climbing the carrier's rear island to the Combat Direction Centre.

The room itself was normally full of activity as the controllers managed the CF-18s that were off on mission. Currently they were in port though, and no aircraft were in the air. A skeleton crew manned the radar and command stations, leaving plenty of room for three figures in flight suits to huddle around the chart table in the middle.

As Raina walked up the three turned to look. "Good you could make it Commander Gunderson." The woman on the other side of the table said as she returned Raina's salute.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Ma'am."

"Good." Captain Tessa 'Rich' Davidson nodded. The by-the-book woman was the commander of the Presence’s air group. The other two men at the table were the commanders of the other two squadrons aboard. Commander Westly 'Sneaks' Davit was a rather short man with a large beard. His head was shaven, making the Jewish squadron commander look rather unique.

The other Commander at the table was Ichiro 'Nip' Sakimoto, the son of Japanese immigrants. His face betrayed his heritage, but his English was excellent as was his flying.

"Right. Down to business," Davidson began. "To keep it simple the American Navy's been attacked by Bloc forces overnight during their exercise. Their power's more or less broken until their ships can get fixed, and that makes the Pacific open waters and anyone's game. Following this attack, the Bloc carrier forces have pulled back to reorganize while their Air Forces focus on the land bases in Equestria. With this lull the Aussies have decided this was a good time to send over their big shiny new battleship to Pearl."

Ichiro snorted at that and shook his head. "Oh Hell. Here we go."

Tessa looked at him with an annoyed glare before continuing. "The Sydney SAG left port on the 6th and as of oh-nine hundred today is here." She indicated a spot on the chart about halfway between Hawaii and Australia. "They have been detected and engaged by Bloc forces. Their last report indicates multiple air and sub attacks. We are being deployed to link up and provide air cover for the rest of her trip. Got it?"

The three pilots nodded. The Captain took this as an indication to continue. "Here's what is going to happen. We are leaving port as we speak. We will launch our first flights at dawn to provide a CAP for the Aussies."

"What about us?" Raina asked, "We will need our own CAP."

"Our CAP will be provided in rotation by our good friends of the 409th in their CF-18s out of Hickam, as well as the Hawaiian National Guard's F-22s. They are providing an AWACS for the operation. They will cover us so that we are free to cover the Aussies."

Raina nodded, satisfied. One of her best friends was the CO of the 409th TFS.

"Now, expect heavy air and sea attack against the SAG on their way in. Gunderson, Sakimoto: Your squadrons will be providing cover from air threats. Davit: You will be dealing with surface threats. We will have a rotating launches. Gunderson, one of your flights will take first shift. Sakimoto will go next. Then the Lynxes again and so on. We will rotate every three hours. I want the flight that is up next to be on ten minute readiness in case anything unexpected pops up. Davit. Your planes will be launching in pairs."

Westly nodded. "So basically, six aircraft over the SAG at all times. Two of mine and four of Rainy's or Nip's. With the next six ready to launch in case shit hits the fan."

"Correct." Tessa nodded, "Any questions?" The four stood for a second in silence. "Ok. Brief your squadrons and figure out which flights are taking what shifts. Dismissed."

The three Commanders snapped off salutes before they turned and exited the bridge.

April 19th, 2006
0550 Hours

“Not a morning person ma’am?” The galley staffer asked as Raina got herself a cup of coffee from him. Her only reply was to groggily shake her head and shuffle out of the mess. If there was one thing she hated about the military, it was the lack of sleep. She made her way through the passageways of the Canadian carrier. It wasn’t long before she reached the Squadron’s ready room. Inside found the other three members of her flight nursing their own coffees.

“Mornin’ Rainy,” Jon muttered, foregoing all formality. He was sitting in one of the chairs that filled the room like a movie theatre.

“Morin’,” she replied as she slumped down in a seat.

The four just sat for a good fifteen minutes in companionable silence, letting their tired bodies wake up with the aid of the caffeine. Henrik broke the silence with a sigh as he he pulled out a battered laptop and began surfing. Taking her cue Raina stood up and marched over to the front of the room. She glanced over the various boards showing the squadron rosters and other such things. Satisfied it was all in order she strode over the the computer in the far corner and began booting it up. It would have all the latest intel and orders for the upcoming day. She was inputting her security clearances when she heard a gasp. She spun only to see Henrik looking at his computer with a shocked look.

“What is it?” She intoned. No response was forthcoming so she spoke again, “Hey Odin. Snap out of it! What’s wrong?”

He seemed to pause for a second before saying in a quiet voice, “It’s an email from Uncle Daniel. About Chuck.”

“Your American cousin? The one who’s an Eagle driver?” Lucas asked. Henrik nodded so he continued, “How’s he doin’?”

“He’s dead.”

Raina’s heart leaped. She had only met Henrik’s cousin Chuck Svenson once during a Red Flag training exercise. She didn’t really know the specifics of their relationship but she knew the two had been fairly close.

“What happened?” Jon asked from the corner.

Henrik turned back to his computer and read for a second, “He was with that first Eagle squadron that deployed to Equestria. He was shot down in a dogfight with the griffons five months ago.” He read for a second longer and then slumped back in his chair. His face was blank with a thousand yard stare.

The four sat in silence. None dare spoke. Raina went back to the computer and finished logging on, running through intel and orders. She really didn’t know what to say. What do you say to someone who has just learned that one of their family members has died to enemy action? She thought to herself.

“Five months!?” Lucas nearly screamed, “Why the fucking hell did it take them five months to tell you!?”

“Calm down Canuck,” Jon spoke up, “It was probably classified or something.”

Lucas seemed to begin to respond but stopped and sighed. “They still should have told him.” He muttered in a much quieter voice.

The room lapsed into silence again. Raina couldn't help but think about what she would have done in Henrik’s position. A glance at the clock broke her out of her thoughts.

“You still good to fly, Odin?” She asked as she spun around and stood.

“Yes ma’am.” He replied with a nod.

“Good.” She spoke as she headed for the door, “Let’s go then. We need to be at ten minute readiness. That means gear on, sitting in the cockpit.”

Ten minutes later had found them doing just that. And so the next three hours had been spent sitting in the cockpit of her CF-18 listening to the radio chatter as Ichiro and his flight flew CAP over the Sydney SAG. The four Hornets of her flight were parked on the left side of the deck, aft of the twin islands. The only real excitement came when the AWACS called out a pair of enemy fighters. The SU-37s had come in, only to scurry away after the Hornets fired several AMRAAMs.

“Sketch. Porcupine one-one.” Ichiro spoke over the radio again.

“Sketch. Send it.” The AWACS replied.

“Porcupines are twenty Bingo.”

“Copy Porcupine. Standby.”

The radio had gone silent. Raina ran her eyes over the carrier deck for what felt like the hundredth time. Dozens of flight deck crew went about their duties. The Canadian Navy had taken many cues from their much more experienced U.S. counterparts as far as carrier operations were concerned. As such, the deck crews’ clothes were colour coded depending on their jobs. Red for ordnance, purple for fuel, green for catapult and machinery crews. The list went on. But Raina’s eyes locked onto the brown garbed aircraft handler that appeared right in front of her jet. He raised his hand and twirled one finger in the air. Raina gave him a thumbs up back. The signal was clear. Raina began flicking switches. Within a minute her jet was purring as its powerful engines came to life. It didn’t take very long before the jet was alive. She gave another thumbs up to the deck crewman. He made several more hand signals and let Raina edge forward.

She slowly taxied her jet out and turned left. It only took a minute before she was at the catapults on the bow. A yellow dressed shooter greeted her, giving hand signals guiding her to lock into the catapult. Just to her left Henrik was going through the same process.

“Lynxes, Radio check!” Raina ordered over the squad comms, “Lynx one-one, Rainy, pitter-patter let’s get at ‘er.”

“Lynx one-two, Odin, bring the thunder!” Henrik said, using his usual radio check response.

“Lynx one-three, Canuck, aboot time eh?” Lucas said trying, and failing miserably, to do a Newfoundland accent.

“Lynx one-four, Dee-Cee, ready to rock and roll!” Jon finished.

With the other three under her charge checked in Raina looked back to her right where the shooter was now. He was waving his hand above his head. She dropped the flaps to takeoff position and opened the throttle. He stopped, his hand still above his head, while with his other he pointed to several deck crew, making sure they were ready. He then crouched, and a second later brought up his hand pointing off the bow. Raina had three seconds to brace herself.

There was a thump, the Hornet seemed to bounce on its suspension, and the pilot felt herself shoved back into her seat by the acceleration. And she was airborne.

“Lynx, Sketch.” The words spoken over the radio snapped Raina back into the present. She had zoned out after the first twenty minutes of orbiting the Australian ships. They had been on station for over an hour.

“Lynx here.” She replied.

“Six plus bandits, angels one, bullseye three-four-zero for eight-zero. Move to intercept.” The AWACS rattled off.

“Copy. Lynxes moving to engage.” Rainy replied rolling right and bringing her jet to head north by northwest, while the other three Hornets followed.

A couple quick button presses allowed her to switch her active radio channel. “You get that boys?”

“Affirm Rainy.” Lucas responded for them.

The small formation flew on for another few minutes before the AWACS spoke again, “Lynx be advised, Bandits are now Bullseye three-four-five for five-zero.”

“Copy Sket-” Raina began before a small beep of her radar warning receiver in her cockpit cut her off, “-Scratch that Sketch, Lynx One-One has Bandit spike. We got Flankers.”

“Copy. You are cleared hot. Good luck. Sketch out.”

“Four has radar contact. Three- make that four contacts, heading zero-one-zero, thirty miles.” Jon cut in.

“I got em.” Henrik muttered.

Raina took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Even though she had a good few thousand hours in the Hornet, almost all of that had been training. She had never actually seen combat. She had spent the last fifteen years of her life learning to fly, and then learning to fight while flying. All for that moment. She figured that the other pilots were having much the same thoughts.

Well, maybe not, “Dee-Cee, fox three!”

“Canuck, fox three.” Raina watched as the two missiles rocketed out in front of the loose formation the four were keeping, while Jon and Lucas broke hard left.

“Odin, we’ll press.” Raina ordered keeping her jet on course towards the enemy fighters while simultaneously locking her radar on one of the Su-33s.

“Copy.” The two continued for about ten seconds more before the very distinctive tone of a hostile missile launch beeped through her headset.

“Fox, breaking defensive,” She reported as she fired off an AMRAAM before she broke hard right. Even as she turned, like any good fighter pilot she was scanning her instruments while scanning outside for the incoming missile. It was good she did as a glance at her radar revealed more contacts. “There’s two more behind them, thirty miles angels five.” Another few seconds of maneuvering and she spotted the enemy missile scream past one of the other Hornets.

“Missile defeated!” She heard Henrik’s voice say.

“Splash! We got one!” Jon spoke a second later.

“Splash two!” Henrik reported.

“Missile launch! Make that two!” Lucas cut in, “Defensive!”

There was another few moments of silence as Raina kicked on her afterburners and pumped out chaff to confuse the missile, while also trying to maneuver to get another AMRAAM shot. Her heart nearly stopped as she spotted the missile still a fair distance away off her nose and above, but making a beeline for her jet. “Shit!” She didn’t even think as her training kicked in, snap rolling left. The missile screamed by what felt like less than a meter away. “Holy crap that was close!” She muttered to herself. “Splash two!”

After that heart stopping moment she took a second to look around and compose herself. She could see the other three Hornets nearby, all scattered around from their evasive maneuvers. A glance at her radar showed the hostiles considerably further away than last she checked. A radio call from Odin quickly informed her of why; “Vampire! Two,-three missiles! And two more after us!” She looked down to see three sea skimming missiles pass below.

“Lynx, Sketch. Hostiles are bugging out.” The AWACS reported.

“Copy Sketch. Three Vampires! Repeat, three Vampires!” She reported, using the codeword for anti-ship missiles, even as she turned to avoid the other two parting air-to-air missiles.

“Missile defeated!”Jon reported. Raina felt herself grin at that. Two kills for no friendly loss. Not bad for their first engagement. But what she heard next nearly made her heart stop.

“Mayday mayday mayday!” Lucas was nearly yelling. Raina was able to look around before she spotted his Hornet high above. It was little more than a small speck but she could see it was on fire and leaving a huge trail of black smoke. “Lynx one-three! I’m hit! Ejecting!”

“Sketch, Lynx one-three is down,” She quickly informed the AWACS. She looked back up at the doomed fighter. To her immense relief the small white dot of a parachute was left in its wake. “Visual on chute.”

“Copy Lynx. I’ll get a Aussie chopper to pick your pilot up.”

“Got it. If you could get our relief up there that would also be great.” She spoke, only now realizing how tired and sweaty she felt.

“Affirm.”

The Pilot’s rec room was always busy in the evenings. Some were playing at the pool table, while some of the others played foosball. Raina, Henrik and Jon on the other hand were having a heated Mario Kart competition on one of the TVs. It was a day to celebrate. The carrier pilots had had their first taste of combat and spirits were running high. In total the pilots had killed six enemy aircraft attempting to attack the Australians. They had only lost two CF-18s in response, one of which was Lucas, but both pilots had ejected and been picked up. Not only that, but the two Task Forces had rendezvoused and began their journey back to Pearl Harbour.

Raina grinned as she passed Henrik on the final stretch, “Yes!”

“Heh, nice job Rainy.” A familiar voice spoke from behind the couch the three were sitting on.

“Dee-Cee!” Henrik grinned as he stood up and caught the smaller man in a bear hug.

“Jesus! Odin! Stop!”

“Hehe,” Henrik chuckled releasing his flightmate, “So how were the Aussies?”

“Great! They actually had beer!” Lucas grinned.

Jon just grinned, “You lucky bastard.” He patted the free spot on the couch beside himself, “Mind joining us?”

“Mario Kart?” Lucas said, “Sure, I'm in.”

The next day found the four back on the flight deck. The day had dawned sunny and clear, a beautiful day for flying. Their shift as the Combat Air Patrol wasn’t until noon, but they were on standby at ten, ready should the previous CAP need reinforcement. Currently they were sitting between two of their Hornets chatting.

“-I’m just saying, Vancouver has far better weather than Toronto.” Raina was saying.

Lucas shook his head with a smirk, “If you like rain maybe.”

“Oh, come on guys,” Henrick butted in, “everyone knows Calgary is the best.”

Raina looked horrified at that, “Negative thirty is your idea of best?” She shivered, “That’s way too fucking cold. Give me rain any day!”

Jon, who had mostly been silent, couldn't help quipping “Really living up to your callsign there, Rainy!”

The woman just fixed him with a scathing glare while Henrik chuckled, “Yeah what kind of Canadian can’t take the cold?”

“Vancouverites apparently!” Jon shot with a chuckle.

The three chuckled continued for a few seconds before a loud blaring alarm cut them off.

“All hands, general quarters, general quarters! Man your battlestations!”

The four just shared a look before a second voice came over the speakers, “Lynx Flight, Scramble, Scramble, Scramble!”

That got them moving as the four burst into action. Raina ducked under Jon’s Hornet to where hers was, scrambling up the ladder into the cockpit. A crew man came up behind her and began helping her strap in. With one last tug he gave her a thumbs up and went back down.

Raina grabbed her helmet and placed it on. As soon as her helmet was strapped on she began flicking switches and going over her startup checklist. Satisfied, and with the engines now purring she looked outside to once again see an aircraft handler begin directing her. She was soon slowly taxiing towards the catapults at the bow. She took the moment to turn on her radio and flick over to the proper channel.

A panicked sounding voice greeted her, “-ayday! Mayday! Porcupine three-three is hit! Eject-...OH FU-!”

There were several seconds of silence before; “Switch, three-three is down! No chute!”

“Switch, Lynxes are two mikes from air.” She spoke up holding her mask up to her mouth, “Hooking for cat shot now.”

“Copy Lynx.” The controller's voice was calm, “Porcupine three is down to two. No Vampires. Four bandits are engaged with Porcupine, six more are pressing, eighty miles now.”

“Lynx copies, will inform when airborne.” Raina spoke, while simultaneously locking into the catapult. A minute passed as the deck crew made their last preparations. Her eyes once again locked on the yellow garbed shooter. It only took a moment before he kneeled and pointed off the bow. Raina felt her jet accelerate as the catapult flung the Hornet off the ship.

“Lynx, Switch,” the Controller actually sounded a bit worried, “bandit pop-up group, angels one, zero-one-two for forty miles.” Raina felt her eyes snap open in surprise. In modern naval combat forty miles was nothing. How the bandits managed to get that close without being detected should have been nearly impossible. She quickly fastened her oxygen mask over her face.

“You with me, Odin?”

“Affirm,” Henrik replied, “Less than a klick on your six.”

Raina rolled the jet left, pulling around north. There was no time to wait for Jon and Lucas to launch. Those enemy aircraft were too close. A beeping alarm informed her of this fact, she just reacted and broke hard, pumping out flares and chaff as she went. She spotted one of the missiles as it flashed past behind her. She quickly reversed and went slightly inverted dodging a second AAM. She had to roll back upright and pull up sharply, almost skimming the waves.

“OH FUCK! Ten miles!” Odin shouted. A glance at her radar confirmed this, as the enemy jets just kept coming, bearing down on the two CF-18s. Raina pulled back around getting her nose pointed at the enemy. She didn't even bother locking her radar on, blindly firing an amraam in the general direction of the enemy aircraft. “Rainy! Fox Three!” She reported, immediately breaking into evasive maneuvers and pumping out more chaff and flares. She didn't even know if her amraam hit or not. As she began a right turn around to bring her nose back on target she spotted a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Right there, less than a mile off the top of her canopy, was an enemy Su-37 making a beeline straight at her. She felt burst of fear and adrenaline slam through her. “Holy-!” She burst out, snap rolling inverted and heaving back on the stick. She felt the G-forces crush her down into her seat, and she fought not to blackout. Over the sounds of her own jet she made out the rapid banging of a cannon followed by the roar of a jet engine as the enemy fighter zoomed past. She immediately rolled back upright and turned hard left after the enemy fighter. She was quick to select an AIM-9, as she lined up on the Flanker which had rolled into a left turn. There was a steady tone in her ears and she hit the trigger. The heat seeking missile flew off her wing tracking the enemy fighter through its turn and impacting right between its tailpipes.

“Fuck yeah! Splash one!” Raina grinned at her victory as the watched the enemy aircraft smash into the water. She was shaken from her reverie by a three rapid metallic thumps followed by some yellow balls whizzing past her cockpit. It took her a second to realize that they were tracers.

“Oh FUCK me!” She exclaimed, throwing her jet to full afterburner and diving right down to the waves. She rolled right, then left, even pulling up into some barrel rolls trying to throw of the enemy pilots aim. Tracers kept flying past periodically. “This is Rainy! I got one on my six!” She soon spotted the fleet nearby, and made a run for it hoping the anti-aircraft would shoot the enemy off her.

“Sorry Rainy! I have some problems of my own at the moment!” She heard Odin reply. As she passed the first few escort ships, the fighter pilot pulled up climbing to about eight hundred feet, bobbing and weaving all the way. She could see the fleets guns and CWIS opening up on her trailer.

And then disaster struck.

A missile launch warning came over her ears. She didn't even have time to even try to evade before the missile fired from her pursuer hit, as it crossed the mile between in a second. There was a loud bang and her aircraft tumbled. Her heart leapt into her mouth and she felt a brief burst of terror fill her. She instantly knew the aircraft was done for. Reacting quickly, she yanked the ejector handle.

There was a bang and the canopy was ejected. There was a quick roar of a rocket as Raina was shoved into her seat by G-force. Her seat pushing her up and clear of the doomed Hornet. She felt her seat fall away and there was a moment of freefall. Her parachute soon opened with a yank and she began floating down sedately. It took her a second to slow her hammering heart, hyped up on adrenaline as the past ten minutes had been.

Raina let a sigh of relief as she watched her CF-18 smash into the water, it’s entire right wing missing and tail area blasted. She could see the fleet’s CWIS opening up, putting thousands of gatling gun rounds into the air after the Flanker, which was more than enough to tear the plane to pieces. The enemy pilot followed her example and quickly ejected.

It was then she heard a familiar watery sound behind her. It took her a moment to realize it was that of a ship cutting through the waves. She twisted around in her parachute harness to look back over her shoulder. Coming towards her was the Presence in all her big grey beautiful glory.

“Oh you gotta be shitting me!” Raina burst out as a huge grin found it’s way onto her face as she realized she was going to land right back on the deck she had so recently launched from. “HA HAAAAA! Yes! Best ejection EVER!”

She could already see several of the deck crew running to where they thought she would land. It took another ten seconds as the Presence’s Bow slipped past beneath her. She came down just aft of the bow catapults. Three deck crew were waiting below. She hit the deck hard enough to stumble and fall on her ass. Two of the deck crew grabbed her, holding her down while two others pounced on her parachute canopy quickly folding it up so it wouldn't billow and drag her down the deck. One of the two hit the release on her harness. Raina let the man slip it off over her shoulders. “Thanks,” she muttered.

The two quickly began to guide her off to the right side of the flight deck. There were still jets trying to get into the air after all. They sat her down, and one wandered off, likely back to his job.

The fatigue hit her like a truck a the adrenaline high wore off, and she let herself flop back on the deck. “Hey, you alright?” A voice asked. She glanced to her right where one of the two who had helped her was crouching. She couldn't see much of his features under his helmet and goggles, but he was wearing the yellow garb of a shooter.

“Yeah…” Raina muttered still mostly out of breath, flopping her head back down, “Just gimme a sec.”

“Adrenaline at it's finest!” He replied with a grin. He fished out a plastic water bottle from his belt and offered it to her, “Wouldn’t be surprised if that Fight or Flight response saved your ass up there.”

Raina sat up and grabbed the offered water. “Yeah well, it's more like flight and fight in my case.” she joked as she opened the bottle and took a sip.

The shooter chuckled, “True that! Anyway, I gotta get back to work. I’d take a quick visit to the medbay if I were you.” He stood up and began walking back to the bow, “Have a nice day, Commander!”

Raina watched him go before turning back forward. She hadn’t been paying much attention before. But now she noticed the big Aussie Battleship only a kilometer or two off the Presence’s right side. The Sydney was big. Not as big as the Canadian carrier but close.

She was shaken from her marveling at the battleship by the sight of a small object behind it. A Hornet was skimming the waves towards the fleet about ten kilometers out, with a Flanker hot on its heels. She could only watch as a missile shot off the Russian designed jet with barely restrained fear. Luckily the Hornet pilot was on the ball, snap-rolling right and dumping flares with inhuman reaction speed. This also had the consequence of clearing the line of fire.

Almost as one the Sydney’s guns opened up, putting up a variable wall of anti-aircraft fire from her CWIS and 5-inch mounts. The enemy pilot tried to evade but it was far too late as rounds from the CWIS began to pepper the aircraft. It seemed almost to stagger, and would have plunged into the sea of the coup-de-grace hadn’t been delivered by a 5-incher slamming straight into the fuselage. The explosion ripped the plane to pieces.

A moment later the Hornet came buzzing silently over the ships at mast height. For a second Raina though its engines had been destroyed. That assumption was shattered as the jet passed over the carrier at over the speed of sound with a earsplitting sonic boom. Raina couldn't help a childlike giggle at the sheer awesome.

There was a reason she’d wanted to be a fighter pilot after all.

Lacera Caelum

April 18, 2006
1133 Hours
Brumbay Field, Equestria

Source

Cole and the remainder of the squadron returned to Brumbay Field following the Bloc’s attack on the American carrier forces. The hours since then had been anything but calm as reports trickled in offering vague descriptions as to what was happening on a greater scale. Though the full situation was not known, the scale of the attacks was clear and it seemed that raids and serious defeats were coming in from everywhere. Much of the squadron’s time was spent rearming and preparing for whatever was to come next.

Incredibly, by mid morning the following day, no attack had been made. Because of the vast range of targets and the scope of their mission, the air power of the three Bloc nations was spread out greatly. As such, the small auxiliary airfield, which they did not see as holding a major importance, was spared the devastating night raids that had befallen most other Allied air bases at this end of Equestria.

With that came a new importance as an unofficial safe haven as aircraft from various bases flocked to what they had heard was one of the only places still safe. It quickly became clear that, rather than take offensive or supporting actions, the 1st Tactical would have to focus on maintaining the safety of Brumbay. As the refugee pilots brought more and more stories of the destruction of their homes and units, any feelings of dissatisfaction or cowardice by the defensive standing silently drained away.

Beyond keeping track of the reports, Cole also had the hours pass by greeting and helping to organize the various pilots that had escaped to the field. The first to reach them were seven F-16s of the 77th Fighter Squadron, arriving shortly before dawn from their crippled airfield near Manehatten. These were followed shortly by a group of Strike Eagles from the 335th and 336th, and later by a flight of five Equestrian Gripens of the 8th Fighter Squadron. The most recent arrivals were the Hornets and Aardvarks of the Australian Wing, all under the leadership of the No. 75 Squadron commander after having flown northward most of the time in search of safety.

The situation at Brumbay Field was rapidly becoming too much to handle. The field was a small reserve base and was not meant to station large numbers of planes, especially not the amount that was being housed now. It had gotten so bad that there was no longer any free space in the few hangers and covers to keep the aircraft, and as such many were left parked outside and some were even put on flat areas of grass.

It was also too much work for the small Equestrian crew of the base, who were performing admirably but were totally overwhelmed regardless. Cole was also beginning to feel the effects of exhaustion creeping up on him. Though there had been no further sorties, he had not rested since the first battle and the adrenaline and drive that kept him awake since then was now crashing hard.

“Captain, we have some more planes landing now,” the Equestrian mechanic informed. “There's… a whole lot of them.”

“What unit are they from?”

“They uh… just said the Navy. Your Navy,” the pony answered. “The commanding officer said he wanted to meet you.”

“Alright, I’m going to go to wait by the door to the main hall. Tell him to meet me there so we’ll have somewhere quiet to talk.”

Cole headed off, observing the runway as he went. He watched as a number of F-14s landed on the base, followed shortly by the accompanying F-18s. It was a different sight to see Navy planes landing on runways, but there was no issue with it. There certainly did not seem to be a choice anymore. After reaching the door of the building, he took a seat on the side of the steps and began to contemplate everything that was happening as he waited.

It was incredible how everything had to stop for such an event to take place, and Cole imagined what would be happening if it had not broken out. Some of the men were planning on going out to celebrate the birthday of another pilot, Runner had been hoping to go see a movie, each man had his own plan for how to spend his time. All of that was not to be. Now nothing else mattered in life except for the war.

The brutal simplicity of war had made itself known to Cole and the pilots. The most tragic parts proved to be painfully simple. When an allied pilot went down, it was nothing as dramatic as a film would make it out to be, not usually anyways. There would be no last words or great screams over the radio; at most it would be a call of impact to their craft and if they could escape or not. There would often be nothing more than an air of static and a call by another pilot that one of their own had been lost. Unless they were looking at the aircraft at the time of destruction, the pilot's death would not even be witnessed. One second he would be there, and the next he was gone.

Even the aftermath of this robbed the pilots of any closure. Depending on the state of the body, any funeral that was held often turned out to be a closed casket, assuming there were enough remains to be identified properly. An aircraft falling to the ground, especially one shot down by a missile, did not leave much behind. Crashes were a sad commonality even in peacetime, and the Airmen had grown somewhat accustomed to this reality. However, the sheer scale of loss was beginning to make this a growing irritability. In the case of Bursa, who had been shot down over the water, there was little chance anything would be found, less his body be cradled by the Pacific to some shore to be discovered by an unlucky passerby.

The dreadful thoughts were stopped when he saw an unfamiliar face walking towards the greeting. A stout man in a flight suit, with a look of weariness, annoyance, and dread about him. As he came closer, Cole recognized some of the patches that identified him as a Navy pilot.

“Good Morning, Sir,” Cole saluted, powering through the usual rituals past his drowsiness. “Captain John Cole, Air Force. First Tactical.”

“Good morning,” the Tomcat pilot returned as he saluted. “Commander Oscar, VF-31, off the Carl Vinson.”

“I thought you were off the southern coast.”

“We were. My ship took a beating and we couldn't land; was in pretty bad shape last we saw her.”

“You flew all the way up here, Sir? Across the country?”

“Not directly, but yes,” Oscar replied. “After the initial enemy attacks we headed inland, landed at some Equestrian airfield. Thought we were good but instead we just got caught in another damn raid. Lost some more of our planes on the ground, along with a couple more pilots.”

“I'm sorry, Commander.”

“After that we refueled and spent most of the time jumping from one base to another in a northerly direction,” the Navy pilot continued. “Those we could land at were in bad shape, and we couldn't stay. Just kept repeating the process till we ended up here.”

“I can assure you you're safe here. We haven't had an attack yet, still totally intact.”

“Yet,” Oscar punctuated, taking a seat on the stairs. “Just a matter of time before one does come. Especially with all the activity.”

“We’re ready for it,” the Air Force Captain assured him. “We won't let them touch this base.”

“You sure? You look pretty out of it.”

“Just tired Sir. My men are good pilots.”

“I'm not doubting that, Captain.”

“We can take care of this place, Sir,” Cole stubbornly insisted.

“I trust you will, just make sure you're in good shape. Why are you so tired anyways? You stay up all night keeping up with the war?”

“Yeah, combat mission; me and a couple other flights from my squadron. We were out near the fleet when they were hit. Spent a lot of time helping fight them off. Haven't gotten any rest since before that.”

“You were out there with the fleet? No shit?” Oscar asked as his eyes widened. “How'd they come off? Do you know? What carriers are left?”

“Not entirely Sir, no. We were helping the Enterprise ourselves. I know the fleet took a lot of damage overall but I think she's still okay. Was retreating to Baltimare last I heard.”

“Enterprise huh?” the Navy officer mused.

“Yeah. Only carrier I know of in the area. The Equestrians sortied theirs out when they heard the war was on, but they turned around real quick when they realized just how bad the situation was. Said they were pulling back all the way to the east coast.”

“I should thank you, Captain. You helped get her out of danger.”

“Thanks, just our job though. Right thing to do, you'd do the same for us.”

“I would, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't thank you. Besides, it sounds like you saved my new home.”

“Planning on moving to her?”

“Like you said, she's the only flattop active in the country, as far as I know,” the Commander explained. “I appreciate you guys making space for us here, but I'm still a sailor. I need to fly off a ship.”

“I understand.”

“Really? First time I’ve heard that from an Air Force pilot about my carriers. Maybe-”

The two were interrupted as the door to the hall was swung open by Delta Flight’s leader, Lieutenant Wilkes, who exited with a clear sense of urgency.

“Captain, sorry to interrupt but we’ve got a problem. It’s urgent.”

“Something important?” Oscar guessed, standing up from his seat. “I'll let you take care of any business you have, Captain Cole. I've got my own things to do. Thanks for the info too, by the way.”

“No problem Commander.”

Oscar took his leave, moving past Wilkes and into the building as the younger Lieutenant shuffled awkwardly past to speak with Cole.

“What is it Dart?”

“We may have incoming Captain,” he said. “Got reports of a small bomber formation crossing the border and their course may lead them here.”

“Alright, I'll start getting my bird ready,” Cole groaned. “Get your guys ready. We’ll go up and stop them.”

“I… actually Sir, I think my flight can take care of it. I think you need some rest.”

“I'm fine I'm fine. Can't just leave you guys to go out on your own.”

“When's the last time you even ate anything?”

“Can't eat, the anxiety ties my stomach up. I'm not hungry anyways so there's no point in trying.”

“Captain you need to get some sleep,” Dart persisted. “A tired pilot isn't a good pilot.”

“I can sleep later… don’t need to be sleeping when people are dying.”

“We can take care of this Captain Cole,” the Lieutenant continued. “And you may not get time later to rest. This is the only quiet time we may get, you should use it to rest. You need to be in good shape for when the important fighting starts up again.”

“Fine… fair enough. But you take care of yourself up there. And your flight, too.”

“I will Captain.”

“This is AWACS Spyglass to Eagle Four, do you read?”

“Eagle Four-One, we read you Spyglass. Do you have a tally on the formation, over?”

“We’re tracking them along the coast. Looks like a small formation of six bombers four fighters on approach to Brumbay Field. Are you closing with them?”

“Affirmative, we’re coming up from behind just as planned.”

“Understood. Bomber’s range to Brumbay is twelve miles and closing steadily. You are clear to engage.”

“WILCO Spyglass, Eagle Four out,” Dart answered. “Torch you take Fez and Steel and keep the fighters busy. Cook and I will deal with the bombers. Don't scatter, keep eyes on each-other. Ready? Engage.”

The five American fighters closed quickly on the rear of the formation, going largely unnoticed until Dart began to track them with his radar. His first AMRAAM went out at the same time Torch’s did, and seconds later a Griffon bomber and fighter exploded simultaneously. The remainder of the formation was now alerted, and the surviving escorts peeled away, but there was little more that could be done.

The second half of the flight quickly found how inadequate the Griffon escort was. Their fighters were MiG-21 Fishbeds, small and light but standing no real chance against the more modern F-15s. Over the next eight minutes the three survivors were plucked from the sky with ease, one by each of the three human pilots.

The main formation was falling with a similar kind of deadly simplicity. The attacking Bears, though increasing their speed, remained in formation. There was little that could be done against their unexpected interceptors, and Dart had soon killed another three one-by-one. Now out of radar missiles, he sent Cook forward to claim the final two kills.

“This is really it huh? From the stories I was hearing I thought this would be way worse,” Cook noted.

“It's very poor. They must not have been expecting any resistance. The field must have always been a secondary target-hang on,” Dart stopped, getting a report from the AWACS. “Targets are bombing the city… the port of Brumbay? Why? There's nothing there for them to hit. That place doesn't have any military targets.”

“They know they're not going to get to the main target now. They want to do some damage to something before they die,” Cook clarified. “Not for much longer though. I'm locking them up now… Fox Three.”

The final two missiles flew across the open sky, sending the Bears crashing towards the ground before they could strike the crowded airfield.

“Spyglass this is Eagle Four-One. All targets are eliminated, over.”

“Copy Four-One, Brumbay has visual on the downed bombers and we see no more bogies heading our way. You're clear to RTB. We’ll get some people out to start hunting for any of them that bailed out and to check on the wreckage.”

“Understood Spyglass, we’re RTB, out.”

“How'd she go down?” Keith asked

“After the beating she took during the attack they could only get so far away before the engines stopped,” Bailey replied, referring to the Carl Vinson. “Most of the battlegroup was ordered to carry on, a couple stayed behind to watch over her with a skeleton crew onboard to try and carry out repairs. After the attacks subsided things were looking stable, they were hoping she could be towed somewhere safe, maybe by the battleship if she could get there. But a sub got to her first, Changeling probably.”

“And they didn't see it, huh?”

“Guess not. Maybe escorts were watching the sky. Either way she took a full salvo of torpedoes on her starboard side and that was it. Whatever crew that was still onboard was picked up and the carrier capsized. That was it, Captain.”

As the Audie Murphy sailed slowly onwards, Keith eyed the multitude of vessels now crowding into the supposed safety of Pearl Harbor. Much of the loch had been turned into an overcrowded, watery parking lot. Those vessels with the most serious damage were given the dry-dock space, reserved for those that needed it. The ships sporting damage to the deck or superstructure would have to be repaired in place, and those that had no damage waited outside the harbor, ‘guarding’ the entrance to the loch.

Keith attempted to pick out the individual ships to see which had survived. The carriers George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were still afloat, albeit damaged and out of action, as was the battleship Washington that had been with them. Various additional cruisers, destroyers, and frigates were themselves tied up or dry docked as they underwent repairs. Pearl Harbor was overflowing with ships, and those vessels that were not damaged and were armed had to be stationed outside the harbor, both to make room and to guard against any enemy attack. Still, it was a tight fit, with many boats tied up alongside each-other in long rows.

The oddest standout he saw was the guided-missile battlecruiser U.S.S. Puerto Rico, once again receiving some form of work. The bizarre ship’s genesis had been in the years before the war, when it became apparent the Navy did not have the funds to expand on every level they wished for. Still wanting some capital ships with heavy firepower, the battlecruisers with their reduced armor and armament were seen as cheap alternatives. Once the alliance with Equestria was formed and improved techniques of shipbuilding were acquired, they were put to the sidelines, expected to be scrapped in the coming years. Now he saw the ship and her sister, the Guam, having their secondary weapons set in place. The painful start on the war now saw the abandoned projects pulled out definitively for whatever roles they could serve.

The Audie Murphy was given one of the few free spots in order to have her weapons systems replenished and her fuel refilled. That would be all the free time the destroyer would get, for as soon as this was complete she would have to go out on another mission while another ship took the spot. As such, the crew would have to enjoy the short break of downtime aboard, mainly focusing on ensuring the ship was in good shape to head back out.

With everything in order, Keith continued to think about what had happened. Though he knew the ship and crew had performed admirably, the Carl Vinson had still been sunk. That, to him, was another failure and another strike against his own ability. He could not think of any other logical directions he could have given that would have made a major difference, but it did little to change his depressed mood.

His ship was moored across from the battleship Washington, which was undergoing repairs to her upper decks, her flags and banners stilled fluttering in the sharp Hawaiian breeze. Wanting to get a first-hand account of the experience of the other groups, he decided to make a quick visit. Upon boarding the massive vessel, he was greeted by a sailor who directed him to the nearest officer, who then directed the same sailor to escort him to the bridge. As they entered, Keith found the ship’s Captain already in the middle of a discussion with an Admiral.

“Sir, I have Captain Keith of the Audie Murphy here to see you,” the seaman announced, breaking up the conversation.

“Hello Captain, I wasn’t expecting a meeting,” the battleship’s commander greeted him. “I’m Captain O’Toole. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No-I mean… I’m sorry for interrupting. I wanted to talk about your experience last night, how everything went. I didn’t know you were talking with an Admiral.”

“No harm done, I was actually going over that with him,” O’Toole said as the Admiral walked up to shake Keith’s hand. “This is Rear Admiral Jay Allen. He commands the America and her carrier group.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Keith,” Jay spoke up. “So you were at the battle too?”

“Yes Sir, and I must say you’re doing some admirable work on those ships,” Keith complimented. “I passed through Pearl a couple of times before and they looked incredible for their age.”

“Thank you, Keith. It’s hard keeping them in good shape but I make due,” Allen replied. “Though they are getting a lot more needed attention now that the Navy needs them again.”

Keith felt some bitterness in Jay’s tone towards the end, but resolved to move on.

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure with a few more overhauls and add-ons they could go toe-to-toe with any ship out there.”

“They’re certainly acting like it. We’re getting some fancy new pieces we’ve needed for ages, but the Navy’s still got no problem dragging out old ships while they build new ones,” the Admiral went on. “You can look at the Guam as another example. It's a ridiculous thing but God knows they’ll find some use for it. I’ll tell you this, too. I even heard they’re dragging what’s left of the nuke cruisers out here.”

“I didn’t know they were still around.”

“They were going through recycling around 2000, then the Navy panicked and stopped them, threw them in reserve in case we had to go to war with our new alien neighbors. Didn’t think they’d actually need them again,” Allen droned on. “And now they need them again. Now some poor guys have to take an old cruiser with a nuclear reactor that hasn’t been touched for years beyond the basics and sail it to war.”

The more the Admiral went on, the more Keith felt like coming was a poor idea. Though he could not have predicted it, the conservative felt more like Jay ranting on over a variety of issues, with the destroyer Captain being the unwilling recipient of his frustration. It was hardly what he had been hoping for.

“I can't say I'd like that job,” Keith answered, looking over to O’Toole. “You mind if I ask how you all came out from the battle?”

“Well it's not as bad as it seems. We took a missile hit to the side but it didn't destroy anything vital. Just looks a little rough from the outside but every system is running fine. All we need is to get the outer parts patched up and we'll be good to go.”

“That's some good news, I know a lot of other ships weren't that lucky. We had to pick up some survivors from the Roosevelt and God, the whole top deck was one big wreck. Those bombs are are damn dangerous.”

“Yeah, we weren't expecting them to use bombs when they closed in like they did. The Klakring took one just behind the bridge and it exploded below deck inside the ship. It's going to take a while to fix her.”

“It's good to hear you're in good shape at least. Your ship’s important.”

“Maybe, but that makes us a bigger target, too,” the battleship captain said. “Not that we can't handle the extra attention.”

“Must be comforting to be on this beast, with all the armor and firepower.”

“Hmph, hardly. Don't let these things fool you. They might have been able to return to fill a few specific roles and get turned into a massive arsenal ship, but these things are far from invincible,” Allen retorted, speaking up with his own opinion of the ships. “It needs an effective escort group to guard it from missile and subsurface threats, a decently sized fighter patrol for air cover, and proper supplies on standby to keep her going. Against a large, concentrated attack force, without support to back her up, this battleship is nothing more than a giant metal coffin.”

“Doesn't sound all that different from a carrier,” Keith retorted.

“Not to you,” Jay shot back coldly.

“Relax Allen,” O’Toole interrupted. “You know we’ll have each-others backs, right? We just have to stick together and we'll make it. Now give our friend here a break; I don't like my guests having bad experiences on my ship.”

“I'm sorry Captain. I… shouldn't be taking out my annoyances on you or Captain Keith,” the Admiral apologized. “She's a good ship, with an excellent crew.”

“Don't worry about it Jay. It's better to let it out somewhere than keeping everything bottled up. Besides I was built to take a beating, just like the Washington. Better to just talk.”

“Still, I should keep my opinions to myself. At least when I'm not in the right mind.”

“Something wrong, Admiral?” asked Keith.

“Admiral Jay isn't totally convinced of having battleships in the fleet again,” O’Toole explained. “But I'm hoping to change his mind.”

“It's beyond that. It's just been difficult trying to keep everything in shape, and now we're they care about us just as the war starts. To be frank, they're whipping me pretty hard to finish getting everything on the carrier's together so they can sortie us out. Feels like we were left to rot and now they pushing us to hurry up and die. It's not quite what I was hoping for.”

“It's a sad thing, Admiral. But your carriers are really important. I'm happy all the same to see them getting some attention.”

“It hurts to be forgotten.”

Keith simply nodded in acknowledgement. There was not much to be said about such a pain, particularly when he had never experienced it. Still, Admiral Jay seemed to move past it after a brief silence as he moved on to other topics.

“Captain Keith. Could you tell us about your experience in the battle?”

Author's Note

Bombardment

April 19th, 2006
1204 Hours
Near Fillydelphia, Equestria

In spite of the far-reaching attacks by the Bloc aircraft, the war had yet to reach the area around central Equestria so far from the front line. News of the war was spreading slowly the farther east it went, and though some preparations were being undertaken most of the resident ponies continued on with their daily lives. The sense of urgency, panic, and confusion that reigned in the west had not infected this region yet. The only disturbance to the peace was the roar of two F-14s tearing over the countryside.

Wild Fire and her squadron had been stationed on an eastern base by chance at the time of the attack. Though it would have seemed lucky to most, it felt unlucky to her, only making her angry at missing out on the conflict. She had a desire to put everything the Americans had taught her, both in flying skill and war’s philosophy, into practice. However, she would not be alone, as the Americans had decreed one of their fighter squadrons assist to ‘ensure sturdy performance during the mission’, which Wild Fire took as a veiled insult. Her flight was to work with another of the American’s tactical squadrons, the 108th, and their accompanying AWACS. The squadron had been stationed at another rear-area eastern base that did not escape attack, but had proven their skill by repelling the attack and apparently launched while under fire themselves.

“Bomber formation confirmed to have passed over the mountains. Phoenix, are you in position?” asked the AWACS.

“Affirmative, we’re ready,” Wild Fire answered from her Tomcat. “Figures the mechanics would be dragging their hooves the day the war starts.”

“I'm sure they'll go faster next time,” Whistler, her RIO, suggested.

“They'd better, otherwise I'll make sure they're transferred all the way to the infantry. Maybe bullets will make them run faster.”

“This is AWACS Thunderhead, rendezvous between Wardog squadron and Phoenix squadron is complete. Enemy formation inbound at two-two-eight. All fighters move to engagement range.”

“It's hard to believe the enemy can reach this far inland,” one of the younger human pilots noted. “Were the attacks at the front really that bad?”

“Man, I wish they’d give us a break already. All these attacks are meant to pressure us until we break, but that works the same way around,” another added. “You think they’re wearing themselves out too? I know I’m exhausted.”

“Phoenix One to Wardog Three, we don’t need your complaints clogging the radio!” the Equestrian spat.

“Ah jeez, all the friendly faces and we get to work with the one mean stiff.”

“Captain Alvin H. Davenport, is that you?”

“Wait how’d you know my name? The war’s barely started.”

“It’s hard not to, you make so much noise everypony east of Canterlot knows who you are. Word is you like to shoot your mouth off over the radio,” an annoyed Wild Fire continued. “I don’t appreciate useless chatter filling the airwaves, especially during a combat mission!”

“Uh, Captain Davenport is too busy carrying out his mission to answer you at this time ma’am!” the other Tomcat pilot joked in a mocking way.

“Forget him, ma’am. Let's just focus on the Changeling bombers.”

“Enemy formation confirmed, break formation! Clear to engage!” the AWACS called.

The tight formation of Tomcats pulled up into the sky and broke apart, their planes gleaming against the sun in the clear sky, as Wild Fire’s squadron remained at a lower level. Though the bombers themselves were still far away, reaching them would not be difficult for the F-14 and its massive AIM-54 missiles. With enough luck, the two squadrons would win the battle without even seeing their foe. The pony in the back seat of Wild Fire’s Tomcat worked the radar to lock one of the far off targets. As he did so, she listened to the pilots far above call out their status as the battle began, with the AWACS starting with their leader.

“Blaze engage!”

“Edge engaging!”

“Chopper engaging!”

“Archer engaging!”

“Swordsman engaging!

“Heartbreak One is engaging!”

“Okay, first target is locked in,” the RIO informed her.

“Phoenix One, Fox Three.”

The large missile shot from under the Tomcat and was quickly out of sight, with only the smoke trail leaving a mark. Her wingpony also launched a missile, holding the plane steady and calm as he did so. Up above, the human Tomcat pilots were launching their own shots from a higher altitude. The missiles tore off into the distance on long smoke trails, easily proving their range and reaching out to pluck the first bombers from the sky.

“Be advised, enemy formation nearing Fillydelphia,” the AWACS notified.

“Phoenix Two to Phoenix One, should we cease our attack until the enemy has passed the city? If they fly over the wreckage could impact it, over.”

“Negative, they won’t fly over. Remember, their target is our base, farther north. To reach it they have to keep a flight path the goes near the city, not over it. Now keep firing, the range is still falling,” she ordered without hesitation, turning back to her RIO. “Whistler! First target is down, lock up another one!”

“Yes ma’am! Next target is firmly locked on!”

“Fox Three!”

The range between the two groups continued to decrease as the Tomcats closed and ripped the helpless Changeling pilots out of the sky. Their fighter escort was light owing to the mass usage and pressure put on their Air Force and the long range of the mission, amounting to little more than three Yak-28P ‘Firebars’ used for interceptor roles. These never got the chance to defend their comrades, dying in the first volley of Phoenix missiles.

“This is Chopper, I’m getting some weird movement on the radar. Looks like they’re breaking formation and spreading apart, but they’re all breaking in the same direction to the south.”

“Good to hear we’ve turned them back,” commented Wild Fire. “Don’t let them escape though, take them all down.”

“And… impact! Second bomber is down ma’am!” Whistler jumped.

“We’re making good progress. We’ll probably be in range for close-in shots soon but one more volley should finish them-”

“Warning, warning,” Thunderhead alerted. “Reports are coming in from the city of enemy aircraft bombing them. Expedite the enemy’s destruction!”

“Bombs!? Wh-they’re bombing the city!?”

“Was that their real target all along?” the pilot in Wardog’s 4th position wondered. “Did they just change it when they saw us here?”

“We didn’t cause that, did we?” Wild Fire wondered.

“Warning, additional enemy units are moving in fast bearing three-zero-three!” Thunderhead warned. “Flight of five, looks like so more fighters. Wardog Squadron, finish off that bomber formation and move to intercept! Phoenix keep on standby if any more bandits show up.”

Though she was usually strict to adhere to the rules herself, Wild Fire quickly began to turn through the radio channels as the Wardog pilots finished off the bomber formation. She knew that one of them had to be in use by the units stationed in the city. After flipping through several channels, she finally found the correct one with a soldier sending out alerts and calling for help.

“-are landing all along Fifteenth Street! Several civilian casualties are dead and wounded! Repeat, this is Mace Actual, Royal Equestrian Army stationed in Fillydelphia! We’re being bombed!”

“Mace Actual this is Phoenix Lead, R.E.A.F. The enemy bomber formation is down!”

“Thank you, Phoenix! Please don’t let any more get to us! We weren’t prepared for this and we have our hooves full with rescues!”

“What’s the damage look like?”

“Unknown, but extensive.”

“Understood, Phoenix One out.”

Going through the channels again as the Wardog’s F-14s attacked the arriving Changeling fighters, she stumbled on one with an unknown voice.

“-engaged by the enemy fighters. They’re Tomcats, I think these are humans.”

“Close the range and destroy them, those planes can be defeated in a close fight!”

“We’re already trying that! They’re still outflying us!”

“Are you sure they’re human pilots?”

“I think so, but they fly like they’re something different-hang on!”

“I can hear the enemy's voice on the radio,” Wild Fire informed her allies. “Frequency one-one-four-point-two-five.”

“What are they saying? Are they sending more reinforcements?” the second-position Wardog pilot asked.

“Negative, just talking about how much trouble you guys are giving them.”

“Really? I have to hear this,” Chopper added.

Wild Fire switched back to the Changeling’s frequency, listening quietly as the fighters were picked off. One of the remaining fighters attempted to tail Wardog’s lead plane, but was shot down by his wingman. He quickly shot down another that stumbled across his view, while two other human pilots killed yet another Flanker. Regardless of the Changeling’s attempts to better them, the human Tomcat pilots were able to read and counter them seemingly without any real effort.

“Shark Four is down! We just can’t outmaneuver them! Humans can’t fly like this!” the final Changeling warned before his plane was shredded by cannon fire.

“All hostile aircraft destroyed. The picture is clear,” the AWACS announced. “Wardog Squadron, you are cleared to return to base. Phoenix your new orders are to remain on patrol above the city and watch for any further bogies until relieved, over.”

“Understood,” Wild Fire replied solemnly.

“Good job Phoenix flight. You did well on your first mission,” Wardog Two complimented in a soft voice. “I’m sorry to see the city come under attack. Seeing it makes me feel sick.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it from here.”

The allied squadron left the battlezone, leaving only Wild Fire and her wingpony to guard over the hurting city. She observed the dark plumes of smoke rising from the part of the city the had been struck by the bombs and the falling wreckage. Following the trail down only showed the destruction that had been wrought on the unexpecting ponies below. She would watch this for the next half hour before the flight was cleared to return home, and even afterwards the images remained burned in her mind, replacing the endless thoughts of attack and implementation from before.

“Hey, Lieutenant Fitzroy!”

The sweating officer poked his head out from the commander’s hatch on his tank.

“Yeah Simson?” he asked, seeing the loader for Lieutenant James’ tank. “You guys come up with that nickname yet?”

“Not yet!”

“Come on, how hard can it be to find a nickname for Alpha? All it’s got to do is start with an ‘A’!”

“It’s harder than you’d think if you’re looking for a good one! But nah, the Captain just sent me down to tell you we got the new battery in for your track.”

“Ah, good. Very good. I’ll see about getting the mechanics to put it in tonight.”

As per the strategic plan, the tanks and troops of the 2nd Armored Division had been kept in reserve behind the main line of resistance. Save for the rescue sortie of the 11th Armored Cavalry, the power of the American armored units was being held back to counter any breakthroughs. Then, when the time was right and the enemy had been halted and exhausted, the armor would counter-attack and smash the weary units. Until then, the tankers busied themselves with their transition to wartime footing.

“Everything else looking good with the Crab?” Simson asked, referring to the name Fitzroy had given to his tank.

“Yeah, thankfully. Figures everything works right once the war started.”

“Better than it breaking during a fight.”

“It’ll break during a fight anyways if I know my luck,” the Lieutenant replied, blinking his eyes as the sweat stung him and wiping it from his brow. “But thanks for letting me know about the battery.”

“No problem, Sir,” the Corporal responded as he began to walk off.

“And hey! You guys had better come up with a good name!”

“How do I know you’ll even like it, Sir?” Simson asked, turning around again to face him. “You didn’t like my name for your tank!”

“That’s cause ‘Scottsdale Thunder’ is a stupid name!” Fitzroy replied after a chuckle. “It barely rains that much there anyways, there’s hardly any thunder.”

“Well there’s no crabs in Arizona neither!”

“No, really smartass? I guess I haven’t lived there long enough to know that.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Corporal get your ass back to James before I make you refill my fuel cans.”

“Yes Sir!”

Author's Note

Sailing on Frozen Air

April 19th, 2006
1400 Hours
Unicorn Range, Equestria

Source

Even after the land’s natural magic had declined and the weather had more-or-less been allowed to flow on it’s own, Unicorn Range was still coated with snow. The snowfall would rarely cease entirely, only shifting between moderate amounts in the summer as it was now, to near impassable in the winter months. ponies would seldom pass over the range, and even the pegasi would rarely fly over due to the cold. Some old local myths, and ones that spread out evolved into larger legends, told of a number of ponies that actually lived amongst the mountains.

Night Glider had never flown over the mountains herself, but aircraft did not suffer the same problems as exposed pegasi did. Even so, she thought she felt the cool air blasting by outside as the F-15E made its way over the range. She nudged the jet over slightly and flew past Horn Peak, the tallest point in the range and in the shape of a unicorn’s horn, which had given the range its name.

Glider recounted several other legends about Horn Peak alone as she passed it. A prominent one said that the peak itself was indeed magical like a real unicorn’s horn. Another she had heard from a traveling merchant said that it was the horn of a giant unicorn that had died, with the mountains being used as a sort of tombstone save for the horn piercing through and cutting the clouds. Yet another said that the peak was the birthplace of the first unicorn, and as such the birthplace of the unicorns as a race.

“Glider One, how is your plane looking?”

“Everything looks good, King One.”

“Good, we got word that the Changeling bomber formation that hit Fillydelphia earlier flew over the range to hit their target, so it's up to us to intercept the next one before it passes through. No problems from the cold?”

“Not immediately,” she answered the other squadron leader. “We should be done before it becomes a problem.”

“Don't assume too much, Glider.”

“I won't, Rector. By the way have you seen that mercenary flight anywhere? They were supposed to meet us here.”

“I haven't, but if they're absent we won't wait for them. We can stop the bombers on our own.”

“It'd still be nice to have some help though.”

Rector grumbled to himself lightly before calling out for the missing team.

“This is King One to the mercenary unit. Are you reading me?” the pony asked, not receiving any response. “This is King to Galm, do you hear me? We are at the rendezvous point and are waiting on you. Please respond if you hear this.”

“Hey look, at our five, two Eagles coming up from behind,” Glider called out, watching as the jets easily caught up and leveled out next to their formation. “Look at those paint schemes on them! It's them alright, the team we were told about.”

“Galm do you read me? Say something immediately!”

“Here comes the snow!” a new voice chimed over the radio in a simpler tone.

“Save your sightseeing for later,” Rector shot back. “Is the AWACS with you?”

“Yeah, we got ‘em right here,” the human mercenary confirmed. “Galm Two to Eagle Eye, you hear us?”

“Affirmative, this is AWACS Eagle Eye, we’re reading you,” the control plane replied. “Bearing three-one-five, Changeling bombers approaching. Galm One, Galm Two, maintain present course.”

“This is Galm Two, roger that.”

“King, Glider, are you ready to engage?”

“Glider and King are ready,” answered Night Glider.

“Alright, Gambler flight is catching up now as well. Follow the Galm Team to the engagement point.”

“I hope you're able to stay strong in a dogfight. Our enemy has proven themselves to be very capable,” Rector warned.

“Well, no one wants to bail out into a mountain of ice, so we’re counting on you, flight leader,” Galm Two responded.

“We’ll see how long you last then.”

“You better have our pay ready and waiting.”

“Hey, that's only if we all make it through this alive!” Glider yelled.

“Be ready to pay up! We’ll be back before you know it!”

Glider watched as the two planes sped ahead, breaking formation and leaving the Equestrians to catch up.

“I hope they're good pilots.”

“We’ll find out soon,” Rector replied. “For now just keep up and ready yourself for battle.”

“It sounds like they're full of themselves. Just look at that one with the red wing, spinning around up there. Show off!”

“Gambler lead, flight of three, arriving in the airspace and heading to intercept. Is everyone else here?”

“This is King, we’re all here and moving to engage. Galm should get there first.”

“So you've met Cipher and Pixy huh?” the American pilot asked. “I've heard some stories about those guys.”

“What kind of stories?” Glider wondered aloud.

“I'll save it for when we get back. It'll be good bar talk. Let's mop these guys up quick and I'll treat you all to a hot drink. Whiskey, rum, wine, just get home on time.”

“Glider One, two bombers ahead at our ten,” Rector noted. “Looks like their escorts are occupied. Engage them directly.”

The two Eagles moved in to claim their first prey. The elderly-looking Badger bombers stood little chance and both were struck by radar guided missiles at near the same time. The burning wreckage of the two mingled together as it fell, striking the side of a mountain with the flames being extinguished on contact with the snow.

“First flight is down,” Glider notified. “Moving on to the next one.”

“Second flight of bombers is already down,” the AWACS responded. “Move on to the main formation.”

“Already!?”

“Come on Pixy, leave a few for us!” one of the American pilots complained.

“Not a chance, and don't forget that you're still paying tonight.”

“Alright Gambler flight, looks like some of those escorts are still buzzing around. Let's clean them up. King, Glider, we’ll leave the bombers to you.”

The two Equestrians moved on and were greeted with a lopsided air battle before them. The two F-15s were casually taking apart the formation at their own leisure, and any of the escorts that tailed onto one were quickly killed by the other. In spite of being outnumbered, it seemed as if the two mercenaries could not be touched as they are away at their victims seemingly at a random choosing.

Rector pulled up and charged at the leftmost group of bombers in the formation, followed closely by Glider. Two missiles were launched and another two bombers fell. Glider had selected her own target but the leader F-15 painted in blue struck it first, hitting it hard with a Sidewinder that tore it apart. The plane continued to weave through the formation, paying little mind to the firing of the bomber’s gunners as he picked away at them.

“Alright, it looks like they're not all talk,” Glider noted.

“I suppose I did underestimate them. Still, let's not be left-wait,” Rector stopped, noticing one of the bombers break away and turn around. “One of the bombers is leaving the battle.”

“Why would they leave after coming this far?”

“System malfunctions perhaps. Let them go, focus on the remaining formation.”

Glider did so as Rector kept an eye on the retreating bomber. Before he could continue on, he saw the red-winged Eagle dive down and fire a missile into the helpless enemy. The plane descended into a death dive as the pilot turned back to the main engagement.

“Only mercenaries would shoot down a plane that's out of commission,” Rector fumed to himself.

Glider continued forward but the number of remaining enemies was rapidly diminishing as the two F-15Cs cut down their targets with missile and gun. She selected another Badger off to the right and locked on, firing and destroying the aircraft. It would turn out to be the final kill for the Equestrians as the final target was felled by the lead mercenary plane.

“All enemy bombers confirmed down, operation complete,” the AWACS announced.

“Alright, we did it!” Night Glider celebrated. “That wasn’t too bad, huh?”

“You did well, Galm team. Far better than I originally thought,” Rector apologized.

“Just remember where you are when you’re up here and save the judgement for later. Talking doesn’t mean much if you can’t back it up,” Pixy replied. “Your friend did well though. She’s got potential.”

“What about your squadron leader? He doesn’t talk nearly as much as you,” Glider observed.

“Don’t worry about that. Cipher and I are going to get along just fine, huh buddy?”

Rector and Glider returned home after the engagement. For Rector, the first taste of combat felt experimental to him. Glider had taken it fine, better than he thought she would. He, on the other hoof, had an odd feeling of being out of place. It was clear that these humans were much different than he originally thought.

He tried to relax after the battle, eating a salad only to kill time as he felt his body calm down from the rigors of flight. Colonel Ulrich, the leader of the 94th Fighter Squadron, passed him in the mess with a drink before turning to talk to him. Rector had not spoken to him much, only on terms of business, and he assumed that would be the same reason this time.

“How did the mission go?” he asked.

“Perfectly. All targets were destroyed, no casualties.”

“Excellent!” the Colonel said with a beaming smile. “It’s good to bring in some victories. We’re in real need of them right now. It’s good to see you ponies are taking to combat well, too.”

“Thank you,” the Equestrian replied, leaving out the assistance they had from the mercenary team. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I suppose? I just thought I would ask. I heard it was a success but I wanted to hear how well,” Ulrich explained. “I’ll admit though, it’s a little odd getting to understand you. Ponies I mean. Not in a bad way, just strange trying to understand something so different. I think it’s good to keep up when it comes to combat though.”

The American relaxed back and brought the drink to his mouth. Rector was having some difficulty understanding just what he meant, and instead waited until he was finished. The Equestrian watched the man chug down the cup of what looked to be coffee in one large gulp, setting the empty cup on the table. Ulrich did not so much as flinch as he went back to smiling and waiting for a response.

“Is there anything you would like to know?” asked Rector. “What’s confusing you?”

“Yes, I suppose… well one of the things is naming. It seems a bit weird to me. I’ve certainly heard plenty of odd human names but yours are different. Same language as us but different. Kind of alien. Though I guess that fits, huh?” Ulrich went on. “Would you mind telling me about your name? What it means?”

“It is not a name really, not in the normal sense for ponies,” Rector explained vaguely. “More of a… a title.”

“Like how a knight is called ‘Sir’?”

“Not quite. I suppose it could serve as both a name and title. It seems closer to a royal heir being given a previous name. Similar to… let's say Louis the Fourteenth, an example from your world. Certainly his name but named for those before him, as a title almost, passed down the line.”

“So you're royalty then?”

“It may be better for me to explain the origin itself.”

“Yeah, that sounds better.”

“Long ago, before the three tribes of ponies United to form the modern Equestrian nation, there was a king, King Golden Chisel, who ruled a great state city-state consisting of many races that came to and fro and passed through on the roads the city lay on. That city, Manedus, grew incredibly large and wealthy because of those roads and the trade and travel that took place on them.

“Eventually an invasion came, a group of Minotaurs who desired to control the city. The king sent out a call to the surrounding lands to form an army. Not all answered but some of the greatest families did, and the army consisted of ponies of all races. The battle was won, and the city’s independence secured; this was the first time ponies of all three kinds joined together in such close fashion.

“Our board game, our chess, was made in recognition of that battle. That is how it came to be in our world. The major pieces were all based on some of the major clans that fought in it.”

“And yours were rooks, huh?”

“Rooks were based on ours, yes. Since then our family has passed on a collection of titles as names. I was given ‘Rector’, while my brothers and sisters were given synonymous titles.”

“You've got a very unique reputation to carry on don't you?” Maurice said.

“It was not the last time such a gathering happened,” Rector continued. “A similar event took place decades later, and understandably many more answered the call to rally. These volunteers were given new pieces in various forms of chess that came up over the years. Ferz, Nightriders, and many others.”

“Are they still around, like you?”

“Of course. Once Equestria came to be the city was annexed into the new country. There was less a need for such rallies but the families continued their lineage and were honorable guards of Equestria. They are doubtless still around, if they have not been killed yet, though I could not tell you where. Scattered amongst the armed forces probably.”

“And what about your family? Those brothers and sisters you mentioned.”

“I haven't heard from them in some time,” the Pony replied without thinking first. “I… haven't seen them in a few years.”

“From the war?”

“No… no not directly. That's not the real reason.”

“Some kind of falling out?”

“No, not that either. It was a choice I made that separated me from them. A journey, more of a mistake. One I would prefer to keep to myself.”

“Oh, sorry to pry. I'll do that sometimes without noticing. One of my lesser habits.”

“Yes, it's a private matter.”

“Sorry,” Ulrich repeated. “How did your friend Glider do in her first fight?”

“She performed well, and I'm glad for that.”

“That's good. I know you two stick pretty close.”

“I try to look after her. She's a lonely sort, and I've been with her for some time now”

“Is she alright? To be honest with you I've heard a few rumors going around from the ponies around here.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Various kinds. She doesn't talk much about her past either, no one seems to know about it. So naturally plenty of theories have sprung up regarding it,” the human explained. "Secret political organizations, cultic rituals. The most prevalent seems to be that she's actually a Changeling spy, considering she came out of nowhere and jumped right into the Air Force.”

“Hmpf, this gossip is never different. No more than fanciful ideas concocted in the heads of the imaginatively paranoid to explain what they do not know themselves,” Rector answered angrily. “But I can assure you that Night Glider is not a Changeling.”

“I believe you, but I’m not the one-“ Ulrich stopped as he felt his small phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out to answer. “Hello? Yeah...okay. Where to? Alright get everyone to briefing room four. I’ll meet you there.”

The American shoved the phone in his pocket again and stood from the table.

“Sorry, have to scramble. Canterlot’s under attack again and they need help.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry we’ll take care of things. You take care of yourself and your wingmen, Captain Rector.”

With that Ulrich headed off in at a brisk pace, leaving Rector with an empty coffee cup and his thoughts once more.

Author's Note

Kind of wanted to expand on the lore of Equestria here, hope it was interesting.

Knife Fight in the Capitol

April 19th, 2006
1600 Hours
Canterlot, Equestria

In the brief interlude between attacks, the squadrons based near Canterlot for its defense were reassigned, with some other units coming to take the place of those that had been exhausted and crippled. However, there would be no reprieve for the city. Those stationed squadrons that needed to be were retreated, and as the first of the reinforcements came in another attack arrived, this time from the Changeling Air Force.

Ulrich did not know what the situation was like or how widespread the damage was, only that the call had been put out to his squadron scramble. A short briefing during the flight said that there was an expansive dogfight occurring over the city and that their mission was to support the struggling locals and drive back the enemy. That left him and his Alpha Flight of F-22 Raptors from the 94th, along with another flight from a separate squadron, to clean up whatever mess was in motion.

“Whiskey, have we got any idea on how many bandits are over the capitol?” his wingman asked.

“No exact number but it sounds like a lot,” he replied. “Don’t worry Soda, we’ll take care of them no problem.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Just some extra work for you, huh?”

“Just some extra targets, lead.”

“That’s the mentality I want to hear,” Ulrich complimented. “Alright we’re coming up on Canterlot. It’s a big furball so we have to get in close and get them off any friendly aircraft. Ready? Let’s get going!”

The Raptors arrived over the city to see multiple aircraft engaged in a tight air battle over the urban sectors. Changeling Flankers chased groups of American and Equestrian fighters as the air filled with explosions from impacting missiles. The 94th would have to move in close, rescue their allies, and gain control of the situation and the sky over Canterlot. It would negate the stealth and surprise, the Raptor’s greatest strength, but it was the kind of fight Ulrich relished.

Naturally he dived in first, followed by his wingman and several other Raptors. His first target was an Su-27, painted in blue and white and flying amongst the skyscrapers. Ulrich was conscious of his fire missing and striking civilians in the buildings, perhaps the reason for the Changeling’s flying tactic, but as the Flanker fired a cannon burst into one of the buildings this fear seemed to evaporate.

The Raptor closed onto the tail of it’s prey, firing a burst from it’s own cannon and striking the Changeling. The enemy pilot, now keenly aware he was under attack, dared to fly closer to the buildings. Ulrich fired again and, as feared before, a few of the rounds hit the corner of a building as well as his target. The Flanker began to smoke and lurched up, turning to its side in a change of course. Ulrich saw another Raptor chasing another enemy as the Changelings banked hard.

“Whiskey watch it! He’s going to hit that building!”

Seeing it first as a danger to the skyscraper and the civilians inside before a threat to himself, Ulrich continued his pursuit and fired another long burst at the struggling Flanker, causing an explosion of it’s right wing ordinance. The eruption sent the remains off in the opposite direction away from the building while Ulrich saw bits of metal and drops of oil and fuel hit his nose. The accompanying F-22 did the same, daring to fire a missile and sending his target upwards as it crashed through a billboard and struck the radio tower at the top, spraying the pursuer’s belly with fragments in the process.

“Shit is that plane alright?” he asked. “Warwolf One are you okay? What’s your status?”

“I took some shrapnel. Engines are good but the stick feels a little sluggish,” the pilot answered. “I’m going to run a flight check. Guts, watch my rudder.”

“Magic to Spad, Thunder squadron is engaged with multiple bandits near you. Move to assist them first.”

“That’s us Soda! We’ll take the ones tailing the lead, Alpha Flight pick your targets from the ones going after Thunder Squadron, and make sure you kill it!”

In the chaos of the dogfight it was difficult to pick out friend from foe at a mere glance, and without the IFF giving off friendly identification signals it would be nearly impossible. The Equestrian F-16s brawling with the Changeling fighters did their best to stay alive, though their numbers dwindled. The arrival of the Raptors finally gave them a respite as they attracted the enemy’s attention by plucking their craft from the sky in a swift manner. Ulrich picked out the Falcon being pursued by two Flankers that was designated as Thunder team’s leader and directed his focus to them.

“Thunder One, Spad One. Break to your right and we can get those bandits off you.”

“Copy!”

The Falcon did as instructed as Ulrich turned his plane over, dropping behind the two Flankers as one of them peeled off.

“Go after that one Soda, I’ll get the leader!”

Refusing to be shaken off his target, the Changeling Flanker continued on in spite of the danger. This only made him easier to kill, allowing Ulrich to lock on with one of his heat-seeking missiles easily, firing and striking the jet. The aircraft lurched and careened before falling apart completely in a jagged mess of metal and fire. The wingman died in similar fashion, falling to Spad Two’s missile shortly after breaking away.

“You good Thunder lead?”

“Yeah, thanks. Continuing to engage,” Thunderlane acknowledged.

“There’s no shortage of bad guys lining up to strike Canterlot,” Soda observed. “What’d you guys do back on your world to piss everyone off so much?”

“Switch over to one of their channels and you can ask them yourself. They’re fond of arguing over the radio.”

“Later Two,” Ulrich cut in. “Thunder, there any other units we need to help out?”

“Compass squadron got scattered all to the North and East.”

“Alright they’re next. Reorganize your team and keep the this airspace secure. Spad Squadron, shift focus to the Northeast and assist Compass Squadron,” he ordered. “Magic, most of Thunder is clear. Spad is shifting to assist Compass, over.”

“Understood. Warwolf is helping Tiger flight and engaging enemy aircraft over the central sector of the city. Hurry and clear out any remaining hostiles before the next wave arrives.”

“Will do, out!”

The Raptors of the 94th redirected their focus again, charging off individually to the rescue. The air battle continued to rage overhead even as the number of Changeling fighters was dropping sharply. Canterlot, having already suffered from two previous raids, was suffering additional damage from the falling planes and missing shots hitting the buildings. The city itself was suffering greatly in the first days of the war.

Still, some inhabitants were able to catch glimpses of the Raptors flying through the sky, each marked on the tail and sporting a ringed top hat in red, white, and blue. The sudden appearance of the F-22s overhead made for a dazzling powerful sight. Long championed as the best fighter jet the Americans had, it was quickly showing it’s worth. Every target one latched onto seemed doomed, and any Raptor that was itself hit was only done with an extraordinary amount of luck and effort on the part of several Changelings.

Ulrich pulled behind the Flanker tailing Compass’ team leader, this time without announcement. This enemy was more reactive than the previous one, however, and broke off almost as soon as he had latched on. Making some extreme turns, the Flanker led him back towards the towers, lowering the altitude as usual, and attempting to shake away the American.

“You need some help Whiskey?” asked his wingman.

“I’ll get him, you break off and hunt down another one! Stay offensive!”

As Soda left to do so, the Changeling dove off among the buildings, very nearly clipping one of the skyscrapers as he passed and turned around it. Ulrich edges outward to give himself a wide berth and reduce the risk of striking the building. As he passed, he noticed the Flanker, still in a sharper turn, had dropped speed greatly. Seconds later the Raptor passed the Changeling, handing over the advantage as well.

“Damn!” Ulrich swore, immediately increasing the throttle and pulling the nose up. “Alright not bad. Let’s see how you do higher up.”

The Raptor pulled higher into the open sky, away from the dangers of the lower level, with the Changeling pursuing dedicatedly. Ulrich saw some tracers fly past his plane, but none were close enough to present a danger. Wasting no time, the F-22 began to turn and bob back and forth, making it difficult for the Changeling to hit him. Ulrich continued the Rolling Scissors and, after two more turn-reversals, gave a final barrel roll that caused the Flanker to overshoot him in turn, meandering over and past the Raptor. With nothing to hide behind, Ulrich easily gained a lock with one of his missiles and fired, killing the jet without giving it time to react.

“Magic, Spad One. Can I get a SITREP? I don’t see any other bandits in my area.”

“Affirmative Spad One. Still some on the outlying areas but the city center is clean.”

“Soda, area is secured. I think we’ve rallied most of our people. Does Compass team still look combat effective? I can’t tell from here,” Ulrich asked as he leveled his plane.

“Affirmative, looks like they took some losses but but we just need to reorganize them.”

“Compass One this is Spad One, are you alright over?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright,” Star responder shakily.

“Well are you hit? Low on fuel or ammo? The fight is still going on we need everyone in the game, now can you fight?”

“No! No I’m not hit I mean. I can still fly I guess.”

“Well then get the rest of your squadron back into formation,” the human ordered. “Magic, what’s the ETA on those bombers?”

“Unknown but more fast movers are approaching, all fighters. There’s still a number of bandits in the surrounding area but we’ve secured a circular airspace in the area above the governmental and more urban areas of the city,” Magic reported. “Focus on keeping that area secured, don’t get spread out. If we can do that for a little longer we can get more reinforcements to you and we might turn the incoming bomber formation back before it even gets here.”

“Spad One! The enemy fighters are still flying close to the ground and over the densest areas of Canterlot,” Thunderlane warned. “Even if they’re shot down the wreckage will cause more damage and casualties! We can’t even let them get inside our perimeter!”

“Okay, everybody calm down!” Ulrich demanded. “Here’s what we’ll do. My team will take the rest of the USAF units out and engage them early. All REAF units will hang back here and finish any that slip through. Got it? Good! Soda on me, Alpha Flight get going.”

“Spad One be advised Warwolf and Tiger flights are already engaging bandits on the southern edge of the city. You push out that far you’re on your own,” the AWACS warned.

“Noted, we’ll be fine,” Ulrich brushed off, returning to focus on his own squadron’s fight.

Now away from the close-in dogfight, the Raptors were able to utilize the stealth that made them so difficult to detect over the radar. The approaching enemy fighters were allowed to come closer and closer to the city as the F-22s hid high and low in ambush, unseen by the enemy. Finally, at Whiskey’s word, the remaining five fighters assailed their foes all at once.

The Changeling Flankers, flying fast to finish off their foes in what seemed to be a winning battle, suddenly found themselves under fire from multiple directions. They received the warnings of incoming radar-guided missiles well before seeing the jets that fired them. With AMRAAMs coming from in front and both sides, both up and down, the formation quickly fell apart.

First one Flanker fell, then another, then two more, and then a fifth. Though outnumbered, the shock and confusion the Americans implemented easily degraded the Changeling squadron’s numerical advantage. The 94th’s fighters now moved in to pick off the scattered stragglers, giving some the only real look at their deadly ambushers. Some of the remaining Changelings, not sure of where the enemy was, simply continued towards the city in hopes of finding them. Instead they would be met by the surviving Equestrian F-16s, engaging them as they penetrated the city’s airspace.

The 94th’s fight devolved into another, smaller short-ranged dogfight, and once the Changelings realized what was happening they proved more difficult to kill as they tried to fight back. For about eight minutes the ‘knife fight’ played out as the pilots on both sides tried to outlast each-other. Ulrich himself spent most of the time tailing a single Flanker that somehow, through countermeasures, hard maneuvers, and luck, managed to dodge his last three missiles, leaving him only with his guns. The American suddenly saw his opponent turn and dive, afterburners leaving marks of fire, running back to the west as fast as he could. Ulrich pursued before his wingman informed him that the remaining Su-27s were doing the same.

“Magic, this is Spad One. Bandits are breaking off the fight and retreating. Have we got anymore incoming? What’s the ETA on those bombers?”

“Bombers have turned around Spad. Rest of the bandits are on the run, too,” the AWACS operator informed him. “Nickel Squadron has arrived on station, they’ll take up guard duties from here. You’re free to RTB.”

“That’s it? Just like that? I was expecting more,” Ulrich said to himself before checking on his pilots. “Alpha Flight lead, status report. How many did we lose, over?”

“We lost two in the fight over the city earlier lead. One-Four and One-Five got hit, I don’t think they had time to punch out either.”

“It hurts to lose them, but we hurt the enemy much worse. Everyone back to base; we need to refuel and rearm. We might be needed somewhere else.”

After a short and uneventful patrol, Captain Keith found himself slinking quietly into a local sports bar frequented by many Navy personnel once the sun had set into another warm Hawaiian evening. It was relatively uncrowded on this night, and most of the noise came from the news on the television reporting on the war and matters concerning continental America. He had not had a drink since the war started, and it was starting to get to him, but he could relax just a bit tonight as he took a seat at the bar across from the normal bartender, a thirty-year old man named Matt with long, black hair that ran all the way down his back. Two other Navy officers were next to him, already well into their drinks and conversing in a rather jovial manner.

“Evening Captain Keith. How'd the patrol go?” the bartender asked.

“Pretty well all things considered. Had to pick up a Hornet pilot that bailed from a malfunction but he came off okay. Thought we were tracking an enemy sub for a while but it turned out to be one of our own.”

“Well that's good to hear. Ah, sorry, let me introduce you to the guys I was talking to,” the bartender remembered. “Guys this is Captain Raleigh Keith of the Audie Murphy. Keith the guy next to you is Captain Whitfield from the Rickenbacker. The short one next to him is Lieutenant Commander Cox from the Laboon.”

“Nice to meet you,” greeted Whitfield.

“Stop calling me short you dick!” Cox shot back, getting only a laugh from the civilian.

“Just want your usual beer Keith?” he asked.

“Yeah, please,” Raleigh said, turning back to Whitfield. “How’s the war been treating you guys so far?

“Not bad actually.”

“Have your ships gone out?”

“Yeah, the Ricky was out of the harbor the night the war started. We got lucky and caught a Foxtrot prowling around about forty miles south of Pearl,” Whitfield said proudly.

“We were out in the south when the war started. About twenty miles near Howland Island,” the Laboon’s Commander added. “Got told to get back here quick, but we haven’t run into anything yet. Some of us aren’t as lucky as Whitfield.”

“Seeing action is lucky?” Keith asked.

“Hey don’t think of giving me the whole ‘don’t know how bad action is’ speech. He’s lucky cause as soon as the war broke out he got the jump on an enemy sub and killed it without any trouble. That’s lucky.”

“We were keeping eyes on her for a while,” Whitfield admitted. “Probably didn’t think we’d noticed her. But as soon as we heard about the attack and got the clearance we put an ASROC right on top of her. Textbook stuff.”

“I had a Looney from the Chung-Hoon in here earlier,” the bartender added, returning with Keith’s bottle. “Said they'd gotten jumped by a sub that shot a torpedo at them and escaped while they were trying to dodge it. It didn't hit but Christ, poor dude looked scared as Hell, all shaky and pale looking. I thought he was going to drink himself to death.”

“The war’s just started and it's doing some really weird things. Some really fucked up things,” Cox pointed out as he started on his third bottle. “We’re all going to be alcoholics if we survive this.”

“You get a lot of officers in here, huh?” Keith asked the bartender.

“You all are to blame. I guess one day everyone in the Navy got together and decided to turn this place into the officer’s club, because I haven't seen a regular grunt in a while. Least not one that was in uniform.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ve got their own hole-in-the-wall,” Whitfield assured his fellow officer. “I know I did when I was a young enlisted boy. So here’s to us for now.”

Keith took his first long, bitter drink in silent agreement; it would be the first of many for the evening.

Author's Note

It's weird that I write mostly on my phone as of late. In the odd intervals when I'm away and at a break and think of something, it's odd. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed reading.

Up Alta Fjord

April 20th, 2006
1130 Hours
Brumbay Field, Equestria

Source

“Alright I know it's crowded in here but please try and make space!” Cole shouted as the small briefing room filled with pilots. “Can everyone standing in the back hear me? Good, let's get right to it.”

All of the squadron leaders filed in until the seats were filled and the back wall was lined.

“Info is still sketchy as it's coming in, but the war is off to a rough start,” he began. “For right now we need to focus on our area. And we have plenty of stuff to keep us occupied.”

“On top of all their other operations, the Bloc naval forces are attempting to invade. Now that the Navy's been disabled, they're using their own surface warships to conduct amphibious landings. From the looks of it they're trying to outflank the Papa Line as their ground forces advance to keep the men on the line pinned down,” Cole explained. “There's two battlegroups, one in the north and the other in the south. The northern one is heading our way.”

“Do we have anyone that can stop the southern one Captain?”

“That's the good news Sir, it already has been,” the Air Force pilot answered. “A Navy sub got the jump on them in transit and torpedoed the flagship. We think it was the battlecruiser Veil; rest of the group turned around after it went down and failed to catch the submarine.”

“Hooooo-yah!” one of the Hornet pilots exclaimed in a fit of pride, joined by a chorus of similar chants from the Navy pilots.

“Yeah, that still leaves north group for us to deal with,” Cole continued. “Good news is they probably don't think this base is heavily manned, and whatever's here might be dead from the bombing raid. Probably why they picked Brumbay. They won't be expecting serious resistance.

“Unfortunately we don’t have an ample reserve of anti-ship missiles. There’s only enough Harpoons for one volley, and even then not enough to fill every Hornet. There’s no doubt the enemy SAG will spearhead the operation so we can’t go around to hit the amphibious ships. Only proposal I have with these limited munitions is to have the Navy planes go up and fire them off, do as much damage as we can. Their air cover is unknown but my squadron can assist the F-14s in escorting them. I’m open to any suggestions from you Navy guys, you’d know better with this, but I can’t think of very much.”

"You've got HARMs, we can do some damage with that if it comes down to it," a Growler pilot added. "But getting that close is dangerous and wouldn't do much.... I don't think it'd be worth it."

“Yeah, there’s not a lot we can do with so few missiles,” one of the Hornet pilots confirmed.

“What about the Strike Eagles?” one of the F-15E pilots asked

“I’ve got something for you, Sir, but I don’t know if I could ask it of you and your men.”

“The Hell are you talking about?”

“We can load your planes up with regular AGMs but to launch them you’d have to get real close. Even at max range you’ll be well within reach of their AA missiles. Even then there’s no guarantee they’d hit or be very effective against the ships. It’s damn-near suicidal.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it either. Come up with something better if you can.”

“I’m sorry Sir, I can’t think of very much… we don’t have a lot of anti-ship capability. I’m open to suggestions but… I don’t want to leave your men out but I don’t want to get them killed either.”

“Is there a way we can get around the enemy AA? Maybe neutralize it first?”

“Not that I can see, Sir. We’ll have the Growlers up there but their jamming isn’t going to cut it. We don’t have enough missiles to kill all their warships either,” the Captain went on, stopping to think for a minute. “Maybe we can keep you in reserve. We’ll be focusing on the warships, so when or if the enemy tries to land you’ll be able to hit them. AGM’s should be more effective against landing ships, and especially against amphibious IFVs and landing craft.”

“That’s better. I could go for that.”

“Thank you, Sir. Are there any further questions? If not then we’re dismissed, let's get with our squads and hash everything out. I’d suggest we meet again before we launch to go over everything.”

Hours later the diverse formation of aircraft formed up over their airfield and turned north, heading over the water towards their foes. Far ahead of them was a powerful flotilla of the Royal Griffon Navy, centered around one of their prideful, well-armed juggernauts and covered by a meek patrol of fighters. Well out of visual sight the American E-3 was tracking the formation, relaying information to the jets and attempting to identify the advancing warships.

“We’re trying to match the signals now. Patterns are saying it's a battlecruiser, probably the Tiger,” Spyglass warned.

“That's bad, those things are based on the Kirovs,” Oscar pointed out. “They have a shit ton of missiles on them.”

“Hornets are lining up for volley launch now. Raider and Marauder teams will be in range shortly.”

“Alright, let's light up the bandits,” Felix’s commander ordered. “Eagle team, move in to engage. Felix will hit them from range and break them up. Move in and finish off any of the survivors while they're suppressed, understood?”

“Eagle One, copies you Felix lead. WILCO, out.”

The F-15s struck out towards the Griffon aircraft as the Phoenix missiles flew past them. The MiGs, not expecting such long-range attacks, were quickly disorganized as two of them fell from the sky. The four survivors were dealt with quickly by the Air Force planes, using liberal amounts of AMRAAMs from medium range.

As the meager Griffon CAP was swept aside, the Hornet Strike team pushed ever closer to their launch point. The ECM Growlers accompanied them closely, providing what protection they could with their jammers. The formation of Navy planes moved into range of the enemy missiles to better the odds of scoring hits with their own weapons. The Griffon vessels held their fire, continuing to search with radar and trying to burn through the jamming to find their targets.

The Griffons managed to get a track on them at roughly the same time the Hornets fired, with each aircraft dropping their Harpoons and turning away. The warships began to erupt with their own missiles, launching them wildly in hopes of catching their attackers and stopping the incoming ordinance.

Several missiles did lock on to aircraft, but as they turned away most were able to avoid them. Still, a sole Hornet was struck by a SAM and disintegrated as it flew over the waves to escape, further reducing the already painfully small number of survivors from the Vinson’s Hornets. The Growlers, being hard to track and hit, dallied longer to further guide the missiles in before retiring, with another large volley of missiles catching one of them and bringing the Americans their second loss of the day.

The Griffon ships now tried to focus what little time they had left on destroying the Harpoons, but not having expected the threat they were in a poor readiness to do so. Most all of the ASM’s targeting computers selected the Tiger due to its large size as SAMs began to rapidly pick away their numbers.

Only two of the Harpoons got through to hit their target. The first struck the upper deck of the Tiger on the bow ahead of the missile cells. The second passed along and struck the side of the hull midway to the stern, exploding and damaging the ship, but striking in such a way that caused no armor penetration and thus no major damage. None of the other Griffon vessels were hit either, with the battlecruiser being the only one to take damage, and none of it critical.

“I think we can register two hits on the big guy,” Spyglass informed. “Unlikely they caused much damage. Looks like the formation is turning a bit but no other reaction.”

“We’ve done all we can, then,” Cole lamented. “Felix, it might be best to return to base and get everyone ready. I want to stick around with my guys and watch for any other bandits that enter the AO.”

“Sounds good, Eagle. Make sure to reduce your distance as their formation closes so you don’t get in missile range. Felix out.”

The remaining Navy jets began their return to the airfield as the F-15s remained on guard. For another twelve minutes they observed the Griffon fleet, unable to do anything to it. Cole began to imagine what the upcoming battle would be like, and what they could possibly do. A sudden report from Spyglass put an end to that worry.

“All units be advised, the enemy formation’s turn has sharpened considerably! It looks like they're doing a complete one-eighty!” the AWACS called.

“They're retreating? Why?” Oscar wondered out loud. “They've got to be redeploying or trying something different. Why would they run?”

“Ha! We’ve bluffed them into turning around!” Cole shouted. “They weren't expecting any Navy jets. They must have thought we still had a flattop backing us up!”

“That might be it, looks like we got lucky. We’d better head back and keep an eye out for any more. If they think a carrier is in the area they’ll start combing the area like crazy looking for one.”

In spite of everything, the remainder of the day passed without incident. The Griffon invasion force continued it’s retreat to safe waters nearer to home. No further Bloc aircraft attempted to venture into the area, reconnaissance or otherwise. It was not known if Cole’s theory was right, if the enemy believed an aircraft carrier to be present near Brumbay, but it was clear that they had been stopped. It was a victory, and nothing could take away from that.

It was especially elating for Cole as he relaxed against the side of a hangar, basking in the victory and the afternoon sun. Having been prepared for an exceptionally bloody stand against the Griffon marine force, this development was far better than he could have hoped. There were still plenty of other issues to worry about, but such an important accomplishment of this size gave a good deal of hope to him. It was far more impactful than engaging another bomber formation.

“Captain Cole!” Oscar spoke up, approaching from the hangar doors. “Glad I could find you here.”

“You needed something, Sir?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the help you and your boys provided. We won an important fight today, but… well this is more of a goodbye I guess,” the Tomcat pilot continued. “I got word back from the Enterprise and they’re in need of more pilots and aircraft. Considering her importance as of now, me and the rest of the Navy aircraft are going to be leaving ASAP for Baltimare.”

“It was good to have you here, Commander Oscar. God knows we couldn’t have held onto this place without you.”

“Just make sure you hang onto it after I’m gone.”

“Will do. And I’m glad you got a new home ship.”

“Yeah, me too. It’ll take some getting used to but she’s a good ship.”

“Well next time I’m up there I’ll give them one for the Vinson!” Cole promised.

“Good, and give them ten from me!” Oscar asked, reaching to shake his hand. “You be careful out there.”

“Yes Sir, you too,” the Air Force Captain agreed before stopping again. “Oh Sir-I, uh… I’m sorry to ask but it’s a little important to me. I didn’t really think about it until lately. On your flight up here, did you happen to stop at Everfree Air Base? Near Ponyville?”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Ah, well you… didn’t hear anything about how it was during the first attacks, did you?”

“Not much. I heard it got hit hard but was still operational. Local squadrons turned back the enemy raid. Equestrian and American. I heard the Ponies actually fought pretty well there alongside our guys. Bit of a standout from the rest of their units. That help you any?”

“Did they? Standouts huh?” Cole mused. “Yes Sir, that tells me what I needed to know. Thank you.”

“No problem Captain. Here’s hoping we get through this mess in one piece.”

“I hope I can find you again, you take care up there,” said Cole, looking back to the sky as Oscar headed off and left him to his thoughts once more. “Guess you are still kicking up there Dash.”

Author's Note

Running the Gauntlet (TotallyNotABrony)

April 21st, 2006
21:63 Hours
Yokosuka, Japan

Source

Tippecanoe had been prepared to sail with an amphibious group before being detached for a patrol just outside Japanese waters. Discovering a Shadow Pony ship and a Changeling submarine - and sinking them - had sent her back to harbor for an after-action report and rearming.

It was an agonizing wait while resources were gathered to sweep the surrounding waters. Seventh Fleet command wanted no more nasty surprises. Neither did Captain Hart.

However it was somewhat unexpected that Hart found himself and his ship tasked with new orders to rejoin another group – a carrier strike group.

The aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan had been hit in the initial strikes. Limping to port with no remaining escorts, it was a miracle the carrier had made it at all. Now, Reagan was getting underway to transit back to the United States’ west coast. Damaged in the initial strike, and with no Japanese ports large enough to handle the repair or willing to draw the attention of the Arcaian Defense Bloc, the only option was to brave a hostile ocean and return home for overhaul.

The carrier was not completely useless. One deck catapult still worked and the arresting gear cables could be easily replaced from spares carried aboard. There were a handful of fighters in working condition. By itself, however, the ship would be quickly overwhelmed by any dedicated attack.

That was where Tippecanoe and two destroyers – Barry and Stout– came in. If they moved fast enough, the group could outrun just about any Bloc ship or submarine. For aircraft, the three protecting ships carried some of the most sophisticated anti-air systems ever deployed.

However, the Bloc had already shown their hand and they weren’t bluffing. This was war, and even the United States Navy was on the defensive. Their objective was not to fight, only to get Reagan back to the US.

It was difficult to hide the disappearance of three ships from harbor and easy to guess the destination of a damaged US carrier. The Reagan strike group left Japan without fanfare, and headed east with as much speed as could be sustained.

The nuclear carrier could run at more than thirty five knots indefinitely. Tippecanoe struggled to reach that speed, and the destroyers couldn’t do much past thirty. More pressing a concern, the three smaller ships needed to refuel periodically.

The carrier held more than three million gallons of jet fuel aboard. Damaged as it was, Reagan would be crossing the ocean with a bare half of its air wing. The other aircraft had been left in Japan to help with the fight there. With the lack of flight operations, the extra fuel could be pumped off to feed the hungry turbine engines of the escort ships. They could burn JP-5 just as well as diesel.

But even without needing to stop for resupply, it would take an agonizingly long time to cross the ocean – time that the ships would be vulnerable to strikes from the Bloc. With the Americans and their allies knocked back, the Bloc probably had the confidence to make use of the sea control they had gained.

Hart was confident in his ship’s abilities, but still felt concerned about the mission ahead. Out on the open ocean, if an attack came, there was no way to get reinforcements. The fight had to be won using only the courage and training of the crew and the resources they carried aboard.

The trip was planned to last ten days. The Pacific was simply too large to cross any faster. It was certainly large enough to accommodate a whole new continent like Arcaia. However, Hart thought, as the carrier group got underway, it might not be big enough for the Bloc.

He was not a strategist. Despite his paygrade, such decisions were made far above him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what the Bloc’s goals could be. They publicly wanted to overtake Equestria. Secretly, could they be aspiring to even more? Was their strike against human countries outside their island the prelude to something greater?

That thought served to harden Hart’s resolve. Even if the Bloc wasn’t planning to invade the United States or its allies, they still had to be stopped. The endgame was difficult to perceive from the bridge of his ship, where only placid blue ocean could be seen, but on a tactical level, Hart had already decided that, mission permitting, he would not hold back engaging the enemy when the opportunity presented itself. They wanted war, and they would get it.

War was often a contradictory thing, however. Despite the purposefulness and resolve of the American public after being attacked, the Reagan carrier group left Japan quietly. Emissions control was in effect. All electronics were turned off and would be for the duration of the trip. There were obvious downsides to EMCON, but the major advantage was that it would hide the formation of ships from anything but a random encounter by the enemy. They could be detected, but only if enemy forces got close enough to actually hear them or see them on radar. Without any electronic emissions to mark their passage, there would be no cues to vector in an attack.

The Bloc did not possess significant shore based radar stations. Their technology was improving through imports of military equipment from Russia and China, but they could not detect ships several hundred miles from their coast.

Running in EMCON hid the American ships, but unfortunately meant that they were mostly blind. Not totally, just mostly. They could still detect the low powered navigational radar of merchant ships and steer clear. They also received message traffic sent from US satellites. Occasionally, they would risk a burst transmission, but that was carefully controlled. The Russians and the Chinese had certainly shown willingness to cooperate with the Bloc. It was not out of the realm of possibility for them to share their electronic intercepts, either.

The days passed slowly as the strike group steamed east between Alaska and Arcaia, taking a route as direct as possible while still keeping their distance from threats. No connectivity meant no contact with the outside word. Hart tried to relax, to make the time go by, but knew he couldn’t. He kept rereading order of battle reports for the Bloc military and trying to pick out patterns that intelligence analysts hadn’t already discovered, anything to keep his mind engaged and in the fight.

The third day, a priority message arrived.

APR 212103Z INDICATIONS OF MULTIPLE TU-22 BACKFIRE TAKING OFF FROM GOLDENSHORE AIRFIELD

The Backfire bombers were Soviet equipment either bought or copied from Russia. Goldenshore was in Griffon territory, and it was usual for their strike aircraft to conduct maritime patrols. The Backfire could carry powerful anti-ship missiles.

The message’s sources were not clearly stated. The information could have been obtained from overhead satellites, intercepted communications, or some other national sensor. How it was acquired was not as important as the content.

Hart hesitated, but decided to stay passive. The launching bombers could just be a training mission. If they were, and especially if they weren’t, then activating his ship’s radar would only draw attention. The downside was that if the Bloc aircraft launched missiles at the ships, there would be very little warning.

Hart was the air warfare coordinator for the carrier group. The duty naturally fell to the Captain of the most capable air defense ship. He had the authority to order missiles fired from his ship and others. He could also order intercept fighters launched.

Having already been on alert, an F-14D Tomcat spotted on the carrier’s functioning catapult warmed up. Within ten minutes it launched, immediately followed by another. More jets were spotted for takeoff.

The fighters carried AIM-54 Phoenix missiles, the longest ranged air-to-air missiles in the world. However, the Tomcats stayed quiet with their radars off.

For three long hours, the sailors on Tippecanoe, the carrier, and the two destroyers manned general quarters. Everyone had their protective gear on and watertight hatches were shut.

But eventually the all clear came. The enemy bombers had returned to base. As if every crewman had heaved a relieved sigh, the spaces were set back to regular conditions and the stuffy compartments began to ventilate again.

The same exercise was repeated two days later, only this time it wasn’t a drill.

F-15C Eagles based in Alaska had been patrolling the airspace north of Arcaia. They had yet to venture into the continent for any offensive counter air operations, but that was a possibility for the future. At the moment, they made fine air coverage for the transiting carrier group. They were in place for the First Battle of the Aleutians.

It was a lookout on the top deck of the carrier’s island that first spotted the patrol boat. It was low on the horizon, but unmistakably a small, armed ship.

The surface warfare coordinator, Hart’s counterpart for sea-related combat, ordered Barry to engage. The destroyer took the range and launched weapons.

The small Osa boat never had a chance. A pair of SM-2 missiles in surface mode obliterated its topside and the boat was gone, the fireball sizzling out as it sank.

However, the enemy combatant had apparently managed to get an alert out. Minutes later, messages about bombers launching – more than a dozen of them – started to arrive.

“General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battlestations!”

They had been found, and now the primary task shifted to defense rather than concealment. Hart ordered every radar to be turned on. The powerful SPY-1A phased array radar aboard Tippecanoe and the slightly smaller SPY-1D sets aboard the destroyers began to light up the sky. The carrier moved to trail, staying quiet to let the smaller ships draw attention away. Meanwhile, Tomcats began to launch.

Coordination with the Air Force controllers took some time, but when the Eagles were within range, the ships should be able to pass them target information through datalinks. However, it was the Tomcats that drew first blood.

The two alert jets each carried a pair of Phoenix missiles. It was far from their maximum payload, but all they could carry of the large weapons while still maintaining decent range and performance. Turning south to face the threat, racing forward at maximum afterburner, they fired from a range of one hundred miles, scoring three kills on the bombers.

Following the missiles in, the Navy jets closed the distance, aiming to make use of their Sparrows and Sidewinders, and cannon if it came to that. However, the Backfires – all thirteen that remained – were already launching their heavy ship-killing missiles and turning to run for home.

Caught without targets and low on fuel after speeding to intercept, the Tomcats could only take potshots at the missiles as the pilots reluctantly turned back towards the carrier. One of the Sparrows actually made contact, but that still left twenty five enemy missiles - “vampires” - on the radar screen.

Coming from the north, the Eagles fired a volley of AIM-120 AMRAAMs, knocking out seven more of the enemy missiles. The jets had already overrun the speeding targets before they could fire again, so the Air Force planes set up a patrol line, unfortunately unable to do anything but guard against another enemy air attack.

With eighteen incoming missiles, Hart ordered weapons free. SM-2’s began to erupt from the launch cells of the three missile ships. The friendly aircraft drew off towards the east and west to deconflict.

The enemy missiles dropped low to the sea, skimming the waves for their final attack run. Their numbers were dropping as American shots exploded around them, but Hart gripped his chair as he watched the targets on the large screen display in CIC.

There was some lag in the display system, but that didn’t hide the fact that one missile still remained on course for Stout. When the two symbols merged, Hart heard the explosion, even deep in CIC.

“Eyes!” Hart ordered. In a moment, an external camera feed was on the screen. Stout was engulfed in smoke.

Knowing the damage reports would come, Hart ordered the radar operators to keep searching. The surface warfare coordinator ordered Barry to come alongside the damaged Stout to lend assistance. The enemy missile had hit the aft superstructure, putting half the engines out of commission and knocking several systems offline.

As the damage was still being assessed, one of the crewman in the CIC yelled a warning. “Volcano – active missile seeker bearing one three six true!”

Another sea-skimming missile had come over the horizon to the southeast, this one apparently fired from a ship, as no airplane had been detected. It was close enough that the missile had gone active and was searching for a target.

Barry turned sharply and raced to get clear for defensive weapons firing. The damaged Stout, weapons offline, took the hit. This missile impacted further forward and lower than the last, cracking the hull and throwing a fireball into the air that rose higher than the mast.

Confusion and panic reigned for a moment before Hart grabbed up the microphone, ordering the airborne Eagles to shift to the southeast and search for the launch platform. It was not strictly his jurisdiction, but they were under his tactical control.

Long minutes passed as Stout burned and sank lower in the water. Reagan had pulled alongside, but even with water hoses it didn’t look like the destroyer would be salvaged. Helicopters were taking off to pick men from the water and Hart ordered both of Tippecanoe’s launched.

The Air Force pilots reported back. A small boat, perhaps another Osa was a few dozen miles over the horizon. The surface warfare controller immediately ordered them to strafe.

The F-15C was no ground attack jet, but their 20mm Vulcan cannons could do serious damage to a small 200-ton boat. Each Eagle made passes on it, and according to reporting from the pilots, an explosion blew the vessel apart.

“Good effect! We're also seeing some secondaries. Likely a few of the anti-ship missiles they were carrying went up.”

That was too bad for them. The old Termit missiles the Osas carried had thousand-pound warheads. If one of those went off, or even just the fuel, the boat was more than finished.

By this point, the Navy’s contribution to the fighters overhead were returning to the carrier. Ordering the other two ships to assist the damaged Stout, the carrier turned into the wind to recover the Tomcats.

That was when the Eagles reported radars on the horizon. The jets did not have sophisticated equipment for electronic signals collection, and it took a few minutes to get a rough bearing and some communication with the ships to determine what was out there.

To help with the efforts, the carrier launched an S-3 Viking. The only jet that specialized in surface warfare, the Viking carried weapons and sensors to attack ships.

But to be on the safe side, four F/A-18C Hornets armed with Harpoon anti-ship missiles were launched as quickly as their crews could climb aboard and roll to the catapult.

There had been precious little time to plan the mission, but between the surface and strike warfare coordinators, the group of jets formed up and headed out to find their targets. By that point, the position of the enemy ships had been crudely established.

The Eagles had begun to run low on fuel and had to turn back toward Alaska. The Navy jets pushed forward under the air coverage of Tippecanoe and Barry. The Viking set up station and was able to determine from signal characteristics that an enemy surface action group was inbound. The SAG apparently consisted of two old Kashin destroyers and an Krivak frigate. All were Russian designs, apparently bought to quickly increase the Griffon Navy’s numbers faster than building ships.

The Kashins were the bigger threat, able to carry SS-N-25 Switchblade missiles. They were somewhat inferior to the American Harpoon, but nothing to discount. They had to close to within seventy miles to employ them. But that wasn’t going to happen.

The four Hornets, each carrying four Harpoons, were ordered to attack the SAG. There was no time to pick precision targets, but with that many missiles split among three ships it didn’t matter.

The S-3 reported fireballs, even from over the horizon. A Hornet cautiously moved closer to assess damage with its FLIR pod. One of the Kashins was dead in the water with heavy damage after two hits. The other ships were completely out of action. The above-waterline missile hits wouldn’t immediately sink them, but the hulls were as good as scrap.

However, on the American side, Stout was in much the same condition. Hit by missiles considerably heavier than a Harpoon, she wasn’t going to make it the rest of the way. As many crew members as possible had been evacuated, and it was time for the rest of the strike group to leave before the Bloc launched another attack. The surface warfare coordinator ordered Tippecanoe to sink her damaged fellow to avoid anything sensitive falling into enemy hands.

The pair of five inch guns on Tippecanoe’s deck swung outboard. At close range, there was no way they would miss. Hart reluctantly authorized the gunners to fire.

A few dozen rounds hitting the waterline made a noticeable difference and within two minutes, Stout was already listing at forty five degrees. The ship kept taking on water, rolling beneath the waves before the rest of the group was over the horizon.

From an attrition standpoint – taking out two enemy destroyers, two patrol boats, a frigate, and three bombers versus one friendly destroyer – the battle had been a great success for the Americans. However, they had caught the enemy mostly unprepared and with aging equipment. The United States couldn’t depend on all battles going this well. The surprise attacks that had begun the war had taken a lot of quality allied equipment out of action.

Despite the success in numbers, losing friends was never easy. The carrier group slipped back into the radio silence of EMCON as they kept going. Nobody wanted to talk anyway.

Dual Impetuousness

April 21st, 2006
0945 Hours
Baltimare, Equestria

After the Enterprise and her contingent arrived safely in Baltimare, the actual scope of the attack became clear. In the confusion, a number of allied ships had retreated to the port as the closest safe haven following the aftermath. Captain Murray watched the boats trickle in from the carrier’s bridge, some in groups, others alone.

First to arrive was the cruiser Midway from the Gerald R. Ford’s group, undamaged but void of long-range weaponry. Next to come were the twin cruisers Cape Esperance and Santa Cruz, which had been stationed farther east at Bostrot and sent out to help when news of the war breaking out reached the port. Then came the damaged battleship Colorado, followed shortly by the frigates McClusky and Thach an hour later.

These were not the last, but the number of ships retreating to the port overwhelmed the dock workers. The facilities were not enough to rearm and repair all of the ships that needed it, and as such many were left waiting for their turn as the damaged ships took priority. Under better circumstances having such a large number of ships would make the area safer, but Murray only saw it as making the city a bigger target.

The one bit of truly good news came with the arrival of a number of refugee naval aircraft from Brumbay Field as a replacement for those jets lost in the battle. Chief among them was VF-31 acting as a replacement for VF-12, which had suffered heavily during the battle and would have to be rebuilt stateside. The other newly arriving aircraft, largely Hornets and Growlers, would be folded into the other squadrons already on board.

This brought the carrier’s wing back to more comfortable numbers, an important thing to Murray as he saw the pilots and planes as being just as important as the ship itself. It also helped that the pilots were survivors of the Carl Vinson and were said to have performed admirably. With an experienced air wing, the carrier could still act as a truly dangerous force.

“Captain?”

Murray turned back to greet his guest.

“I’m Commander Oscar, VF-31.”

“Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Commander,” Murray said.

“I’m very happy to finally make it here, Sir. I’ve heard a lot about her. And you; really good work keeping her safe during that attack.”

“I suppose I’ve kept her in one piece, but it takes more to win battles. Especially ones that matter,” the Captain replied. “You though, I’ve heard about you as well. Apparently you all turned back an invasion force trying to land near Brumbay.”

“We did, with some help for the Air Force guys stationed there.”

“Good. I’m glad to be taking in such excellent pilots. You’ve met the other squadron leaders?”

“Only the skippers of the Hornet squadrons, Commanders Greenberg and Smith. I haven’t met the other Tomcat squad Commander. They said he was just heading out on a patrol.”

“That would be Commander Taylor. I’m sure you two will get along well.”

Closer to the mouth of the harbor lay the Bastogne, her delirious Captain trying to regain his footing after a hectic few hours. With things being relatively peaceful he grew jittery again. The sudden start of combat during the initial surprise attack was jarring enough, and the shift back only added to the strange feeling.

“We got anymore coffee brewed up?” Harrison asked Commander Thomas.

“I don’t think another cup will help you settle down, Sir.”

“I don’t think I want to settle down. I don’t want to just crash when something important happens.”

“You shouldn’t burn yourself out, either. It will affect your decisions.”

“I’ve got enough to worry about without second guessing,” Harrison replied. “The coffee?”

“Just set another pot,” Thomas answered.

Harrison removed his cap, letting his short hazelnut hair take in some of the morning sunlight. He ran both his hands over it, rubbing his scalp some before looking up again. Maybe a haircut from the ship’s barber would help calm him, he always did find them relaxing.

“We’re still good on fuel, huh?”

“Yes Captain.”

“And we did get ammunition replenished for all our guns, right? Not just the missile cells?”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

“Well, I’m glad I can still cover the basics.”

Harrison took a long, lingering breath through his nose. The scents of the sea and the brewing coffee made for an odd combination, but one he had grown accustomed to. A call came up from the radar to disrupt him, surprising him with the urgency of the operator.

“Captain we’ve got a number of bogies coming in over the ocean towards us. They’re showing up on our radar and we’re getting similar reports from some land-based units as well. Number is around thirty but it’s growing.”

“Are there any allied squadrons operating in the area that we don’t know about?”

“Not that we know of but things have been pretty hectic the past few hours. There’s been a few friendlies popping up but nothing as big as this.”

“Hell they couldn’t be enemies could they?” he asked his Commander. “No way they could get this close without someone else noticing.”

“After the last battle, I wouldn’t say it's impossible,” Thomas reminded him.

“Shit, you’re right. Okay Thomas, get a call out to the rest of the fleet quick! Tell them about our contacts and see if any other ships have registered.”

“Jamey!”

“Sir?”

“Send out a call to the airbases near us, ask them if they’ve got any large formations of birds in the area that are feet wet.”

“Aye!”

Well inland from the port of Baltimare sat Goldenray Royal Air Base, tucked away amongst a quiet set of plains. Unlike many other bases, Goldenray was almost entirely Equestrian in units and staff. It was also fortunate in that it had not come under attack since the war started.

The latter, though fortune, had the lesser negative effect of leaving most in the base with a sense of security and a lack of urgency concerning the dire situations at the front. The squadrons stationed there had begun their wartime patrols dutifully, but they had yet to see combat at all. The atmosphere of the base would have seemed otherworldly to those farther west.

“Captain Blossomforth? Ma’am?”

The light-coated mare looked up from her papers detailing the status of various aircraft in her squadron.

“What is it?” she asked softly, expecting another minor and unimportant issue.

“I got a radio message from an American Navy ship in Baltimare. They wanted to know if we had any aircraft over the ocean right now,” the younger unicorn informed her.

“Um… no, not from my squadron. Hang on,” she said, picking up a phone near her. “Hey Chaser, does your squadron have any planes over the ocean? Can you check? Well just come over here then and find yours, and round up the others on your way here. Okay.”

“Nothing?”

“Captain Chaser is on her way here with the other squadron leaders to check up on theirs. Was there anything else they told you? Any other information?”

“Uh… not really. Just that they had some contacts near them approaching from the water.”
“And what ship was this?”

“The USS Bastogne ma’am, a cruiser. A lot of Navy ships are gathering in Baltimare after the attacks,” the unicorn explained. "Do you think they could be hostile aircraft?"

"Maybe, the Griffon and Shadow Navies and Air Forces have been running across the northern Pacific since the war started."

"You think the local forces can handle things if they are?"

"I'm not sure. They hurt the American Navy pretty badly but they know the war is on now. Still, to have hostile aircraft this far east... it's a little worrying."

"You think this base can handle an attack?"

"Well they've ignored us so far, and we've had time to prepare. And it's not like-"

The door to the office opened again, disrupting their conversation, letting in Cloud Chaser and some of the other squadron leaders. All of them confirmed that they had no aircraft over the ocean, leaving them to ponder. Orange Swirl followed them shortly with an answer to the problem.

“What’s wrong, Swirl?” Chaser asked.

“Baltimare is getting bombed by Griffon naval aircraft,” the pegasus answered simply, as if it were nothing more than another common report.

“I was worried that was the problem,” Blossomforth said. “Hey, shouldn’t we go help them?”

“Hey yeah, we should! Great idea!” Cloud Kicker jumped, seeming far too excited for such an event. “Finally we can get to the action!”

“Yeah, which means I can finally beat you!” Chaser shot back. “We’ll see who comes back with the better record!”

“Alright, alright. Well if we’re going to help them we’ll need to get going so we don’t miss the battle,” Orange Swirl pointed out. “Blossomforth why don’t you take Kicker, Chaser, and Blue Snow with a flight each and head out. I’ll try to get my squad together and work backup. Your jets are faster than my Skyhawks anyways.”

“Sounds good,” Blossomforth smiled. “Alright everypony, let's get some planes together and get going.”

The flight from the base to the coast was short, taking a little over twenty minutes. The large formation of aircraft took its time cruising in formation, spending most of the time trying to get in contact with the naval forces. As at the base, the rest of the country showed little signs of being at war, and the large formation gave off a rather impressive, even fun sight to see. The ground below and the air above were calm, without any disturbances; there even a few civilian pegasi enjoying a natural flight.

Still, as they closed in with Baltimare, there was an anxiousness that pervaded among all the Equestrian pilots. They continued attempts to contact over the radio, but response was short in coming, and each began to feel a twist in their stomach and a shake in their legs as they realized something was indeed wrong, most probably of the Griffon's doing. Eventually they were greeted by an American cruiser that had been tracking them over the radar in a much more anxious attitude than theirs.

“This is the USS Yorktown to aircraft approaching from the south! Identify yourselves immediately or you will be intercepted!”

“Hey, calm down!” Blossom retorted, unhappy about the hostile greeting. “We’re from the Royal Equestrian Air Force. Is your IFF working?”

“What’s your callsign?”

“Blossom, Kicker, Chaser, and Snow; eighteen aircraft in four teams. We're flying from inland, from Goldenray.”

“We’ve already come under attack from naval aircraft. Heavy casualties and several ships disabled or lost in harbor. We’re trying to put to sea but the second wave will be arriving overhead soon,” the Yorktown’s radioman explained with no hint of apology. “Camelot One is near you’ll, they’ll guide you in. Don’t waste any time!”

“Okay, let’s see about escorting the ships out of the harbor,” Blossom said to the other Equestrian squadrons.

“My team can head out and intercept them early outside the bay,” Kicker suggested.

“Hey! If you’re going there we’re coming too!” Chaser demanded. “We’re not going to let you take the spotlight in our first mission!”

“Feel free to tag along, maybe you can watch us.”

“You wish!”

“Cut the chatter and get your asses moving!” Taylor’s voice resonated through the radio.

Before any of the ponies could reply, the fast-moving Tomcat shot over the formation and back towards the harbor, greatly rattling the Equestrian pilots.

“Hey, watch where you’re flying!” Blossom answered.

“Quit screwing around! This is war! The enemy’s all over they’re gonna eat you alive!” the American snapped back. “Now get your shit together and get over here! The Crows are already overhead!”

“Uh… I guess we should stick to the back on this one instead. The competition can wait, huh Chaser?” Kicker suggested.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Switch to frequency one-one-seven-four-three, we’re trying to coordinate on that network,” Camelot One ordered. “Camelot to Enterprise, our reinforcements are here! Are the rest of the planes up yet!?”

“Affirmative. This is Felix One, callsign Coin. Engaging next enemy formation.”

The ominous smoke of the bombardment fires came into view before the city itself. Shortly after the harbor came into view, giving the Equestrians a far worse sight than they imagined. Several ships, some military and many others civilian, lay burning or listing. Smoke plumes from the harbor and from the city itself. All ships in the harbor were desperate to escape, and the consequent chaos badly muddled the process for them all, particularly the larger military vessels.

“This is Screwtop. We’re going to be setting up interception lines to try and stop the Griffon planes from closing in any further,” the AWACS notified. “Kicker and Chaser squadrons are to advance twenty-five miles past the bay bridge as the first interception line. Blossom and Snow are directed to hold ten miles out from the bridge while all remaining American squadrons defend the airspace over the bay itself. Do not abandon your assigned sectors. Additional SITREPs on naval functions may be issued through Enterprise. Out.”

The fighter squadrons broke off to their assignments, some faster than others. Being directly over the bay, Blossomforth was greeted to the attack in all its carnage. It proved difficult to pick out the scattered Griffon naval jets in the area, but she did pick out a pair of fighters running at a low level, strafing the piers and the stationary ships docked there.

The two MiGs completed their pass and pulled up together into the sky, unintentionally making themselves easier targets. The Equestrian pulled her Tornado off to her right to ensure a good firing position and, as soon as the lock was achieved, fired two missiles at the closest target. The Fulcrum began dropping flares but the countermeasures failed, with both shots striking within a second and tearing the plane apart. The other Fulcrum banked away over the harbor, dragging the chase over the fleet as one of the many dogfights filling the sky.

The fleet below had lost most of its cohesion, with each individual ship attempting to get underway and escape the bay. Many were already firing away at what aircraft they could lock on to through the continuous jamming and ECM. Still, their computers tracked any Griffon plane that flew over them, with the Thach securing her first kill on one while many of the cruisers fired their missiles at the random waves of ASMs flying towards them.

Such fire in a chaotic situation, however, immediately led to problems. The Griffon naval pilots became fond of flying low to the ground or close to the allied fighters, causing a serious danger of friendly fire. Two missiles launched from the Santa Cruz at a pair of diving MiGs struck the city, and none of the ships could rely on their CIWS working automatically as several attempts by the guns to shoot down the jets resulted in several rounds being fired into the city. The worst came when another missile from the Thach, after exploding at the tail of a Flanker, also showered a friendly Hornet in shrapnel and forcing the pilot to eject.

“Kestrel Two-Two to Enterprise! Kestrel Three-One just got shot down by friendly fire! Tell the ships to watch their fire!”

The carrier’s CIC passed the information on to Captain Murray, who in turn gave the order for the ships to take greater care in their firing. He watched from the carrier’s island as the massive vessel pulled out of the bay proper and increased speed to begin the escape. Most of the ships still in the harbor, civilian and military alike, were dashing to escape to sea rather than to be bottled up, and in turn caused a panicked clog. The dangers of collision rose, particularly between the two as there was little direct communication. Many of the larger warships came close to ramming the smaller civilian ones.

“Send out a message to the fleet,” he ordered. “This is the Captain of the carrier Enterprise. All ships that are able to must escape the port. Once you pass the bridge, enter the ocean and begin maneuvers but do not abandon the rest of the fleet. Send out a notification once you’ve exited the harbor.”

Since arriving at the port, there had been no unifying command or orders for all of the naval vessels, but they could not wait on that in such a situation.

“This is the Mahan, we read you. We’re closest to the exit and will be passing under the bridge momentarily. Once we’re out to sea we’ll focus fire on any incoming hostile missiles, out.”

Far off from the fires and mayhem around Baltimare proper, Commander Taylor was coordinating with the two squadrons of Equestrian Typhoons. Following them shortly after was VF-31, assembled and arriving from the carrier. With most of the attacks on the fleet being anti-ship missiles launched from far-off, it would be their job to form an aerial barrier to stop some of them from getting through.

“Screwtop, what’s the status of the ships in the harbor?”

“The Thach and Hawkins got out, so did the Equestrian strike cruiser Mustangia. There’s still a lot of them in there though,” the AWACS warned.

“Alright here’s what we’ll do. The Tomcats will attack from long range, any that get past need to be killed by the Typhoons,” Taylor explained. “Sound like something you ponies can do?”

“Yeah, no sweat!” Cloud Kicker affirmed.

“Then get to it! There’s a flight coming in at three-forty, get after them!” Taylor commanded. “Felix One, you ready to engage?”

“Affirmative, I don’t plan on losing another one of my carriers,” Oscar replied.

The F-14s began to fire their large Phoenix missiles at the oncoming flight as the Typhoons moved away to close in themselves. Three of the six planes in the Griffon flight were shot down, while the rest broke away to avoid the powerful attacks. Even with the Phoenix attack over, the encroaching Typhoons moved in to wipe away those that survived. Carrying the heavy ASMs, the planes could not maneuver as effectively, with two falling to Typhoons in Kicker’s team and the final being shot down by Chaser herself. Even so, the Griffons began sending more of their aircraft to flank and attack from over the land to the sides of the harbor, providing more cover than approaching from the sea.

Using anti-ship missiles on the overland approach proved frustrating for the Griffons, as the low-flying ordinance would usually strike a hill or a building in town. At the same time, these hills provided the other aircraft with some luxury of cover on their approach, allowing some of the MiGs to fly low, pull up sharply upon reaching the city, and drop their bombs where needed.

The frigate Boone was struck by two bombs in her center that blackened it and left her listing at the pier, being disabled before many of her crew could even re-board their ship. Similarly lost was the Equestrian strike cruiser Coltlumbia; lying on the outer pier facing the sea, she was struck by an anti-ship missile amidship and two torpedoes shortly after, leaving her to roll onto her side.

For the Bastogne, it took some time to get underway, but eventually she got moving in good order. On the request of a fellow Captain, the cruiser formed up ahead of her sister ship Midway, her cells still empty, and began to escort her out of the harbor. They would stand by her until the attack subsided, and the cruiser could be rearmed properly.

“Have we gotten any info on where the carriers they launched from are?” Harrison asked.

“Nothing yet, Captain. Still have incoming though, including additional ASMs. None of the contacts were strategic bombers so far.”

“That’s good. Focus on the missiles first. That incoming flight to the southwest is alone, give them a volley too. Helm! Bring us right and around that tugboat!”

Three of the Bastogne’s missiles rose to the sky, passing the bridge before leveling out over the water to intercept a wave of incoming missiles. Two more SM-2s were fired at a pair of arriving Flankers, shooting them down with little difficulty. The cruiser increased speed as it passed the tugboat, now having a clear route as the CIC stood by to service further target requests and guide the warships out.

“USS McClusky has exited the harbor.”

“This is Kestrel Three-One. Bastogne I’m coming in high from the south with two bandits on my six. Can you shoot them off me, over?”

“Affirmative Three-One, adjust your course and pass ahead of us so we can get a clear shot.”

The Hornet banked over the city and passed the cruiser’s bow at a high speed, dropping countermeasures as he went and followed closely by two more Flankers. Once the trailing planes had passed, the Bastogne fired an additional two missiles at the tails of the enemy jets. Receiving the warning, the two Griffon pilots broke away and ran back towards the hills, dragging the SAMs with them and causing them to crash into the sides of the earth. No kills were made this time, but the F-18 has been saved.

Blossomforth was dealing with her own protective mission at the same time. She had just downed her second enemy when a more immediate need arose. Over the radio, a call came in from another of the cruisers for assistance.

“Blossom, this is the Yorktown. We’re moving along the west coast but are tracking two flights of hostiles moving in overland along with another wave of ASMs. We need you to engage those fighters, we think they have bombs or torpedoes and will be gunning for us. How copy?”

“Roger that Yorktown, we’ll get rid of them and take care of you!” she promised. “Blossoms Two and Three, follow me and we’ll take care of the farthest flight. Blossoms everypony else go after the closest one.”

Passing over the cruiser and the damaged city to the more rural area at high speed, the Equestrian Tornadoes picked out their targets, flying back and forth over the trees. Blossomforth and her team engaged their flight first, attacking from above and firing all their remaining missiles in a wave. The torpedo-toting Fulcrums broke upwards to maneuver, avoiding some but not all, and three more Griffon aircraft fell.

Her other team did not have such luck. Already low on missiles, they only managed to destroy one of the four bomb-carrying jets, while forcing another to break off with their cannons. The remaining two MiGs reached the coast and pulled up sharply, very close to their target. The Yorktown, already firing at the incoming anti-ship missiles, was still able to track them. The aft missile launcher fired at the two, striking the tail of the wingman and setting his plane afire. The Fulcrum dove towards the ship, close enough for the CIWS to engage, and a several rounds later the attacker exploded in a great eruption that tore the plane apart. The second Griffon, his run already disrupted by the shot, released his bombs at a haphazard angle, dropping them harmlessly into the water while dropping flares and making his escape.

Blossomforth watched now as the cruiser reached the bridge. One of the surviving ASMs, a Kh-31, raced in its direction as the cruiser fired masses of metal chaff into the air. The countermeasures caused a small change in course of the missile, and the pony watched as it slammed into the side of the bridge, causing a small piece of it to collapse into the ocean.

“USS Yorktown is now exiting the harbor. Thanks for the escort, Blossom.”

Blossomforth could not feel a sense of satisfaction. She was focused on the smoking hole in the bridge. Its damage had shaken the realization into her. What if there was somepony on that bridge, or even in that spot? Had they been killed? She could see nothing from up in the sky and tore her eyes from it, pulling away to continue the mission but unable to completely remove the idea from her head.

Aboard the Enterprise, Murray watched as the carrier churned along through the water. He heard the report of the Bastogne and Midway successfully escaping; each ship that got out raised his hopes of retaining a potent force to keep the carrier alive and continue waging the war. Still, they had to survive the day first.

“Captain, the Colorado’s gotten underway off to our port stern,” a report came in. “They say they’ll move behind us and keep us covered while we exit the harbor.”

“Good, tell Captain Green he has my thanks,” Murray responded, never losing his composure as usual.

The battleship acted as the aft guard of the carrier, watching for any attackers that would slip around to the rear. Between the proximity of allied aircraft and the closed-in space of the port with the town and friendly ships, there was little safe way for the vessel to use its full armament. Still, the eyes of its crew were keen and they were quick to fire on any target deemed safe enough, destroying a Flanker that had wandered high and alone over an uninhabited rural area.

The Enterprise herself still had to keep watch herself, and everyone on her knew she was the primary target. Two enemy planes raced in low over the water from the bow, flying under the bridge in a near-suicidal drive to ensure any missiles they fired would hit. A SAM came first, followed not long after by the Phalanx, and even as they tried to pull away the two were struck by a deluge of fire from multiple ships.

Two others followed close behind, carrying torpedoes and following the same path. Three of the carrier’s F-18s dived on them, with the Hornets sending the leader cartwheeling into the sea. The wingman lasted only a half a second longer before a missile from the carrier struck his nose and tore the plane apart.

“This is the Santa Cruz, we’ll be exiting the bay shortly. Expect the Cape Esperance to follow shortly.”

“This is the Equestrian frigate Alder, we’re leaving with the destroyers Foxglove and Marigold. The Blue Rose is following right behind us, it's been damaged by a missile hit. Please don’t leave us behind!”

“Who else is left?” Murray asked.

“A few other ships, Captain.”

As the carrier continued on its way, a lone Flanker popped up from behind the city’s buildings. Unhindered by any of the escorting fighters, it readied it’s ASM and fired from a rather high angle. The pilot did not wait to see if it impacted, dropping flares and escaping back the way he came once his pop-up attack was completed.

The Phalanx targeted the lone missile and quickly opened fire, following a trail all the way down as it adjusted. The number of rounds missing still impacted somewhere, and as they trailed down they began to land among the city and eventually the piers and docks. Once the missile leveled out, the 20mm rounds finally made contact and destroyed it, but not before several more from the cannon missed and impacted the shipyards.

“No! Stop! You’re firing on the docks!”

Another Flanker followed shortly behind, hoping to imitate his predecessor with better success. Drawn by the attack of the first Sukhoi, Blossomforth caught the new aggressor as he was climbing. With her final missile she dispatched the attacker, with the Griffon pilot bailing out at low altitude just before the plane struck the water.

She began to wish her eyes had not followed the dying jet. Near the crash site, floating about the waves, were a number of dots. She realized they were people, not ponies but American sailors from a nearby stricken ship. They bobbed about helplessly in the waves, seeming to call out for help from some of the other passing warships. The dead Sukhoi mere feet from them, sinking into the bay, struck another fear into her heart.

“Dear Celestia did that fall on them?” she thought to herself. “Did the plane… I shot down… did it fall on some of them?”

She shifted her eyes away, hoping to save the worries for later, but only found a new terror. The Griffon pilot, for some reason, had not flown away and had landed in the water. Perhaps from fear of being too close to the warship’s guns? It did not matter now, for he could not escape.

That portion of the water was covered in a thick oil slick which cling to the Griffon’s wings like a tar. A portion of burning debris from his own jet had landed near him, and the fire soon spread over the oily ripples. The fire seemed to surround him quickly as he floated there helplessly. There was no escape for him, nor any escape for her, transfixed to her doomed adversary. None deserved such a fate, enemy or otherwise. It could not continue, it had to stop. Somepony had to stop it. Until Blossomforth tore her eyes away, all she could think of was a repetitive begging for it, all of it, to stop.

In contrast to the pony, most of the crew of the carrier was now buoyant. Though the attack continued, the Enterprise was still safe and, with some maneuvering, finally had a straight shot to freedom. Murray himself noticed quite a few more hopeful smiles breaking out among the sailors.

“We have a clear route out of the harbor now. Helm, go to flank speed and link us up with the rest of the fleet.”

“Aye Captain!”

“All ships be advised, the USS Enterprise is passing the bridge,” the radio operator aboard notified. “The carrier’s in open waters. Bon voyage guys!”

The nuclear reactors powered the carrier forward as it charged under the bridge and out into the open ocean, where most of the other ships were gathering. The Colorado followed shortly after, kicking up some significant waves as she left. With their exit, the attack began to truly subside.

The Griffons, already badly uncoordinated, realized their chances of actually sinking anymore ships when they were able to maneuver freely and in proper formation were low. As they retreated to their own far-off carriers, Murray looked out over his own forces as the ships began to form up protectively around the Enterprise. Most were low on ammunition for their weapons, and many showed varying degrees of damage, but they were all still floating.

With the combat easing up, the Tomcats and Typhoons in the outer CAP barrier finally found some relaxation. The AWACS has requested they remain on station as some additional bogies looked to be closing in. The reprieve gave the pilots time to gather themselves, and for Oscar and his backseat driver to discuss their first day on the Enterprise’s CAW.

“I sure hope we didn’t cause this,” Lighter spoke up.

“What do you mean?” the Commander asked.

“We know they’re on the hunt for another carrier after their attack on Brumbay failed. We might have led them here,” Oscar’s WSO theorized to his pilot.

“Maybe, this clearly wasn’t planned. It looks too rushed, too disorganized. Their planes aren’t coordinated and weren’t coming in at the same time.”

“I mean at least we stopped them this time, right?”

“Yeah, we did well today Lighter. Don’t worry yourself.”

“Warning, new formation of bandits approaching! They’re moving fast, it looks like they’re going to engage you!” The AWACS alerted.

“Looks like we really pissed them off,” Oscar observed over the open channel.

“Fine by me, Felix! I’m ready to really hurt these bastards!” Taylor jumped. “Camelot to Kicker and Chaser, enemy formation is moving to engage us. They sent some real hunters after us. It’s time for a real fight!”

Over the ocean, miles away from the allied fighters, a flight of six Fulcrums raced forward in search of the enemy. The very paint on their crafts denoted a unique unit, being mostly shades of dark blue to camouflage against the sea and sky, with two lines running up from their tail fins to intersect near the canopy. The lines themselves were golden, with the edges colored a slim silver on both sides running parallel along the borders.

“Reports are saying the strike aircraft are being intercepted by Tomcats far off from the harbor,” one of the Griffon pilots informed.

“Then the carrier is there! The one that got away!” another commented.

“Looks like we get another chance,” the leader noted. “Vermeil squadron, we can’t let the Enterprise escape. Destroy their fighter cover and clear the way for the strike aircraft.”

“Understood, Vermeil lead!”

“Break and engage them, hunt down every last survivor!”

The Tomcats had expanded their Phoenix missiles early against the previous waves, but they still retained their other weapons for close-range fighting. The Typhoons also retained a fair amount of weaponry, and the numerical odds were highly in their favor. Even so, when the Griffon pilots moved in closely and destroyed two of the outlying Typhoons with little effort, it was clear they would be more difficult to deal with.

“F-14s ahead, lead, just like you said,” the second position pilot notified.

“Typhoons too, the Equestrians are here!” the fourth place Griffon added.

“Good, there’ll be enough for all of us.”

“Deal with the Arrowheads first, the Americans are more dangerous,” Vermeil One ordered. “Remember how to deal with F-14s, they’re big. Try to slow them down and fight them closer to the water. Destroy them the same way we did the others in the first attack.”

The merging of aircraft into a single giant dogfight caused a great deal of chaos. The Griffon Fulcrums did their best to lure the Tomcats into a favorable position while fending off the Typhoons. It was no easy task, considering the hefty disadvantage.

“Boston, you see them? They’ve got some golden lines on their backs,” Oscar observed. “They’re trying to drag us down, stay high.”

“I don’t plan on it! Camelots Two and Three, get ready to follow me down; I’ll catch some for you guys to kill!”

Taylor dove his F-14, passing two of the Equestrians dueling with one Fulcrum on the way. At a high speed, he leveled out one of the Fulcrums did follow him, in turn being followed by the other aircraft. They, however, were soon tailed by another Griffon Fulcrum.

Taylor pulled back up in an instant, dragging the long line of fighters with him. The last fighter in the train, the Griffon Fulcrum, eyed the training Tomcat and began taking aim. With a sound lock a moment later, a missile flew out to hit the unfortunate F-14’s right engine, sending the body falling to the sea.

Rather than break to evade further fire, Camelot Two continued on. ‘Vice’ refused to abandon his Commander, still tracking his target in the maneuvering twists and turns in the sky. Achieving his own lock, he launched a Sidewinder at his target, striking the Griffon jet and setting it aflame as it glided down.

“Shit, Camelot Three is down!”

“I got him off you lead, but that guy’s still on me!” Vice yelled.

“Camelot Two, break right and dive again. Bring him across my bow!” Oscar ordered.

The American fighter responded, pulling his fighter off sharply and barely avoiding another lock-on at the same time. The Griffon followed greedily, firing another missile but having it chase away from the Tomcat and after a long line of flares. Before he could fire again, his MiG ran across the front of Oscar’s F-14, which turned to tail him. A second later, an AIM-9 and a dozen cannon rounds had torn the plane and pilot to shreds, the beautiful blue paint and gold-silver lines being torn apart and burned before hitting the ocean.

“Five and Six are down!” one of the MiG drivers announced.

“Stay aggressive and hungry, keep to the offensive and break them!”

“I’ve got another pony in my sights, he’s mine now!”

Another Equestrian jet fell victim to the Fulcrums, out-turned by its opponent. The same Fulcrum attempted to continue to tail another Typhoon but failed to keep up. In another instant of fateful placement, both Kicker and Chaser found themselves targeting the MiG from different angles. Both fired several missiles at once; it was unknown who’s actually hit, but the expert Griffon pilot was overwhelmed by the barrage.

Despite half the squad being lost, the remainder continued fighting as they had been. The MiGs maneuvered sharply and largely stayed at low altitudes, making them difficult to kill. At the same time, the Fulcrums were having an increasingly difficult time staying offensive as there was constantly one plane or another trailing them.

The battle dragged on with each side barely escaping the other. Another break came when the third-position Fulcrum, attempting a rollaway on a Tomcat, inadvertently leveled out ahead of one of the Felix team’s aircraft. After a long burst of fire from the Vulcan, the fourth Griffon jet went down, the pilot desperately bailing out before the plane dragged him to an untimely doom.

“Lead, Three just went down,” the remaining Griffon wingman panicked. “What do-what… what happened?”

“We… just bit off too much this time,” Vermeil One answered grimly.

Commander Taylor began to chase down the leader, eager to enact an as-yet unknown vengeance on the Griffon squadron that had crippled VF-12 days ago. From the corner of his eye he saw the second Griffon plane coming towards him from the side. Before it could reach him, a missile from Oscar’s wingman, ‘France’, plowed headlong into the nose of the assailer.

The sole remaining Griffon fighter continued to resist, though only through maneuvers. He seemed to make no further attempts to attack the allied fighters, in sharp contrast to the squadron’s previous behavior. After a couple more minutes and a wasted missile shot later, Boston’s final missile finally pressed through to earn the final kill of the battle. He noticed the Griffon pilot eject before the shot had even struck his craft, running and flying northwest. Thrilled but exhausted, Taylor elected not to kill him as well; beyond any sentimental reasoning, his Tomcat was starting to run dangerously low on fuel and he, as well as everyone else, shared a feeling that the battle should be terminated.

“Screwtop, Camelot… any more bogies, over?”

“Negative, bandits are down, all remaining contacts withdrawing. The skies are clear, nice job.”

“Coin, you did damn fine today. Let me welcome you to the Big E’s family. You’ll fit in perfect,” Taylor acknowledged after regaining his breath.

“Thanks Camelot lead… feels good to have a new home.”

“Let’s get back to it. I’m running out of fuel. Screwtop, can we get landing clearance from the ship?”

“Camelot, you’re requested to shift to the open frequency.”

“Fine, I’ll ask them there,” he groaned. “Enterprise this is Camelot, request landing clearance over.”

There was a period of silence before the Captain’s voice took over from the usual operator.

“This is the Captain of the carrier Enterprise, my congratulations to all ships that escaped the harbor. Many thanks to our brave heroes in the sea, and in the air.”

“Always with the happy words this guy,” Taylor groaned to himself as the usual radioman came back. “Enterprise, Camelot.”

“We’re reading you Camelot. Send, over.”

“Can we please get landing clearance so your brave heroes don’t run out of gas and crash into the ocean?”

“Affirmative Camelot, you’re first in line so take your time with it.”

“Smartass,” he thought as he brought the heavy fighter around to return home.

The Equestrian fighters returned home at the same time, their mission finally complete. It was a difficult first battle for them, losing six aircraft in total, including three of the pilots. Upon reaching the ground, Kicker and Chaser began discussing their individual outcomes, though with a marked lack of enthusiasm that had swelled them forward when they first launched, while Blue Snow returned virtually unchanged. The Tornado pilot was much more quiet, heading inside in search of some silence and solitude.

Blossomforth tried to toss away the images in her mind, shaking her head back and forth. The picture of sailors bobbing in the waves, and of Griffon pilot floating in a sea of fire stuck hard.

“That American Captain said we were heroes. What kind of hero kills her own allies?”

She resolved to speak with one of the humans about it, as the nearby city had a fair number of American soldiers there. She knew their military had chaplains, attendants of their religions, that helped their soldiers cope with the mental stress and anguish. She herself did not belong to any of their beliefs, but had been assured that she did not need to be.

The pony resolved to pay them a visit when she could. Her head may not clear up otherwise, and the war had only just started. Still, she was hopeful the base would return to the calm inaction they had before today. Though she was happy about it before, she had come to appreciate it now.

Author's Note

Blockade

April 22nd, 2006
0600 Hours
Bostrot, Eastern Equestria

Source

“Okay, listen up. We’ve assembled you all here for an important mission, and because your ships are some of the few that are not damaged and are battle-ready,” the briefing officer announced.

The commanding officers of a number of ships, including Harrison’s, had been assembled in the intel center of the Enterprise. It was clear a major operation was being planned, but everything was still kept secret until now. Still, each man realized that this would be a counteroffensive operation, with the Navy finally striking back rather than running and trying to survive.

“Things have been pretty crazy for the last few days, but we’re getting a better picture of the enemy’s naval strategy,” the officer briefed. “Their attempts to bypass the main resistance line failed, but they still have the upper hand. They’ve been pushing a number of their surface ships out. It looks as though they’re in the process of starting a thin blockade of Equestria to halt our naval resupply operations. The Army has been constantly skirmishing with Bloc ground forces all along the front, and we’re expecting major attacks against the MLR sometime soon. We cannot allow their supplies to be cut so drastically, or they’ll be worn out within days. The N3 is going to breakdown how Operation Checkerboard is going to go, so pay attention.”

“Well as he said we need to stop this blockade from strengthening. We already have other ships with convoys ready to move from Hawaii and the mainland, but we need to punch the enemy down first. We’re going to organize a SAG to carry out Operation Checkerboard and break the blockade. The SAG’s formation leader will be the Bastogne, and will consist of the cruisers Santa Cruz, Cape Esperance, and the destroyers Alvin York and Donovan. We’ll have a flight of Hornets on call for ASM if needed but the Tomcats are going to stick with the harbor in case we get attacked by enemy aircraft again. However we contacted the Air Force and they’re going to lend us a local AWACS and a Raptor to help.”

“Sir if we’re looking at surface action can we at least get the Colorado to come with us?” the USS Donovan’s Commander queried.

“Negative. She’s still undergoing repairs and we need her to guard the carriers,” the N3 said. “We think you’ll have the upper hand regardless. Especially with our cruisers. Speaking of which there’s a secondary mission we have for you; we think it will be a good opportunity to battle-test their torpedo system.”

“The Scythe, Sir?” Harrison asked. “It should be a hell of a punch if they get within range.”

“Yes but the battle test is strictly secondary. Don’t divert from the mission and don’t endanger your ship or the others to carry it out. A couple of guys from China Lake happen to be in town; torpedoes aren’t really their forte but they should be able to write up a report for it, so they’ll be on board with you if the weapon is used. But the traditional tactics take priority for this. We can’t screw this operation,” the N3 stressed. “Now if there’s no questions we’ll start working out the details.”

“I think we ought to split up duties. Have some ships more focused on one job than the rest,” Harrison suggested. “Mike, can you work air-defense? We’ll load up the Esperance with more AA missiles than the rest of us.”

“Sounds good.”

“We’ll need to keep an eye open for subs, too,” the Alvin York’s commander added. “We can do that. Shouldn’t be too tough to multitask surf and sub-surf.”

These were just the initial specifics the warship commanders and operations staff had to tackle. Many others had to be worked out as well, from time and synchronization to the weather’s status, and all had to be done as quickly as possible. Regardless of any were missed or not, Operation Checkerboard would begin as five US Navy ships sailed from the harbor.

“Radar track Captain, it may be a picket.”

The battlegroup was arranged in a line formation, with the three cruisers leading the way. There was no doubt the enemy had spotted them too, but that was desired. The navy had not concentrated this power to slip through the thin blockade without action, it was assembled to draw the enemy’s ships out and destroy them, crushing the surface blockade before it could strengthen and fill in.

“Got another contact, a small one, moving towards us at high speed around... twenty-nine knots; I think it’s some Nanchuka knockoff.”

“I say we let him get closer,” Harrison said to his XO. “Let them know we’re planning to get through.”

“It will also increase the danger if that investigating ship decides to fire. There’s less distance and time to react.”

“I know, but it’ll be worth sending the bait out for them.”

“Sir, it looks like the enemy may have a greater reach than we thought,” Thomas observed. “Little boats like that can only last out here a few days, hardly choice for an extended blockade. They must have a resupply somewhere nearby.”

The Shadow naval vessel edged closer cautiously, keeping track of the American line. Already well within missile range, its crew lingered for a bit, observing the more powerful warships. Suddenly, the corvette began to move again and the Bastogne’s radio team sent a notification to the bridge.

“Radio intercept, the enemy ship is calling for help. It’s sending out a distress signal.”

“Good, that’s what we needed it to do,” Harrison said. “Let’s smoke her before they get away.”

The Nanuchka was the first to fire, launching it’s six Termit missiles at the Americans before turning around. Despite the relatively close range, the few missiles stood little chance of inflicting damage with the large number of US ships. Seconds after launch, all were targeted and destroyed by a flurry of SAMs from the larger warships, with most not even reaching the halfway point to their target.

The small corvette turned and attempted to flee, but there was little hope against such a large force. Within minutes she was struck by three missiles which obliterated everything above the waterline. With the picket destroyed, the seas became calm once again, though the sailors understood that it would only last an hour or two.

“Alright they know we’re here. Now we just need to wait for the bastards to show up,” Harrison said to his XO.

“With any luck the enemy forces will arrive piecemeal and we can deal with them one at a time,” Thomas observed.

“I don’t think they’re that dumb. Maybe they’ll do it if they panic,” Harrison replied. “Doesn’t matter. The SAG is superior to their local forces anyways.”

“The last sightings we had of some enemy battlecruisers were in this area. We should be careful if they’re still present. If the local blockade forces rally around one it could be trouble.”

“I’ll take my chances with the recent recon, now let’s just keep our eyes open. Their air should arrive first if intel is accurate.”

Just as predicted, the Griffon naval forces in the surrounding area quickly began to react. However, being so far from their bases and with their few numbers already stretched out for the blockade, there was little realistic hope of stopping such a powerful SAG. The naval quick response force was centered around a single cruiser, as compared to the three the Americans had. Still something had to be done, and many ships began to rally as others were sent to watch the humans and calls for assistance went out.

As the American intelligence team suggested the first enemies to respond were aircraft, with a local Bear F bomber closing and orbiting outside the range of the ship’s SAMs. Another patrolling Bear arrived and closed in, firing four cruise missiles at the Alvin York before retreating. It was little more than a lukewarm attack, with the missiles being shot down far off with little difficulty.

Throughout this time, the American AWACS kept watch, passing on long-range data to the ships. Despite the paltry air attacks, the aircraft from the Enterprise, as well as the Air Force Raptor, remained back and out of sight of the enemy. They were to be called on by the AWACS once a more serious enemy attack materialized; the SAG alone would break the blockade but some heavy damage had to be done to be sure it would not reform once they passed.

Twenty more minutes passed before another contact was picked up, this time another surface vessel coming up from the south. It was much larger than the corvette from before, being near destroyer size. Nor did it attempt to close in as its deceased colleague had, moving close enough only to observe the Americans while remaining outside of missile range. The American ships kept an eye on it as well with their own radar, sharing the data between them and the E-3 Sentry.

“AWACS and radio intercept is picking up a lot of traffic from that destroyer,” one of the crew informed.

“Good, they can keep calling for help.”

This destroyer was not foolish enough to venture in range of the SAG’s missiles, only watching them cautiously from the south as they steamed along their set course. Its mission for the time was to pass on up-to-date information on the advancing Americans to the other Griffon ships in the area, just as the orbiting Bear bomber was doing for their bomber aircraft. The Griffon naval vessels were already rallying to block them while trying to coordinate with their maritime bombers. Once they arrived, and everything was in position, then the lone destroyer could move in to assist.

“Sky Eye here, we’re tracking heavy surface vessel movement to the northeast. The enemy naval forces have grouped and they’re heading in your direction.”

The Sentry passed on the information to each ship, as well as the allied aircraft. Minutes later it called out another spotting, detecting a larger formation of bombers closing in to attack the navy ships. It was much more sizable, but this was good news for the AWACS. The mission was still centered around destroying a sizable amount of enemy forces. As the bombers closed in, expecting to coordinate a strike with the Griffon Navy, the single-ship anti-air ambush was launched.

“This is Sky Eye, second bomber wave confirmed passing Waypoint Grace at bearing zero-five-zero, altitude thirty-thousand,” the AWACS announced. “Mobius One, you are cleared to engage. Gain altitude and shoot them all down.”

Far below, close to the water, a solitary F-22 hovered under a cloud and waited for them to pass, hidden from their radar with its stealth. The Raptor pitched its nose up and gained altitude rapidly, targeting the unsuspecting bombers. A volley of missiles shot out and four of the six fell in seconds, leaving the last two to cry out for help before they were also killed. This left two escorting Fulcrums to battle him, engaging in a dogfight they were not expecting, sending out a warning to their own command that they were battling a Raptor with a ribbon painted on its tail.

“Sky Eye to Bastogne, Mobius has engaged and destroyed the enemy bomber formation. We see no other aerial contacts moving in your direction.”

“Perfect!” Harrison jumped. “Now we just have to kill their ships.”

The Griffon SAG, made up of the cruiser and four other destroyers, continued to move closer to intercept the Americans. Even with the destruction of their air support, they steamed ahead to engage their opponents. Though their speed was reduced as they closed in, they showed no signs of backing down.

The group entered the range of the anti-surface missiles, but none were fired. Initially both sides waited and held their fire as both held their courses. The range was reduced further as a tense standoff developed. Only the solitary southern Griffon destroyer closed aggressively with a higher speed for the offense.

Finally the opening shots between the two flotillas were fired, but it was not in mass saturation attacks. Only a few missiles were fired from designated ships, and then only two or three at a time, not enough to breach the SAM barrier. Neither side was willing to fully commit yet. The Griffons wanted to test the Americans defenses at first, giving some resistance while a new plan was developed or fresh air support arrived. The Americans on the other hand wanted only to keep their focus, keeping them occupied while leading them closer and closer; with their targets sailing into the trap, the American aircraft launched their second ambush of the battle.

“Alright, we’ve got their attention. Send in the Hornets,” Harrison ordered the CIC worker.

“Aye Skipper,” the radio operator replied, contacting the AWACS again. “Bastogne to Sky Eye. Hammer, hammer, hammer!”

“Understood, we’ll relay the message, out,” the AWACS confirmed, switching to contact the waiting F-18 squadrons. “Sky Eye to Wildcat and Kestrel. Hammer.”

“Copy that, we’re gaining altitude and moving to strike,” Commander Greenberg acknowledged.

“Be advised your target is the enemy cruiser at the center of the SAG.”

The Hornet squadrons of the Enterprise has been waiting patiently since their launch after the initial contact. The eight of them, each with four Harpoons under their wings, served as a single, powerful strike that could overwhelm a sizable vessel. With an acceptable target now moving to block the Americans, they in turn increased their speed and flew towards their firing point.

The Griffon SAG was already exchanging missile shots with their American counterparts at long range, with each side’s anti-ship ordinance being intercepted by the other’s SAMs. It was a half-hearted effort on their part, as the sudden destruction of the bomber formation had badly curtailed their planned countermoves. They soon picked up the Hornets on radar, though there was little they could do to stop them, only watch and prepare as they closed in.

The F-18 pilots selected the Kara-esque cruiser, the Caracal, as recommended, picking it out amongst the escort ships. The range steadily dropped between them and their target, with each plane ensuring to retain their place in the formation as they closed in. As soon as they were in range, Commander Greenberg sent out the call and the American jets launched. With crisp response and in near perfect unison, each Hornet fired their Harpoons towards the Griffon ships before breaking off.

The mass of ASMs shot towards the Griffon SAG, while the American ships also suddenly increased their fire, each launching a barrage of of Harpoons and Tomahawks at their enemy. Most would be shot down, but the sheer number in the single wave coming from two different directions ensured a degree of success. Some, surely, would get through to strike their target.

Defensive measures were taken amongst the Griffon fleet. SAMs were fired, jamming increased, countermeasures launches, and guns fired in a frenzy as they tried to save themselves. About half of all the missiles were shot down before they merged, but the results were devastating. The Caracal was hit by five of the Hornet’s missiles, leaving most of the upper deck and superstructure in flames.

“She’s going down for sure. Shit, that went better than I thought it would,” Harrison observed. “Okay let’s deal with the rest of them. Delegate each ship to a target but leave that lonely - down to the south alone. She gets to be our test subject.”

“The torpedo Skipper?”

“Yeah, she was dumb enough to close the range on us when her friends showed up. Get a fish in the water before they decide to turn around. The rest of our missiles are going to be needed to mop up the rest of that SAG.”

“Aye Captain. I’ve been waiting to run this thing,” the officer confirmed. “We’ll get a Scythe in the water and keep you notified of the progress.”

While most of the American group focused on killing off the survivors to the northeast, the Bastogne silently began a malignant experiment. A long, powerful torpedo launched silently from a single tube below the waterline. This new weapon was still in an empirical phase for battle, designed to strike extreme damage to any enemy ship close enough to be reached by it. With massive range and speed, along with a very destructive warhead and a nose designed to pierce surface ship’s hulls, the weapon was still easily detectable and distracted, nor could it maneuver tightly or well at all. It seemed like it could be easily dodged, but this was what the battlefield testing was for.

In the meantime, the Griffon warships to the north quickly realized their vulnerability with the loss of the cruiser and turned to escape. Having been lead in by the Americans, they were now subjected to a deluge of fire. It was a horrid nightmare that many of them would not live to see the end of.

Two of the four destroyers were sunk a minute apart from each-other, having eventually exhausted their SAM reserves. One was hit by a pair of Tomahawks from the Santa Cruz that tore off most of the stern, immobilizing it and causing it to take on water rapidly. The other was hit by a single Harpoon from the Donovan that pierced the hull and detonated the ship’s shell magazine, causing a massive explosion that tore the destroyer apart.

Neither of the surviving Griffon destroyers slowed to rescue survivors, maintaining flank speed to retreat from the battle zone. One of them, the Raven, was hit in the superstructure by one of Bastogne’s missiles but maintained speed and was able to escape. Her colleague, the Parrot, was the luckiest of the day and barely escaped without heavy damage.

Seeing the destruction of the Griffon ships on her radar, the southern destroyer quickly realized the situation had changed. The battle had gone from winnable to certain defeat. Her commander also then realized how exposed the ship was, now at the mercy of five more powerful enemies with no allies to distract or help. To make matters worse, as she began the process of turning to retreat, a warning came in from the sonar operators that a torpedo was closing at a remarkably frightening speed.

Other American ships were already opening fire on her, though her SAMs were intercepting with little trouble. Suddenly, she turned sharply to port before slowing down. Before she could complete the turn, there was a huge explosion in the center of the vessel, with a tall column of water mixing with the fire from the eruption. She stopped and began to settle, breaking in two right in the middle and sinking straight downwards.

“Fuck, I didn’t think it’d do that,” Harrison swore. “Lieutenant, let’s note that down as a success.”

“Yes Sir!” The officer responded proudly.

With this engagement over, the operation was a clear success. The enemy surface blockade had not just been broken, but the local forces enacting it had been weakened to the point where it could not be reformed. Still, it was not a decisive victory. Much of the Pacific remained a grey no-man’s land, and Bloc forces would still hunt warships and transports with submarines, aircraft, and raiders. They could not completely cut Equestrian off, but it could still be slowly choked.

With the mission resolved, the SAG was ordered to continue on to the west coast of the United States. The hardest part was over, but now they had to cover a large swathe of water filled with various hostiles. It was unlikely they would encounter another major force like today, but the ships were running low on anti-air and anti-surface missiles. Any further contact with the enemy could be considered poor luck, and as the American jets returned to their bases the warships settled into a comfortable speed to undertake their anxious trek towards California, hoping they were not assaulted again. For every sailor aboard, it was a very long way to San Francisco.

The sun shone against the dark tarmac and grey concrete that made up the airbase. Sitting comfortably behind the lines in occupied territory, in the former Duchy, it served as home for a number of Griffon Air Force squadrons. Of all of the ones at the base, and in the branch in general, the best was the 21st Fighter-Bomber Squadron, the 'Boreas Team', of which Gene belonged to.

The young Griffon was proud to be a part of it. The war had only just started, but the various pilots of the squadron had undertaken twenty-four sorties so far, fifteen of them air-focused, and each one had been a success. Altogether the 21st had claimed eighteen airborne enemy aircraft without a single loss among them.

Gene reflected on the war’s progress as he walked past the noses of the planes, clutching a paper bag of pastries he had acquired. There had been some setbacks, more than the generals or anyone would like, but the war was undeniably going well. If the momentum was kept up it would end quickly, and then the Griffon Empire could begin working out its proper place in this new world.

“Senior Bright Hook? Afternoon Sir,” he said as he approached an older Griffon, resting behind his fighter on a hammock tied between some trees. “The base commander came across a bunch of eclairs and he gave some of them to us.”

The Senior Lieutenant grinned as he sat up, taking one of the long sweets that Gene handed over.

“It’s nice to finally have someone appreciate all the work we’ve been doing. Have you offered the Captain one yet?”

“Of course! She was the first one I went to!”

“I’m sure she was.”

“I-again with this? I get you like to tease young guys for fun but don’t you think this is getting old?”

“Not really, because I think it’s true,” the senior pilot answered, eating half his eclair in one bite. “You had a unique kind of drive to join this squadron. I could tell what it was.”

“Sir I’ve told you before it’s not the case. I hold nothing but respect for Miss Gilda.”

“I know you do,” Hook assured him.

He could tell Gene always told the truth, but he also thought the young Griffon did not realize it himself, more out of young naïveté than outright refusal of acceptance. It seemed to be a subconscious feeling, one Gene probably did not notice. For one, in relaxed and unofficial atmospheres, he still often referred to her as ‘miss’ rather than her rank of Captain.

She was the commander of the Boreals, holding the official full Air Force title of Flit-Captain that was rarely used in full, with the second half usually sufficing. Aggressive and sure, if a bit arrogant at times, she fit the role of a fighter naturally. Though her appointment to the commanding role of the Griffon Empire’s top flying unit probably had to do with something more than just that.

“Have you been using my wings like I told you?” Hook questioned.

“Of course, I still prefer flying naturally.”

“Good. We’ve only had jets for a few years and yet it still feels like some Griffons are forgetting that they’re born with wings.”

“I never understood why some of them want to abandon their own flight for the mechanics of an aircraft. It’s ridiculous,” Gene agreed. “They should just be like us and enjoy both.”

“You’re a good pilot, and a good Griffon,” the Senior complemented. “Some just don’t know that you can be both.”

“Flying with wings and flying a jet are two different arts, but they’re both beautiful to me. Most of the ones that don’t like one or the other just end up in the Army anyways.”

“You’ve never heard of one in the Navy?”

“The Navy’s got fine pilots too, but no… not really.”

“You heard the Navy lost a few good pilots trying to kill the last American carrier?”

“Yeah, but they rushed into that fight. They didn’t coordinate and they weren’t ready.”

“We’ll just have to set a better example then,” said Bright Hook as he finished the treat and rolled back onto his hammock. “You will have to set a better example.”

“I always will when I’m with this squadron, Sir.”

Author's Note

Convoy

April 23rd, 2006
1150 Hours
Northwest of Hawaii

Source

The bridge of the Audie Murphy gave a grand view of the merchant convoy the destroyer was assigned to protect. In truth, the convoy had nearly as many warships as merchantmen, which in comparison to pre-war plans was rather low in number. There were only five cargo ships escorted by four warships, but as the first convoy to Equestria no great risk could be taken, nor any slack given to protection.

The Audie Murphy was joined by another of her sisters, the Laffey. Third in place in the back left of the group was the Canadian destroyer Algonquin, her red and white flag serving as a standout to the others. The largest and oldest of the four was the nuclear cruiser California, spearheading the convoy slightly to port.

“Still nothing?” Keith asked.

“Nope, nothing,” his XO replied plainly. “Laffey thought she picked up a sonar contact not too long ago, but it was just a whale. Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s still a long way to Cozumane.”

“It’s too bad we can’t land near Vanhoover and deliver everything right to the front,” Bailey lamented.

“Not while it’s getting bombed and getting that close to enemy territory. May take more time to drive this stuff over the country but it’s better than it being on the seafloor.”

The convoy churned along at a comfortable speed, ever on the lookout for hostiles. At this stage their biggest threat was submarines, and as such the active sonar was constantly pinging away. There had been some vague sightings along the way, including one particularly close contact they had been popping up more often. Few ships had passed through in the prior days, especially the unarmed supply ships, but the few that did reported a significant submarine presence.

On two separate occasions, Navy destroyers engaged hostile submarines while being fired on themselves, though neither side had any success. Not much later an empty merchant ship returning alone from a quick, impromptu supply run was sunk by a torpedo. It was clear now that with neither side achieving naval supremacy that free and safe navigation was no longer possible.

Keith’s warship and the others were now to escort the first convoy of transports from Hawaii to Equestria. There was strength in numbers and the heavier protection would go a long way to their safety. The enemy could still strike damage, especially if their numbers increased, but the first convoy was unlikely to run into major organized resistance; any solitary attacks by hostile submarines would be dealt with swiftly once they were sighted. Before long the contact strayed too close, providing the Americans their first real position as it appeared on the screen in the CIC.

“Bridge sonar contact. Bearing one-two-zero. Classified as Foxtrot class.”

“Any other contacts?”

“No Sir, she’s operating alone. Speed looks about ten knots, depth is eighty feet and rising.”

“Alright good. Arm an ASROC and get ready to fire. We’ll launch just before they reach periscope depth. We should be able to kill them quick.”

The crew carried out the task, easily preparing the torpedo-carrying rocket and awaiting the order to fire. Slowly the Foxtrot crept towards the surface, reducing her speed even further, not knowing that she had been discovered. When she reached sixty feet, Keith gave the order to fire.

The ASROC leapt from the destroyer, adjusting its course in the direction of the submarine. By the time the Foxtrot raised its periscope, its Changeling captain only saw the convoy, paying no mind to the dissipating smoke behind the American destroyer. Before any fire plan could be set for his torpedoes, the ASROC’s torpedo hit the water.

With the accuracy of the weapon drop and the depth of the submarine, the Mark 46 torpedo actually sank below the Foxtrot on its initial strike of the water. It made little difference though, as the weapon activated it quickly locked on to the nearby target. Caught by surprise and in a terrible position by default, the Changelings had barely been able to lower the periscope by the time the torpedo rose up and impacted the bottom of their sub.

Keith saw the detonation of the warhead from the bridge, sending up a large column of water and even knocking part of the Foxtrot’s bridge above the surface. With the ship rapidly flooding, the submarine captain harbored no thoughts of vainly trying to save it. An emergency surface was ordered followed with a cry to abandon ship.

The rest of the Foxtrot surfaced, and almost immediately her crew began to fly from the bridge and other exit hatches. Keith denied a request to fire on the stricken vessel, seeing no point in causing further carnage to the sinking ship, and the other American vessels seemed to think the same. Within another minute the Foxtrot was diving again, heading for the bottom of the ocean.

Her Changeling crew continued to escape as long as they could, with several falling into the water. Many of those that escaped earlier did not stay, electing to fly elsewhere in hopes of avoiding capture. Keith had already alerted the destroyer’s boats and Seahawk to prepare to rescue the crew, but seeing the few escaping Changelings surprised him. In spite of everything he had forgotten their natural flying ability, and part of him now regretted not firing on them at least.

“That was an easy first kill,” Bailey observed. “We got lucky on this one.”

“Yeah, we did. Feels good huh? Like fate’s not always trying to screw us over. We got any word on how many survivors we picked up?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve, alright,” Keith repeated gladly. “Go find Oliver and tell him to get some space ready for us to hold them in. I’m going to head to the flight deck and have a look at them.”

“You got it.”

After forty minutes, the Americans suspended any remaining search efforts, not finding anything else beyond an oil slick and some debris. The captured crew sat in a circle on the flight deck, their drenched uniforms drying under the sun. When Keith arrived, they formed themselves into two lines of six, much to his surprise.

Though they were formed up, they still wavered about, clearly exhausted and defeated. None of them spoke a word to the Americans or to each-other, and their shocked, tired, waterlogged look gave them an almost pathetic feeling. Keith wanted to begin asking questions then and there, but could not find the proper words to, and instead sent them below decks after a few more glances over them.

The encounter with the Foxtrot kept everyone on alert, but for the next four hours the seas were quiet. Keith handed command of the bridge over to Bailey and left for the mess for a late lunch. Thankfully there was still some grilled chicken and mashed potatoes left, and he took a seat in the mostly-empty mess across from the head of the ship’s medical department, Lieutenant Rodrigues.

“How are the prisoners looking?” Keith asked, cutting into the chicken.

“Alright Sir, I guess.”

“Guess? You looked at them didn't you?”

“Of course I did, they seem okay,” the Lieutenant answered, shoving a large piece of chicken in his mouth. “No injuries or illness I think. They just looked a little waterlogged. My guess is they’ll be fine.”

“Can you give me anything more confident than a guess Lieutenant?”

“No I can’t, Captain. I was trained for medical duties for humans, not bugs,” Rodrigues clarified. “All I can do is look for the basic stuff, like surface injuries or something. I can’t be sure about anything else. I got nothing on these guys.”

“Huh, well… guess that makes sense.”

“I don’t even know what these guys eat. Tree leaves or something maybe. But they seemed okay, pretty stubborn too. They should be fine unless you want to toss them back out into the Pacific.”

“Nah, I don’t plan on it,” Keith relented, gnawing on a tougher piece of chicken. “You know I never cared for the Pacific that much.”

“Huh?”

“I guess I just prefer the Atlantic.”

“Why? There some difference between them?”

“It’s in the water I guess. Honestly probably not. It’s just cause I grew up in New York instead of the west coast.”

“New York City?”

“A little place upstate called Elizabethtown. It wasn’t on the coast but my dad and I would go fishing at Lake Champlain. In the summers we’d drive across Vermont and New Hampshire to the ocean,” the Captain reminisced happily. “You ever go fishing with you dad?”

“Couldn’t. We grew up in Iowa so there wasn’t much opportunity,” Rodrigues explained. “Maybe when things are boring I’ll get a rod and fish over the side of the ship.”

“Good luck with that,” Keith chuckled. “But yeah, wasn’t much of a sailor before the Navy. Now Commander Bailey on the other hand, he’s from Nantucket. He’s got salt water in his blood.”

“Mhm,” The Lieutenant groaned blankly, scarfing down the last of his meal. “I’m going take another look at those bugs for you. I’ll let you know if I find anything new.”

“Thank you Lieutenant.”

Finishing his meal, Keith returned to the bridge to find Bailey and the others hard at work. Something had happened since he had been gone, but had not been notified. None of the ships seemed damaged, so clearly no attack had taken place, but he still disliked not knowing.

“What’s up Commander?” he asked Bailey as the Commander turned up to welcome him.

“California’s helo picked up a sonar contact a ways off not too long ago but they lost track,” Bailey updated him. “They need help combing the area so I sent ours up to help look.”

“Let me know next time,” Keith asked simply before moving on to the more important matter. “What kind of sub was it?”

“Unknown. But we’re pretty sure it wasn’t one of ours. As far as we know there shouldn’t be any friendly submarines near us.”

“Let’s just make sure when we do find it. Things have been so crazy I wouldn’t be surprised if one wandered too close to us. We’re taking enough of a beating as is, so no taking chances with blue-on-blue.”

“Yeah, I agree. We do think it’s a nuke boat though, considering how quiet it seemed.”

Keith let out a long breath, running his hand along his jawline. Nuclear powered subs of any kind were much harder to deal with than conventional ones, being much quieter and having a near-limitless fuel supplies. With enough patience and skill a silent submarine like that could take its time and sneak in to launch a deadly attack. It would take much more work to track it down.

“Well let’s stay on him. We can’t let him outlast us. Let’s coordinate with the other ships to get proper sonar coverage. We’ll see about rotating helicopter sorties with them too so we don’t get burnt out.”

Now began a long game of cat-and-mouse as the escort’s helicopters searched for the sub, hoping to find it before it could get into position and launch an attack. It was a painfully tense experience for the crews on both sides that dragged on slowly. Naval warfare required patience, more so than fighting on land or in the sky.

The hunt lasted for three hours without further contact, but the Americans never stopped. An enemy submarine was known to be close by, tracking them from the deep, waiting for an opening. The Changelings would not quit, and so neither could they.

The dusk began with the onset of the evening, with the setting sun painting the sky and Pacific waters with a beautiful orange. The no trace of the submarine had been found by either the ships or their helicopter patrols. There was some talk of breaking off one of the ships to hunt it down, but the idea was rejected in favor of keeping the ships close by.

This was suiting for Keith, who preferred to stay with the others rather than go off searching for the enemy. Their objective was to escort the merchant ships, not sunk subs, and that meant against possible long-range bombers as well. The convoy had to stick together, meaning they could not outrun the submarine either.

Before the sun could set, the ship’s phone on the bridge started to buzz. Keith fully expected it to be another SITREP at first as many others had come in on an approximate hourly timetable. It was only after picking up the device that he realized the call was too early to be a SITREP.

“Bridge, CIC.”

Keith recognized the voice on the other end as Lieutenant Stepanović, the destroyer’s ASW officer.

“Bridge, did you find something out there?”

“One of California’s helos picked up a sonar contact to the east at bearing one-one-zero at a little less than ten miles. We lost it but we know where they are.”

“Alright, let’s get our Seahawk over there to help.”

Three American helicopters began to prowl over a smaller stretch of ocean, stopping to hover here and there to dip their sonars into the water. The Changeling submarine still proved difficult to find, even with the area narrowed down. In order to track the enemy, and subsequently kill him with a sonar-guided torpedo, the helicopters needed them to make noise. The Changelings beneath them must have realized their detection, as now they were either crawling forward slowly or not moving at all. They could wait indefinitely, but the fuel-limited Seahawks could not.

The Audie Murphy’s helicopter, ‘Crowbar’, pinged the waters below constantly. It’s pilots, and those of the other helicopters, were getting frustrated. They knew the submarine was somewhere close, but did not know exactly where. Dropping a torpedo in the general area would possibly lock on to the submarine, but it would also be alerted and have to move. If it was far off, it stood a chance of outrunning the weapon, and the helicopter would have to make the time-consuming trip back to the ship for a reload before flying out again.

There was some slight comfort knowing they were stopping the submarine from moving in more quickly, and keeping it away from the convoy, but that was not enough; it had to be killed. The sub could stalk the American ships for days while the helicopters were still limited, and abandoning the search meant the process would have to start over again. With lengthy searching and heavy use of sonar, they steadily narrowed down the search area, but fuel was running low and they still had no definitive track on the submarine.

“I think he’s near me, still can’t point him,” the California’s helicopter pilot, 'Sunny', complained. “Listen I’m going to drop my fish here, see if they home in on anything and get that bastard moving. Crowbar, keep your ears open and see if he takes off, you copy?”

“Copy,” the helicopter pilot answered.

One Mk46 torpedo fell from the bottom of the Seahawk, followed by another shortly after once it had moved a short distance. The weapons plunged into the water and swam deeper, pinging away with the active sonar within them, searching sonically for targets. The helicopter crews did not have to wait for the payoff to the gamble.

Spurred by the sudden appearance of torpedoes, the Changeling submarine began to move again. The Murphy’s helicopter detected it almost instantly as it began to speed away from the searching weapons. It was in fact not just close by, as they had thought, but was just ahead of Crowbar and moving closer.

“Oh shit, there!” The second crewman of the Seahawk jumped. “He’s right there! Right in front of us!”

“I see him! Hang on!”

“Sunny, Crowbar! We found her, enemy sub caught and classified! She’s a November! We’re trying to catch her, out!”

“Alright alright! I got it! This is perfect!” Crowbar’s pilot shouted as the Seahawk leveled out. “Drop the fish! Quick!”

"Madman! Weapon away!”

The Mk48 fell into the water directly ahead of the November as the Seahawk pulled away to avoid any blast. Running from the torpedoes behind them, the Changelings had no time to react to the oncoming weapon. Sonar had scarcely announced ‘weapon homing’ before the fish struck the nose of the November, punching through the hull and exploding against the torpedo tubes. The submarine’s own torpedoes, intended for the convoy, were set off, and the eruption blew open the bow and sent a large column of water skywards from the sea.

"Got her, damn. Took long enough," the pilot exasperated. "A November? How'd we have that much trouble with that?"

"Bugs do some fishy stuff with their subs, something they do that makes them a little harder to find than the average Soviet-era trash. Heard it's been spreading to the other Bloc ones, too," his companion vexed, slouching in his seat a bit as he observed his work. "Or we could just be really shit at our jobs."

The pilot chucked as he brought the helicopter around and began the trip back.

"Murph, this is Crowbar. Enemy November is KIA and we're heading back now, out."

“Nice work,” Keith relaxed from his spot on the Audie Murphy. “Now we-”

“Vampire! Missiles inbound!” one of the panicking crew interrupted. “Vampire! Vampire! Missiles from the west at two-eighty-eight!”

“What missiles!? Where the fuck did they come from!?” Keith yelled, not waiting for an answer to the new threat. “Launch SAMs! Don’t wait! Fire what we’ve got! Don’t let them hit!”

The oncoming missiles were much closer than anyone believed, but the escorting warships quickly followed the Audie Murphy’s lead and fired their own SAMs. Thankfully, despite the lack of coordination, there was little risk of friendly fire. Only the Algonquin’s helicopter was in the west and was well out of the way of the flying ordinance.

In spite of the shock, luck was with the humans, as they targeted the few enemy missiles. Two were quickly destroyed by the Murphy’s fire, three by the Laffey, and a fifth by the Algonquin. The final closed in on the convoy quickly, but was struck by a burst from Laffey’s CIWS and exploded in the air, rattling the ships. Though the sudden attack scared every man in the group, there was no damage or casualties.

There was a moment of stunned silence that seemed to go on for an extensive time. With no other dangers about them, the sailors tried to collect themselves, trying to shake off the surprise and catch their breath. Finally, their Captain shouted and broke the quiet.

“Where did those missiles come from!?” Keith demanded.

“Not sure Skipper. There’s no planes at all on the radar. I think it might have been sub-launched, but they were far off.”

“Sub-launched? You think?”

“I think so, Captain. Turns out they were cruise missiles, but like I said there’s zero air or surface contacts.”

“Well keep looking, and see if the other ships saw anything, too. Any other unknown contacts anywhere? Sub or surf?”

“Negative Captain, no contacts. I think we’re in the clear now.”

“Good… good, but keep your eyes peeled. I don’t want anymore dirty surprises like that for the rest of the mission… God… feels like we got lucky that time.”

The remainder of the trip passed without major incident. Local reports by maritime patrol aircraft suggested the cruise missile attack had indeed originated from a submarine firing them off from long range, but the submarine itself was not pinpointed again, nor did any other subsurface contact appear close to the convoy. The last enemy sighting was from a scouting maritime bomber of the Shadow Navy, sighting the convoy possibly to pass on information for a bomber attack, but an American F-16 flying from the coast quickly shot it down.

The convoy arrived safely in the harbor at Cozumane without having suffered a single loss. However, Keith and many others were not lulled into a false security by this. The convoys were vital to supporting the war in Arcaia, and as such the Bloc would assail every cargo ship they could with increasing pressure.

Watching the merchants unload their diverse cargo further showcased their importance. Replacement equipment in the form of tanks, and planes, fresh men to fill in for those lost, a variety of supplies from bombs and bullets to food and medical stock and spare parts for mechanics; the convoy carried some of all of these. Keith knew these were what was needed to win the war, and he understood the enemy knew that too. Each transport the Bloc could send to the sea floor meant their own troops did not have to face its contents on the front. Escorts like the Audie Murphy now bore the lifeline of the war on their shoulders.

Author's Note

Spiking the Guns

April 23rd, 2006
2300 Hours
Forward of the Papa Line, Central Sector

The war never stopped with the fall of night, it only changed how it was fought. In a somewhat quieter section of the frontlines a Blackhawk was swooping low over the countryside. It moved quickly and cautiously into enemy territory ahead of the Papa Line, ducking between the hills as it went.

“Four minutes!” the pilot notified to his passengers.

To average soldiers sneaking into enemy lines alone would be an anxious event. These men, however, were SEALs. They were something special, a cut well above the rest, given the challenging tasks that their rank-and-file countrymen simply could not do themselves.

One of the SEALs, Petty Officer Arnold Johansson, was putting the final touches on his camouflage. Taking more of the black paint on his fingers, he covered the last bits of his pale skin, covering his entire face as if it were sunscreen. This, along with his uniform, would help conceal him over the course of the mission, so long as the night held.

“Yo Switch! You done with that?”

Johansson handed off the paint to the SEAL sitting next to him as their team leader went over the mission plan again.

“Alright, one more time! The primary target is the artillery battery at Objective Window. These guns have been hammering the front for days, and since our friends in the Army and Air Force seem too inept to deal with it themselves, they've asked us to do it. Switch, you and Bowie move to the high ground at Point Key and set up overwatch. Rest of us are going for the main target at Objective Window,” Cutlass reiterated. “Everyone got it? Keep it quick and quiet. We’re going to do this right and the battery will go up after we’ve left.”

“Thirty seconds!” the pilot yelled.

The helicopter came to a halt and descended in an open clearing sided by bushes and trees. The doors were pulled open and the men scurried out, clearing the Blackhawk in seconds. They wasted no time in finding cover in the woods. The helicopter quickly gained altitude and turned around as the rotor’s wind blew along the landing zone.

“Everyone here?” their leader checked. “Okay let’s get moving. Remember to keep it quiet and fast so-”

His instructions were cut off by a sharp explosion not far off, followed by a bright fire lighting the area.

“What was that?”

“Fuck that was the helo! I saw them hit it!” Arkansas swore quietly.

“Shit, there goes our ride back,” Switch noted. “Think they know we’re here?”

“Not sure, they might. They’re certainly going to sweep the area now.”

“Think the pilots got out? Should we go back for them?” Bowie asked.

“We’ve got no way to take care of them and no way to get an extract. I’d like to but I don’t know if we can afford to.”

“Alright, so what’s the plan, Cut?”

“Same as before. We’ve got a mission to finish, we’ll just have to be more careful. We can worry about getting back after it’s done.”

“I think we should go check the crash site,” Stiletto suggested. “Not just for the pilots. We need to blow that thing up, too. Make sure the enemy doesn’t get anything out of it. Plus they’re definitely going to send a patrol there. We can jump them while they’re checking the helicopter out.”

“Hm… yeah we can do that. Might draw attention in that direction, too. Less focus on the battery’s area,” Cutlass agreed. “Okay here’s the plan. Switch you and Bowie continue to Key and set up an overwatch, you should be able to see the crash site from there. Rest of us are going to set a charge on the Blackhawk and wait to ambush the patrol. Then we’ll deal with the battery.”

“Well, we’re all alone out here without the helo. We got any support in the area?” Bowie asked.

“Brass said an SAS group was operating in this area. We might want to try and link up with them. They might have an extraction plan, but that comes later. Focus on getting the job done, okay? Get going!”

The two SEALs did as they were told, hustling through woods as their comrades left in the opposite direction. They moved as quick as they could, ensuring they stayed within the cover of the trees. They did not see any enemy forces, either with the naked eye or through NVGs, but that was no reason for recklessness. Even in the dark they could get spotted charging across a field, and careless actions could easily lead to the failure of the mission and their deaths.

On approaching the base of the hill Switch saw his teammate bring up his hand and come to a sudden stop. He too came to a halt and knelt, resting against an elderly oak. Bowie did another hand gesture signaling for him to stay put and began to crawl forward slowly, avoiding anything as big as a branch that could cause noise.

Switch pressed himself against the ground as well, feeling the grass prickle against any exposed skin. He did not see what Bowie was going after, but he trusted his ability. A minute later he heard rustling ahead of him mixed with some kind of muffled moan. There was a hard impact as something hit the forest floor. Bowie returned, standing and wiping his knife with a leaf, and called for Switch to continue on.

On moving forward Switch saw his comrade’s victim. A Shadow soldier lying down flat on his stomach, dead and motionless as if he were sleeping. The ground around him seemed ruffled from a short struggle, though it was too dark to make out any of the blood running into the soil.

“No time to hide him,” Bowie whispered. “Check that clearing to our front, past the treeline. Looks like his buddy is getting some sleep up against that rock. You want to take this one?”

Switch crept off to the left, moving behind the slumbering enemy. A few steps away and he unsheathed his dagger, brandishing a sharp and malicious Fairbairn-Sykes. Gripping the handle tightly he moved through the dark like a reaper, coming up behind the Shadow soldier and almost hovering over him. The Shadow, on the other hand, was blissfully resting and providing the only noise with sharp snores. Switch realized, somewhat sadly, that the poor pony had no idea what was about to happen, nor would he ever know. At least not in this life.

In one motion the SEAL waylaid his enemy, falling onto him and pinning his body against the dirt. One hand covered the snout, preventing any cries from escaping, while the knife hand set about the throat. In one thrust the dagger pierced through cleanly, with Switch cutting it as if it were a turkey’s meat, and pressing out to complete the gruesome task. Other than some muffled moans he felt against his hand, the American heard nothing. It happened so quickly that he was not even sure the Shadow pony woke up before it was over. He held no remorse for what he did, but thinking of that gave him some comfort in the brutal killing.

“He’s down,” Switch reported “See any others?”

“Negative, we’re clean,” his comrade answered. “Come on, Key’s just up ahead.”

The two continued to hustle up the hillside, doing their best to stay concealed from the moonlight. They reached the position in good time without further trouble, giving them an excellent view over a long stretch of the area, seeing over the treetops of the forest patches and making out the open fields and various other terrain features. Bowie continued on a bit further to find good places to lay mines so no enemy would sneak up on them from behind over their lengthy stay. Switch stayed and readied his sniper rifle, a dark M24 with a bipod hanging under the barrel, and found a satisfactory spot on a relatively flat but sharp rock.

“Dagger One-Four Charlie to One-Four Alpha. We’ve arrived at Checkpoint Key, over.”

“How’s it looking over there, Switch?” Cutlass asked. “Run into any trouble?”

“Couple of sentries but we took care of them. No commotion, our cover’s still good. What’s your status, lead?”

“We just finished planting a reserve charge on the Blackhawk. We’re doubling back through the woods and are moving towards Objective Window now.”

“Any survivors?”

“Negative, hit nose first. Listen Switch, can you see the crash site? Should be burning a little towards the southeast.”

The SEAL scanned over the southeast and spotted the bright glow of a fire, observing the wrecked helicopter through his binoculars.

“I see it.”

“Let me know when a patrol reaches it and I’ll set off the charge. We can’t stick around but I’d like to at least take a couple bad guys out with the explosion.”

“WILCO, I’ll contact you back when we see the enemy, out.”

Just as he signed off, his teammate returned, taking a knee next to him.

“Any trouble?”

“No, not yet. Did the rest of the guys get to the helo yet?” Bowie asked, wrestling a pair of binoculars from around his neck.

“Yeah, they’re already moving on. Just waiting for a patrol to reach it before they detonate.”

“Okay, hang on,” the larger SEAL said as he worked with his own radio. “Cut, this is Bowie.”

“What is it?”

“Intel really messed this one up. There’s loads more bad guys here than they said,” he informed. “There’s tons of activity all around us for miles. Soldiers, IFVs, tanks, plenty more than just our battery. Must be a whole damn battalion spread out over the area, probably part of a bigger regiment.”

“Shit… alright keep an eye on us and let us know if anyone comes our way. You two take care of yourselves up there.”

“Will do, Cut. Bowie out.”

With the immediate tasks complete the night reverted to its usual silent state. The waxing moon provided an eerie light over the area with few clouds to interrupt it. The Shadows seemed to be taking their time on reaching the crash site, but before long Switch saw a group of figures draw near to inspect, illuminated by the still-burning fire. There were at least five he could see, looking around the area and gingerly beginning to go through the wreckage.

“Cut, patrol finally reached the helicopter.”

“Took them long enough. Are they close?”

“A couple are on top of it. Rest are around it.”

“Alright, setting it off now.”

The remains of the helicopter exploded seconds later in a bright orange ball. The soldiers investigating the the wreckage were engulfed, along with the bodies of the deceased pilots that could not be taken or allowed capture, while those Shadows nearby where knocked to their feet or struck by pieces of metal. Nothing of use was left of the Blackhawk.

Johansson observed from his perch as the remaining soldiers scrambled about the crash site. From the fashion of the explosion, it looked as though the fuel tank had erupted. Beyond the convenient timing, going up just as the soldiers were going over it, there was nothing to suggest to the Shadows that there were surviving infiltrators among them, nor that they were responsible.

“Looks like you got a couple,” he informed his leader. “Wreckage is a write-off too.”

“Good. We’re holding up against a wooden windmill to your north. Can you see us?”

“There’s a few windmills in that direction. Any more specifics?”

“The one that looks broken. It’s missing two of its blades.”

“You guys are near the door at the bottom?”

“Yeah, that’s us. How’s the surrounding area look? We clear?”

“Affirmative, looks like the local patrol is moving east towards the explosion. Lucky you.”

“Good, we’re moving out. Same as before, keep overwatch on us. Radio silence unless there’s something to report. Out.”

The sniper kept a watchful eye on the team as they passed through the countryside. Luckily the distance between them and the heavy artillery battery they targeted was virtually empty, with the only patrols now going past them in the opposite direction. Now and then Johansson would catch a glimpse of a pony in a farmhouse or field, but quickly found them to be solitary civilians awoken from the far-off ruckus.

With no interference to them, Cutlass and his team arrived on the battery’s outskirts in eight minutes. Contrary to the valley, the battery was well guarded with much more than originally thought. In addition to the artillery itself, touting some towed variant of large 203mm guns, there was an anti-aircraft battery situated on the small knoll behind them with two SAM launchers and a radar aiming skyward. No armored vehicles were among the camp, but the guards watching over them were all alert.

“Cutlass, come in.”

“Send it.”

“You guys might want to hold off on attacking. This is a lot more to chew off than we thought.”

“Yeah I noticed. What do you guys see up there?”

“There’s an AA battery just behind the artillery, two launchers and a radar. I’ve seen… twelve plus infantry scattered around. There’s probably some more out of sight.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a broken salvo of flashes and bangs as the artillery began to fire in semi-synchronized fashion at some unknown target.

“Battery’s opening up,” Bowie observed.

“That’s perfect!” Switch proclaimed. “We can use it as noise cover and pop some of the outlying sentries.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll start picking targets.”

“Hold off on the attack. We’re going to try and take out some of the sentries using the artillery fire as noise cover.”

“Alright. I’m diving us up into two teams. Do what damage you can and let us know when to jump off.”

“Understood, our.”

“You ready man?” Bowie asked, eyeing one of their far-off victims through his binoculars.

“Yeah, who’s first.”

“Check down at the edge of the hill, off to the left. Got one walking along the dirt path. Looks like he’s out of sight of the others. Wind is about four out from the south and growing, range at about five-hundred-twenty meters.”

Johansson found the soldier his spotter was referring to, marching along at a poky pace. With no lights near the target, he had to make use of his rifle scope’s night vision, showing the enemy guard in the dull green shade. The sniper took his time and added everything in that was needed; determining the wind affect, bullet drop, the distance, predicting if the target’s speed would remain consistent. All the impacting elements were taken into account.

Switch took his aim slightly ahead of his target and now focused on the battery’s fire rate. He listened to the rumble of the artillery, hoping to match his shot with their salvos. With the next group of rounds he pulled the trigger back. The rifle fired at the same time as the artillery, and when the sound died the targeted soldier had dropped to the ground. Switch did not see exactly where the round impacted, but the Shadow pony did not move at all afterwards.

“He’s dead, good shot man,” Bowie complimented. “Another one, off to the right. He’s behind that little shack.”

Switch picked out the target, finding the pony staring off lethargically in their direction. A few seconds later and Switch sent the round downrange in time with the battery. The bullet struck the pony in the throat and pierced through his neck, knocking him backwards and killing him instantly.

“Alright let me find-shit! Back at our first guy! There’s another one!”

The sniper jerked back to see another Shadow soldier near their first victim who had spotted his fallen comrade.

“I see him!”

“Get him! Quick!”

The Shadow pony knelt down to examine the fallen guard. Switch took aim and fired, not bothering to wait for the artillery to time up. He saw the bullet strike somewhere in the chest, and saw the soldier squirming about on the ground. There was a fear that he was making noise that would alert the others, or that this shot’s sound would be noticed, but a quick overview of the camp showed that nothing had changed. Laziness would be working in their favor tonight.

“That was close… good shot man.”

“Thanks. See any others we can pick off?”

“No, none that are alone. Let’s call Cut and get this wrapped up.”

“Sounds good.”

“Cut this is Bowie.”

“SITREP,” the commander responded in a lower voice.

“We took care of the outliers. You can start your assault when you’re ready and we’ll keep up the support from here. Be advised, counting the artillery crew there’s at least fifteen tangos around the battery right in front of you. I’m seeing another four on the hill near the AA, over.”

“Okay, I’m leading most of the team against the arty. Ice and Ball are going for the AA on the hilltop. They’re off to the left flank. Make sure you don’t hit us, how copy?”

“Copy Cut, we got you.”

“Alright, we’re jumping off, out.”

Far off from Johansson’s position on the hill, the rest of his team was hiding on the side of a deep ditch across the road from the battery. The only soldiers patrolling the road had been killed by the sniper, affording them a bit of breathing room. On their leader’s call of ‘go!’ they climbed over the bank and began their attack.

Moving together with their weapons at the ready, the SEALs immediately saw their targets. The various guards and artillery troops ahead had no expectation of any enemy attack. The only one they expected at all was a bombing run from aircraft, and even that seemed unlikely. As such, when the first few noticed some figures appearing from the ditch and moving slowly through the darkness, there was more personal confusion than alarm.

Arkansas was the first to fire, cutting down one of the bewildered guards with a burst from his M4. Cutlass killed another in the same manner a half second later, then another next to him. The remainder of the squad followed in suit as the Shadows scrambled about in confusion. Few were able to even see the Americans before they were killed, much less return fire. The remaining guards were the first to go before the SEALs turned their attention to the artillery operators.

Armed with little more than personal sidearms, the gun crews had neither the stomach nor the means to fight a skirmish with the attacking special operations troops. Panic took hold immediately as many were cut down by the rapid small arms fire and Johansson's continued sniping. Some attempted to draw their pistols but most scattered in the face of the assault. Most were killed before they could escape; the few that did gained the sniper’s attention and did not make it far.

The only real resistance came from the few soldiers guarding the hilltop. One of them knelt behind a sandbag position near the hill’s edge and fired his AK down into the darkness below. The fire was wildly off, as he was unable to make out proper targets in the night, but it still made the SEALs jump to cover before returning fire. The small exchange did not last long as moments later, the other two Americans assigned to seize the hill made it to the top. After a few bursts from their suppressed carbines, another four Shadow soldiers lay dead.

“Clear up here!” Icepick shouted.

“Battery is clear!”

“Switch, you see anything from up there?” Cutlass asked.

“Negative, you’re in the clear. You guys got enough charges for all that stuff?”

“No, but I’ve got an idea. Keep an eye on us for now, out.”

“Looks like we’re good,” Bowie observed. “I’m going to grab the claymores. No need to waste.”

“I hear ya,” Johansson agreed.

The sniper continued his overwatch as his comrades farther off got to work. A stiff wind carried clouds overhead, covering parts of the black sky and reducing the moonlight. Some of them looked like storm clouds. Switch felt his dry throat strain and pine for a drink of water, but resolved to wait until there was a quiet moment.

“Switch, come take a look at this!” Bowie called in a hushed tone.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, just come check it out!”

Johansson picked up bus rifle and hustled over to his friend’s position, finding him staring intently at a far-off hamlet through his binoculars.

“Out there, at that cluster of buildings! Left of that two-story one, on the road! You see that?”

The SEAL peered through his sights, quickly spying what Bowie was so distressed about. Standing along the road were three figures, each bipedal but being taller than their usual combatants. A long stretch of one of their arms confirmed what the two had theorized, that they were human.

They were armed as well, but something was very wrong about them. They showed no signs of hiding away from the local Shadow troops, or even any kind of distress. The group was calmly discussing matters amongst themselves, without a care in the world.

“Who are those guys? We don’t have any other teams here do we?”

“No, not in that area. Cut said some SAS guys were in our area but they're way off in the opposite direction. These guys don't look like 'em, don’t look very busy either.”

“Army guys? Maybe some stragglers that got left behind?”

“They aren’t in a hurry to get back to our side.”

“Something’s really wrong. Intel didn’t say anything about-hang on! You see that? Enemy soldier heading up to them.”

As Bowie said, a Shadow soldier trotted up to the three humans from the dirt road, his rifle firmly on his back. Neither group seemed surprised to see the other. Indeed, the humans seemed to be expecting him, turning their conversation to the Shadow as he arrived.

“We need to let Cut know about this.”

“I got it,” said Johansson as he fiddled with his radio again. “Dagger One. Cut, we found something weird, over.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We see some humans. Far off to our southeast.”

“Prisoners?”

“I don’t think so. They’re armed and in good shape. We saw them talking with an enemy soldier, looked like an officer, so they’re not stragglers either.”

“What the Hell? What are they doing? Can you ID them?”

“Negative, too dark and too far.”

“Alright, we’ll worry about that later. You two just get your asses over here fast.”

"Got it, out," Switch answered, turning over to his comrade. "We'll have to worry about it later, we have to meet up with the rest of the guys and light up the battery."

"And we still need to find a way out of here."

"Yeah, I know. One thing at a time though and we'll get it all done," Switch assured him. "Let's move, we're burning moonlight."

It took a bit of time for the two to pack up their gear and move over the great distance to the rest of their team. The others had already completed their preparations for the battery’s destruction by the time the sniper and spotter arrived. Thankfully, the enemy response force had not arrived before them, though they were no doubt inbound.

“Hey, everything looking good?” Switch asked, ducking into the ditch where the men hid.

“Yeah. We were short a charge to get the artillery and the AA but we made due. Brought some of the battery’s shells and some missiles up and scrunched em between some of the closer targets. Boot took a bunch of the gas cans for their trucks and dumped them all along it, too.”

“Guess he’s just that fire-happy,” suggested Bowie.

“Now let’s put some distance between us and this place. I don’t know how big the explosion will be. We don’t need to be too close.”

The team began heading northeast, keeping an eye open for any other hostile soldiers on their way. Ducking into another forest, they halted on their leader’s order. They could not see the battery anymore through the trees, only the side of the hill it was positioned against.

After a quick warning, Cutlass detonated the charges. Those placed directly on the guns did enough damage to destroy them, but the few used otherwise proved much more powerful. The charges set off against the stacks of heavy artillery shells and missiles combined into a massive explosion, more than enough to cripple any nearby guns and tear the AA positions to pieces. The liberal use of gasoline ignited and turned much of the top of the hill into a large torch, with the shockwaves carrying the heat far enough for the men to feel it, impacting their skin and driving off the cool night air.

The devastation was total; nothing remained of either battery that could be used. Only some shattered and charred remains of some guns flipped entirely over. The one charge left on the munitions stockpile left a large crater that looked as though a bomb had struck. In spite of everything that had interfered with them, the SEALs had completed their mission and then some.

With the surrounding Shadow army units now rushing to the explosion, the team quickly began to hustle away in the opposite direction. Now came the difficult task of returning to allied lines. As planned before, they struck out to the north in hopes of finding an SAS team that was supposedly hiding in the area.

Dawn came as their trek took them across the countryside. There were some minor attempts to contact them on the radio once the SEALs got close to the planned hiding spot, but there was no reply. Their exhaustive march carried them into the heart of another patch of woodlands, moving on slowly until a voice called out that brought them to a stop.

“Halt!” the unseen man ordered in a noticeable accent. “Alright, that’s far enough. Stay where you are.”

A human soldier stood from his camouflage under the leaves and grass, approaching with a rather relaxed look.

“Right, who are you lot? Where’d you come from?”

“SEALs, Dagger Team,” Cutlass answered. “Sorry if we scared you.”

“You’re the one who should be scared lad, since we got the jump on you,” the Englishman chuckled.

“Well we figured some friends would be here so our guard was a little low. You guys are the SAS team, right?”

“Aye, I’m Lieutenant Tyrwhitt, E Squadron of the 21st SAS. You can’t see him but off to your left there is my second, Staff Sergeant Hoskins,” Tyrwhitt introduced. “Wave to the Yanks, Hoskins.”

Cutlass grumbled a bit as the hidden figure raised a green and brown hand to wave at him.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” the SAS operative questioned.

“Our Blackhawk got shot down and we couldn’t reach anyone for extract. We were hoping you had one, so we came to link up with you.”

“I’m afraid not. There’s not many hostiles around here but HQ hasn’t been able to send a helicopter yet. They say there’s too much AA and hostile air.”

“Shit… well that was my plan. Have you got one?”

“We were planning on making our way back on foot once we get an opening; you can follow along if you’d like,” Tyrwhitt offered. “With the amount of Shadow activity that window may be a while in coming, though.”

“Hey, it works for me. Thanks Lieutenant Tyrwhitt.”

“My pleasure Mr… you never gave me a name, Sir.”

“My team just calls me Cutlass.”

“Ah you Yanks, ask us to save your skins and won’t even tell us your names,” said Tyrwhitt, turning around and beginning to lead them deeper into the forest. “There’s a small shack the rest of my team is hiding in. They’re Two Troop, four more men. It will be cramped but there should be room for everyone. And do mind that you follow me closely; we don’t want you stepping on one of our mines.”

“Lieutenant Tyrwhitt, Sir,” Switch spoke up as they followed him.

“Aye, and what’s your name?”

“Switch.”

“Well, that seems colourful.”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve seen any other humans while you’ve been out here. Ones that aren’t allies, ones talking with Shadow troops.”

“No, nothing like that. It sounds rather peculiar.”

“Yeah… guess I’ll have to talk to someone when we get back.”

The Brass (TotallyNotABrony)

April 24th, 2006
0755 Hours
USPACOM HQ, Oahu

Camp H. M. Smith was built in the hills north of Honolulu. Despite being named for General Holland McTyeire “Howling Mad” Smith, it was perhaps the most pleasant US Marine Corps base in the world, with island breezes, light afternoon showers, and a spectacular view of Pearl Harbor, below and three miles distant to the southwest. The headquarters of Marine Forces Pacific had occupied the base since the 1950’s, however, the building directly across the street was much more impressive.

United States Pacific Command was the headquarters of US military forces across nearly half the Earth, from California to the Indian Ocean. And earlier in the week, the whole area had flashed into crisis the likes of which the world had never seen.

Fleet Admiral Peter McDowell sat at the head of a table in the secure basement of PACOM headquarters. His white, short-sleeved uniform was somehow holding its starch, despite having been worn for hours already.

A week ago, he’d served as commander of PACOM. A large job, even for a four star admiral. McDowell had been chosen because he could handle it. But now, as the person in the best position to do so, he’d been appointed the Supreme Allied Commander of the Arcaian War.

Earlier in the day, Washington DC time, a special session of congress had confirmed McDowell as the first five-star US military officer since the Korean War. At short notice, there was no rank insignia available, but an enterprising junior officer had gone down to the USS Missouri museum in Pearl Harbor and requisitioned Chester Nimitz’s own shoulder boards. They felt heavier than McDowell would have imagined, but fortunately the pressure of commanding more than one million troops distracted him.

People moved around the room, talking in urgent whispers, tapping on classified computers, or consulting binders of intelligence documents. The other end of the room from McDowell was occupied by a camera and several large screens. One by one, feeds to other such teleconference rooms around the world were being connected.

“This is Japan Joint Staff.”

“Australian Chiefs of Service checking in.”

“London here, Defense staff.”

“Hello, this is US Embassy Equestria.”

All the stations were checking in prior to the scheduled start time, not willing to risk missing such an important meeting. McDowell stared at his notebook, spread on the table in front of him. His aide, a Navy Commander, put a bottle of water on the table, but he barely saw it.

The digital clock above the teleconference screens changed to the top of the hour. McDowell cleared his throat. The room instantly went quiet as if muted.

“I am Fleet Admiral Peter McDowell. In a joint decision between the United States and Equestrian governments, I have been appointed Supreme Allied Commander of the coalition against the Arcaian Defense Bloc.”

He paused for translation into more than a dozen languages. It seemed like half the militaries of the world were attending this meeting.

“As you know, this is the most significant conflict the human world has ever seen. Several of our countries have been attacked by the Bloc. It was their attempt to push us out of the Pacific so they may operate unimpeded.”

McDowell paused again for translation. He did the mental math while he waited. No, not half the world. Probably only an eighth. Still enough to demonstrate the scale of the war.

“As of now, the United Nations Security Council has held an emergency vote. Russia and China vetoed the resolution to form a UN force. On the sidelines, concerned Pacific countries have met and agreed to form an alliance against the Bloc. This was put together in diplomatic channels.

“However, as we all know, talking does not win wars. I recognize the need for diplomacy, but I’m sure you’ll agree that time has now passed.”

McDowell looked at the screens in front of him. Some were subdivided to hold multiple camera feeds. Hundreds of people were listening to him, and they in turn would spread his message to hundreds of thousands of others.

“I want to recognize this new alliance. Five Eyes, Equestria, Japan, Philippines, and the Republic of Korea, thank you for joining us today. Some of you have suffered attack by the Bloc. All of us will work together to defeat the Bloc and bring peace to the Arcaian continent.

“We will now review the proposed alliance organization.”

Someone flipped the camera feed to an image of a computer monitor. If the IT techs had done everything right, all the other conference rooms should now be seeing PowerPoint slides. The audio was still connected, however.

A man in an army uniform stepped to the front of the room. He spoke rapidly, but paused for translation between each paragraph. “I am Major General Troy Anthony, PACOM Chief of Staff, now dual-hatted to the Supreme Allied Commander. I invite your attention to the following slide.”

Allied Forces Leadership

Supreme Allied Commander/PACOM
Fleet Admiral Peter McDowell (USN)

Deputy Supreme Allied Commander
Marshal James Waddsworth (RAF)

Combined Forces Maritime Component Commander
Admiral Roger Brown (RAN)

Combined Forces Air Component Commander
General Eduard Durand (RCAF)

Combined Forces Land Component Commander
Royal Marshall Silver Lance (REA)

Anthony reviewed the information. “Admiral McDowell - pardon me - Fleet Admiral, is the incumbent PACOM commander and has been appointed SAC. His deputy will be Marshal Waddsworth.

“Allied Maritime forces will be commanded by Admiral Brown, Air Forces by General Durand, and land forces by Royal Marshal Lance.”

The United States had the dominating military force in the region, even with losses suffered in the Bloc surprise attack, but a combined force needed combined leaders. McDowell knew the British Marshal, Waddsworth, and the Australian Admiral, Brown. He had briefly talked with the Canadian General, Durand, during a call yesterday to tell him of his appointment.

The Equestrian Royal Marshal, Lance, was the figure McDowell knew least about. Equestria was still building the ability to communicate securely, especially to this kind of meeting, which was why Silver Lance was attending via video from the US Embassy in Equestria.

The slide changed, listing the allied countries.

Combined Forces

Five Eyes

Australia

Canada

New Zealand

United Kingdom

United States

Equestria

Japan

Philippines

South Korea

This many nations going to war against the combined Bloc...no one wanted to call it World War Three, but McDowell already suspected the history books would record it as such.

Anthony went on. “The listed countries have already committed support or combat forces. Upon arrival, they can be expected to operate from bases in Japan, Alaska, Hawaii, Guam, and inside Equestria.”

Treaty obligations and concern for their own safety had prompted the large response. Five Eyes was a strong alliance. The US had additional treaty allies in Japan, the Philippines, and South Korea; all of whom also had something to lose if the Bloc dominated the Pacific.

Five Eyes was well equipped. Compared to the US, the other member countries’ militaries were fairly small, but all were advanced.

Australia had avoided the initial Bloc attack, but clearly was close enough to be in danger. Their military was capable of fighting the Bloc’s best, though perhaps not with even numbers. The same applied to Canada. New Zealand’s talents lay more in reconnaissance and support. The United Kingdom had high tech weapons and experience, but had to come all the way from Europe.

Japan’s constitution limited it to purely defensive operations, however McDowell expected them to thoroughly patrol the waters and skies of northeast Asia. South Korea, tied up in constant stalemate with its northern neighbor, would not be able to bring its full military to bear, but could perhaps contribute a few fighters or destroyers. The Philippines’ military was constantly under-budgeted, and would probably only be able to patrol its local area and provide basing.

Equestria, meanwhile, had been fighting the Bloc for years. Their forces were experienced, but exhausted. Recent weapons imports had kept them afloat, but without outside help, their future was tenuous.

“This concludes the partners brief,” said Anthony. “SAC will disseminate organizational information as it is finalized.”

That was the cue for most listeners to go. Camera feeds started to go dark. McDowell stayed in his seat. Only four other rooms stayed connected: London, Canberra, Ottawa, and Canterlot.

The group was more intimate now. Only McDowell, Marshal Waddsworth, Admiral Brown, General Durand, and Marshall Lance remained with their closest staffs.

The slide changed again, to a map of the Pacific.

Anthony stepped back to the microphone. “This is an overview of current and expected forces in theater.”

As he spoke, arrows and text changed on the map to denote his words. “The situation as it stands...we can’t sugarcoat it, it’s rough. There are too many casualties to list, but a significant fraction of the US Navy carrier striking power is out of action. Enterprise is the only flattop still mission capable, though we do have two big-deck amphibs in San Diego. The Navy still has several several submarines and Tomahawk-shooters, and the new-build carriers, battleships, and others coming online should even the balance. US Air Force fighters in the area are mostly intact.

“The UK and Australia are sending fighters, plus some refueling and recon assets. Canada has deployed its fighters, patrollers, and refuelers to western bases and is sending their new Presence carrier with their air wings. Equestria has made progress in setting up a modern air force with equipment contributed from allied countries.

“For naval forces, Australia has already deployed their submarines and Sydney battleship group. Canada is patrolling the west coast of North America. The UK will likely take weeks before their ships can arrive. Equestria has begun to commission their newest modern surface combatants.

“The US is massing troops on the west coast - Army at Fort Lewis, Marines at Pendleton - to move to Arcaia. Four infantry divisions plus one division each of armored and cav to plus up what’s already in Equestria. Australia, Britain, and Canada are each contributing a mechanized division. The Marine MAGTF is mobilizing in Okinawa, though their sealift capability is uncertain after the attack.”

Anthony stepped away and the camera turned on again. Though it was through the teleconference, McDowell saw the faces of the alliance in front of him. He’d been chosen to lead, and they looked to him for guidance.

He consulted his notes, took a deep breath, and began to speak. “We believe the Bloc’s intent in launching this attack was to remove human assistance to Equestria. Perhaps they thought we would cut ties and choose to limit our losses. Clearly, that has not been the case. There have been more war declarations in the past few days than in the past few decades.

“While I believe this new alliance of ours has more than enough ability to defeat the Bloc, I hold no misconceptions that the war will be over soon. There are a number of potential risks we must face.

“Since the attack, the Bloc’s activity on Arcaia has intensified. They’re using the leeway to their advantage, trying to gain as much as they can before we recover. We must mobilize as quickly as possible to counter this.

“Additionally, while the Bloc is highly dangerous, human countries joining them would ignite an even greater conflict. Of particular concern, of course, are China and Russia, who have been supplying the Bloc. We must make every effort to prevent them from entering the war.

“The loss of much of our aircraft carrier capability has hurt our close-range air power. Fighters flying from land bases will need significant support to perform offensive counter-air and to escort bombers.

“On a more positive note, we hold several key advantages. Our alliance controls territories around the circumference of Arcaia. We can attack them from any direction. While the Bloc has close range ballistic missiles, they lack the ability to reach our regional bases. We hold an edge in technology and experience. We have better supply chains, and greater numbers.

“As I have said, this will not be a short war. This will not be a bloodless war. But it is a war we can win, a war we must win.

“Though, no combined force can exist and fight without coordination. I will be staying here at Camp Smith and I invite Marshall Waddsworth to join me. PACOM facilities are able to monitor and control the situation. Admiral Brown, Pacific Fleet Headquarters is ready to host you at Pearl Harbor. General Durand, I trust NORAD North Bay will be suitable?”

The Canadian aviator nodded and replied with a trace of a French accent. “It will require a few changes, but the facility is more than capable.”

McDowell nodded. “Marshall Lance, Marine Forces Pacific is already making room for you and your staff here at Camp Smith, just across the street from PACOM.”

The unicorn stallion replied, “Respectfully, sir, I would rather stay here.”

“I understand the need to be involved,” McDowell said, “but until a secure and connected headquarters suitable for commanding all allied ground forces can be established in Equestria, I need you here. You can establish a forward headquarters when possible.”

The idea of leaving his homeland in the middle of a war clearly didn’t thrill Silver Lance, but he was a professional soldier, and simply nodded at the order.

McDowell took a moment to meet their eyes. They were about to embark on the most difficult thing that any of them had ever done.

He decided to close by paraphrasing Nimitz. “Our armament is adequate, but we must put our faith not in those weapons but in ourselves and in each other.”

Harpoons

April 24th, 2006
1234 Hours
Jet City, Occupied Crystal Empire

“Things are progressing as well as could be hoped,” Hot Knife told the congregation.

“I don’t think so. As of now only our initial plans have succeeded at all.” Nightingale shot back. “We overwhelmed the border, but the airborne forces failed to destroy the human regiments behind it. Our surprise attack crippled their navy but only sunk one carrier, while another is untouched and still in Equestria with its pony counterpart. Our air raids badly hurt their air forces, but they still contest the skies and our bombing campaign against their cities. That isn’t a lasting victory!”

“Not to mention the naval invasions. Nothing good came out of those,” Drag added.

The Shadow pony general across from the pilots stood up rigidly from his chair, shaking the table with a rattle that echoed the conference room.

“We are still advancing, aren’t we? These victories are still important,” Vaquero assured her. “I promise you, our soldiers will be in the capitol soon, but these things take time!”

“Time is not on our side in this war,” Nightingale explained. “Those carriers will be repaired. More aircraft will come. More divisions will come.”

“Have some faith in my friend,” Hot Knife assured her. “We still hold both air and sea superiority, and with those we can support our ground forces and choke Equestria off from reinforcements.”

“Those have to be maintained for that to happen. We have to ensure that we keep our superiority in the air-”

“Which we can,” Knife interrupted.

“We also need to maintain naval superiority to ensure any blockade, surface or otherwise.”

“That can be done,” a Changeling pilot spoke up, breaking his normal silence. “Those carriers will be hunted down once they leave their bases. Any of those fat merchant ships or transport aircraft that try will be destroyed as well.”

“If you think it can be done, then I’ll vouch for you,” Descent added in. “It isn’t easy though, surprise is gone.”

“My group was the only one to sink a carrier,” the Changeling pointed out. “Their Carl Vinson is only the first in a long list.”

Nightingale and the others in the conference room did not reply, though she wore a noticeably wary glare against the Changeling. His success could not be denied, but it could not be overblown either. He had to continue it to win the war, not lavish in what was already accomplished.

“Besides, if we’re unable to destroy them through the usual means, we do have some special weapons that could do the trick, don’t we?”

“The Hydra and its Shockwaves are ready, but we should be wary about using them,” Nightingale explained. “A weapon with that kind of power holds a great impression. It can force the United States and its allies to back down, or it may push them to desperation.”

“I hope we won’t have to use it,” Knife said, sharing his opinion. “To me it’s best to defeat your enemy conventionally. On personal combat. Beyond beating them, defeating them on a fair and personal level shows your own skill. Shows your own superiority and destroys their confidence for open battle.”

“We’ll have to do what’s necessary to win this war.”

“I know, I know. I will too, it just feels… not just unsatisfying but… not right.”

“Unless there’s anything else to cover beyond your philosophy debate, I’ll be going. I’ve got some important work to do,” the Changeling said, standing and buzzing his wings in a stretch through the window sunlight. “There’s a big fish I plan on spearing.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Blitz groaned.

“An American battlegroup swimming around in the south, with at least two cruisers and some destroyers. I plan on sinking some of them.”

“Well I won’t keep you from it any longer,” Nightingale accepted, turning to the Shadow ponies across from her. “Hot Knife, General Vaquero? Is there anything else you would like to add?”

Both replied with a simple ‘no’, bringing the latest of the group’s secretive meetings to a productive conclusion. As they all filed through the door and out of the small, rundown building, Knife stopped Nightingale and requested to speak with her further, away from the ears of the others. Vaquero persisted, thinking it important for him to hear as well, but the pilot Shadow pony eventually sent him on his way as well.

“Nightingale, what about the Griffon? She hasn’t come to any of our meetings, or has even met any of us other than you.”

“Yes, the Griffons have been very busy. You don’t need to worry about her.”

“I heard she was once a close friend to one of the Elements. Can she be trusted to fight the Equestrians?”

Nightingale was silent for a moment, surprised that he knew about the past of the Griffon pilot she had recruited.

“I believe so. She doesn’t hold the ponies in very high regard.”

“Very well, I’ll take your word for her. But remember how much importance the Equestrians place on companionship. It may overtake her.”

“Worry about your own squadron, Knife; I promise I’ll keep an eye on her.”

The SAG was, like many others, an impromptu grouping, cobbled together from the various available ships at Pearl. Many such battlegroups were sent out to contest the Pacific. The cruisers Thomas S. Gates and Bunker Hill patrolled a vast open swath of ocean along with a pair of frigates and a destroyer.

The powerful force was the farthest out of the battlegroups, and as such lacked support while gaining the most attention of the enemy. They were stalked constantly by prowling eyes from both the air and beneath the waves. The Changelings carried on their hunt with a malicious patience.

The commanding Changeling organized the endeavor well. With much of their strategic bombing force dedicated to the mainland campaign, and with fewer carriers than their allies, a saturation attack would have been more costly to carry out. As such, he elected to whittle down the Americans.

Bombers would arrive by one, two, or three at various times instead of all at once. Each time they would fire their ASMs from maximum range before speeding away and allowing the next group to repeat the process. With so few missiles at once none would likely get through the mass of American SAMs, but none were expected to get through. Slowly, steadily, with each miniature volley, the American ships expended their SM-2s to destroy the ASMs without any gain, and each time revealed their position as well.

The harassment was constant, with hour after hour of spoiling attacks. Even after a day, they did not let up, with the pairs of Changeling bombers bracketing them with fire. Steadily the Americans expended their ammunition, while most sailors were required to remain at battle stations most of the time, driving them to exhaustion with few breaks.

Now the Changeling leader decided to strike. From his Foxhound he observed and coordinated the planned blow. With the strategic bombers having made constant shuttle attacks, the Changeling navy was preparing. Now its larger force of smaller jets was gathered to smash the weary Americans.

The same mass mix of aircraft that had been so effective at the start of the war was again brought before the Americans. Large numbers of fighters volleyed missiles at the ships as electronic warfare planes closed in to disrupt the vessel’s defensive systems. Others attempted to drop torpedoes and bombs from a distance. At first there was no effect, with the American navy effectively countering the attack and killing three fighters that dared to get too close with their torpedo runs. In spite of this, with the oncoming underwater ordinance, the formation had no choice but to break apart.

With so few SAMs left, the Thomas S. Gates was the unfortunate target. Twisting and turning to avoid bombs while simultaneously trying to outrun torpedoes, the old ship was in a precarious situation. Still, her captain was able to guide her masterfully, shrugging off the near misses of bombs she dodged while dropping one sonar decoy after another. Aside from some heavy shaking and spray from the nearby bombs, the cruiser was unharmed and with the torpedo outrunning its range the ship looked safe.

However, just a few minutes later, luck would desert the vessel. Separated from the SAG during the run from the torpedoes, as all the others were, she was left in a vulnerable position. With only four missiles remaining, the cruiser came to be targeted by a pair of ASMs. One was shot down before it could impact but the other struck hard on the side of the ship, slicing into her before detonating inside.

The Gates shuddered from the impact as some secondary eruptions continued inside the hull and a fire began to spread. The position of the missile strike could not have been worse for her. Almost immediately after being hit the ship lost all power, with her weapons and detection systems going offline. Her engines were damaged and stopped, and the cruiser now slowly glided to a stop as the attack subsided.

As the formation regrouped, the commanders all knew it would only be a matter of time before the strike force returned to finish them. The damaged cruiser, however, would not be abandoned to the sharks without a fight. A call was put out to Hawaii for fighter cover and, with the Donald Cook and De Wert standing by closely, the Bunker Hill attached a tow line from her stern to the bow of the crippled cruiser and began to drag her away from the battle area.

It was far from the fastest process, but it was better than floating still. The crew of the Gates worked frantically to restore the vital systems to their crippled ship as they were towed along. Progress was made as time ticked on slowly. Finally, her power was restored, then her weapons systems, then the various other electronic subsystems one by one. Things were beginning to look up, but the propulsion still refused to start up again.

Before the propellers could be brought back online, the Changelings returned. A single flight of Hornets intercepted, blowing two missile-carrying Flankers to bits before being engaged themselves by a squadron of dark MiG-31s. The Foxhound was hardly supposed to be an agile dogfighter, and as such the Hornet pilots were confident in their ability. Yet somehow, the Changeling fighters could outfly them. They moved better than what was thought, speeding too and fro without a care for their engines, and their missiles being painfully accurate.

The Foxhounds flew at high speeds in their attacks and outpaced any F-18 that latched to their tail. Even when brought into close combat on the favorable field of the Hornets, they proved difficult to stay with, and each time one was in danger another Foxhound appeared to threaten the human pilot. Within a six minutes, all five Hornets had been shot down, with only one of their pilots bailing out into the vastness of the Pacific.

Now devoid of their air cover, the individual ships of the SAG were left to fend for themselves, rather than retain a mutually-defensive cohesion. Naturally the biggest ships proved the most attractive targets and the cruisers again were the recipients of unwanted attention. Plodding along without much maneuvering, both were terribly vulnerable.

The Bunker Hill, despite the awful position she was caught in, refused to abandon her sister. As the other ships did their best to maneuver and evade, the cruiser returned fire with every weapon in her arsenal. The first volley of five ASMs were shot down by her defensive weaponry, followed by the next wave. The planes, jammers or otherwise, grew increasingly bold in their flights overhead, and attempts at close-in attacks were met with a mass of fire from both ships. Several of the planes were damaged and driven away, with one Flanker having its wing sheared off by the Bunker Hill’s CIWS, and another’s pilot being killed by one of the Gates’ Bushmaster autocannons in an attempt to strafe her bridge, sending the jet gliding into the sea.

As the two parried the swarming fighters and the waves of ASMs, a single flight of Fulcrums came in at a low altitude carrying torpedoes. Slow and unable to maneuver, the two American cruisers could not have been better targets. Releasing and escaping unceremoniously, the cruisers were now left in dire straights, unable to defeat or escape the sub-surface ordinance.

Seeing the oncoming threat, and unable to do anything more than save his own ship and crew, the Bunker Hill’s Captain ordered the tow line dropped, speeding away as the crippled sister came to a stop. Nothing could be done for her, and minutes later three torpedoes struck the port side of the Thomas S. Gates. Each sent a massive waterspout up along her side, rocking the ship badly and immediately causing a noticeable list.

This proved to be the last action of the battle. The Changelings retreated, their weaponry again spent, but the damage was done. With three holes in her side in addition to the previous damage, everyone could see the cruiser was doomed. Her Captain gave the order to gather on deck and abandon ship, overseeing the movement and transfer of his sailors and their wounded before stepping off himself, being one of the last to do so.

The Donald Cook stood by her in the final hours, watching over the dying ship as if to ensure a peaceful end. Her crew busied themselves with taking on the men of the Gates, plucking them from the warm waves. With the seas calm, it was a relatively simple task, bringing the weary sailors aboard and ensuing their wellness. The placidity of the water, in such stark contrast to the violence hours ago, further provided a tranquil atmosphere to the funeral of the Gates.

At 0533 the rescued crew, along with the men of the other warships, watched the cruiser roll onto its side, and then turn upside-down completely, her red hull shining beautifully in the sun against the blue sea. Her colors, unable to be removed in time, remained flying definitely for all to see until they disappeared. Shortly after going belly-up, the cruiser sank further, dropping in the waves and sinking bow first. Pulled down as the water spread, the stern twisted and went up slightly before following. After a hard fight, the Thomas S. Gates sank under the calm waters of the Pacific to a respecting silence about the area.

The remaining ships were left to complete rescue operations and retire. Though it was fought over three hundred miles from its namesake, the Battle of the Caroline Islands proved to be another painful loss to the American navy when it could ill afford one. It was also a defeat the the admirals attempted to conceal, not needing to further bad moral or provide their enemy with propaganda or military matters, but this was not an easy task.

It was quite noticeable to the massed fleet at Pearl Harbor when the battlegroup returned without the Gates. Though the crews of the returning ships were sworn to silence, it did not take much thought as to why the incoming SAG was missing a vessel. Rumors and word of mouth traveled quickly and though it would be a long time before there was official admittance, the general underground understanding of the islands, and eventually the country and the armed forces, was that the cruiser had been lost.

The victorious Changelings, however, had no such problems to worry about. Their clear victory was a cause of celebration, especially with praise towards their vaunted commander who planned and led the operation. He likened it to using a harpoon to slaughter a great whale, something that went over well with the other Changelings, as well as Nightingale herself. It did not take long for Changeling propaganda posters to appear, taunting how their ‘Harpoon’ had scored another victory over the Americans. It was an interesting distraction for Nightingale, away from the other failures of the invasion, but her attention had to be turned elsewhere.

Author's Note

I really have to give a big thanks to TNB, who's been pre-reading all the stuff you've read consistently. It wouldn't be what it is without his help.

All Over the Map

April 24th, 2006
1300 Hours
West of Vanhoover

Watching the battered group of marines and Australians pour through the line was a sobering experience for the men of the Twenty-Third Infantry Division. Equestrian troops had been trickling through to the line since the war started, either individually or in groups. They were one thing, but the condition their other human allies were in showed the seriousness of the foe they had to stare down.

Since then, the frontline had been kept occupied. Changeling aircraft and artillery harassed them at common intervals. The Changeling infantry picked at them constantly, but a major assault against the line had still not come.

“I'm hoping the forward OPs can get back in time,” Private Mel commented as he observed the woods ahead of the line in the failing light.

“If they spot the bugs soon enough they will,” Corporal Min pointed out.

“Hey boys, heads up!” Private Barth whistled. “Sergeants are back.”

The men rose to their feet, heading out the door of the concrete bunker and over the edge of the connected trench. Sergeant Andrew and Staff Sergeant Moreland were walking uphill towards them, both toting a fair carry of extra ammunition in boxes. The troops of the squad gathered around them, as well as some of the others in the area to hear the news they brought with them.

“What’s the word, Sergeant Moreland?” Barth asked.

“About what we thought. Petrov, come grab this ammo will ya?” the Staff Sergeant said as he handed his boxes off. “Battalion says the Changelings will attack soon. Sometime tonight. Odds are they’re going to put pressure on the whole division, all along the line.”

“They going to try and break through our spot?”

“Sounds like it. Our sector is where the 6th connects to the guys from the 27th Infantry, so they’re definitely going to be laying it on to try and split us apart.”

“So that means they’ll send tanks our way, shit!” Private Jermaine realized. “I do not need to get run over, Sir. I got a serious problem with getting run over by tanks.”

“They probably have at least one heavy division supporting them. Their tanks will probably hang back and provide fire on our hardpoints from a distance; support the infantry while they infiltrate the lines. Armored blitzkrieg isn't the Bug’s style. At least not in areas like this.”

“Artillery too?”

“Unknown. Assume so, though. We’ve got plenty of it too, so just be thankful for that.”

“Shit man, this is bad.”

“Now don’t worry Private, you won’t be getting run over,” Andrew assured him, trying to comfort the fearful soldier. “Besides, we got plenty of tanks on our side too.”

“What’s the plan, Sarge?” Min asked.

“We know how they fight. They’ll infiltrate but if they get through the line everyone will just hold up in some of the bunkers as harpoints and shoot anything that’s not on two legs moving past,” Moreland told them. “If it gets to that stage it’s a matter of holding out and doing as much damage to the passing enemy as possible until the relief force can counterattack and reach us. We’ve got plenty of ammo and supplies in the bunkers so use it as needed; if you can keep fire superiority and keep them suppressed so they can’t move. Just hunker down and ride out the storm, everyone got that?”

Moreland was answered by a broken chorus of confirmation from the surrounding soldiers.

“And do not retreat either, got it? I get that’s already drilled into everyone but when I say you stand fast and hunker down, you do that. Don’t start freaking out if you get surrounded, don’t start running if you see them getting through in some spots. Holdouts are what’s needed to stop the whole damn tide, and if one collapses they’ll flood through the opening much quicker than through a few breaches. We will not retreat and we will not order a retreat; the only fallback order that holds weight will come from battalion or higher. Does everybody understand?”

Again the Staff Sergeant was give the various affirmations, with the usual misplaced timing and enthusiasm.

“Come on, convince me! I said is that understood!?”

“Yes Staff Sergeant!” the men yelled back in a much more unified and solid display.

“Good. Now try and get some rest and do whatever needs to be done, only a few hours left before nightfall and we’ll need everyone on the line,” he finished, remembering another request from one of the tank commanders he had been asked to deliver. “One more thing about our vehicles. Keep the Bugs from swarming them. They'll be able to lay into them from range, so they’re important for the defense. Most of the tanks are hull-down so they can't just take off, so keep an eye on them.”

Most of the remaining time was spent readying the fortifications and their weapons for the upcoming battle, the long lines of bunkers, trenches, and gun positions running along the Longleg River. Some of the men were still wary; twice before there had been reports of a major enemy offensive that sent them into a scramble. Still, they understood one would come before long.

Sergeant Andrew sat with Moreland in the upper gun deck of one of the main bunkers, discussing their past hunting experiences from back home while trying to stay awake. The Changeling’s unrivaled skills in deception and harassment had kept much of the division on edge, wearing it down as the days to the main offensive ticked down. Most of the Americans were tired and anxiously anticipating it.

The time came shortly after midnight, with an artillery barrage that was far more concentrated and powerful than the one from before. A mix of shells and rockets pounded the American line as the few outliers in the observation posts frantically called about the mass of movement before them. Several were overrun before they could respond, and those that could retreated to the MLR rather than entertain any delusions of impactful resistance from their lonesome positions.

The American infantry sprang to their positions even as the artillery began to shift to rear areas. Many took cover in the pillboxes and bunkers, which withstood the shock of the bombardment. Moreland himself attempted to asses the situation, not hearing much over the radio in the way of higher orders.

“Drew, you get Alpha team together and get to the trenches to the right! Cover the line between here and pillbox 4A!” he ordered.

“You got it, stay safe now!” his friend replied, heading off to carry out the command.

It was now clear that the Changelings had arrived in stunningly good time and order. Machine guns and rifles of all makes and caliber began to chatter on both sides of the river as a blind firefight broke out. He saw the many figures moving about on the other side of the river, as well as in the ford below. There was no need to wait for any officer as Moreland began to give additional directions to the troops within the bunker.

“Willy! You got anything on the NVG?”

“Lot of movement to our front!”

“Corporal Derleth! Get on the radio and get some more starshells in the air!”

“Going to take a while! Enemy jamming is spiking!”

“Shit, alright. Teller, Boxhall get over here! Get to the bunker roof and start popping flares on the other side of the river! Use the grenade launchers on your rifles, get going!”

The battle was now progressing in its own way as Sergeant Andrew carried out his duties, keeping one eye on the enemy and the other on the men around him. Tracers arced through the darkness everywhere like the swarms of fireflies he would see in the woods back home. Trees and brush and various armored vehicles burned fiercely like campfires. Amongst the front bright illumination flares fell slowly from parachutes like stars falling to earth.

There was always the sickening sound of bullets impacting against the concrete of the bunker wall or the wood and dirt ahead of the trenches. The sounds of fire from various weapons was constant, with small arms and machine guns to the cannons of the armored vehicles. The noise inside the bunkers was especially heavy from the echoing, making communication between each-other difficult.

In the continuing insanity the sergeant repeated the process he had beforehand. He took aim quickly, picked a target, and fired a round or two before ducking down and moving slightly, continuing undisturbed until a reload was needed. He saw at least three Changelings fall definitively in this pattern, and possibly many more. Using burst fire, it came down to putting as many rounds out as possible.

The Abrams to the side of the bunker fired it’s main cannon into the dark at an unseen target. The shot struck a moving BTR-70 that stopped and caught fire, illuminating some of the surrounding area. As with the infantry in the trenches and bunkers, the vehicles were fighting their own battle from the cover of their positions.

The dug-in American tanks carefully picked out their targets; each time an enemy tank or IFV approached to attack the fortifications or cover their advancing foot soldiers they were struck by fire from the main gun of the closest Abrams. Here and there a BTR, a BMP, or a tank belonging to the Changelings would erupt in flames.

The rest of the time was spent emptying burst after burst of machine gun fire into the moving Changeling infantry. If they were close enough, and oftentimes they were, the individual tank commanders would stand up through their hatches and open fire with the .50 caliber machine gun mounted atop the turret, bravely forgoing the protection of the tank’s interior for the hellish battle outside.

Still, they were not invincible. The attacking Changelings quickly grew fond of using anti-tank missiles to snipe away from the far shores. At other areas where a breach was achieved the infantry would circle around and fire their own AT launchers at the backs of the tanks, or clamber atop them outright. By one at a time, as with the American infantry, the 23rd’s armored losses rose; two, then five, then twelve, then to twenty and thirty.

Those men who were not manning vital stations moved along the line, firing as they went. Sergeant Andrew moved about the local position, checking up on his squad and the other soldiers scattered among them in the chaotic battle. He stopped next to Private Jermaine in the trench, firing away over the top with his rifle.

“How are you holding up Private?”

“I could be worse Sir!” he yelled over his own gunfire.

“Doing good on ammo?”

“Affirmative!”

“Good, keep up the fire!”

“I got two of them on our side of the riverbank! Behind that rock!” the Private notified.

Andrew pulled himself up and peeked over the edge of the trench, spying the rock that Jermaine was warning him about. He did not see any Changelings, but trusted his subordinate, yanking his rifle up and firing onto the boulder. The two rifles chattered away, and after half a magazine of ammunition, Andrew saw one of the bullets strike the side of the rock and hit something behind it. One of the Changelings fell to the side, and as his comrade leaned out to help him Jermaine fired a three-round burst into his side, killing the target instantly.

“Good shooting,” the Sergeant complimented, ducking down before a burst of AK fire struck the dirt embankment of the trench. “We got to reposition and keep fighting! Come on, follow me! Let’s go see how Barth is doing.”

The squad’s experience in this sector was common among the entire front. Firefights had erupted all along the line as the Americans of the 23rd Division attempted to find and kill their opponents in the dark cover. In fact, Moreland and the 1st Battalion were having a better night than some of their allies.

At the other neighboring sector, the 5th Battalion, 31st Infantry fought its own battle of survival in the night. A massive volume of fire erupted ahead of them as the Changeling assault groups moved in. The Americans shot back as best they could, but it was an increasingly difficult task and the battle soon expanded to one of close quarters. Before long Alpha Company’s line had been breached to the right and very nearly overrun entirely, forcing part of it to retreat and reform the line in a contorted curve, less the entire line get attacked from the rear. The battalion’s commander, Colonel Landish, was killed overseeing this process when a Changeling ATGM struck the wooden bunker he was taking cover in.

Moreland’s squad continued unaware of the bigger picture, only focusing on killing the attackers. To Andrew it seemed like he was the only one taking time to check his allies rather than be totally focused to the front. Each time he did, the images were the same. Petrov and Barth firing their LMGs into the killzone, Sergeant Garcia shooting blindly at the woods where he saw tracers coming from, Mel trying and failing to be more precise and pick out the Changeling gunners laying into their positions from afar.

“Sergeant Carlton!”

“Evening Lieutenant Barras,” Andrew greeted the platoon commander simply, as if the battle were not even occurring.

“Where’s Staff Sergeant Moreland?”

“He was back up at Bunker Four last I saw him, though that was a while ago.”

“Alright listen Sergeant. There’s too much jamming for the radio to work right and the lines got cut by shellfire. I need a runner to send a message back to battalion HQ. Can you spare anyone?”

“Hang on Sir, I’ll go find someone!”

The older sergeant took off down the trench, searching for anyone who could be spared. To the Lieutenant’s surprise, he returned in a timely manner with two others in tow. One a wide-eyed PFC that seemed to be jittering lightly, and the other a private that seemed to be older than average, similar to Andrew.

“Lieutenant, you needed some help?” The PFC shouted over the noise.

“He needs you boys to take a message back to battalion HQ. That’s you Mel,” Andrew said before looking over to the other private. “Danny you make sure he gets there! I don’t need anyone getting lost in the dark.”

“I’ll take care of him!” he promised.

“Private Mel was it? This is for you,” said Barras as he handed over a wrinkled, folded note. “You give that to the Colonel. Now listen, the Bugs have gotten all around us and there’s plenty of stragglers running around behind our lines. Be careful out there and stay frosty, and make sure you don’t shoot any of our guys by mistake. Watch out for each-other and get your asses back quick! Go!”

The two ran through the dark, away from the mayhem of the front. They restricted their pace as they moved into the night, being wary of the warnings their superior had given. The sounds of battle followed them and echoed over the hills and valleys like a sweeping wind.

Disturbingly, even as they went on, sporadic crackles continued to permeate through the night, originating from nearly every direction. Getting lost in the dark was easy enough without the fear of randomly running into an enemy soldier. Despite taking the early lead and being given the note, the urbanite Min quickly lost his sense of direction.

“Hey, you know where we are?” he asked his companion, taking a knee in the long grass.

“Yeah, I know. You got lost?” Danny realized.

“I guess… but you know right?”

“You city kids just aren’t meant for moving over the land are you?” the older man joked to his squad mate. “Come on, I’ll take the lead. You just stay real close. It’s easy to lose each-other out here.”

“I hate night ops. It’s like moving with a blindfold on,” Min grunted as he followed Danny up a steep incline.

In truth everything about the night was frightening to him. Cities at least had lights, but here there was no telling what would happen. Even with the more-experienced man leading slowly, the fear of getting lost in such an environment was a constant issue.

The dark concealed everything from his sight in a certain distance. The trees, rocks, and various fields and country buildings that could be seen for miles were hidden but for a few feet. Min’s eyes locked to his friend, a barely-recognizable silhouette only just standing out from the dark shade that mimicked his tone and masked his uniform. He felt only a few missteps away from losing him and being left to fend for himself.

“Shh! Hold on! You heard that?” Danny stopped suddenly, allowing Min to catch up. “I heard voices. Just over there. Keep quiet, let’s go have a look.”

Just past a small north-south trail, sitting in the woodline next to a massive spruce, were three Changeling soldiers. Danny spotted them first from their place atop a small rock hill to their side, and Min recognized them not long after. They seemed alert, but not aware of the presence of the two Americans.

“Think we ought to kill them?” Danny asked, holding his M16 close.

“I don’t know, I don’t want this to go wrong. We have to deliver this message… can we go around?”

“Not fast, they’re right in our way,” Danny lamented. “Wonder what the Hell they’re waiting for.”

“That might be a rally point. I wouldn’t stop if I was this far behind enemy lines,” Min theorized. “But if that’s what it is there’s probably a bunch more on their way… yeah, okay let’s kill the bastards.”

“Alright, which one you want?”

“You’re a better shooter at dark so take the farthest one. I’ll get the one laying down. We’ll both try to get the last one, whoever can get to him first.”

“Sounds good, just say when.”

Both soldiers took aim at their respective targets, waiting for the proper moment to shoot. Min fired first, shooting two rounds and striking the Changeling in the shoulder and back, causing him to collapse. His colleague fired at the same time, putting a single round into the enemy’s stomach. The last remaining Changeling took cover next to a tree, but because he could not tell where the fire was coming from, he hid facing the wrong direction, looking the opposite way from them while having his back open. Danny got to him first, again needing only a single shot to kill him.

“That’s it… fuck yeah we did it! Nice work man!” Min jumped. “Wait are we clear? I don’t see anymore.”

“Yeah, we’re clear. Come on, let’s get moving. We can’t waste time.”

The two moved down to where the Changelings had been. To their disturbance, Min’s target was still alive, but badly wounded and writhing on the ground, moaning loudly in pain. Neither man said anything to each other, but there was little they could do. They had a mission, and could not stop to either treat or finish off their enemy.

Danny lead on again, this time into the brush. Min tried to stay much closer, afraid of getting lost in the thicket and becoming a victim like their prey had minutes before. Shoving aside a bush with the butt of his rifle, he continued on before bumping into his friend who had suddenly stopped. An instant later, there was a rustling in the bush near Min, causing him to jerk left in fright as something else pressed through towards them.

“Whoa, watch it!” Danny jumped.

Another Changeling, this one alone, stumbled upon the duo as it pushed through a thick bush. He fell to the ground, dropping his AK in the process, while the two humans immediately took aim. Before he could grab his weapon, both men fired several rounds into him, killing their surprised enemy in the space of a second.

“Jesus that scared me,” he breathed, patting Min on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get the Hell out of here!”

To the duo’s relief, they encountered no one else, neither friend, foe, or civilian, on the rest of their trip. After clearing the wooded area they came upon the battalion headquarters, set up in a rich fen with lights shining out into the dark. Conscious of the fact that they would be hard to identify, and that the guards were more likely to fire first, they tried to make their presence known well in advance, shouting towards the base in attempts to identify themselves before being killed by their own countrymen.

“Hey! Hey hold your fire! Friendlies coming out!” Min yelled as loud as he could, hoping the guards could hear him. “We’re from Delta Company! Don’t shoot guys!”

“Hold where you are!” a voice commanded them.

“We’re American! Third Platoon from Delta! Hold your fire!” Min continued. “Seriously if you guys shoot me now I will fuck you up! I swear!”

“Sam!” the voice finally called out.

“Adams!” Min answered correctly, finally allowing them to relax.

“Alright come on in!”

“Hey, where’s the Colonel?” Min asked as they ran up to the guard’s positions at the headquarters’ gate. “We got an important letter for him.”

“Command tent, same as always,” said the guard as he allowed them in. “Hey, you guys weren’t followed here were you?”

“No-I mean… I don’t know.”

“Fucking shit, thanks a lot dude! I already got enough of those Bugs shooting at me out there!”

The two continued on to the large tent set up in the middle of the camp. The men inside were in a state of pandemonium, trying desperately to carry out orders and discern the murky situation at the front. In the confusion they spotted the battalion commander, Colonel Bryan, speaking with his S-2 in the corner of the tent.

“Colonel Bryan, Sir!” Danny greeted, walking up to him. “We’ve brought something for you, it’s important.”

“Whatever it is it can wait son,” he responded before trying to continue his conversation before Min blatantly interrupted.

“It can’t wait Sir. I’ve got a message from Lieutenant Barras,” he said, pulling out the crumpled paper. “Bugs have overrun the Fifth Battalion on our right, and they’re breaching some parts of the left in Bravo Company’s sector towards the left. Three of our companies and some of the Fifth’s are going to get encircled and there’s a lot more hostiles behind the lines than we thought.”

Bryan grabbed the letter, reading over it himself.

“You read the note?” Danny asked him quietly.

“Yeah when I first got it. I want to know what’s happening too dude.”

“Shit alright. Alright,” Bryan relented, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. “Rich, get Adder Three up and tell them the situation. Get them over to Fifth Battalion’s position to clear it out, and get Adder Two over to Regular One and help them out. Adder Three is to start sweeping the countryside for any enemies that snuck past our lines. Got it?”

“Yes Sir!” the aide answered, running off to send out the commands.

“You two are going to have to stick with me now. I need everyone to help defend HQ,” the Colonel told Danny and Min.

“What about our unit Sir?” the latter asked, clearly not wishing to abandon them.

“You might have gotten through to here before but you won’t get back. The area’s probably crawling with Changelings by now and this place is a prime target. I need everyone here just to hold HQ. Don’t worry, Adder Two is going to help them.”

“Who’re they?”

“Cobras, but worry about this place for now, understand?”

“I got glassed enemies northeast! At least a platoon!” one of the sentries warned over the radio. “Someone get the mortars firing!”

“Get going, find a good spot! Shoot anything coming our way!” Bryan ordered, sending the two on their way as the camp came under a deluge of small arms fire.

Back at the river, the battle had eased but not fully relaxed. In spite of the heavy lambasting, the Changelings had not been able to totally overrun the line or force a significant breach. However, many smaller holes had opened, and the American infantry could not fully stop their opponents from moving through the narrow opening.

Sergeant Andrew had counted his eighth kill of the night when he noticed a new mechanical sound. Further up the river, a platoon of T-72 tanks and another of IFVs were fording across to a breach. They did not seem opposed save for some sporadic small arms fire harassing their accompanying infantry.

“Hey, where are the TOWs at!?” he called out. “Where are the TOWs!?”

“What!?” Sergeant Moreland asked, shimmying closer to hear him better.

“Where’s the TOW launchers!? There’s tanks crossing to the north!”

“They’re out!”

“I guess their armor got tired of taking pot-shots at us, huh Sergeant?”

“If they try to get around us we still have some Gustav rounds for them, don’t worry!”

As the line moved up the bank, over the trenches, and out of sight, there was a sharp eruption and glowing fire rising in the night sky. The first thoughts were some of the accompanying infantry there fighting back with personal anti-armor weapons, or the T-72s themselves doing damage. There was a droning that perforated slightly over the noise, the distinctive sound of helicopter blades. Muzzle flashes began to erupt above the line as the river and opposite bank was struck by multiple bursts of cannon fire.

“You hear that?” Andrew asked.

“I can barely hear anything brother, I’ve been shooting in that bunker last twenty minutes! Echo just fucked my ears!”

“Listen! That buzzing noise? It’s helicopters! They’re hitting the armor!”

“They are? Then we got to direct their fire!” Moreland stated, never letting off the trigger. “Get over to the LT and let him know! He’s still in the big bunker!”

Sergeant Andrew headed off again to find the officer. After reaching the monolithic concrete bunker he ducked inside, climbing two sets of stairs to reach the command deck. The noise within the structure was in some ways worse than it was outside. The noise of gunfire bounced against the thick walls constantly from the steady barrage of bullets from the various machine guns and small arms, chattering away from gun decks and firing slots. The command floor was slightly quieter in it’s isolation, where the tired Sergeant found Lieutenant Barras working on the radio with a Specialist.

“Lieutenant… choppers, friendly choppers,” Andrew gasped, out of breath from the brisk climb. “Friendly attack helos are shooting up the enemy over in Bravo Company’s area.”

“Thank you Sergeant but we’re already aware. We’re trying to contact them now,” the officer replied. “You alright? Catch your breath and head back to your team.”

Andrew complied, taking a moment to breath before leaving again as Barras worked on the radio.

“Regular One-Three to Cobras, do you copy?”

As with the first time, there was no reply. He spoke the message again over and over through the jamming interference, only being able to continue this same process until he reached the gunship pilots. Barras repeated it time and again before a answer was finally received.

“Regular One-Three this is Adder Two, flight of two just above you. We’re reading you three-by-three over.”

“Adder we need some help. We’re under serious pressure and have several small breaches in the lines. Tons of fire from the opposite bank and it’s keeping us in place,” Barras explained. “You’re not directly above us, this is Delta Company less than half a click to your south. Please adjust your position to assist, over.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” the Cobra pilot assured him. “We can’t stick our heads out too long so we’re going to be doing pop-up attacks from behind the line. Just direct our fire so we actually hit the right spots.”

“My boys on the observation deck have a long list for me. There’s plenty of targets, I don’t think you can miss. There is an MG nest near the treeline, at our eleven. That’s eleven from the large bunker to your south between the two hills.”

The Cobras again appeared rose over the front, firing their cannons and missiles. After the machine guns were spotted, four rockets tore the position and the Changelings apart. Cannon shells exploded along the front, striking down a number of unlucky enemies.

In spite of the dark, the two helicopters were large, tempting targets and received a heavy amount of small arms fire from their opponents. Still, hiding behind the hills and rises, they continued the fight, never once dissuaded by the volume of fire. Searching the front through night vision and infrared, they picked away at the Changeling skirmish line.

Barras continued to direct them against any targets that stood out, and other than another T-72 and a BMP no further Changeling vehicles came forward. The defiant Cobras continued to tear apart the front, stitching it with shells and rockets until they ran out, after which they switched to expending the last of their TOW missiles against any Changelings that they could see.

The gunship’s effect on the battle was noticeable. Even after their departure, the pressure from the Changeling offensive tapered off immensely. Their attempts to cross the river had been abandoned altogether, and firefights had subsided to random exchanges along the line. The battle was dying down as the early morning passed, eventually coming to a halt just before the first light. Though the Americans in this position had held their ground, it was still unclear who the victor was as they were cut off physically and through communications to higher command.

Unbeknownst to Moreland, Andrew, and the others, the situation was rapidly working itself out for them. The Changelings had suffered too many casualties for too few breaches in the American lines. The coming of morning saw the 23rd’s men, with heavy reinforcement from units of the 2nd Armored Division, moving to close up the openings in the line. Sporadic artillery fired and planes of both sides traded a few apathetic shots as the fresh group of American tanks from the 2nd swept aside the remaining Changelings in the breaches.

American helicopters and local troops began to comb the area to hunt down the infiltrators. Many were found and killed, themselves now isolated and unsure of the situation. Many others simply surrendered, while a few removed any signs of their military involvement and changed their appearance to that of a pony, attempting to escape by mimicking dazed Equestrian civilians.

Dawn rose to reveal the handiwork of the Americans in its full glorious horror. The Longleg River was filled with the bodies of Changeling soldiers that had failed to cross and died in the fords. The waters, having long shades of green mixed in from the blood, carried some of the corpses downriver until the current washed them up to the riverbank at the sharp bend.

The Changelings did not attempt to hold what little ground they had, pulling back to the starting lines as a few Americans probed ahead and slowly retook the forward positions without a fight. The men began to scour over the area, looking over the effects of the battle from the terrain damage to the mechanical and organic destruction added in. The division had suffered, and Delta Company shared a part of that, but Moreland’s squad itself had survived without casualties, something that was not fully known until Min and Daniels returned in the late morning.

“Oh shit, look who made it through!” Private Barth announced as the two reunited with their squad.

“Good to see you too guys,” Min responded.

“Where were you all last night? I was thinking you got blown up somewhere.”

“The Lieutenant sent us on a run back to the battalion CP. We were stuck there the rest of the night helping protect it, and getting shot at by Bugs.”

“You didn’t see those Cobras shooting up the bad guys?” Daniels asked. “That was ‘cause of us.”

“We should thank you then,” Corporal Petrov said blankly. “They stopped the enemy attack for good.”

“Yeah, I guess we can call this a victory for the good guys huh?” Min declared. “Hey, where’s Mel? Don’t tell me he got hit?”

“Nah, he’s fine, our squad didn’t lose anyone,” Moreland answered calmly. “I sent him and Jermain to help with cleanup duty down by the river. See?”

Private Min hopped up to the edge of the trench and looked down, picking out his two comrades amongst the many other American soldiers tenderly collecting the Changeling bodies and piling them up neatly.

“This is fucked man,” Jermain complained, dragging a dead Changeling by the hooves to the corpse line. “I mean I get they’re not human at least but I don’t need this. I can’t look at some of these guys, it makes me feels sick. This is really messed up.”

“You got to look for the positives in things man,” Mel advised, going through the uniform of another dead enemy.

“The fuck is good about picking up bodies?”

“Well you get first catch for the loot. Like this, check this out,” Mel said, going through the pocket, pulling out a small candybar, and tossing it to his comrade. “See? There’s good things about everything, you just have to look for them.”

“Shit man, looting bodies?”

“They don’t need that stuff anymore. Besides the intel geeks like to go through some of them for paper and stuff. You think they don’t snag a few things off them?” Mel asked, dressing down the body to move it. “If it makes you feel better I’m not going to take wedding rings, if the Bugs even have shit like that.”

“I don’t think I’d like someone looting my body, but I don’t want to die out here at all.”

“You got to find happiness somewhere,” Mel advised him in a more solemn tone as he carried the Changeling body over. “Otherwise we’re as good as dead anyways.”

Jermaine unwrapped the top end of the candybar and took a large bite off the treat, savoring it and shoving the rest in his pocket before returning to task.

Author's Note

Another big thanks to TNB for pre-reading. I'm always thankful, and I doubt I'd be doing this stuff without the things he's done.

By the way if you're interested in non-horse stories, he's written a fight pilot buddy comedy story. I read the first few chapters and it's pretty comfy, definite recommend. Go ahead and ask him about it if you'd like to give it a read.

Grit Your Teeth and Hold On

April 25th, 2006
1450 Hours
West of Manehatten

“How much longer are they going to keep this shit up?” Private Hugo wondered.

The underground concrete bunker rumbled constantly from a consistent artillery barrage above. At first it had grown to be near maddening, and some soldiers had broken down completely. Now, however, it had become an irritating constant. The safety of the deep subterranean bunker gave Hugo and many others a sanctuary to wait it out.

The Griffons had a fondness to artillery and the seemingly endless bombardment showed this. The men of the 94th Infantry Division facing them were forced to live with hour after hour of artillery fire in varying types. The gradual process of wearing down the American units on the line was proving to be a slow and malicious act.

“Where’d your Sergeant go anyways?” Corporal Keller asked him.

“Jerry? He took Roth to check out some nearby storage post that got blow up. Scattered junk everywhere.”

“Probably wanted to scavenge some stuff for us,” Private Eason added. “He’s a real penny-pincher. He should’ve been in logistics.”

“He’d make a good clerk.”

Without the constant rumble, the inside of the bunker felt almost surreal. There was no longer any display of anxious focus or rushed activity as usually seen before a battle. Most of the men were simply killing time however they could; talking, sleeping, eating, card games, reading. Boredom seemed to have become the dominant feeling amongst them.

An interruption came as two others, a corporal and a medic, neither of whom Todd had seen before, entered the bunker. They carried a third soldier, a private who clutched a dark part of his upper left leg with a wince of pain. Even the carrying of a wounded man did not change the atmosphere, provoking little more than some glances to see what was happening before returning to their tasks. The men continued with their menial activities, save for Keller who starred with an odd fascination as they lay him on a cot.

“Need a hand doc?” one of the lounging troops offered.

“No, nothing deadly. Just caught a couple pieces of shrapnel in the thigh. Didn’t hit anything major,” the medic answered, cutting away the uniform to work on the leg.

“Hey isn’t that Jackie? From second platoon?” Eason asked his friend.

“Huh, sure is. I didn’t notice,” Hugo confirmed. “Hey Jackie, you alright man!?”

“Yeah, just unlucky, same as always!”

“Don’t be careless next time,” the medic advised, oblivious to the tone of the other soldiers around them.

“Man, you think they would’ve run out of shells by now,” Corporal Saturino spoke up while bouncing a rubber ball of the concrete wall. “I swear there’s so much metal in ground now… well someone could open up a mine here and be rich, just digging it all out of the dirt.”

“Maybe you should, it’ll give you something to do after the war,” Eason suggested. “You’ll have to compete with the doc though. He pulls plenty of it out of our guys.”

The medic, Lloyd, gave out a disgusted sigh to the joke, but said nothing as he continued to work on the slightly-wounded soldier. His latest announcement of dissatisfaction did nothing to stop the others. Saturino caught the ball once more, the dark red rubber contrasting his pale skin and the gold band on his finger.

“You know, you heard of what they do with that stuff? All the shrapnel, you wonder where it goes?” he asked, turning in his seat and shaking a finger. “A cannon cocker once told me they collect it all up and recycle the metal for our own shells, kind of like with brass. Even the ones that get pulled out-a the men!”

From outside in the scattered bombardment, Sergeant Jerry Burell ran in, stopping in the middle and shaking his head as if he had ran in from the rain.

“What’s the good word Sergeant?” Hugo asked.

“Crows are moving in. We got armor moving in, a lot of it. This the big one, no doubt.”

“Really? They ain’t trying to bullshit us again?”

“Would I be telling you if it was, Private? No, reports are coming in from all along the line,” Sergeant Willoughby continued. “All of you grab your shit and get outside! Get ready for a fight!”

“Fine with me Sir! I’m tired of them I’m looking forward to shooting them.”

“Private Hugo, this is Lieutenant Silver Feather. He’s our FO, that means he’s calling in some fire support,” Willoughby explained, introducing the lanky, white-winged pegasus. “You see that TOW position up the trench a ways? Right there on that ride? You two are going up there and you’re going to guard both. If any Crow infantry come close you blow them away, got it?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Good, now get going!”

Artillery was still falling amongst the line sporadically, but there was no time to waste. Hugo followed the Equestrian up along the wooden trench, winding and zigzagging in an odd line up to the ramparts on the rise. There an American TOW team was waiting atop the rampart, alongside a .50 caliber machine gun and two other riflemen at the far end. Feather set up on the opposite end closest to them, and Hugo did the same.

“So, you got enough support fire to stop these guys?” Hugo asked.

“Plenty, don’t worry!” Feather assured him.

“Can you call it in right? I don’t want any of that falling on our heads.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s accurate! It’s pre-planned areas so all I have to do is call it in, it’ll be a piece of cake!”

Those few men assigned to forward observation duty cane running back frantically, many without their weapons and gear. Even before anyone on the line saw them, the Griffon ground troops were coming under fire. The allied artillery began to fire on pre-designated areas that the enemy was now moving through. The Griffon infantry and vehicles, even as they overran the unoccupied forward posts, were struck with artillery. High explosive rounds struck the earth around them while some with timed fuzes exploded above their heads, raining shrapnel on top of them.

Todd heard Silver Feather talking in his radio, but did not know what he was calling in. He maintained his focus towards the front. An air battle broke out overhead without real result for either side, and just after one Griffon Fulcrum broke through and released a string of iron bombs on the line. Two American Falcons dove on the advancing Griffons with a synonymous loadout, releasing the payload and adding to the rattling carnage.

Finally the Griffon ground force appeared, moving in over a rather flat, open area as others moved along the hills in a general striking motion. Neither side was in range, and it became a tense stand-off as each side’s artillery continued to pound the other. Hugo watched the mass of armored vehicles move towards them; he only had an M16, which would prove useless against anything other than exposed infantry. His fate was very much in the hands of others, his comrades who could deal with them.

Luckily they fired first, possessing a range advantage with their anti-tank missiles. The TOW team next to Hugo fired their first shot and the rocket, along with many others, screamed towards their targets. Three Griffon T-80 tanks died instantly, followed by two more, then another two. The American ATGM teams reloaded and continued firing as the Griffon tanks continued to close in at a high speed.

The range continued to fall and the American tanks, many hidden in hull-down positions, opened fire. The bangs of their cannons sounded along the line as they added their fire to the mix. The Griffon tanks themselves also opened fire, though their effect was much less than that of their dug-in counterparts. More of their vehicles were struck, and at a greater rate.

Hugo was surprised that they continued on defiantly, closing the gap between them and the main lines. More and more weapons opened fire as they moved in, with the tanks being followed shortly by several Stryker IFVs toting 105mm guns, and eventually the auto cannons of a number of Bradleys. Griffon losses were accumulating at a massive rate, with tank after tank being hit and a number of IFVs being blown to pieces.

Over the chaos, he noticed the sound of a machine gun and saw the .50 position on their rampart firing madly. The crack of machine guns and small arms flared up, though still drowned out by the louder heavy guns. The Private scanned the battlefield, but could not see any Griffon infantry that was not already dead.

The Griffon plan of attack was centered on a massive, fast breakthrough at a weaker point in the line that was ground down by a constant artillery barrage. It was only after reaching the edge of the American fortifications that they realized things had gone terribly wrong. Not only had the artillery failed to wear out the Americans, but they were actually attacking one of the stronger positions in the sector. With their numbers dwindling the survivors began to run, with some going by ground and others flying off.

The Americans did not let up. Having been under a constant barrage of artillery fire from the Griffons for such an extended period, they finally had their chance to battle them face-to-face. The humans not only wanted it, they began to relish in it, powered by the frustration their enemy had cast on them for so long. Even when it seemed like the Griffons had largely retreated, it took a considerable amount of effort to stop the firing along the line, after which the noise of cannons and rifles was replaced by euphoric shouts of victory and insult by the men.

It had been a sharp battle, altogether lasting ten less than an hour. The Griffons left on the field a mass of crippled and burning tanks and IFVs, as well as a number of bodies mutilated in countless ways from the hellish fire. Even the Griffon artillery finally began to let up, not seeing the need to waste their now low stocks of shells on the target. All-in-all the Griffon’s 12th Honor Tank Division had lost a regiment’s worth of troops in the deadly blunder.

With its conclusion, several American troops were sent forward to inspect to battlefield. Moving only just ahead of the line, they checked the field for the corpses of officers or other important Griffon leaders. Hugo and some of the other soldiers found a few, as well as some miscellaneous souvenirs, but it was difficult to find much that was in one piece. Observing the destruction up close gave off a different, somber reality to the men.

Even after the violent battle, things seemed to return to normal at a remarkable pace, at least what passed for normality in such a scenario. As the mess was cleaned, Hugo saw a pheasant land gracefully on a shattered, fallen log to rest. The Great Argus began to sing its call, providing the first natural sounds of the battlefield to replace the thunder of explosions and fires.

The death field stretched for miles, both back and along the length of the line. Hugo observed it with an almost childlike awe. After everything that had happened, all of the waiting and preparing, he had see his first battle end in a powerful, and rather easy, American victory. He did not even have to fire his rifle.

“You know I don’t think I did anything during this whole battle. I didn’t even say anything,” said Hugo to his friend Private Dale Eason. “I just kind of watched it happen, like a play. Towards the end, I didn’t even notice it but, well… I put down my rifle. Just propped it up against the side of the trench and rested my hands and head on the dirt at the top, and I just watched all this happen.”

“Yeah, I did too. It was crazy, like I couldn’t look away from it. I shot two rounds at some Griffon soldier but he was too far away. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The two men walked among the field with their many comrades, looking over the Griffons lying in the grass. A number of them were wounded in various ways and conditions. Their struggle now was to live, and by virtue of humanity it was that of the doctors to save them.

Hugo broke away, passing one Griffon soldier who had been decapitated from the shoulders. He headed towards the sound of a nearby moan, spying a Griffon writhing slowly on the ground. There was a slight worry that the wounded soldier would resist, pull out a weapon and try to kill him, but from the looks of his state this looked to be an unfounded fear.

Hugo was able to inspect him upon arrival, looking over the poor trooper. He had been shot twice in the torso, and blood now darkened his uniform, covering the green of the camouflage with a deep blackish-red. His upper right arm also seemed to be bleeding; from the looks of it, some artillery shrapnel had struck it in multiple places. It was a painful sight to see for the young American, and if the Griffon had even noticed him, there had been no greeting.

“Medic! I got a wounded one here, real bad!” Hugo yelled out. “I think he’ll need a stretcher, doesn’t look like he can move!”

As the closest free medic ran over, beginning his critical work, the rifleman still only watched and observed the Griffon. Twenty seconds later, two other men arrived with a stretcher, though they waited until the medic completed some of the more important work before starting the process of moving him to an aid station. It was only now that Hugo began to feel some odd form of guilt over his silence.

Though they were foes, Hugo, like all men, held some level of pity and mercy that attributed to his humanity. They would never hesitate to kill each other, to insult and decry, but now that was over and these unique instances took over. Both Hugo and this Griffon had done their duty, as had every other soldier on the field.

The American could bring no lasting hatred or abuse against the wounded Griffon. Crippled and immobile, he writhed slowly on the ground, unable to present a threat of any kind. He could give nothing more than a groan or whine, and at times a slurry, whispered word, as his eyes filled with tears from the pain and fear. There was no feeling of loathing that Hugo could bring against him, a lost and broken soldier so close to death. There was no hate that evolved to masochism; only a deep, overwhelming pity.

“Hey, uh… try not to worry. Our docs are good people, they’ll fix you up,” Hugo tried assure the Griffon on the stretcher, though it was unclear if it had any effect. “We’re not going to shoot you or anything like that.”

The Griffon was carried away on the stretcher, one of many that would be captured that day.

“Making friends with the Crows, Todd?” Eason asked sarcastically.

“Nah, fuck no dude. These guys lost anyways, I don’t feel like rubbing it in.”

“Some of them got pretty fucked up.”

“Some of our guys got fucked up, too,” Hugo added. “I guess this is war then huh? It’s a little different than what I thought.”

“Well I guess war’s fucked up, too.”

The Griffons had kept some pressure on the 94th along the line, varying from place to place. The failure of the main thrust required an important rework in the plans, and this would take some time, time they did not wish to give to the Americans. Still, the attacks on the line were largely left to local levels, and the concurrent local commanders did not wish to lose their troops or get into trouble with no more detailed orders. Without knowledge of the, now changing, greater plan, they made few ambitious attempts. Most of their attacks consisted of merely mortaring the line or starting a very long-range firefight with small arms.

The day had passed, and now the Americans began securing their positions as needed, and this included the air. Despite the Bloc gaining the edge in air superiority, battles over the line had been mixed in their results. As the invaders continued focusing on a strategic bombing campaign that led to great losses and results enough to encourage them, they now had to exert significant on directly supporting ground forces as well. The Allied forces, in their beaten state, also had to deal with both. The war for the sky, so endless and open to all within it, had become far harder and bloodier than both sides had hoped prior to the conflict breaking out.

Rainbow Dash had been requested to assist in assuring aerial control over the southern section of the 94th Division’s sector. With the rest of her squadron defending the airbase, her flight of three would rendezvous with another American flight coming from a different base. Together, they would relieve the planes already on patrol and take up their work.

The sun had already set, and the golden hour had passed, but from the sky the sun continued to provide a fading light from below the horizon. Dash tried to relax as they arrived on site and met up with the arriving fighters. It seemed to be a simple job, easy compared to what had been happening over the past few days. There would probably be small-scale incursions by Griffon aircraft, but with a bit of good fortune it would be a quiet, uneventful patrol.

“This is Nickel Four-One, flight of two, arriving in the area now. Rainbow flight do you copy over?”

“We hear you Nickel, over,” Dash answered as the two American Falcons moved in from the north.

“Good, it’s been a pretty smooth flight so far. Did you guys have any trouble? Any contacts on your way over here?”

“Negative, nothing. It’s pretty been calm. I kind of like it.”

“Yeah, same here. Some of the ground radars should let us know if there’s anything coming in, but we didn’t see anything so far. Not a peep.”

“I want it to stay that way. For once I don’t want anything exciting.”

“Let’s contact the patrol flight and take over for them,” Nickel Four-One said. “Siege flight, this is Nickel, do you copy?”

“Siege Three-One here, you guys took your time huh?” The Strike Eagle pilot chastised. “We’re running low on fuel here. Move a little quicker next time!”

“Do you have enough to RTB?”

“Yeah we got enough to make it to Brumbay.”

“Understood, you two can head back now. Any action today?”

“Not when we got here. Plenty during the offensive but they toned it down by the time we arrived. They didn’t try anything. All missiles are on the rails.”

“If that’s the case then-“

A new voice beckoned out over the radio, a clearly urgent one not belonging to any of the pilots.

“This is Blackberry to all allied aircraft, come in come in! Say again Blackberry calling allied birds, respond! Come in!”

“Siege reads you, what’s wrong?” the flight lead asked, listening to the frantic radioman working at the radar site below.

“Radar’s got a number of bandits closing at your six! Closing fast! They just popped up, they’re close! Five of them!”

“What!? Why the Hell didn’t you tell us earlier! Pay attention damn it!”

“They just appeared! Where’d they come from!?”

“Siege flight pull back fast, try and pass us and Rainbow flight and we’ll engage them!” Nickel Four-One suggested.

“Can’t, we have to turn and fight! They’re too close! Shit why’d they skip long range engagement? We’ll try to hold on until you get here!”

“Alright, Rainbow team get moving! Fast as you can!”

“You got it! Fast is what I’m all about!” Rainbow affirmed as the Falcons ran to the rescue.

“Siege Three-Two, I’ve got a tally on the Fulcrums! Five of them, I saw something on them!”the Strike Eagle wingman warmed as they broke past and engaged in close combat. “Yellow paint? Gold, I think it’s gold! I’ve seen this before, what squadron is this?”

Far ahead the of the Falcons, the five Griffon Fulcrums began to engage the two F-15Es. Neither of the American pilots had any hopes of countering or killing their enemies. Both could only put forth their best defense, maneuvering as hard as they could to survive. These MiGs, however, could keep up easily.

“None of you are going to get here in time, you may as well just give up and fly away while you’ve got the chance,” one of the Griffon pilots taunted over a clear channel.

“Who’s that? You’re one of them?” the Nickel flight lead responded. “Typical Crow! Can’t focus on fighting and keep his fucking beak shut!”

“We’ll see how well you fight once you get over here! Your friends won’t be around to see it!”

“Boreal Five, you better not let your dumb fun get in the way of your flying!” the Griffon flight lead interjected.

“It won’t, Boreal One. I’m just trying to mess with them, keep them off balance; they can’t actually fight anyways.”

“They’re a bunch of useless monkey morons, but you better do your share of work shooting them down!”

The angry voice struck Rainbow, as if she had heard it before. In fact, she had heard it before. It had been many years since that voice had rung loudly in her ears, but she could not forget it. She could never forget her old friend’s voice, forever such a defining piece of her.

“Gilda?” she said simply over the radio.

The radio was quiet for a few seconds before a response came.

“Dash… is that you? It’s been a long time.”

“I had… heard rumors about you flying in some important squadron in the Air Force. I didn’t really believe them, just the rumors… I didn’t want to,” the Equestrian recalled shakily, as if she was totally detached from what was happening.

“What the fuck!? You know that Crow girl!?” Nickel Four-Two asked sharply. “Rainbow One what the Hell!? What the fuck is going on!?”

“Yeah I heard the same thing about you. Just rumors but I never believed them. I guess the ones we heard were both true,” Gilda continued as if it were a normal conversation. “What are you doing flying with these losers anyways Dash? They don’t even have wings.”

“Things are… a lot different-“

“I don’t want to fight you, and I’m not going to fight you. Don’t get in my way and I won’t have to,” the Griffon warned. “I’ll give you a chance Dash, just stay out of the way so we don’t have to do anything.”

The first F-15E, the lead aircraft, went down shortly after she finished. He was caught to the side, turning into an oncoming Fulcrum which fired a missile. The ordinance struck the fighter directly on the nose, caving it in and exploding. The front of the aircraft blew apart, killing the pilot and his WSO instantly. The rest of the plane caught fire and fell to earth, burning like a falling meteor.

The wingman did not last much longer, having only enough time to shout out the demise of his wingman before falling himself. Two Fulcrums gained a lock on his aircraft as he was breaking and both fired missiles. The deployed countermeasures were unable to trick either, and both struck the jet as it tried to break away again. The two explosions combined with the force of maneuvering tore the plane apart, leaving little but a collection of scrap and metal pieces to rain to earth.

“This is Blackberry, Siege flight is down!”

“That fast!? How the Hell? What kind of pilots are those?” the second Nickel Falcon asked. “What kind of Fulcrums are those? How’d they do that!?”

“They’re better than normal pilots, they’re better than us,” Rainbow observed.

With the two F-15Es destroyed, the five Griffon fighters returned to formation in preparation for the next engagement, showing little signs of weariness from the short fight.

“Boreal Squadron the first two hostiles are down, pursue and engage the arriving enemy reinforcements,” the leader commanded over the open channel, clearly not giving much care to the pilots listening on the other side.

“Boreal? Shit, shit I know that squadron!” the lead Nickel pilot noticed.

“Why are they talking over an open channel? We can hear them,” his wingman asked.

“Because she wants us to know,” Rainbow observed, turning her attention to her own team. “Rainbow squadron, turn and retreat immediately! We can’t fight them, retreat from the airspace as fast as you can!”

“What the fuck!? You’re running away!?”

“She’s right, two, these guys are better than us. We can’t take them,” Nickel lead replied as Rainbow’s F-16s turned to run. “RTB, and make it fast! Hit the deck and punch the throttle, don’t let them close in!”

“Jesus what the Hell is happening?”

“I heard about those guys from some other Strike Eagle drivers. Said they got in a fight at the start of the war, just couldn’t hit them at all. We need to get out now!”

The two flights separated and began to fly back the way they came, though the pursuing MiGs quickly began to close the distance with them.

“Boreal One, enemy flights have broken up and are retreating. Two heading north and three heading south,” Gene observed on the radar from his Fulcrum. “Should we break up and pursue both?”

“No, all Boreal aircraft go after the northern flight.”

“Are you… affirmative lead, apologies. All Boreal units go after the northern group.”

The five MiGs began to chase after the two Falcons of the Nickel squadron. The two were apart, not supporting each-other, focusing only on flying as fast as their engines could carry them. Neither thought of slowing or moving, as it would only mean certain demise. Slowly, the Griffon jets closed in on the lagging second of the two aircraft.

Having to move and turn and slow at times to avoid the hills, the Falcon now found itself under the eyes of five enemy predators. They watched and followed, trying to lock on with their long-range missiles. Some achieved a lock and fired, but these struck the hills or adjacent features as they closed in. Still the MiGs closed, menacing and focusing on hunting down the American jet.

The Falcon now reached an open stretch of land, pressing the engines to the maximum and jetting along the open field. Two of the Fulcrums launched missiles, easily locking on to the targeted fighter out in the clear. The American pulled up sharply to evade, dropping a long line of chaff and flares as he did so, leaving a trail of bright balls of light in the darkening sky. The three other Fulcrums also locked on easily, each launching a single advanced Alamo missiles from range. The American pilot could not hope to evade all of these, and as they closed in the pilot of Nickel Four-Two pulled his ejection switch.

The canopy blew and the human was ejected away from the craft. The Falcon stalled before being struck by each of the anti-air missiles, being blown apart from the impact and leaving nothing behind. The pilot was thrown about and shook from the shockwave, leaving him disoriented as he floated down. The Nickel flight lead had barely noticed as he made his escape, unable to do much to support him. The Griffons had scored another kill, exerting virtually no effort in doing so beyond having to chase him down.

“That’s a third enemy down,” Boreal Three informed his Captain. “I think that’s the last we’re getting for now. If we keep chasing the last one we’ll run into an enemy AA position. The other three are too far off for us to follow.”

“Good, are there any other contacts on radar?”

“Nothing from the AWACS.”

“Then our job’s done. We have control of the air in this sector for now. Boreal Squadron RTB, let the incoming bombers and their escorts move in.”

“Captain, that other enemy team that escaped. That was Rainbow Dash’s squadron wasn’t it?” Gilda’s wingman asked. “The same Rainbow Dash from all the stories, all those things the elements did years ago. That was her, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was her.”

“You knew her?”

“A long time ago. Don’t worry about it,” she answered. “I swear she always did make friends with losers. I never got her.”

“Is everything alright, ma’am?”

“It’s fine, return to base and don’t ask about it. She won’t be a problem with me.”

Author's Note

Home Free

April 26th, 2006
1100 Hours
East of the Papa Line, Central Sector

Sergeant Charro’s gallop from the border had been an exhausting one. After running off, his luck had been filled with one bad event after another. Firstly the supposedly empty land behind the border line was filled with enemy paratroopers, necessitating a safer and more lengthy evasion, followed by discovering the human troops that were supposed to be right behind them in support were gone, having retreated behind their own lines. After some more time spent hiding and resting, he continued in hopes of reaching the American main line, only to find the scene of a brutal battle that the Shadow Army seemed to have won, as the only American soldiers he found were bodies that had been left behind.

Unsure of what to do, he simply continued trotting east as he had been, eventually reaching a small hamlet that was the site of another skirmish with various damages and a couple other corpses lying on the ground. He did not know what more to do, he did not even know how far east the Americans had retreated. Tired and dried out, with hunger slowing him down, he found himself sitting on the ground to rest next to an abandoned building in the center of the hamlet, trying to relax and think but passing out almost immediately.

It had been a lonely trek as well. He had run into a few other retreating Equestrians on the way, but none whom he recognized, and each time they were separated for one reason or another. He was unsure what became of his two friends and the rest of his squad. His sleep and dreams were shallow, but his mind still ran on, with the hot dust beneath him reminding it of his home and consequently it championed the mass of images in his dream.

He awoke quite early in the morning hearing the sounds and rumbles of battle farther off from him. It was a chilling sound, but it did give him some hope. It meant that some allied unit had to be close by, and if he hurried he could reach it. Despite lacking adequate rest he moved on, hoping to cover a good bit of ground before the dawn’s arrival.

Even as he passed through the line, the sounds seemed to move further away themselves. He pushed himself further, trying to catch up and and, in an ironic sense, finishing his initial run from battle by running towards a new one. He eventually reached a small village where a skirmish had taken place, as evident from the bullet marks on the buildings.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was late for the event, finding neither civilians nor soldiers in the small cluster of buildings. The closest thing available was a number of bodies near the open center of the village; a number of Shadows and two Americans abandoned in the dust. Here his body gave out. Overcome with exhaustion and finding no sign of life, he sat down to rest for a moment on the ground, only to lay his head down and pass out completely, snoring loudly.

“Hey, are you still alive!?” a nearby Shadow soldier called out.

Charro did not respond, being only able to roll over on his back after hours of sleep. When his vision cleared and he came to his senses, he remembered where he was, and was greeted with the horrible sight of a Shadow soldier gesturing to get his attention. The enemy combatant was walking over towards him, gun in hoof. He could not think of anything he could say, or anything he could do, to escape. This was the end of his long run.

“Huh? Hey, are you okay?” the Shadow asked.

“I… yeah, I… um.”

“Why in the world are you in an Equestrian uniform? I thought you were an enemy.”

“What?”

“But your coat is darker, almost ashy. You look like one of us… unless… ah! Now I get it,” the Shadow pony growled, aiming his assault rifle at him. “You’re an Arrojar aren’t you? Your ancestors were traitors. I didn’t think I would actually run into any of you!”

Charro could only sit there, too choked by fear to speak as he stared down the barrel of the AK.

“Don’t think you can get away. Don’t think you’re going to get yourself killed either. You’re our prisoner now, and you’re going back to face retribution befitting a traitor,” the Shadow went on. “I’m sure Lord Sombra has something special for your-”

The Shadow soldier was cut off as he was struck in the back of the head by a bullet. Charro saw the blood fly from his skull, with some of the drops staining his already filthy uniform. The pop of a firearm rang out at virtually the same time, and a second later the Shadow collapsed on top of him.

The hapless Equestrian frantically shoved the corpse off, stunned by the sudden killing. The sound of boots striking the dusty earth closed in, and Charro was greeted again, this time by a tired, lost American soldier. In spite of seemingly rescuing him, the human kept his M4 aimed at him, essentially changing Charro’s holdup from one barrel to another.

“I… uh… thank you?” the Equestrian greeted awkwardly. “

“Save it! What’s the deal?” the human demanded.

“What are you talking about!? S-stop pointing that gun at me!”

“What the Hell are you doing in an Equestrian army uniform?”

“What do you think? I’m in the Equestrian army!”

“My ass you are you dirty Rat! You got to do more than just put on a uniform to cover that coat up!”

“I-no! No, I am! I’m from Cozumane, get it? I mean, my family’s been Equestrian for generations! I was born one! Come on, I’m not a Shadow pony like them!”

The American continued staring silently, holding the gun over his head.

“I’m serious! Look my rank is Staff Sergeant! My name’s Charro. I-I was with the 3rd Lancer Division on the border!”

“Yeah?”

“Really. If I was one of them why would I be wearing this? Why was that one you killed, why was he holding me at gunpoint.”

The American mulled over this for a moment, realizing the sound logic. At last he stepped back from the pony, relaxing but keeping his rifle aimed lopsidedly towards him. Charro took a deep breath, happy that he was no longer under the immediate threat of either capture or execution.

“Well, hop up then Sergeant,” the American agreed with a hint of sarcasm covering the final word. “Just don’t pull any funny shit, or I might get spooked and shoot you in the confusion.”

“I won’t, relax. I promise,” Charro agreed before realizing his defenseless state and breaking the agreement unintentionally. “Hey, do you have a spare gun I can have?”

“I’ll take care of the combat. You can keep your head down and out of the way.”

“But I need some kind of gun.”

“You have to get how fishy that sounds. I’m just a little worried you’re going to shoot me in the back. If not from being a bad guy then just from incompetence.”

“You don’t trust me? Do you hate me or something? I didn’t mean anything. You don’t do you?”

“No, but I’ve spent the last couple days getting shot at by Shadows, getting pushed back, and with all the chaos I ended up alone,” the Corporal said. “A lot of my guys didn’t make it, but I have so far. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Okay, I’ll just follow you,” Charro relented. “Just please don’t let me get killed or anything. I don’t want to die either. Please?”

“Uh yeah, sure. I’ll do the shooting if we run into any more bad guys.”

The American now relaxed further, trying to discern what should be done next. He knew where they were now, and he still remembered the platoon’s rally point. Assuming they were still there and had not been driven off, he could link up with them.

“Hey… what’s your name? And your unit and everything?” Charro asked as he tried to work out a good path to take.

“Corporal Raymond Lee Henry. Third Battalion, Third Regiment, 1st Brigade, Fifth Division. That good enough?” The American rambled.

“Thanks Corporal Henry. For rescuing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean if you hadn’t I would’ve been captured.”

“Yeah… no problem Sergeant,” Henry said, taking a quick look at the position of the sun. “Alright, let’s head this way and we’ll try to get back with the rest of my guys. We’re going to try and stay in cover so we don’t get spotted by any Shadow soldiers.”

Henry lead the way, ducking through an open door and into an abandoned house with Charro following shortly behind. He was careful not to make any heavy noise, even to the point of avoiding the broken glass on the floor. On reaching the back door he opened it slightly, seeing no one on either side of the narrow alley.

After another brief check, he darted across the alley to the nearest door, the back entrance of another house, which was fortunately unlocked. This house was empty as well, save for a pigeon that fled through a hole in the roof. After another quick check, he threw up his hand and jumped back himself, peaking around the edge of a window.

“Hold up! I see something in that window! A helmet!” Henry said, kneeling and resting his rifle on the windowsill. “Alright, let me see if I can hit him… steady… wait, hang on. That looks wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” the Equestrian asked.

“I can kind of see the head, I see skin. Pale, no hair, I knew it! That’s a human, that’s an American helmet!”

“Another American!? Is he still alive?”

“Don’t know, hang on,” the Corporal commanded, checking his surroundings again twice over. “Christ, I hope no Rats hear this. Hey! US! Hold your fire! Coming out the house at your five!”

Henry walked out slowly, but did not dare enter the street, only going just out the doorway. The American soldier across from them jolted off, reappearing again as he moved out the window from the other side of the house and bolted towards them. Henry was relieved; it was not only an ally, but one he recognized once he got a clear view of their face.

“Yakubov! Shit dude I was worried you got blown away!”

“I’m good, I’m okay,” Yakubov answered, taking a knee as he reached them. “It’s really good to see you. I was getting lonely. Who’s this?”

“Sergeant Charro. Says he’s with the Equestrian Army.”

“Is he not?”

“I don’t know, take a look at him. He hasn’t shot me yet so maybe.”

“He’s one of the Arrojar? I read about them,” the Private noted.

“Yes! Yes I am! You see? You believe me now?” Charro asked Henry.

“There’s a few of them in their military Henry. If he hasn’t killed you yet I think he can be vouched for.”

“Yeah? Alright, well if we’re getting out of this mess we’ll need to stick together,” Henry relented under the word of his friend. “Yak, you seen anyone else from our squad? Braxley or Sergeant Clovis? Anyone?”

“No, I haven’t seen any friendlies at all. Only a few Shadow soldiers.”

“Alright, well we’re going to keep moving through town to the edge and then head to the platoon rally point. Hopefully there’s someone there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yak, you and me will act as a buddy team, but we’ll try and avoid enemy contact if we can. Sergeant Charro you stay behind us and keep low so you don’t get shot. Let’s head back the way you came, Yak.”

The three now continued as a group, passing through one house after another. Henry and Yakubov moved with a much more cautious attitude, checking each corner and opening for hostiles before they continued on. The fear that each turn could be hiding an enemy ensured that their sense was sharp and no chances were taken.

They began to near the edge of town without issue, crossing over a small muddy ditch and huddling up against the red brick wall of a bakery. They ducked inside quickly, stopping only monetarily to collect themselves, before hearing voices and diving into cover amongst the shop. Henry, the only one near any opening, peered out the edge of a nearby window.

On the dirt road, a full squad of Shadow soldiers rushed by, clearly on alert. Thankfully they did not notice the American but the reason for their haste was clear. They had heard the gunfire, and likely found the body of the soldier he had killed earlier, and were looking for the perpetrators. Luckily they hastened off down the road, having their own reasons to believe the stragglers had run off in that direction.

“We’re clear.”

“Didn’t seem like they knew where we were huh?” Yakubov said. “Hah! The dumbasses couldn’t find a their way through a parking lot!”

“Hey, Sergeant, you alright?” Henry called to him behind the counter where he had hidden.

The Equestrian rose up, rummaging through the cabinet below and setting a small bag of croissants on top.

“Thank Celestia, I finally caught a break! I dived behind the counter and saw these; they look pretty fresh too.”

“You picked a funny time to eat you know that?”

“Hey, come on I’m starving! I haven’t eaten in… well a long time. More than a day at least.”

“Yeah? Bring those over and share ‘em with us. I’m hungry too,” Raymond responded. “Yak, you want one?”

“Yes, I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. I could use the energy.”

Charro opened the bag and shoved one in his mouth, clenching it in his teeth as he handed it to the Americans. Each of them also took one, gnawing into the bread with a deep satisfaction. As with everyone, none of them realized just how famished they were until they stared eating.

“Eat fast alright? We gotta go,” Henry ordered through a full mouth. “They’re still looking for us.”

Suddenly, as if to punctuate this, the cracks of rifle fire began to echo again. It was not directed at them, though they still fell to the ground immediately. The gunfire picked up, and it sounded as if it was near them, perhaps only down the street.

“Never can get a break huh?” Yakubov muttered.

“That’s AKs,” said Henry as he shoved the last of the bread into his cheek. “A few of them. Close by.”

Another round of shots rang out, having a noticeably different ring to it.

“That’s not, that’s no Shadow gun. That’s an M4.”

“One of ours? Has to be, who would they be shooting at if not us?”

“If it’s a friendly shouldn’t we go help them?” Charro pointed out.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sounds like it’s coming from the east; head through the back way and don’t get spotted.”

The three collected themselves and moved on, now looking for combat rather than avoiding it. They moved much quicker, and with less wariness, knowing that their assailed ally could be overrun at any time. Moving up against the corner of a post office at the end of the street, they saw a number of Shadows firing into another badly-damaged home.

Two of them were in cover behind a bench, firing on an upper story window, while another two were closing in to the doorway. Henry did not bother to wait and make a plan, kneeling down and instantly bringing his rifle up and opening fire on the exposed targets’ flank. Yakubov nudged over him and followed in suit, firing his weapon in bursts.

One of the Shadows behind the wooden bench was hit and collapsed, quickly being grabbed by his companion. The second pressed himself up against the back of the bench but, not knowing the fire was coming from his side, was quickly hit as well. A full three-round burst from Yakubov struck him in the neck, causing a quick death and a noticeable spurt of dark red blood.

The other Shadows, confused as to why their allies had stopped firing, dove to the ground and looked back, easily noticing the Americans. The two now took aim and began to return fire rapidly, their bullets mostly striking the side as they tried to drive them off. A skirmish developed between both sides as they remained suppressed, firing often but without accuracy.

The Shadows, however, were now ignoring their first enemy hiding in the building. Seeing the new development, the American soldier rushed downstairs and onto a ruined section of the house that offered a clear view of his assailers. The two enemies were now caught in a crossfire, and both were soon shot multiple times in the back, their heads falling and dying solemnly in the prone position they fought in.

“Clear!” Henry shouted.

“It’s clear over hear,” the other American yelled as he ran towards his rescuers, not bothering to wait any longer. “Holy shit it’s you guys!”

“Hey Jarvis.”

“Man I was so screwed! Good thing you guys showed up huh?”

“Yeah, you’re welcome bro,” Henry replied. “You okay? Good to go?”

“Oh, thanks! Really I mean it. And yeah, I’m all good. Still got a couple mags left too.”

“Have you seen anyone else from your fireteam Jarvis?” Yakubov asked. “Or at all for that matter.”

“Nope, no one. I kind of got lost after that airstrike scattered us last night. Remember the one with the strafing and those bigass bombs? I swear I almost went deaf from that!”

“Yeah, trust me I remember.”

“Hey, who’s he?” Jarvis asked with a genuine curiosity, pointing a finger at Charro. “He a prisoner or something? Why’s he got a pony uniform?”

“That’s Staff Sergeant Charro, he’s Equestrian, 3rd Lancer Division,” Henry explained. “Sergeant, this is Private First Class Jarvis. He’s part of our squad, part of Fireteam Alpha.”

“Nice to meet you Sergeant.”

“Same to you.”

“So you guys got a plan or something?”

“We’re heading east towards the platoon rally point,” Yakubov told him.

“That sounds cool,” Jarvis affirmed.

He took a look at his would-be killers, eyeing them curiously. He noticed that, beyond the usual camouflage uniform, there was some more unique features among them, including what looked to be a ring of blue around the neck. He examined one more closely, and underneath the top there was a stylized blue cover securely fastened along the dead Shadow’s back, almost like a tied-down cape.

“Jarvis can you grab one of these Rats’ guns,” Henry asked, collecting a magazine from another corpse. “Jarvis? Hey, what’s up? Are you listening?”

“Hey Henry, check these guys out! They look different.”

“They’re part of the Fuego Sangre Division, a chapter within the Tormentas units. They’re a lot better than the average Shadow soldiers in the Army,” Charro spoke up, looking at the body while trying to avoid the bloody spot on its front. “I know that patch, and that cape. Those units are elite. They’re virtually a separate branch from the Shadow Army.”

“Sweet!” Jarvis jumped. “We blew those guys away!”

“Uh… yeah, I guess you guys did.”

“They almost blew you away you crazy farm boy dumbass,” Henry chastised. “Now hurry and grab his gun and mags for the Sergeant.”

“Wait for me?” the Equestrian asked. “You’re giving me a gun?”

“Yeah, now that there’s four of us we can work as a makeshift fireteam. It’ll make things a little safer. You do know how to work in a fireteam right?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Do you know how to use an AK?”

“Yes-I mean, yes sort of. We got some enemy weapons training so I guess I do.”

“Same as other guns, just pull the trigger.”

“Here you go pony sergeant guy,” Jarvis said as he offered a well-kept AK-74. “It’s a little dirty, but there’s no blood on it or anything. It should fire fine. It was firing pretty good at me a minute ago!”

“Thank you,” Charro replied graciously as he took the weapon, still holding a half-empty mag.

The weapon seemed alien to him. Simple-looking and simply-built, the wood and metal shackled together to form an effective weapon he had only held a few times before for training. It felt strange that he was no reliant on the weapon himself, the same type of weapon that was being used to kill other Equestrians and humans, but after running for days unarmed he would not complain about it.

It still felt strange to him as he stood upright again in a combat stance, holding it closely as he took some spare ammunition Corporal Henry had salvaged. In the time before the war, before the fall into a new world and the age of firearms and machine warfare, arms would hold a much more personal connection. Swords stylized and decorated to make them unique to the bearer and the family, named and holding brands and markings in the forged iron. Armor adorned with symbols and colors. It felt quite different from the mass, generic production of arms on Earth.

Still, this world seemed to have a way of doing the same themselves. The human soldiers, even within their heavy standardization, had small was of identifying themselves and showing their individuality among the mass of troops. Forming up with the rest of the team, he noticed something on the side of the gun’s stock, what looked to be a carving in the wood spelling out ‘mirar adelante’.

“Okay, you guys ready? Sergeant Charro you’re going to take the third spot, so try and stay between me and Jarvis. If you guys are alright with it I’ll command the team, but hopefully we won’t run into anymore hostiles along the way. We all know what to do anyways.”

“Isn’t my rank above yours?” Charro asked.

“You saying you want to lead?”

“I… no, just… no, no nevermind.”

“Alright, let’s move, stay quick and quiet and keep out of the open.”

The team once again advanced, with Yakubov in the lead as they ducked in and out of the various buildings. Each corner had to be checked carefully, and every open space had to be crossed one at a time while a teammate covered. It was a slow process for the relatively short distance being covered, but the caution paid off. They did not encounter any other enemies, or at least did not alert them.

At last they reached the edge of the town, holding behind a small post office on the east end. Ahead of them lay the patchy countryside, long and open fields marked by farms and with various spots of wood and vegetation or random buildings. Henry took a quick look and, not far off, a group of Shadow soldiers was waiting in an open area.

A few looked like soldiers, perhaps a squad that had been badly hurt and sent into reserve. The others did not look heavily armed, and a study of their equipment showed them to be a mortar unit, though the mortars themselves were not set up. There were nine Shadows in total, and thankfully none of them seemed very alert.

“Shit, alright we got some Rats to kill,” Henry sighed. “We can do it though. There’s a few of them but I think we can do it.”

“How many?” Yakubov asked.

“I counted nine, but only three of them look like frontline guys. The rest are support, mortar troops I think. Looked like they only had pistols. It looks like they’re relaxing.”

“Nine!? Nine of them?” Charro said, still managing to keep his voice down. “Can’t we go around?”

“Yeah I’m with him on this one,” Jarvis agreed. “Shooting seems pretty dumb right now.”

“There’s no way around. They’re right in our way and most of the area around is flat. They’d see us if we tried to move out of cover. We got to jump them now.”

“But won’t the gunfire attract more of them? They’ll send more troops this way,” Charro added.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Henry conceded. “Just means we have to work quick. Kill them and then haul ass. It’s a straight shot from here to the rally point.”

None of the others answered, seemingly submitted to the course of action.

“Alright me and Yak are going to lay into them from the side, around the corner here, and we’ll move and try to keep their flank under fire. Jarvis, Sergeant, you two head inside here and grab a shooting spot at a window. Stay there and keep hammering them. You guys shoot first okay? We’ll open up when you do.”

“Gotcha Ray!” Jarvis agreed, hopping up from his crouched stance. “Come on pony guy.”

The post office itself was also thankfully deserted, though much of the mail seemed to have been abandoned there in the hasty evacuation. Jarvis and Charro found a long, rectangular window that had room enough for both and provided a good view of the field. Unfortunately, the glass was still intact, meaning it would have to be broken before shooting. Jarvis was about to smash it with his rifle before the pony stopped him.

“Wait! Won’t they hear that?”

“Oh shit, yeah you’re right. Good call man,” the American relented. “But I mean they’re going to see us anyways huh?”

“Yeah but, well I’d like to be shooting at them first. Instead of them noticing us from the glass I mean,” Charro clarified. “Can we open it or something?”

“Well how about this. You stand back, and I’ll break it so it won’t fall on you. As soon as it’s down you jump forward and start shooting. Like really really lay into them. Sound good?” Jarvis asked, concocting a more detailed, if simple-minded, plan from the original action. “Or do you want to change places? Like do you want me to shoot first?”

“No I, well… uh… maybe,” Charro responded, going through the possible outcomes in his mind. “I don’t know, I sort of want to.”

“Oh come on man we can’t wait! You got to make up your mind!”

“Alright alright, I’ll shoot!”

“Okay, stand back and get ready to move up and fire.”

The Equestrian stepped back a bit as the American turned his gun around. Now worried about side-effects, Jarvis elected to switch the safety on so the gun would not accidentally fire before gripping it by the barrel like a baseball bat. With one hard swing, a shattering echo reverberated among the area, breaking the conversation among the Shadow troops.

Charro was against the window before the glass had all fallen, quickly taking aim and firing the AK at full automatic against the group of enemies. One seemed to fall back but all of them dropped to the ground in cover. The magazine emptied in seconds and Charro began to reload as Jarvis broke the other side of the window for himself. The American crouched and tried in vain to fire, stopping to examine his gun before flipping the safety switch and opening fire himself.

The two heard shouts from the enemy troops, largely calls from ceasefire, perhaps believing that they were under attack from friendly soldiers as they were behind the lines. One of them, however, spied the American in the windowsill and yelled the warning. The Shadow troops now began to return fire, shooting individually at the building. Bullets struck the walls around Charro and he ducked back down as he and Jarvis fired fleetingly and fast to keep their targets pinned.

Henry and Yakubov were running down the right flank as soon as they heard the first gunshots. After passing two buildings and hanging a right, they followed a low stone wall out into the open yard. They had a clear view of the Shadow soldiers from there, all of them facing the house Jarvis and Charro occupied.

The two infantrymen brandished their rifles and began a deadly, accurate assault on the exposed and unassuming enemy. Two of them were hit within seconds, though because of the confusion, and with all of them on the ground, they could not discern what was happening. Another Shadow soldier died, shot in the side, then another in the same manner, and then another was struck in the face from the building’s attackers. Most of them were already dead before one recognized, from the sound’s direction, a long series of the pops of gunfire from their left flank. A warning was called out, but there was little that could be done.

The few remaining Shadows tried to adjust to find cover or hide, firing back as they could, but under fire from two sides in the open they did not last long. After another minute and a half of continuous fire, the last of them was hit and disabled. After some more time spent observing the field, the victorious troops were able to relax again.

“Clear!” Henry yelled from across the way.

“Clear over here too!” Jarvis answered.

“Alright rally up!”

The four regrouped in the field amongst the fallen enemy soldiers. A number of their foes were still alive, only badly wounded and unable to offer resistance, writhing and moaning in the grass. Some could survive, others were doomed regardless by the nature of their wounds, now cursed to die slowly and unexpectedly. Still, none attempted to attack, and the allies paid them no mind.

“What the Hell was that glass breaking?” Henry asked.

“Well it was in the way!” Jarvis said simply. “So I had to smash it!”

“Fine, whatever. Let’s get moving, some bad guys are going to find out we’re here eventually. We need to get into those woods.”

The woods themselves were rather small in size, with the trees few in number and spaced out in a loose collection. It did not offer as much cover as some thicker groupings usually would, but it was the closest cover heading in the direction of their allies. The four headed in quickly, dropping their sense of caution in hopes of a speedy escape. Under the shade of the dried-out pines, they headed onwards.

Not long off from them was a heavily armed Shadow patrol of some twenty soldiers, hunting for the cause of the gunfire. Their discovery of the bodies in town, and now the bodies in the field just outside, confirmed the presence of American stragglers to them. The initial rush was tapered upon seeing the number of troops lost in the second group and they began to spread out and search carefully, now realizing just how much of a threat existed.

The allied team had continued through the woods but stopped on the edge, seeing more Shadow soldiers in various groups on their path. Four of them moved slowly down the tiny road they had to follow, and six others were spread out amongst the side of a long hillcock, running parallel to it with a sharp brow cutting off the view past it. The four stranded soldiers could not fight them; unlike before, this group was much more spread out and they themselves had little cover.

Upon coming closer, the four also slowly realized they no longer held surprise as a sure factor. All of the Shadows seemed aware, as if looking for something, in spite of a relaxed attitude. They were returning to inquire about the fire fight as well, and it would not be long before the lost team, now pincered, was spotted.

“Corporal, they’re going to see us!” Yakubov hissed. “We need to hide somewhere better!”

“Hey, how about that shack,” Henry suggested, eyeing the small building off to their left. “Guys, up and move to the building!”

The four of them hustled back, ducking into a small, abandoned shack resting along the treeline of the woods. Once inside all of them ducked down, trying to hide in the one little room while peeking out the windows. They watched as the patrol met up with another group of Shadows coming from the village, stopping to talk on the road across the way from the shack.

“Shit come on! Just move!” Jarvis quietly encouraged.

“Get out of here,” Henry added. “Just fuck off already!”

Some of the Shadows looked towards the shack, clearly noticing something, and causing the Americans to shrink back.

“Damn it I think he saw us!” said Jarvis.

“Keep it quiet, we might-”

Henry was cut short as a shot struck the metal and wood exterior of the building, not far from where a bit of his helmet stuck out.

“Yeah they saw us!” his companion confirmed.

“No shit Jarvis! Get shooting!”

The four clambered up to the windows and began to shoot back. Jarvis quickly hit one of the Shadows that had been standing on the road, but the others were not as easy to kill. Many of them scattered in various directions, firing into the shack in hopes of keeping the allies from escaping. A number of Shadows ran along and hid behind the opposite side of the long hill, using the sharp crest as cover. Hiding in safety behind the edge, they poured down fire into the building, with their cornered prey being unable to respond effectively.

There was little that could be done at all in this state. The men and their Equestrian friend were stuck and suffered the mass of fire from around them. Yakubov was able to spy one enemy next to a tree and hit him in the upper leg, but they could see few results beyond that. Charro checked the rear of the building, hoping they could run back out, and was grieved when a number of shots impacted the rear of the shack from two Shadows in the woods.

“They’re behind us too!” he yelled.

“Christ they’re on all sides! We’re fucking stuck!” Henry cried out. “Yak cover the left side, Jarvis get the right! Sergeant watch our rear, don’t let them get behind the house!”

“Shit we’re screwed!” Jarvis shouted as he complied. “There’s no way out we’re dead!”

“This is it!” Yak added, more to himself than the others.

“Just keep them back! Shut up and shoot! We’ll hold them off till we run out of ammo, if we have to we’ll surrender! But not yet!”

The volume of fire laid upon the shack was intense and the men inside could barely shoot at all. They attempted to fire blindly out their small windows and holes but there was little accuracy in their response. Bullets constantly punched into the wood of the shack with some of higher caliber punching through. All of them realized some other Shadow troops were closing in, though none could see from where. Any second a grenade would fly into the enclosed space and they would all be dead.

Henry himself was too busy to realize that he was afraid, and as he worked his mine ran. Was this really the end? It seemed to be. It could not be death though; some would fight to the end but he would not waste all their lives. If they could not fight they would surrender. What if they shut them anyways? What would happen then?

He fire blindly from the side of the window towards the crest of the hill, the only place he could be certain that there were enemies. Suddenly the sounds of gunfire seemed to double, with the noise filling the air over them. Henry jerked back reactively and crouched in the corner to take cover. Surely they were increasing their fire because the other Shadows were finally closing in. This truly was it to him, it seemed like the end, and it was all he could think about.

It took him a moment before he made the odd realization that the fire seemed to slacken off. He could not tell why, but in spite of the great noise the actual volume of gunfire brought upon the hapless, stranded troops had been significantly reduced. It was a boggling change to him; he peeked out to examine but could not determine the cause.

It was only after giving close attention to the gunfire that he realized why. Some of it was farther off, and they did not give off the sounds of the Shadow’s AKs. It was that of American weapons; M4 Carbines, what sounded like a bolt-action rifle and a SAW as well. He could not be sure to the exact make, but something had happened, and was happening, and he had to watch out for it.

“Hey! Hey you hear that!?”

“What!?” Yakubov asked.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That gunfire! Those are our guns!”

Yakubov held his fire momentarily, his ears catching the sounds Henry was raving about.

“Yeah, yeah I hear them!”

“Someone else is out here! Shooting at the bad guys!”

“Who!?”

“I don’t know just look out for them!”

Henry had been correct in his assumption. Out of their view, the Shadow fire teams in cover behind the hill had suddenly, violently been swept with a barrage of small arms fire. The shouting and chaos perforated shortly and then subsided once they had been wiped out. Their killers now occupied their positions almost immediately, using the crest as cover and picking away at the remaining Shadows around the shack.

One by one, in quick order, the Shadow soldiers were cut down. The firefight subsided, though the four in the shack were still on edge, not knowing what had happened. Henry watched as their rescuers moved over the crest, slowly and at the ready, one at a time, spreading out like a group of wolves surrounding a prey. They were human soldiers, and there were several of them. He counted ten at least, and many others hiding behind the ridge.

“Alright, everyone hold your fire,” he ordered, taking a breath to shout out the window. “Hey! We’re friendlies! Americans! We’re coming out, hold your fire!”

There was no response though all of the men’s attention was drawn to the shack. Henry stood and shouldered his rifle, holding his empty hands up. Friendly or not, he was no longer in the mood to resist in the shot-up shack.

He walked out, followed by his comrades shortly. The men around all gathered quickly, easing up a bit as they approached. Henry now got a better look at them, there had to have been twenty perhaps, and all looked tired, yet well equipped. Some had a different uniform from the others, and a handful even wore some worn spots of dark, black paint around their face and neck. Most importantly, he could tell they were friends.

“Holy shit… holy shit,” Henry repeated to the men. “Where’d- oh thank you guys. We were pinned down in there, no way out. We were totally screwed. We’d be dead if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

“It’s no problem,” one of them, the apparent leader, replied. “What unit you guys from?”

“First Platoon, Bravo company.”

“We ain’t from the Fifth,” another added.

“Huh, shit. Well, we’re from the their Second Brigade, Second Infantry Battalion. I’m Corporal Henry, these are Privates Yakubov and Jarvis. Pony right there is Sergeant Charro. He’s a good guy, no Rat,” the exasperated rifleman explained. “But yeah, we’re from the Fifth ID. Who the Hell are you guys?”

“SEAL Team Two. You can call me Cutlass, or Cut.”

“Hot damn, where’d you Navy boys come from?”

“What you didn’t see that big fucking volcanic explosion behind the enemy’s lines a few days back?” another asked. “That was us.”

“Damn I had no clue any of you guys were in our area.”

“We were on a mission a while back but got cut off, had to meet up with an SAS group, them in the beanies,” Cutlass explained. “We’ve been trying to get back to friendly lines but the Shadows broke through. Looks like they gave you guys a hard time.”

“Yeah you got that right,” Jarvis confirmed.

“Yeah but we heard all the gunfire and figured we’d come take a look. You Army guys just don’t know how to stay quiet huh?”

“You got a plan, Sir?” Henry asked.

“Nothing concrete right now,” Cutlass said, seemingly unworried by this. “We were originally just going back to the MLR but we just found a big hole in the lines.”

“Well, we were heading to our company rally point. They might still be there, should only be about a klick or two down the road.”

“Sounds like it’s worth checking out. Stick with us, we’re going to get moving fast. You all good on ammo?”

“I still got a couple mags. Hey, you guys still stocked up?”

“I’m down to my last one,” Yakubov spoke up to the SEAL commander.

“Ice, give that guy a couple of yours. Everyone good? Let’s move out, and try not to draw attention. Stay spread out and keep noise discipline. No more firefights on the way there, got it?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but were any of you guys sent behind their lines? Or deserted or anything?” one of the SEALs asked Henry as the group began to move up the road.

“Not that I know of. What’s up?”

“We saw some humans chatting with a Shadow a while back; looked real buddy-buddy to me, had weapons too, not like a prisoner or traitor.”

“Switch, save it for when we get back,” Cutlass ordered.

The sun by now had reached its zenith, hanging over them like a great burning lantern lighting the world. The heat was becoming an issue, as most of the men were running low on water. It was always a secondary issue behind the more direct worries of combat, but water was a loss that always crept up painfully. In such hot and dry weather, with constant activity and the stress of battle, heatstroke became another threat in addition to bullets. It was one of many that endangered the well-being of the men.

Henry began to feel the sweat pool on the back of his neck and drench his undershirt. It was an incredible change to join into such a large group, he thought, and an odd one at that. Three minutes away from the site of the skirmish and the land was peaceful again. It felt like the group could be on a midday’s walk to enjoy the clear weather, rather than a trek for survival, but war always has a way of creating interesting situations for the participants.

Gunfire could still be heard in the distance from many directions, but it was far from their range. It was always a constant, and they paid little attention to it. Other soldiers were fighting their own battles far beyond their reach, miles in other directions. There was some passing thoughts hoping that they would end as fortunate as Henry’s had, but these did not occupy the mind. Focus was directed on their own journey.

One particular source of the sound was growing noticeably louder as they continued; it seemed clear they were all heading towards it, straight into a major fight. To all of them, this told two important details. Firstly, that the remains of the company had gathered at the rally point and were still present. Secondly, it meant that the enemy had found them.

The soldiers began to move with greater caution as they approached before Cutlass ordered everyone off to the side of the road, and to advance slower, closer to the ground. Most of them heeded by crawling along a dry ditch up to where it deepened significantly, where their commander had gathered. They had arrived at their destination, but the ongoing battle did not offer the security and safety they had been searching for.

“Ark!” the SEAL leader called.

“Yeah, ready!”

“You’re up, recon! Get down to that log on the left, down there. Get me a count on the tangoes and their positions.”

The SEAL took off, leaving the group to blister on the dusty ground until he returned, sliding into the ditch several minutes later.

“Counted twenty-nine, but there’s more I couldn’t see. Think they’re around platoon strength,” Arkansas informed. “They’re spread out all along the area but most are along that hill with all the rocks on it, right in the middle. There’s at least one squad in the forest to the left flank laying down more fire. I think they tried to flank our guys on the right with another, cause there’s five more way off to the right in the open, but they got pinned down in the open plain. Good news is they’re all looking forward, they won’t see us coming.”

“Where are our guys? Are they still there?”

“Yeah, all circled up, rally point’s at the bigger hill farther beyond. Bunch of our boys dug in around the top and all down the slopes forward and along the sides.”

“Alright… alright give me a minute,” Cutlass requested, being graciously granted it by his subordinates. “Okay. Lieutenant Tyrwhitte, I think we should split up. You want your men to take out the bad guys on the rocks or clear out that forest?”

“The forest would suit us better, we can reach it sharpish,” the SAS commander selected.

“Then you guys will swing back and around on the left and clear them out. My guys will clear out the rest of them.”

“We’ll have it done before you know it.”

“Okay. SEALs listen up, we’re going straight at the rest of them from here. Switch, you see that broken up cliff just behind us? Get up there with your rifle and kill any targets you see; you’ve got free reign. Bowie, Ice, Ark you guys stay here and lay down fire on them. Rest will follow me right up to hit them.”

The team all took in the plan silently, working out their own specific part in it.

“Corporal Henry.”

“Yes Sir,” the infantryman unintentionally interrupted.

“You take your team, follow down the ditch along the right flank, and lay down grazing fire on the those Rats pinned in the open. Should be about level height with you guys but do not move from your position, understand? It’s open ground ahead and you’ll be exposed, or you’ll get hit by our guys by accident. More likely than usual since one of your guys looks like them. You stick in the ditch and just lay into them from there, understood?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Anyone got any questions?” Cutlass asked, not receiving any from the men. “Let’s move out!”

The group scattered, with each individual moving to do the job assigned to him. The British moved away and crossed the road further back, making a hard swing for their attack as the SEALs split up. Henry, turning his back to all of them, simply continued the process of crawling along the ditch.

Part of him, for a moment, wished he could help with a greater job than harassing and picking off Shadow survivors, but he brushed it off as a New York ego. His task was still important, and his tired ragtag fireteam would find the heavier enemy numbers more difficult than they could deal with. Nor did the SEALs need someone in their way. He wondered the kinds of missions they would undertake alone, against greater enemies and without support.

He dragged his wandering mind to back to himself again as, with a rather brisk crawl that was punctuated by short sprints, the fireteam reach a suitable position across from the stuck Shadow troops. Looking behind him, he counted down the line to make sure everyone was still there, Yakubov, Jarvis, and Sergeant Charro. He and the others laid out along the side of the ditch and the road to take aim, the dust and dirt and dried grass already thoroughly coating their uniforms and weapons. It also began to interfere with their aim somewhat, which was already difficult from the level angel making spotting and shooting harder.

Henry did not give a command to open fire. He, and the others, simply began shooting. It was difficult to pick out the Shadows through the camouflage on their uniforms, but they kept firing, hoping to score a lucky shot or break their spirit. They knew the enemy was in the direction of their fire, it was just a matter of chance and time now.

The special operators had a somewhat easier time. The SEALs struck first with their covering fire and sniper hitting a number of Shadow soldiers. A number of the targets, safe from the fire to their front, were quickly hit and killed or wounded, and a confusion quickly gripped them. The rest of the team began their movements forward, relying on the close-in tactics of aggression and surprise, with a fair amount of grenades. However, some of the Shadows noticed the American troops appearing at the rear and they soon rallied quicker than anticipated. Cutlass’ team was quickly brought to an immediate halt by intense return fire, unable to advance and spreading out to find cover where possible.

The SAS completed their task first and cleanest. Entering the woods and moving through, they found most of the Shadow soldiers either at the treeline or just behind it, firing their machine guns constantly towards the hill ahead of them. Shooting them in the back proved to be a brutally simple task and within forty seconds, the ten enemies were all dead or wounded. Tyrwhitte now ordered his men to switch their fire onto the main grouping of enemies to help the SEALs, making sure to stay in the woods and to the back as the beleaguered American company was still taking the treeline ahead of them.

The Shadow platoon commander, trying to coordinate from behind a sizable boulder, found his situation to have turned dire almost instantly. The original plan had been to surround the Americans on and around the hill, and this had been a troublesome task. Now he found his unit had been surrounded. Where had these enemies come from? How could such a force move so easily around and behind them?

The situation soon turned from dire to painfully hopeless. The team that was in the forest was not responding, and now they were being shot at from their former position. They had halted an initial rush but casualties were mounting and there was no way out. A radio message to their own company command gave little help, killing any hope of escape or relief he had.

It seemed for an instant to devolve into a numbers game for him, and the dropping numbers were frightening. Two soldiers were struck by fire from the road and rolled downhill crying, then another near him was hit in the leg and wounded by the Americans that were still trying to close in. The last standing Sergeant was hit in the head by a sniper and killed instantly, while his own radio assistant was hit by several rounds from the forest, along with his equipment. Without thinking, by pure reaction, done from a primal drive for the survival of him and his troops, he started yelling as loudly as he could.

On the other side, Cutlass’ ears pricked as he heard something being screamed, followed by a drastic reduction of enemy fire. He listened as it was echoed, a call of ‘cease fire’ among the enemy, and a loud repetition of the word ‘surrender’. He quickly began to repeat the first phrase to his followers, which they in turn repeated until it sang along the battlefield, replacing the sounds of gunfire. The further soldiers took some time but eventually everyone on both sides came to grasp the situation. The last of the Shadows had surrender rather than face certain destruction.

The survivors began to rise up from their cover, hooves in the air in the traditional manner, weapons left on the ground where they were. Thirteen were unhurt, and a few more wounded. Three of the soldiers in the open plain followed; Henry’s fireteam had only gotten lucky once. Slowly, the allies began to consolidate, all moving in to rejoin along with a number of infantry coming down the hill. Convinced that it was no trick, the post-battle tasks of collecting and processing began.

The SEALs and other soldiers immediately began disarming the Shadows once they reached them, huddling them up to be guarded and searched. Two medics came down from the American line to treat the wounded as other infantry assisted in collecting them and bearing them back to their positions for help. Though this process was mostly done through volunteers on the infantry’s part, and even then the men seemed to be rather rough in their assistance of wounded soldiers who had been shooting at them minutes before. Still, no incidents of prisoner killings occurred in a minor testament to the discipline of this small handful of men.

“Hey Henry!” a voice called among the masses.

The Corporal looked in its direction, seeing another man from his squad, one of the members of his own fireteam.

“Rose! You made it! Holy shit it’s good to see you!”

“Not just me, everyone else in the squad made it,” the Belgian added, dragging his friend into a hug. “Some of us got scattered. We got here but we were missing you and Privates Yakubov and Jarvis. I’m glad they’re alive, too.”

“No shit, everyone’s alive?”

“In our squad. We got lucky but the company took some heavy losses, the whole battalion has. I think we stopped the Shadow advance in this area though-”

“Well look what the subway rats dragged in!” Sergeant Pete said.

“Hey Sergeant! Good to see you’re still doing well.”

“Figures, Ray ditches us only to pop up with a bunch of badasses and save the day,” the Sergeant said, rolling a large gold Shadow coin between his fingers.

“Yeah I figured I’d let you guys sweat it out before pulling your asses out of the fire.”

“Well I’m glad you guys are still breathing,” Pete affirmed before spying the dark Equestrian Sergeant. “Hey who the Hell is he? He another prisoner? What’s with the uniform?”

“Oh no Sir, he’s Equestrian, for real. Hey Sergeant,” Henry called, beckoning his new friend over. “This is Sergeant Charro, from the Equestrian Army. Sergeant this is ‘Pistol’ Pete, also a Sergeant.”

“You sure he didn’t some weird magic stuff on your mind?” Pete asked.

“No, no! I’m Equestrian I swear, I just look kind of like them because some of my ancestors ran off,” Charro explained poorly. “Don’t let the whole weird dark coat and grey mane look fool you. I’m not like them, really. I’m totally harmless. To you guys I mean, I’m not going to shoot you guys, but I have to hurt somepony in the Army right? Just the bad guys. But I’m not evil, I don’t want to take over the world or anything crazy like that.”

“He’s legit Sergeant,” Henry vouched to break Charro’s rambling. “He stuck with us on the way here. Saw him ice a few Rats myself.”

“This place keeps getting weirder, but I believe you. Christ… good thing I’m a man of the world,” the American Sergeant moaned. “Okay, you all go get some food and water, you look beat, but go see the Staff Sergeant on your way; he’ll be happy to see you alive. He’s over there near the slope dealing with the prisoners with Nick. Sergeant Charro, you can come with me and I’ll take you to the company commander. We’ll see about getting you back to your unit.”

The team split and went their separate ways, with the pony following Pete slowly and the other three moved on. Only after did Henry realize he had not bid the Equestrian a farewell, a somewhat sad realization considering he had saved Charro and they had fought together; it was quite possible their paths would not cross again. In the end it was still only work though, important work, but perhaps they would see each-other again. He was certainly easier to pick out among the usual Equestrians.

Henry suddenly stopped as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He turned to see one of the SEALs, the one who had asked him before about missing or AWOL soldiers. Switch held a mighty grin stretching across his face, clearly happy to be back at friendly lines after his long journey.

“Hey, you guys did real good out there,” he complemented.

“Yeah you too man. I saw you hit a few with that rifle, you’re a pretty sweet shot with it huh?”

“I put in the practice,” the SEAL said. “So before… you said you didn’t know anything about AWOL soldiers or possible defections?”

“No, nothing.”

“Alright, well I’m going to go talk to the company CO,” Switch decided before changing the topic again. “Hey… where are you from Corporal?”

“New York City, Brooklyn.”

“Oh, sounds nice.”

“What, you’re not from there? Where are you from?” Henry asked.

“Sorry brother, spec ops IDs, I can’t tell you without killing you and all that scary dumb bullshit,” Switch laughed.

Henry was unsure if he was truly joking or not; he had grinned and chuckled while poorly reciting the old movie cliche, but still never provided an answer.

“Seriously man?”

The SEAL laughed again, again not giving him anything in the form of one answer or another.

“Well try and find me once this is all over. Maybe we can grab a drink.”

“If we’re still alive, yeah.”

“It was Henry, right?”

“Raymond Lee Henry. Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.”

“Alright I'll look you up. You guys stay safe out there.”

Staff Sergeant Braxely and Sergeant Clovis were going through a group of prisoners. Most in the group seemed lost and confused, as if they were still in shock and did not know what had happened. All of them seemed to be in good condition, well-groomed in fresh battle uniforms and outfitted with ample supplies and equipment until the Americans removed it from them.

All of the prisoners seemed to be enlisted without even a sergeant among them. All of their officers were held separately and taken elsewhere for their own handling and interrogation. Each seemed to look upon the Americans with disdain when it was their turn to be searched, with much of their miscellaneous equipment, including their food, being taken. The remaining weapons, largely sidearms, knives, and various grenades, were seized and laid out neatly on clear spots of ground.

“Hey! It’s good to see you three are all okay,” Braxely greeted happily with a great, beaming smile.

“Yeah for a while I figured I had lost half my fireteam,” Clovis added from behind a prisoner.

“I guess we owe you for helping us out huh?”

“The other guys did all the hard work, we just sort of tagged along with them,” Henry explained.

“They actually saved us too, before we got here,” Yakubov added. “We all owe them.”

“I heard the rest of the squad made it through. How are all of them?”

“Everyone’s alive and walking, just tired,” Braxely said. “Orlov and Raul are… well, they’re still quiet as usual, kind of moody. But they’re fine.”

“Yeah Alpha Team’s been way too quiet with those two and with Jarvis missing. We need to get you back,” Clovis also explained. “Pete’s been having to do twice as much talking without you. It needs a balance of quiet assholes and loud assholes to work.”

“Well you mind if we go get some food Sir? Sergeant Pete sent us to, we ain’t eaten in a long time,” Jarvis asked.

“Yeah, you guys go eat and get some rest. There’s no mess but go talk to the supply guys and get some MREs.”

The three headed off as Sergeant Clovis finished searching the last of the prisoners, procuring a fancy engraved dagger from inside the shirt of a soldier along with a small batch of folded papers.

“Okay, let’s get these guys to the rear Nick. The war’s done for this bunch of Rats,” Braxely ordered.

“Alright let’s get moving!” Sergeant Clovis called out. “Come on all you up the hill, get going! Come on amigos, move it! Vamos doggies!”

“Do you even know Spanish, Sergeant?” Braxely asked.

“I know ‘amigos’. That counts doesn’t it?”

Author's Note

Shadows

April 26th, 2006
1830 Hours
Everfree Air Force Base

Source

As chaotic as the war had been, the situation was beginning to stabilize. The primary worry among those in the theatre was the central line breach, which had been stopped just barely but was still a massive threat that could precipt total collapse. Likewise, the war on the sea and in the sky were only slightly better.

In the air war, the Bloc still held the advantage. Their bombers still attacked Equestrian cities and military targets, but fighters were still rising to meet them. Though they held air superiority, it was far from complete. The various air force units could still hold on and fight back, and they were preventing their enemy’s air power from striking decisive blows.

During this time Rainbow Dash spoke with Spitfire for the first time since the war had begun, speaking with her over the phone in preparation for a joint operation their squadrons would be enacting soon. Badly struck and having suffered extensive material losses in the early hours of the war, the Wonderbolts has abandoned their Academy near Cloudsdale and retreated to an auxiliary field well past Canterlot to the southeast. Only had they begun receiving replacement Super Hornets, slowly returning to a modicum of strength.

Despite this, Dash was happy to learn that pilot losses had been exceptionally low. Only one pony was killed, dying on the ground from a missile strike in the first attack. No others had been lost, despite numerous sorties by the few remaining jets. It put testament to Spitfire’s tactics and skill, both of her own and that which she passed on to her subordinates.

It was a simple mission, she said. The Americans had succeeded in holding their primary line running along the continent, the Paradigm Line, with the one exception of a gap that the Shadow Military had forced open in the central sector. The 5th Infantry Division had halted any further advance and the situation was still very fluid; as such this was the weakest area, and was still being attacked by aircraft on the regular. The Bolt and Rainbow Squadrons would rendezvous with units from the American 2nd and 12th Fighter Squadrons and enact a fighter sweep over the area, both to clean it for the time and as a show of force. Neither side as of yet was able to assault the other and it became a matter of which could gather strength quicker.

Rainbow said nothing to her about the encounter with Gilda. Part of her wanted to believe it would not be important, but she knew that would not be the case. That same part almost drove her to go speak with Twilight on the subject; speaking with her seemed like the best course of action over the issue of having to fight and old friend. In the end, however, she relented, partly over not wanting to further concern her busy friend but truthfully because she did not want to hear the likely advice she would give.

When the time came, Rainbow selected four additional members of her squadron, Stone Tail, Jackpot, Rivet, and Snow Slide, to form a wing while the others remained at the base. Her flight, along with one from the 2nd, headed off in the late hours of the afternoon. They arrived at near the same time as Spitfire’s group, just as they had planned.

“Rainbow One, are you reading me, over?” she called out to them.

“Yeah, we can hear you, Bolt,” Dash answered her old commander.

“No trouble getting here, huh?”

“Nope, nothing so far.”

“Good. Beagle, Knife, SITREP please.”

“Knife team, all fighters accounted for,” the first American flight answered.

“Beagle Three-One here, I just had to send back one of my guys from a fuel leak, he should make it alright though.”

“Understood… uh, Rainbow One did you pass an AWACS on your way here?” Spitfire asked curiously.

“No, why? I thought one was supposed to meet us here.”

“It was, but… I’m not seeing it on the radar,” the Wonderbolts Captain observed as the pilots switching over to the E-3’s reported radio frequency. “Bolt One to Jellyfish, are you reading us over?”

No reply came in the dead air.

“Repeat this is Bolt One. Jellyfish, are you reading me, over?”

“AWACS Jellyfish this is Knife Three-One, US Air Force. If you can read this please respond and we’ll authenticate,” one of the human pilots tried, being more explicit. “Jellyfish, Knife Three-One. Armchair, repeat, armchair… Jellyfish please authenticate… please respond.”

The worried pilots finally received a reply, but it was not from the AWACS operator. It was a female’s voice, confident, almost tauntingly so, cold and menacing. It was not a voice that any of the Americans were familiar with, but a few of the ponies found it chillingly familiar.

“We can hear you,” a voice sang over the radio. “Can you hear us?”

“What? Who is this?” Rainbow asked.

“This is Beagle Three-One, identify yourself!” the American pilot demanded.

“You can, good. You can ask your Equestrian friends, they know us,” the Night Pony said. “I don’t think they’ll do us justice with their sad, stuttering introductions. We are the Shadowbolts, a team of legend flying before you. A squadron dedicated to the Nightmare.”

“Shadowbolts? What kind of stupid-ass name is that?” the American asked.

“What!? No way!” Spitfire shrieked. “That can be you! You’re lying!”

“What the Hell is your problem!? You see a ghost? Or is this unit supposed to be your evil twin?” Beagle asked. “Hey, how the fuck did you get on our frequency!? All fighters switch to tactical frequency three, ASAP!”

“That’s not going to do you any good, human.”

“I’m getting real sick of your shit-talking!” the American shot back. “Who are you!?”

“Rainbow Dash, I heard you’re here as well,” the enemy’s voice continued. “We’ve both come a long way from that New Year’s meeting haven’t we?”

“Shadowbolts… Nightingale?”

“You’ve changed a lot since we first met, when you and your friends banished Nightmare Moon,” Nightingale recounted. “You must remember that little adventure don’t you? You and your little group of new friends off on a quest through the woods at night, carrying it out at the whim of your Princess.”

“You never disappeared when we rescued Princess Luna,” the Equestrian realized, putting the image of the adventure and her meeting on New Year’s Eve together. “I knew I recognized you! If I had known I would’ve knocked you out right there! You caused this! Everything!”

“You were so loyal to your friends that night,” Nightingale continued. “And look at you now. Fighting a war instead of enjoying peace with them, using a human machine instead of your wings, flying to kill other ponies instead of bringing them happiness. Did you ever think you would be in such a strange world as this?”

“It won’t stay like this! Me and my friends will beat you again! And we’ll find a way to go back too!”

“Alright cut the drama bullshit!” Knife Three-One injected. “Beagle team swing far around to their right, Knife team follow me out to the left! Equestrians engage them immediately from BVR! We’ll pin them down and pinch them!”

The two flights of Eagles pulled away, leaving the Equestrians to engage with long-range missiles. Some attempted this, but getting a proper lock-on to the distant targets was more difficult than usual, and the few that were achieved were lost when their targets dived to the ground. A few frustrated Equestrians fired their AMRAAMs without a lock, but achieved no success beyond some far-off views of flares and afterburners appearing as lights in the darkening sky.

Miles away, the Shadowbolts were having no issues as they began to slowly close in on their enemy, easily dodging their missiles all the while. Ten Su-37s, far more advanced than what any pilot on the Allied side believed, drove in towards their counterparts, the dark sky hiding their war paint of deep blue and dark purple. The dark fighters continued their twisting, ominous move towards the Equestrians.

“Beagle Three-One turning in now! Going for radar- shit! I’m lit up!”

“Beagle Three-Two here, they’ve got more fighters waiting for us!” another of the F-15C pilots warned.

“Damn it, they’re jumping us too!” the leader of Knife flight shouted. “They’re low! Behind the terrain waiting for us! Take them out!”

“Knife Three-Three, lead! Paco! Three-Two is hit! Shifty’s down!” one of the other wingman panicked. “I saw it, we got Flippers! Ye-8s! Watch them!”

A number of the single-engined fighters appeared, assailing both of the flanking American groups. Their commander was not a Night Pony like the Shadowbolts, nor was he as well known, though his team’s skill was clearly comparable as the Americans were forced into defensive maneuvers. Nor did he have issues with speaking and taunting his enemy over the radio, either.

“Nightingale, Cuervo Squadron is engaging. We should have them dealt with in a few minutes.”

“Thank you Knife, try to wrap it up quickly so you can join the fun over here.”

“Is that some new lackey of yours?” Rainbow queried.

“I am a Shadow, not a Night Pony, Rainbow Dash, and I am here of my own will,” the Ye-8 pilot shot back. “One of the many your queen banished so long ago. The name I took up, to all of you Equestrians and your disgusting allies, is Hot Knife. A simplistic name but one I will make known in the new Shadow Empire. One ponies will remember, not like your human friends dirtying it, using it as their callsign. I’ll be glad to wipe them from the night skies!”

“You really think Nightingale isn’t holding you? She won’t let you get far,” Spitfire claimed. “You’re not going to get as far as you think!”

“Jesus shut it! There’s not this much chatter in a fucking fight!” Knife Three-One interrupted, though his demand was cut short. “Shit, missile inbound! Evad-”

“Americans have no respect except for themselves,” Hot Knife insulted as the last of Knife Flight’s F-15Cs fell into the mud of the Earth. “Cuervo Two-One, our group has been destroyed. Expedite you work on the right.”

“Understood One, there’s only a single enemy left, another broke away already after he was damaged. This will not last much longer.”

“Good, I’d like to see if these famous Equestrian fighters can fly as well as I’ve been told.”

“What’s your deal with us you creep!?” Rainbow demanded. “What do you hate me for!?”

“My vendetta isn’t personal, it’s with all of your kind and country,” Knife commented. “I’m not sure if that makes it personal regardless, but I don’t care. This is about what your ponies, your princesses and nation did to mine. But personal fights are about skill and will.”

“Revenge isn’t going to help anything!”

“My war is about retribution, not revenge, you young fool,” Knife claimed. “If you want to put your skill up against mine I will show you how mistaken you are. You’re not better from the stories of boasting I’ve heard of you, I’ll show you what a personal zeal to a just reason can do!”

“You might get that another day, Knife,” Nightingale stopped him. “Tonight we will be dealing with them.”

The Shadow Team’s fighters finally merged with their enemies in a large dogfight. The Equestrians found it difficult to visually spy their enemy’s planes in the growing darkness, save for the fires of the engines when they were lit up. Even their modern technology, it felt as though the green target boxes were centered around nothing. The Equestrians even fired off three Sidewinders at hard lock-ons, but there was no result against the enemy’s tighter turning, outrunning, countermeasures and various other skills.

The results were quickly becoming apparent now as the frantic Equestrians were picked off. One of Dash’s flight, Rivet, found himself diving at a high speed to escape two closing Flankers, only to stumble into the line of a third when he pulled up sharply, receiving a missile in the belly of of his F-16. Half a minute later Snow Slide was also lost, keeping up defensively with two of her own adversaries before the Night Pony Descent caught her trying to sharply reduce speed in a right turn and riddled the Falcon with cannon fire from nose to tail.

“Rainbow, this is going bad!” Spitfire yelled.

“Yeah I know!”

“We have to break away!” she ordered. “Dive and evade, and keep dropping flares! Don’t fly straight and just get out! Forget about fuel! Bolts, prepare to disengage!”

“Alright, we have to get out of here!” Rainbow told her flight. “All Rainbows dive and run, doesn’t matter what direction! Just get away as quick as you can!”

Spitfire watched the Hornets and Falcons now break away, abandoning the battle. She noticed one of the Wonderbolt Super Hornets, the one belonging to Thorn, dueling with one of the Flankers, and from the radio chatter it seemed to be their leader, Nightingale herself. The two had been fighting since the merger, attacking, countering, and countering again to mark each-other’s move. The Wonderbolt commander focused on outwitting and shaking off the bandits on her tail, though she kept on eye on her wingpony.

Thorn dragged his adversary down to a lower level, with Nightingale tailing him. With the air brakes, the Wonderbolt pilot lagged the plane and caused the Shadow Squadron leader to pass him in a pursuit roll, which was to be rectified only seconds later when him opponent enacted a similar maneuver and forced the Equestrian to overshoot. After doing so, Thorn elected to increase speed and push forward, putting some ground between Nightingale and him.

The Equestrian then banked hard to his right as his opponent began to catch up. He yanked the aircraft back and up, intent on pulling into a High Yo-Yo. Once Nightingale passed, rather than following again, he would be able to put the engines to full and escape in the other direction. However, as he reached the apex of the climb and turned the craft downwards, he saw the dark Flanker turning up to meet him. Nightingale had seen this, anticipated it, and braked and turned hard to meet the descent head-on. The Su-37 achieved a missile lock and one of the weapons flew off, tearing into the night sky. With no time to react, the Hornet was struck directly on the nose, killing the pilot and obliterating the jet. The remains dropped into a wooded area below, the burning wreckage and fuel setting fire to some of the trees. Spitfire had been able to break away when she witnessed the final impact in horror, knowing there was no chance of survival.

“No! Thorn! No!” she yelled, torn by her comrade’s loss. “No! That can’t happen! How… how did I let this happen!? Everypony get out now! Run now! Eject if you need to, just find a way to escape!”

“You’re pitiful! Just look at what you’ve allied yourselves with,” said the Nightingale as she taunted Spitfire and Dash. “They can’t even fly themselves, they’re not natural. They don’t belong in the sky like us. Ponies like us were born in it on the clouds. Those humans are just pervading it.”

“Shut up! Don’t talk to her,” Dash warned her friends. “Just get away!”

“Why are you bothering with them Commander?” Descent wondered aloud.

“She can have fun if she wants,” his wingpony, High Drag, retorted. “I’m having fun, she’s having fun, why don’t you have some fun?”

“She’s right about the humans anyways,” Low Drag added.

“Hunt them down but don’t burn all of your fuel. Unlike them I intend on getting all of our planes and pilots back to base,” their squadron leader interjected. “Sour, go with your flight and chase down that Falcon heading south. Blitz get that Hornet closest to you.”

Despite the chaos, the Equestrians were able to disengage relatively well, pushing off in a quick manner and successfully defeating any long-range missiles that came their way. It was neither easy nor organized, but the two squadrons were among the most skilled, and even against these superior opponents and it had showed. Unfortunately, the losses were still there, and they hurt badly.

Blitz, the fifth position in the Shadowbolts, had the best chance of running down his opponent. The lonely fleeing Hornet, belonging to a mare Wonderbolt called Jelly, was retreating northeast at full power, barely a hundred feet off the ground. Blitz kept the pace, the radar picking the target out amongst the ground clutter, and launching three of his improved Adder missiles in one great frenzy. Jelly, unable to outrun the missiles and with some high hills in the terrain ahead, performed a tight chandelle, banking the aircraft and dropping chaff and flares to distract the weapons. The third shot, however, had the fate of picking the Hornet out and slamming into it’s back at the midpoint of the maneuver. The jet’s body exploded, with no time to bail due to the extremely low altitude, and giving the elite Wonderbolts their second aerial casualty of the war.

“No! Not another one!” Spitfire cried out, jolting her plane as she heard the news. “No! Why’d this happen!? I’m supposed to keep them alive now… how!?”

“W-what’s happened… what did we do wrong,” Rainbow asked herself. “They’re better? But… oh what happened… I lost… No, I failed! I failed my wingponies! My friends! What am I supposed to do!?”

“You know the offer to join us is always open Dash. We have plenty of friends on this side, too,” Nightingale reminded her as she leveled her Flanker out.

Rainbow did not reply, her mind not finding the proper words to answer such a claim.

“And our comrades are real ones. Of course you would befriend those ridiculous creatures. Just like that one annoying squadron,” Nightingale remembered. “Ah… I did hear whispers about you being best buddies with them, their leader. I’ll look forward to meeting him myself.”

Rainbow felt her heart sink, her eyes glaze over. This had been a nightmare, but Cole flying against them could lead to worse results. He would not retreat unless needed, and not at all if his comrades were at risk. She had just barely escaped, but she did not want to see her friend killed should he encounter them. The American had always been worried about being lost in some specific fight, but never explained to anyone, not that she saw.

Regardless, she did not want it to happen. They would find a way to defeat them, perhaps they would get lucky. Maybe Celestia or Twilight could offer advice, but Rainbow did not want to see Cole fight them. If she could help it, she could not allow him to fight the Shadowbolt Squadron alone; she had to be there to help him. There would have to be a time to deal with the Night Ponies, but she could not stand the idea of Cole being lost alone in some suicidal stand against them in an unfavorable battlefield such as this, if he was even alive to make such a stand.

That final thought depressed Rainbow even further. Was Cole even still alive? She knew the base he was at had fared well, but losses were still heavy. His loss would not be widespread news, and she would not be on the list to hear of it. He could already be gone, lost several days before without her knowledge. She was not his family, she would count on his wingmen to tell her the news if she ever saw them again, but would she?

Would Dash simply go through the war till it’s end and never learn his fate? Would she ever see him again? She had to, she was loyal to her friends, and her friends loyal to her. She would have to see him again. She only hoped he would be alive in time for that moment, rather than it being his torn corpse lying soulless in a coffin.

“Shadowbolts, return to base. We can’t catch the rest of them but we’ve done enough,” Nightingale ordered her team, seeing the last Equestrian aircraft scatter from the airspace. “The rest will be up to the ground forces now. It’s their job to hold the breach they made.”

“Just let me chase them right to their base! I’ll shoot them down while they’re landing! Just what the cowards deserve!” Blitz claimed triumphantly.

“None of that tonight! We’ve done well enough, we need to be getting back.”

“No losses again, not even a scratch,” Descent noted.

“I didn’t expect any, and you all didn’t disappoint me. Good work Shadowbolts, we should be proud of that! And I’m proud of all of you myself,” their leader complimented. “That should teach them a lesson, the Night Ponies are true fliers and the Shadowbolts don’t lose a single one, not like our deranged cousins! Their sad little lying philosophy and their hypocritical deranged princesses won’t get them anywhere.”

“Nightingale, Cuervo One. AWACS Asteroid has declared the airspace clear. Do you require us to maintain CAP?”

“Negative, your performance was good as well, Cuervo.”

“Good, then we can go over details on our return.”

“I don’t want to spoil the moment with your debate, Knife, now return to base and leave us unless something important arises,” the Night Pony ordered in a curt tone, betraying her annoyance. “Shadow Ponies, you’re sometimes as bad as the Equestrians.”

Author's Note

"Situation is excellent; I attack!"

April 27th, 2006
1222 Hours
East of the Papa Line, Central Sector

Major General Postan was the commander of the 2nd Armored Division when the war broke out. He had been kept very busy over the past few days, attempting to fully organize his division only to have to send pieces off to other areas. The division’s Third and Fourth brigades had already been temporarily detached to provide reinforcements to the 23rd and 94th Divisions.

So far the 2nd’s combat record was excellent despite the chaos. The brigades sent had done excellent work in helping to hold the line, and the remaining units were doing well in helping the 5th Infantry Division. However, this was far from the intended role. It was hoped that the division would use its armor to spearhead a counterattack, not be split up to merely hold the line.

“Sir, I think I’ve finally got some good news to report,” his aide spoke up, barely audible over the noise of vehicles on the road next to the camp.

“You do?”

“Yes Sir! I got word from the Fifth ID. They said the enemy advance has been stopped,” the young man said. “They also say some helos, a flight of Apaches from the 114th Aviation, they say they attacked into the enemy opening and hurt them good. They killed almost a company’s worth of tanks.”

“That is good news. But I’m guessing they contacted us because they want us to move in, right?”

“They did suggest it was a good time.”

“And did they bother to do recon on the area?” Postan asked.

“They didn’t say, General. But they did say enemy forces in the bulge are unorganized and their armor numbers are low. A counterattack now could drive them back and get us back on the MLR.”

“The problem is we don’t have very much armor ourselves. Not with our Abrams reserves getting tapped dry,” the general responded. “I don’t know if what forces we’ve got will be enough to drive them out. And I’d be throwing them into some unknown hostile territory. Without support either. They could get wiped out, and every loss curtails us more.”

“I think we should try it, Sir. I think we should send some forces to strike into the Shadow’s breach.”

“Why do you think that, Willy?”

“Well, holding them is one thing, but we can only really do that for so long. And our guys need the main line fortifications to even things out,” the aide explained. “If we don’t, they’ll just keep pouring troops through that opening and our guys will get worn down out in the open. We won’t be able to survive a longer conflict without holding that line.”

“You’re really stating the obvious here, Willy,” Postan sighed. “And it’s true, obvious and true… alright. Get the First Brigade on the horn and let’s see about organizing a counterattack. Hopefully those Rats won’t expect us to assault into them while their offensive is still going.”

The previous day up to now had been a confusing one for the men of the 2nd Battalion, 66th Armored Regiment. Most of their tanks had been sent out piecemeal to reinforce regrouping soldiers of the 5th Division and help them halt the enemy advance before it could thoroughly spread behind the lines and truly evolve into deep operations. Thankfully this seemed to have been achieved, as the armor and infantry stopped Shadow attacks from gaining further ground. Still, the breach in the line was there and had to be erased.

Alpha Company suffered the same drain as the rest of the battalion, delegating most of its tanks to local units of the other division to ensure to tip of the advance moved no further. At the time of calling, some of the company leaders were meeting to discuss the status of the company, and the idea of an attack gave the company commander exactly what he had been yearning for.

“Hot damn! Finally!” Captain Patrick yelled. “Men, it’s time!”

“Time for what?” Lieutenant Gammon asked.

“It’s time to attack! Time to drive and run down those Rat bastards!” Patrick went on. “Those Apaches kicked their asses hard, so now it’s our turn to move in and roll over them while they’re down!”

“You want us to pull back and reorganize the company, Captain?”

“No time, we have to get going now. Your platoons are going to stay in place, but we’re going to take our tracks, form a makeshift one, and move into the attack.”

“Wait, wait… we’re supposed to launch a counterattack on the enemy with just us? With just six tanks?” Lieutenant James, his XO, spoke up. “Do we even have any support?”

“It won’t just be us. There’s an infantry platoon in reserve near us belonging to one of the brigade’s infantry battalions. So we’ll have armored infantry in M2s with us. We’ll form a small team.”

“Do we get any cav for recon or some FOs or something? Anything?”

“No, that’s all we get. But it’ll be more than enough to drive back those sons-a-bitches! They’re already beat and down, so we just have to give them a good hard kick and finish them off!”

“Hey, sounds good to me,” Lieutenant Kenneth agreed.

“All of your tracks are ready, aren’t they?” Patrick asked, knowing they already were. “Mount up and move up, we’ll rendezvous at OP Denver. Get going!”

Each of the men returned to their individual tanks and informed their crews of the situation, with a universal reaction of surprise among them. Each was started up and moved out, the loud noise of the engines covering the area. It was only an eight minute drive to OP Denver, a small observation post next to a roadside house manned by two 5th Division soldiers. The platoon of M2 Bradleys and their infantry was a mile back down the road, waiting in hiding behind the shallow rise for the tanks.

Once they arrived, Patrick and the other tank commanders got out to speak with them, going over a rather simplistic plan the tank Captain had laid out. The tanks would advance first, followed shortly by the Bradleys, into enemy territory. Patrick laid out only one objective to be taken and held, a small, strung-out village which he named ‘Objective Cannon’. The tanks themselves would simply advance as far as they could, searching and destroying any hostiles they came across.

Little else was added as the tankers took to their vehicles again and continued down the road, with the M2s following behind. The Abrams platoon drove up a shallow rise towards OP Denver, readying for combat as they reached the edge of friendly lines. Ahead of them was a large and lightly rolling area pocketed by groups of trees and occasional solitary buildings, the grassy land dusty and dry from the crisp, warm weather. The six tanks moved off the road together, adjusting their formation to an oversized wedge with Captain Patrick’s track, the King Cobra, at the tip.

“Warhorse Actual here, move out and scan for tangoes. Do not break formation and engage any enemies you see. We’re not stopping unless there’s a significant enemy force blocking us. All units sound off, over.”

“Warhorse Two ready.”

“Warhorse Three ready.”

“Four is ready.”

“Warhorse Five is prepped and ready.”

“Six is ready to engage Actual.”

“Understood. Dallas this is Warhorse are you in position and ready, over?” Patrick questioned the Bradley platoon.

“Affirmative Warhorse.”

“All units advance! Destroy anything that gets in your way!”

The Abrams platoon lurched forward, the drivers maintaining a wedge formation as they rolled over and then down the hill. Before them was a clear area that rolled in a long, shallow way. There were few places that enemy vehicles could hide, which in turn made identification and engagement easier. Lieutenant Kenneth’s track was the first to sight the enemy, spotting a lone, car-off IFV.

“Gunner, target! Identified! BTR at our ten!” he shouted, observing the stationary vehicle through the commander’s sight.

“Acquired! Ready to engage!” Sergeant Fink answered.

He gave a quick measure to the targets distance with the tank’s laser rangefinder, instantly calculating two-thousand meters.

“Fire!” Kenneth ordered, yelling loud so loud crew could pick it up over the noise of the engine.

“On the way!”

Sergeant Fink pulled the firing trigger and the Abrams jerked as it’s cannon fired. The 120mm rifle launched its projectile, aimed perfectly at the target thanks to the assistance of the firing computer. The ordinance, an anti-tank Sabot round, flew forward before the outer shell broke away to release the dart-like projectile. The shot pierced the side of the BTR-80 easily, punching through the compartment and out the other side, before embedding itself into the ground. The BTR caught fire instantly, burning slow enough to allow the crew to scurry out.

“That’s a kill!”

“Sabot up!” the loader informed.

“I got no other targets, keep at the ready!” Kenneth ordered.

As the lieutenant gained their first kill of the day, Patrick spied his own target far to the front of the advancing platoon.

“Gunner identify! BRDM at our twelve, against the hillside!”

“Target acquired!”

“Fire!”

“Shot out!”

Sergeant Duchamp, the gunner of the lead tank, repeated the same process of his college. The anti-tank round flew out an pierced the thin armor of the recon vehicle as if it were made of paper. The crew itself had luckily not been inside, and upon seeing this they quickly began to scurry up the hill. In fact, the round had pierced through the non-vitals of the BRDM, leaving it operational and drivable albeit with a large hole on both sides. Still, the crew did not wish to become a target and abandoned it to the Americans in favor of escape by their hooves.

“Hit!” Patrick confirmed, immediately seeing another AFV shoot past his site at the base of the hill. “Target BMP-2! Running along the bottom!”

“Identified!”

“Sabot up!” Corporal O’Toole shouted, loading the heavy round into the breach from his side of the tank.

“Fire”

“Shot out!”

Again the M1A2 fired, the shot punching straight into the IFV’s compartment at an angle and entering the crew compartment. The BMP’s commander was split in two and killed instantly, with the driver suffering a similar fate. It now careened out of control along its path before falling into a ditch leaving it in a useless state.

More of the Abrams were firing now at their own individual targets. There were several of them, but all were spread out and disorganized, unable to offer any real resistance to the concentrated power of the American tank platoon. Having already suffered heavily to the Apache sweep earlier, the local survivors had been dispersed to guard against small infantry incursions. Against an armored assault, they stood little chance of surviving as the tankers picked them off bit by bit.

The tank platoon advanced four and a half miles like this, mercilessly destroying any hostiles they found. It had been an excellent assault so far, rather easy in fact for the men, but as they moved deeper into enemy territory they inevitably ran into more hostiles while separating themselves from their own allies. Regardless, none intended to turn back. They would complete their order, advance back to the original defensive positions of the 5th Division along their MLR and destroy the breach the Shadow Army had made.

“Warhorse Actual to all units, we’re approaching Objective Cannon. Slow down and keep your eyes open, out.”

As the M1A2s approached the village, it seemed void of an activity. No enemy vehicles or soldiers were spotted, nor any Equestrian civilians. Objective Cannon, the tiny village of Pine’s Trail, looked to be a ghost town, abandoned by all souls and left to nature.

On first glance Patrick spotted nothing, and a moment later there was the flash and smoke of a cannon from within the village. His eyes just barely picked up the projectile as it sped to his left and out of his sight, a quick, deadly blur aimed at a target other than him. Through the tank, he could hear the eruption of an impact and feel the shake of it.

To his left, the enemy anti-tank round struck against the side of a friendly tank, hitting it and then the ground, sending a column of dirt above them. Lieutenant Gammon’s tank, the Firefly, suddenly skidded at an angle and broke to a halt. The track and round impact left a cloud of dust kicked up, obscuring it in a thin brown haze.

“Tank in the village, inside that cafe!” Sergeant Duchamp yelled, spying the T-80 hiding within a building.

“Fire, kill it!”

“Shot!”

Duchamp fired the King Cobra’s cannon an instant before the gunner for the Lieutenant James’ track did. Both M1A2s launched a Sabot dart directly at their target, and both impacted within a fraction of a second. Duchamp’s shot struck the front at a downward angle, punching into the driver’s seat and into the crew compartment. Sergeant Spicer of the Bismarck put his round directly into the turret. One of the two quickly set the T-80 aflame from within and was followed shortly after by detonation of the ammunition, rending the tank and her doomed crew and shaking the brick building. The cafe somehow remained standing, partly hiding the metal funeral pyre from the eyes of the world.

The other Abrams of the platoon all halted at once and quickly began to pick out their own targets. Kenneth’s track spied another T-80 maneuvering from a street to the front of the village and a quick shot granted it the same fate as it’s comrade. Lieutenant Fitzroy’s tank found the only other enemy AFV in the village, a stationary BTR hiding on the other side. His gunner aimed at it through the space between two of the houses and, after an initial missed shot, struck the target and set it alight as well.

The tanks now began to spray the village with machine gun fire, unloading their bullets into it as enemy infantry began to scatter among the streets and buildings. It was difficult to pick them out from the narrow views of their sights, especially those hiding with the buildings. One of these fired an RPG from the top window of a two-story shop, aiming for Fitzroy’s tank but going far too high.

“Got a target! Loader, load HEAT!” Patrick ordered O’Toole. “Gunner, blue two-story building! Three o’clock! RPG!”

“Target acquired!” Duchamp affirmed, turning the main gun towards the unfortunate structure.

“HEAT up!”

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

The King Cobra rocked as it fired a powerful high-explosive round towards the targeted building. The shot impacted at the bottom level and exploded, destroying and splintering the clean wooden frame. The small structure quickly collapsed in on itself, dragging down the infantry on the upper floor and burying them within.

“Warhorse Actual, anyone have targets?”

“Two here, no targets I can see but they’re there.”

“Four has negative visuals on targets.”

“Warhorse Actual to Dallas, come in over,” Patrick called to the Bradley platoon.

“Dallas reads you, go ahead over.”

“Hostile victors at Objective Cannon destroyed and enemy foot mobiles are suppressed. There’s still infantry crawling around in that town but you guys should be able to handle it,” the tanker informed. “Move up and secure the objective, we need to be moving on. Recommend you dismount at our position and use the M2s for overwatch as the infantry moves in, enemy may still have personal AT weapons, over.”

“Understood Warhorse, we’re advancing now, out.”

“Warhorse Actual to all Warhorse units, cease fire and form up farther on the right flank. Dallas is going to seize the objective but we need to get mobile again. We have to punch through to our old MLR before those bastards organize, out.”

“Actual Warhorse Actual! This is Warhorse Three, come in!”

Patrick heard Lieutenant Gammon’s voice crackle over the radio; he sounded much more rattled and worried than he should be.

“Actual is reading you Three, go ahead.”

“Warhorse Actual, we’re no good. We’re hit, Three took a hit from that first enemy round. Repeat, the Firefly got hit by that first enemy round. Do you copy, over?”

“Shit! Those bastards! They’re lucky we have to move or I’d run them over myself!” the Captain swore before returning to the radio. “Actual copies, are you alright? Do you have casualties?”

“Negative, no casualties.”

Patrick sighed briefly; he would not have to worry about collecting the remains of one of Gammon’s men.

“Actual be advised we’re immobile. No major damage to the tank structure but the round nailed our track. Our left tread is out. Repeat, our left tread is out and we’re immobile, over.”

“Damn it! Alright, is it repairable?”

“Not without a recovery vehicle, Sir.”

“Alright alright, you stay here and wait for a recovery track, and help Dallas however you can if they need it. Rest of Warhorse is moving on.”

“Roger Actual, out.”

“Driver!” Patrick called. “Private Thompson, get us moving over to the right flank and form us up with the rest of the platoon.”

“Got it Captain,” the driver compiled, setting the massive tank in motion again as it’s commander once again went to the radio.

“Dallas, Warhorse again.”

“Dallas here, unloading the infantry and suppressing tangos in Cannon, over.”

“Dallas be advised Warhorse Three is immobilized in front of the objective. After you secure it can you keep an eye on him until a recovery vehicle arrives, over?”

“Affirmative Actual, I got to go Captain! We’re taking a lot of small arms fire! Got to get to work, out!”

The tanks once again began to advance, less one of their number, passing around the village and continuing towards the beaten and occupied fortifications of the Papa Line. If any word had been sent out by the Shadow troops from before, then their command must not have taken notice. The enemy’s response so far seemed to be nonexistent, and as they moved forward the land seemed to be increasingly empty when it should have been the opposite. Perhaps the Shadow commanders were gathering their units for a counterattack, or perhaps they were all retreating outright.

“ID BTR-80 platoon falling back in column formation to our left at nine o’clock,” Lieutenant Fitzgerald spoke up. “Moving left to right along our axis of advance. Cruising speed.”

“Understood, all tanks you are clear to engage but do not halt the advance. Actual out.”

All of the tanks picked out targets and fired in a great salvo, and in turn all four of the unsuspecting IFVs were struck at once. Two were hit by HEAT rounds and exploded, being destroyed completely in powerful catastrophic kills, while the other two were hit and careened off the road with synonymous outcomes. None of the BTR platoon had spotted the American tanks, and most within them died without knowing they were being shot at, a sad and common tragedy in war.

As the tanks continued to advance, the few Shadow infantry that had survived the attack scrambled out and ran, hoping to escape or hide. The vehicles had been retreating along with an infantry unit, and each of them had full compliments of troops within their metal hulls. Those few left alive took off over the field, away from their killers.

“Identify hostile infantry retreating across the field,” Fitzgerald notifies.

“Understood Warhorse Four, break off and advance on them at full speed. Hunt down as many of them as you can and the rejoin formation,” the Captain commanded.

“WILCO, breaking off.”

“All remaining units, we’re coming up on a sparse patch of woods that wasn’t on the map. Warhorse Two follow us in One and swing around the left. Five and Six, swing around the right and engage any enemies you see. Meet up on the other side.”

The four tanks broke off in pairs, circling the collection of trees slowly. Each pair proceeded at a slow, cautious pace, with one tank keeping their weapons trained outwards and the other watching over the woods themselves. Expecting a close-range engagement, Patrick ordered the loader to ready a HEAT shell. His assumption would be proven not long after.

From within the woods, a Shadow infantryman toting an RPG stood up suddenly and fired his weapon. The round flew out and detonated on the frontal armor of the Abrams, and though it left a blast mark and gave the crew a rough shake, it failed to penetrate. Thompson hit the breaks immediately, skidding the tank to a stop as another RPG was fired and just missed the slowing M1.

“Gunner infantry in the woods! Hit those sons of bitches!” Patrick told the Sergeant as he adjusted his CVC.

“Shot out!”

Duchamp fired the main cannon, though he had no target he could see, the high-explosive erupting against the bottom of a dry pine tree and knocking it down.

“Can not identify! I can’t see them!”

“HEAT up!” O’Toole said as he readied another round.

“Firing smoke, hold on!” Patrick shouted.

The tank commander activated the tank’s defensive measures, launching a barrage of smoke canisters in front of it. The King Cobra was instantly shrouded in a thick layer of white smoke, hiding it from the prowling infantry in the woods. The tank crew, however, could themselves see through, using the infrared installed to their sights to see through and pick out their attackers.

“I got tangos on thermal! Shit there’s a lot of them!” Duchamp said. “Engaging with coax!”

The machine gun mounted in the turret of the tank began to chatter away, cutting into some of the exposed infantry that appeared as nothing more than red blobs to the tankers. Lieutenant James’ track soon turned and added its fire into the fray as the Shadows ran about to find cover. On the other end of the woods, the other two tanks were embroiled in their own engagement with the enemy infantry.

“Hostiles shifting left!” Patrick notes. “Watch- RPG! RPG! Gunner, right!”

“I see him!”

The Shadow soldier fired his rocket, though it flew well off due to the smoke screen. Duchamp attempted to cut him down, but the enemy ducked behind a tree trunk as the tank’s MG opened fire. The various enemies seemed to be constantly moving and swarming about the woods.

The gunner focused on where the RPG handler had hid and took aim before firing the main gun again. The HEAT round’s explosion against the ground sent at least two of the Shadow ponies airborne while several others were hurled back. Still, even as the shot detonated, yet another rocket was fired by another operator, striking a pine at the treeline as the various infantry swarmed about, attempting to move in closer.

“Damn it, there’s more to the left! There’s a lot more tangos here than I thought!” Duchamp informed.

“I’ve had it with their shit!” Patrick raged from his commander’s seat. “Loader, load Can!”

O’Toole has to take a moment to replace the HEAT round he was preparing, but replaced it with a fresh anti-infantry round. The Corporal slammed home one of the heavy canister round, filled with small metal balls, and readied up the main gun. With this, he had turned the Abrams’ cannon into a 120mm shotgun.

“Can up!”

“Gunner, fire when ready!” the Captain said.

“Got them! Shot out!”

The Abrams fires the round, which instantly fragmented apart. The multiple tiny balls flew forward over a wide arc, shredding everything in their path. They embedded themselves in the trees, ricocheted off boulders, and struck right through and ripped up the unlucky Shadows.

A few seconds later, Duchamp adjusted the aim of the cannon and fired once again, with similar effects to any in the way of the deadly metal wave. The fire and movement from within the woods almost totally ceased. The tankers could still see some wriggling on the ground, but they clearly presented no threat. The gun and cannon fire ceased and the woods were filled with pained moans of the soldiers cut down and badly wounded by the savage weapon. Those lucky few who were unhurt wisely elected to remain hiding on the ground or behind their cover among the dead and crippled.

“Christ… I guess that did it,” Duchamp observed.

“Okay driver, move us out. Slowly,” Patrick ordered. “And loader, switch is back to Sabot. We got more open ground in front of us.”

“Yes Sir, advancing,” Private Thompson replied from the driver’s seat. “Those poor bastards. That must have hurt. Even in war that’s a bad way to go.”

“Don’t feel sorry for them yet, Private, they’re the enemy. If they don’t want to fight and end up like that, they can surrender.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to end up like that.”

The two tanks rejoined their counterparts at the other end of the woods, who were already waiting for them. Lieutenant Fitzgerald had returned as well from his solo hunt chasing after the stragglers. The tank’s reformed themselves and prepared to continue their high-speed attack, not dissuaded by their encounters.

“Warhorse Actual here, continue along the advice line, over.”

“Actual this is Five, I can’t find our position on the map and the GPS isn’t connecting. What’s our remaining distance to the MLR, over?”

“Five, we’re about three and a half miles, over.”

“Understood, thanks Actual, out.”

Once again the tanks began to roll ahead, being ever wary of enemy forces waiting in ambush. So far they had been tremendously lucky in their engagements. Beyond the poor disposition of the Shadow forces, they had not suffered any human casualties as of yet. None of them wanted to push it farther than they already had, but they still had to complete their mission. The men had become anxious, weary, and worried sick over what was waiting ahead of them with every inch of ground, in every building, under every tree, behind every hill, and they were the greater targets.

Slowly, as they moved on and time ticked by, the distance dropped. The half-mile passed without further contact. Another full mile was completed and still there was no sign of enemy activity. Patrick continued scanning the area ahead of their advance, occasionally switching the thermal view on to sooner spot any hiding infantry. Whether or not the enemy had retreated, they would reach their final objective soon and reform the American’s strategic line.

“Hind!” Fitzgerald yelled from the left flank. “Hind! Hind! Hind! Popping up from behind the hill!”

From far off, a single Mi-24 helicopter rose up sharply from behind one of the hills. The massive armored beast had arrived at the perfect time to surprise the American tanks. It rose further and began to fly along their course, closing in and keeping level with them, the painted camouflage and titanium armor shining brightly in the April sun.

Patrick did not need to give an order, as on calling the tanks all broke formation. Unfortunately, there was no cover for them that could defend them from the Shadow helicopter, nor could they retreat fast enough at such a range. The only possible option was to fight.

Some of the tanks on the right had difficulty locating it at first, but all soon trained their guns on it. Several fired off their weapons, however hitting a flying target with their cannons was much more difficult than one on the ground. The pilot was experienced, varying his speed and altitude, constantly switching and using the terrain as cover. The Hind, as feared, would be the most dangerous threat to the tanks, who were left near defenseless.

The Hind’s weapons operator selected the closest target as his first victim, picking out the short box-looking Abrams. One of the helicopter’s anti-tank guided missiles was fired, flying out with a thin controller wire. The AT-6 Spiral homed in on the target, and many of the tankers spotted it coming, a small red dot closing in on them.

Fitzgerald’s track was the one to take the hit, in spite of the zig-zagging of the driver. The Spiral pierced the tank’s side armor, punching through in the middle and exploding inside. The Abrams’ ammo storage went up in a great explosion in the rear of the tank, one which also enflamed the fuel. There was no separate protection for the crew due to the place of the missile impact, and all died instantly as the fire spread through the tank, flames licking out from some of the blown-open hatches.

“Christ, I can’t hit that fucker!” Sergeant Duchamp swore. “Driver stop so I can hit him!”

“If I stop we’re dead!” Thompson retorted.

“Stop damn it!”

“No way!”

“Fucking stop!”

“Keep us moving!” Patrick intervened. “Gunner stop bitching and make due! We stop when I say we stop!”

The next target the Hind selected was Lieutenant Boris’ tank, now close enough to use its other weapons. The helicopter popped up again and held its place, allowing the gunner to accurately fire a barrage of rockets at the Americans. A mass of them flew out from their pods at the tank, now turned and directly facing their hunter. Several S-24 rockets blanketed the ground around Boris’ track, the Bobcat, shrouding it in dust and smoke; when it had cleared the tank had stopped moving, yet had not caught fire either.

The Shadow gunner was preparing to fire another ATGM when Duchamp intervened. The helicopter had abandoned the defensive maneuvers for only a few moments to provide the most accuracy for their attacks. It had also unintentionally provided the frustrated gunner with the good shot he had been waiting for.

“There!” Duchamp jumped. “On the way!”

The Abrams fired its Sabot round, perfectly aimed at the helicopter. The anti-tank dart pierced the forward half of the Hind on the side of the air intake, punching through the titanium armor. The round destroyed the upper part of the chopper as the explosion rent the inner workings and blew the rotor off entirely. The heavy helicopter dropped suddenly and as hard as a falling rock, smashing violently into the ground as the fire began to spread.

“Got him!” Duchamp cheered.

“Actual to all units, Hind is down! Repeat, Hind is down!” Patrick notified his platoon. “All Warhorse units, cease advance and rally on my position! Everyone sound off!”

“Warhorse Two has no damage,” First Lieutenant James answered.

“Warhorse Four, we’re good Actual!” Lieutenant Kenneth spoke up.

A few seconds of painful silence passed before Patrick spoke up again

“Warhorse Five, Six, sound off!”

Again, there was no answer on the line.

“Warhorse Actual, check your left,” Lieutenant James informed solemnly. “Five is hit, looks bad.”

“Shit… shit! Those bastards! They fucking killed him!” the Captain raged. “Alright you two rally up on me, our advance is done. We’re almost at the MLR anyways.”

The three surviving tanks gathered behind a small knoll, trying to assess the damage. After a quick SITREP to the higher-ups, it was determined the attack had been successful in wiping out the Shadow breach and forcing them back. Further units would soon be brought up as the 5th Infantry Division prepared to re-occupy their original lines on the fortifications.

Patrick and a few others exited the tanks as the day began to draw to a close. They walked up to examine the crippled remains of Second Lieutenant Fitzgerald’s tank, flames still kicking from the inside, the outer shell blackened and beaten. From the right side, they could still make out in white scribbling the name ‘Crab’ next to a small red rendition of the crustacean in their unit’s loving joke.

None of the four crewmen had time to escape. Their lifeless bodies were now cooking within the tank. Patrick’s anger has mixed poorly with sorrow as it boiled over. He began to swear angrily at the dead enemies who had killed them, devolving soon into shouts of rage. He yanked his CVC off his head, hurling it against the side of the dead Abrams before falling back into a dejected, solemn state.

“Captain? I’m sorry Sir,” Lieutenant James’ loader, Corporal Simson, spoke up feebly. “He was a really great man. I think we did good today though, I think he’d be proud.”

“We should have been more careful with our attack,” Patrick said, mirroring what the others thought. “We’ll have to be in the future. But fuck, we can’t slow down either. It’s war, we can’t slow down because of this. Just… have to be careful, I don’t fucking know, but we’ll do better in the future. We’ll run down all of those Rat bastards I swear.”

“I’m sorry too, Sir. He was a good soldier, and a good man, and a good friend as well,” Lieutenant James added. “War will always have casualties, it’s a sad reality. But Lieutenant Fitzgerald and his crew were heroes. Are heroes. Aren’t they? Do you remember a quote by President Jefferson I told you before?”

“James, let’s save that for latter. I got some better news for us,” Kenneth interrupted. “Look over there. Guess they made it.”

Lieutenant Kenneth directed the group’s attention away from the dead Abrams to the opposite direct, towards that of the Bobcat. Far off from them, Lieutenant Boris and his crew were clambering out of the tank, shaken but unhurt. The tank seemed to have been disabled, but not destroyed. All four of his team pulled themselves from the tank, alive and uninjured.

“They’re alright… thank God,” Patrick breathed.

To see his other ‘lost’ team appear alive and well was a major relief to the weary Captain, but in spite of this and their victory his mood was still downtrodden. The makeshift officers platoon had suffered badly with two tanks disabled and another lost entirely, a vehicle casualty rate of fifty percent.

Far worse was the loss of Fitzgerald and his crew. Beyond being a good friend, the loss of men to the unit was a far more painful experience. The loss of one of Alpha Company’s platoon commanders was an especially difficult issue. Once everything had been collected and returned to the rear, Patrick would have to start worrying about a replacement.

Alaska was, by a comfortable margin, the wildest and most separated state within the union. Lying well away from the mainland and just below the Arctic, the vast, cold wilderness was nonetheless teeming with life. In the instance of the conflict in the Pacific, it also proved to be one of the most American lands, perhaps only matched by Hawaii. Regardless of the separation, it was still sovereign American territory, and as such it was brimming with defenses in every variety from the major cities on the coast to the long island chain near it and even within the interior.

As far as anyone knew, Jetstream could have been the first pony to visit the state. As commander of Equestria’s only B1-B Lancer squadron, she held a unique role and mission that was different from those of the rest of the Equestrian Air Force. However, with the Bloc gaining the edge in air superiority and taking the battle of the sky over Equestria proper, along with the assault on many allied air bases, made the hope of using strategic bombers very dangerous. Based in the Northeast part of the country, the ‘Belt’ Squadron was hastily retreated to a safer haven. Indeed, every allied squadron of strategic bombers was retreated to Hawaii, Alaska, or the continental US for fear of their loss.

Jetstream’s 39th Bomber Squadron reached Elmendorf Air Force Base in the city of Anchorage, the largest in the state. The base felt like another large instillation but the city itself was striking to her. The sprawling port was nestled warmly between the clean, clear bay and against the high white-topped mountains, to which the locals had happily nicknamed as ‘lights and flowers’. Unfortunately, much of her time was restricted to the base, being only paired with an American Air Force Major who operated an AWACS until the Equestrian government or Allied Command required her team’s involvement in the war effort, or until word came that it was at least safe enough to return home.

So far neither had come, and as the battle raged in the blue over Equestria between the faster fighter jets, her team was kept in reserve. Until then, not knowing the area, she could only stay close to Major Murowski as an ‘observer’ to American AWACS operations, having little else to do in the realm of official work. The journey was impromptu, and even their discussion still revolved around the city and base rather than the tiny island.

“Elmendorf feels… weird. You sure this place is safe?” the pony asked.

“Definitely. That base is home to three full squadrons of Raptors. The bad guys would have to be insane to try anything against us.”

“You’re sure though, like really sure... sure?”

“Yeah, totally. The bad guys haven’t even tried. Hell we may be at war but they’re too scared to actually invade US territory. Not even Wake or Midway,” the AWACS operator explained as they moved through the busy Air Force facility. “At least I think they’re afraid. They might not have the power to invade them but that’s probably not true either.”

“Maybe they just don’t see it as a threat,” the Equestrian suggested.

“Maybe, their focus is on the frontlines anyways.”

“Yeah, so… what’s this operation about then?”

“Well that’s why we’re going to the briefing.”

“I know but… do you need me for it?”

“Not particularly, but it’ll be a good chance for you to observe, see what an actual combat operation is like, you know? You guys haven’t had a lot of training, so it might help.”

“So… just watch? That’s all you want me to do?”

“That’s it, but just make sure to pay attention. Try not to get in anyone’s way, either; a Sentry is a busy jet.”

The two headed into a small briefing room where the rest of the AWACS crew and the fighter pilots had gathered. The intelligence team giving the briefing was setting up large pictures of two targets that were to be the objectives of the mission. Standing ahead of them was a broad-shouldered Two-Star General, looking very cross compared to the others in the room. Once everyone had taken a seat, he began a speech that instantly sounded as if it were more of a scolding.

“Gentlemen as you know our enemies have been able to get the drop on us at the start of this war, curbing our air power and opening large sections of the west to strategic bombing,” the General quickly reminded them without stopping for a breath. “This is not only a poor military position but a disgrace to the US Air Force! We are first to fight, and people rely on us to take the fight to our enemy. So I’ve cobbled together all you pilots to do just that! You will strike the enemy where he doesn’t expect it and retake the offensive for the Allied air forces. Act aggressively!”

The Commander left after this, his speech being more in the gear of disgust and anger rather than inspiration. He handed over the briefing to his A-3 and some other staff members, entrusting them with readying the pilots for the mission. A much younger officer, stampering over in a fresh blue uniform and wide glasses, now took the responsibility.

“Well, alright then, let’s get the briefing under way,” he started, stepping aside to allow a clear view of the pictures he had taped to the whiteboard. “Operation Susquehanna, to take place over the North Pacific and occupied enemy territory, to begin at approximately 1200 hours.

“As the General said, you’re going to be launching a counterattack against an enemy position in the rear. It’s unlikely it will have a major effect on the war but it may drag some enemies off the front at least. Your target will be the Fleuve Bleu Depot in Prance, and the nearby Chirurgien Bridge, as both are under control and in use by the Imperial Griffon Army. The names for the targets will be Objectives Park and Girder.

“We think the depot is being used to house some small arms and ammunition, and a handful of replacement vehicles for the front. Unfortunately, as we realized this from the increased activity, it seems a good portion of it was already moved to the front, but there’s likely still some left. It’s also just a reserve depot, so that means the defenses should be lighter as well.

“Now here’s the important part. We can’t provide any additional support other than the aircraft at this base, so unfortunately there’s no SEAD or reinforcements. We think that a good portion of the enemies forces are at the front, leaving some holes in their rear defense, and this reserve depot looks like one of them. So move in fast, drop your ordinance, and retreat; don’t take too long or Griffon reinforcements will show up.”

“Will we have to worry about AA?” one of the pilots asked.

“Satellite imagery showed no major concentrations, so it’s unlikely, though it is a little old by now. Any AA you run into will probably be light.”

“Enemy aircraft?”

“Unknown, we haven’t been able to determine if there are any patrol craft in the area. One of the images did show a couple of Fishbeds but we couldn’t tell if they were doing guard rounds or transferring to another airfield,” the intelligence officer said. “Most of our images have come back empty, so based on that, and the location of the target, we’re running under the assumption there will be no bandits in the immediate vicinity.”

“Great, so you can’t even tell us if there’ll be bandits.”

“The AWACS will notify you of any enemy air activity. If there is any, we’ll can the operation and you will enact an immediate retreat,” he explained. “Are there any other questions… no? Then you’re all dismissed, make sure you’re ready when it’s time to launch.”

The AWACS plane lingered over the Pacific waters well away from the objective, scanning it from long-range with its radar. Two F-22s from Elmendorf stood by it as an escort, the only air superiority jets the operation was given. Jetstream and a few other ponies from her bomber squadron sat inside the AWACS, watching the Americans perform their duties. It was drab and a little boring for her, with the windowless interior only lit by the light bulbs, but she gained a new respect for those working the job.

“You keeping track with everything?” Major Murowski asked her, leaning over for her to glance at the screen.

“Yeah, I am… but can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why did these two squadrons get sent out? They’re pretty small, is it supposed to be small?”

“Honestly? Not sure. The squadrons are part of the Tactical Corps, not the traditional Air Force. Some generals might have an easier time tossing them into the fire.”

“Wait so the general is just sending them alone cause he doesn’t care? Like he expects them to die!?”

“No no no,” the operator waved. “I don’t mean like that. They’re not exactly… beloved, but we’re not sending them to get killed purposely. This is just a minor operation, nothing major. I think they’re just relegating the tacticals to secondary operations like this, unimportant ones. That way more aircraft from the normal units are available for normal operations.”

“Oh, I think I get it.”

“Yeah, though I think this is a kind of test for these types of operations, so I don’t- hang on… hang on I’ve got something,” Murowski said, looking closer at his computer screen. “Hey Jim, come take a look at this! Oh, stand back ma’am.”

The pony shuffled back a bit, allowing another American on the team to walk in and take her spot, leaning over to examine the computer.

“I got two bogies right here, going left to right. I’m going to notify the fast movers,” the operator explained, fiddling with his headset and microphone. “This is AWACS Buckeye to Golem and Mage, come in, over.”

Many miles away, far from the sight of any man on the E-3, six fighters raced over the surface of the water, keeping their altitude low. Four Hornets and two Falcons, belonging to two different squadrons, both with their own objective to strike. Their wings were loaded with bombs, with the usual Sidewinders on the ends for air-to-air defense.

“Golem One here, what’s the problem AWACS?”

“Looks like we’ve got a problem. Enemy aircraft patrol, bearing one-nine-zero. Two of them.”

“Damn it! What’s the call? Should we abort the mission?”

“Don’t worry about that, it’s just a couple of lazy Crows doing their routes. They aren’t even expecting us,” Mage One replied. “We can shoot them down, no trouble.”

“Alright, but don’t get caught up in a dogfight. Go ahead and engage them, Mage Team.”

“Roger that. Trigger, why don’t you lead us off?”

One of the Falcons broke away from the formation, rapidly gaining altitude to intercept, and was soon followed by his squadron commander. The two Griffon MiG-21s, not expecting any contacts so far from the front, were stunned to see a number of contacts on their radar coming in from the ocean. They closed at first as two aircraft moved ahead of the rest. They had not been told to expect any friendly forces, but still hesitated to call for assistance.

“Beacon Four, two bogies are closing in. Has there been any response from the wing about the formation or that radar signature?” one of the Griffon pilots asked.

“Negative, I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Call the other patrols back! These aren’t friendly aircraft!”

The two Fishbeds were only just able to send out the notification before the rapidly-closing Falcon made its move. The first lock was acquired on the lead aircraft, and the pilot immediately sent the Sidewinder flying from the F-16’s wingtip. Punching through the air at over Mach 2, the AIM-9 impacted on the belly of the MiG-21, hitting right into the engine. The small delta-wing fighter fell apart burning as it fell to Earth again.

The wingman was locked on himself right afterwards and, knowing this through his warning indicators, attempted to increase speed and altitude to fly over the Falcon in hope the shot would miss. However, the missile warning the Griffon pilot expected to instantly receive did not come, though the warning indicator still rang out menacingly. The human pilot did not fire yet, seeing the Griffon’s move and pulling up into a complete Immelman before leveling out. As the Fishbed passed overhead, the tail heat of the engine’s radiation provided a perfect firing angle. Mage 2 launched the second Sidewinder, and despite the Griffon attempting to break away again, the missile successfully struck the wing of the jet, sending it spinning out of control.

“Ha! You see Buckeye? They’re no trouble for us,” the formation lead informed the AWACS. “Mage Two, good work. Won’t have to worry about them getting in our friend’s way.”

“Affirmative Mage, good job. Continue on course toward the target at Objective Girder. Golem Flight should be hitting Objective Park shortly.”

Jetstream watched the battle play out from the computer screens on the AWACS. It was so much simpler, so much more impersonal to her from this view. Without being able to see it, she felt as if the operation was not happening at all. They only appeared to her as shapes on the screens, small dots and triangles of opposing colors.

The four Hornets passed over their target first, still in formation, and dropped their bombs all at once on the target in a single run. The heavy explosives scattered around the depot, destroying buildings and supplies wherever they impacted. Several of the tanks stored there were tossed about like toys, leaving the depot in a sorry state as the flight soared over and began their turn to retreat.

The bridge was next to go. The two Falcons came at it separately, one diving parallel to it and another from the side. The local guards were alerted now and began to fire their weapons and machine guns up at the aircraft to little effect. The leading Mage F-16 released first, dropping two bombs on one of the supporting legs of the bridge and crippling it. Mage Two released both his bombs directly on top of the bridge itself to hefty result. The eastern half of the structure collapsed entirely, the metal and concrete falling into the river in a powerful cascade, leaving the other section badly damaged.

“Buckeye this is Mage One, Objective Girder has been taken down.”

“Affirmative Mage. All aircraft be advised, four additional bogies moving in from both east and west. Golem team, they’ll be on you soon.”

“Copy that, probably more Fishbeds,” the flight lead acknowledged. “Golem squadron, do not get into turning fights with those things! Keep the throttle up and exit the combat zone!”

“Understood but they’ll be on us any second. We’ll have to take defensive measures,” the second-position aircraft noted.

“Mage Two, let’s get those bandits off their backs,” Mage One suggested as the Hornets broke formation, taking every manner of turn to shake the MiGs. “Work fast Trigger, don’t let any of our pals go down. Take care of the ones following Golems One and Two, I’ll help take down the ones tailing Three and Four.”

The Griffon pilots, more concerned with trying to keep up with the more advanced Hornets, did not at first notice the F-16s chasing them down. The second Mage aircraft, on account of having fired his missiles earlier, only had the Falcon’s cannon remaining. Shooting down such a small aircraft would require a high degree of finesse, especially to ensure he did not strike his allies by accident.

The Falcon picked out the closest MiG, the one tailing Golem Two, and stalked it from a comfortable altitude. An opportunity soon presented itself as the two pulled to their right in a shallow turn, presenting a good tail target. The Falcon waylaid the tiny aircraft, diving down from above as the cannon spit out shells. Several twenty-millimeter rounds stitched across the body of the Fishbed and it fell away in a death dive, the crippled engine belching smoke.

The second target proved to be more difficult, with the Golem team lead dragging him up to a higher altitude. Trigger pulled up and behind them, but with the constant maneuvering a pure shot was difficult to achieve. He could not simply fire away, for if the rounds missed they risked striking the F-18. Still, his ally was in danger and it was a race against an invisible clock, and no one knew how long it would take before a fatal missile or bullet was fired on the Hornet.

The small train of jets followed each-other, through one move to another, with each bank and into each dive. Suddenly the Falcon pilot saw the F-18 pull up into the begging of an Immelmann, and instantly positioned the gun sight on the craft. As predicted, the MiG instantly followed, and as the Hornet moved out the Fishbeds took its place in the green circle. The F-16’s cannon fired again as the small delta jet hit the pipper. The MiG-21 continued straight up and fell apart, the pilot falling away unharmed amongst the metal wreckage.

“Golem and Mage, you’re clear. All bandits in your immediate vicinity are down,” Buckeye reported. “Nice work, no losses and results are better than expected. Don’t overstay your welcome, RTB. And make it fast guys, they’re scrambling other jets to come after me now.”

“Mage Two, thanks for the help. You made this operation smooth and easy for us,” Golem One complimented. “You’re showing promise, but don’t let it go to your head. These were small targets, not much resistance around them.”

“It’s a start. Hopefully we can hit something bigger next time,” Golem Two added.

“Nice work Trigger, I knew I made a good pick with you,” Mage One spoke up. “You’ve got a lot of potential. A little more polish and you’ll shine like a star.”

Author's Note

Many thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Leave some feedback if you could, it helps a lot. Do let me know if you see anything I messed up or missed. Here's looking forward to the next release.

Also I'll dedicate this batch to my friend Chaplain, hope you get better and back to it soon mate.

Safe Return

April 30th, 2006
0900 Hours
San Francisco

Source

After days of voyage along the eastern Pacific, Bastogne and her battle group finally arrived in San Francisco. The vessel cruised past the Golden Gate Bridge, the orange paint gleaming against a clear sun, as countless other American warships had done in the past. Once docked, the process began of rearming and resupplying them in preparation for their next mission.

In the meantime, Harrison had been given the job of briefing various warship commanders and other high-ranking Navy personnel on his experiences, including some of the higher admirals from Washington. The primary topic revolved around the Bloc’s tactics, as their unorthodox nature took many by surprise and confused people, even by the pre-war analysis of them. He was finding it difficult explaining what had happened and how they worked to the room.

“So they don’t use that whole charging battleship tactic we thought they were going to do?” asked the Commander of the U.S.S. Ross.

“No they still do, we just haven’t seen it yet.”

“But they seem to favor airpower like we do, just not in the same way.”

“They do, just… like I said, we haven’t seen it yet,” Harrison repeated. “Battleship and it’s escorts are still heavily armed and they’ll still try to close the distance with any enemy group they encounter. It’s usually either that or they stay with the carrier group to increase its defense, but they’ll never try anything without air cover.”

“So it’s still a division tactic. Force our jets to split their attention between their CSG and the BSG, and further split them to deal with the enemy carrier’s planes and defending our ships. Won’t leave enough for any job; even if we focus on just one there won’t be enough for the other, unless we get lucky.”

“That’s why we built our own,” the Boone’s Executive Officer pointed out.

“Still sounds like their air power is the big problem. Can you tell us more about that?”

“Yes, other than the usual air-superiority flights their attacks are divided into three types: missile, torpedo, and bombs. They usually rely on the first and use it most often to eat up our missile reserves. They’ll also run with a handful of electronic warfare birds to jam our systems and let them get in closer, if they can be spared.”

“Trying to airdrop fish and bombs is suicidal,” one of the higher Admirals pointed out. “Flying in that close would give us enough time for the SM-2s to shoot them down three times over.”

“Yes Sir, hence why they use anti-ship missiles so often. They’ll fire them off in swarms before pulling back to reload, but they use those to eat up our missiles; usually the slower, cheaper variants are used first for that. They’re treating ASMs as a way of disarming our ships rather than killing them, though I’ve certainly seen them used in that traditional sense as well.”

“And when we’re running low the other move in for close-range attacks. It makes sense in a way but it still seems ridiculous.”

"From a naval standpoint they seem to like complexity, they like pressuring us from multiple angles and spreading our resources out. Hence the bombers and torpedo planes," Harrison continued after a long swig of water. “Other times they’ll all come in nearly at once. The missiles will be fired off, the jammers will move in along with the strike group, covering them as best they can. As the ships are firing at the missiles the other attackers make their move and hit them with torps and bombs. Even with an AEGIS and all its missiles it’s a lot to handle.”

Harrison stopped to take a drink from a glass of water, running his hand over his face afterwards. It seemed that everyone in the room was gathering a loose understanding of how the Bloc naval strategy operated. It was an insane one, but it was effective; just how effective now that the war was progressing remained to be seen. No one knew if the daring, seemingly suicidal close-in tactics would be enough to actually deal consistent, extensive damage for a good payoff with the US Navy. Regardless, countermeasures would be taken either way; there was no sense in not adapting and waiting to see.

“So I guess that the best way is to be smart with our AA missiles. I saw some Captains get scared of running out against the ASMs. They hold their fire against closing aircraft and then get a bad surprise when they’re attacked. I can’t really… make some good equation of how you should spend them but I think it should be up to the Commanders and crew to judge the situation. Determine how much ordinance should be spent on the missiles, and on the planes, and then which planes.”

“How effective is their jamming?” the Ross’s Commander asked.

“Very, more than you’d think. They’ve done some weird stuff with ECM but it works and it gets annoying, really fu- sorry Sir. It can really fiddle with radar and weapons tracking. Those ECM birds also seem to be a bit better at dodging AA missiles that are shot at them, so keep that in mind; they’re definitely harder to kill. Hell they’re a big part of how those planes can get so close. CIWS too; they were meant to just target missiles so chaff, flares, ECM really distracts the Phalanx fire control.”

“What’s the effect of the torpedoes and bombs on our ships?” an officer from the Simpson questioned him as she took notes down in a small pad.

“The torpedoes are used kind of the same as the missiles, even worse honestly. You all know just one of those can cripple a ship, and you all know the best way to beat one is to drop decoys and run in the other direction. Problem is that has a habit of breaking up the group’s formation, especially when multiple torps come from different sides,” Harrison answered. “Once a formation’s broke, the ships are separated. Harder to communicate, harder to coordinate, harder for the ships to cover each-other. Leaves the individual vessels far more susceptible to being overwhelmed by ASM saturation or attack planes.

“The bombs, as far as I can tell, are just that; they’re there to add another point of pressure to us but they’re used for damage, and they’re the hardest to use too, I think. I mean… I’m no aviator, never was, so maybe there is some other factor for their usage, I just can’t see it. Still they’re dangerous; once a bomb is released there’s no stopping it. It’ll either hit and explode and tear open a hole, penetrate into the ship and explode inside, which is pretty bad of course, or if it’s armor-piercing and the angle’s right it’ll punch down through the ship, through the hull, explode and open a massive hole to the sea right under the ship. They’re smart though, only come in when it’s safer after a while when other planes are close too, distracting us. They like long range glide bombing or high altitude dive bombing.”

“Well… their style is new, pretty strange, but they’re still relying on the same thing as the center of striking power. It’s all about the aircraft,” the eldest one among them, a senior Admiral that arrived from Norfolk, pointed out. “Best thing to kill aircraft is other aircraft. We’ll have to hope our own pilots can get in their way first.”

“That seems like the best way to counter it,” the Ross’s CO agreed. “It must take a lot of coordination and aircraft for them to do that.”

“It does. None of those three groups in my experience have been very large, and the largest of them is always the missile group. Dividing the carrier air wing up between those three, along with CAP, take a lot of jets. Shooting down any number of them ahead of time will severely weaken their impact. And of course they’re providing plenty of opportunities for us to get kills once they move in range to attack.”

“So the good news is there’s plenty of chance to hurt them and plenty of holes in their strategy,” the senior Admiral summarized. “That’s good to hear. Is there anything else to add, Captain?”

“No Sir, nothing I can think of.”

“Good, good briefing, Captain. Now we need Commander Smithson to take care of his part of the briefing.”

Harrison took a seat on the other corner of the room next to a computer, taking Smithson’s place and clicking to bring up a picture of a Shadow Navy submarine. While Harrison’s experience in the war so far had revolved around his topic accordingly, Smithson and his warship, the Paul Hamilton, had spent the time dealing with the Bloc’s interdiction strategy, protecting ships and hunting Bloc subs and maritime aircraft of the west coast. He knew more about dealing with Bloc naval units behind the lines, the ones trying to attack them as they transitioned or escorted convoys to Arcaia.

“Good Afternoon. Well, gentlemen, the primary threat to us in this area are the Bloc Navy’s submarines. They’re pulling the same schtick we expected the Soviets to pull back in the day, using subs to hit our convoys and cut off supplies. They’ve been a lot more conventional in that sense as far as I’ve seen; nothing quite as crazy as that air stuff. Lone strikes, wolf packs, the like.”

Harrison clicked again to show two pictures, one of a Kilo class submarine on the left and a Bear bomber on the right.

“Usual thing has been sub attacks, again either alone or in packs, but they use bombers too. We’ve had a few instances of bombers in the south and central Pacific, and some flying in the gap between Arcaia and Alaska to our main supply routes. A lot are just for recon but we’ve had a bunch of them fly in larger formations toting anti-ship missiles, and they’ve already hit a couple ships doing that.

“Now… the Changelings seem to be really good at this. Not as good as their other Bloc friends at surface warfare overall but interdiction they’re really good at. From what we can tell they seem to have excellent coordination. They’ve got this practice where they time up attacks from subs at various angles well. They even coordinate their attacks between their subs and the bombers with ASMs to be timed up almost to the minute. It’s crazy.”

He motioned for Harrison to click to the next slide, only to snap his fingers and pause himself.

“Ah, sorry but I should also mention something else. The Bloc has been using their ballistic missile subs differently than we thought. We got reports from Hawaii saying they use the subs to volley cruise missiles at us.

“The Navy and Air Force has been running sweeps all along the coast and gap trying to catch some of these guys. We’ve had some losses, I hate to say, but the exchange rate is in our favor pretty heavily. Though the actual number caught isn’t near what we think they have in the area. A lot of the time the enemy subs just run away, so we think they’re waiting to hit convoys. Makes the most sense.

“The convoy system itself is still working so far, we’ve had a fewer number of escorts because of the sweeps but it seems to be working. Problem is the losses are still high. I know the Admirals are reevaluating whether to keep the sweeps going or to redirect them to heavier escort duty, but uh-”

“We are debating it,” one of them interrupted, confirming the claim. “We need to look more at the hostile forces in the area and how many we’ve killed with it though.”

“Thank you Sir, but yes there is that. Cap Harrison?”

Harrison clicked to the final slide, showing pictures from satellites, submarines, and spy aircraft, each of a different kind of surface warship.

“Now here’s the weird scary part. We know the Bloc is using merchant raiders of various sizes. Some destroyers, some frigates, some cruisers, even a couple battlecruisers; we know those weird hybrid battleship-carrier things we found way back when were designed with this in mind. Most have moved through the South Pacific and out into the oceans but we know a few have made it through the Arcaia-Alaska Gap and closer to our waters. Air Force and Navy are trying to hunt them down but our hands are pretty full right now. They can be a big threat to convoys and a serious threat to single, unescorted merchant ships. If one is spotted and closes in, best thing is to scatter the convoy off in the other direction while the escorts defend it; course with the hybrids their VTOL jets can easily pick off all the scattered, single ships. It’s not the best situation, but we’ll deal with them.

“That’s about all I’ve got, are there any questions?”

“There’s nothing else, everyone’s dismissed,” the highest Admiral ordered. “We’ve all got work to do.”

The room began to file out, with Harrison in the back thinking over all of the information. It would be put to use soon, as the Bastogne’s next assignment was to return to Arcaia on convoy duty, escorting the ships alongside the cruiser Normandy. The XO from the Boone walked up to him instead of leaving, carrying a message from the Normandy that had yet to reach Harrison.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier Captain, though I figured it’d be better to tell you after the briefing was done, less distraction,” he said before getting to the point. “I’m afraid the Normandy’s Captain is in the hospital with a tropical disease, he came down with Yellow Fever.”

“Yellow Fever?” Harrison asked in a clear tone of surprise and stupefaction.

“Yeah, I know, right? How the Hell do you get that in this day? Maybe he was behind on his vaccines or something? Anyways, point is he’s in a Navy hospital right now, so the ship’s Commander is going to be leading her. He also asked if you could meet with him to go over some of the details for the upcoming operation.”

“Uh yeah, I know the guy. Kind of… deadpan?” Harrison remembered. “He’s a good guy, I’ll get in touch with him. Thanks.”

“No problem Sir.”

“Alright, got a lot of stuff to go over and we’ll be sailing again soon, so not a lot of time. Hmm… Yellow Fever how the… some of this shit makes me feel like we’re going backwards in time.”

The convoy was a sizable one with various loads of supplies. There were, of course, the most common and important: ammunition of various calibers, artillery shells, missiles and the like. Some ships carried oil and fuel, some for vehicles, others with AVGAS. Miscellaneous needs like various medical supplies, replacement parts, new uniforms, paint, kevlar body armor, batteries, spare tools, and duct tape. Some of the ships carried the most precious cargo, men who were crossing the ocean to join the war, replacements for each branch of service.

Two of the vessels ferrying troops were the landing ships Mesa Verde and Ponce, loaded down in their supply run mission. Sharing this role with them was another, more powerful amphibious ship, the Essex, lying at the center of the formation. While acting as a troop transport also functioned as a light escort carrier, with her Marine aircraft and helicopters assisting in the defense. The remainder of them were more humble cargo ships of sealift command: Lewis and Clark, Big Horn, Dahl, Soderman, Watson, American Tern, Cape Race, Gem State, Pollux and the massive tanker SS Petersburg.

The convoy only had two warships acting as escorts, Bastogne and her sister ship, Normandy. The other warships on the American west coast, including various destroyers, had sorties out in groups of two or three on multiple patrols, sweeping the vast ocean ahead. Rather than an escort fight, they had been engaged in a direct war of attrition with the Bloc interdiction forces, hoping to clear the way for the convoys by focusing on inflicting losses. This strategy had borne some fruit, though just how much was yet to be determined.

The convoy entered a squall as it cruised along. The light shower pattered against the metal hills of the ships. An hour later the storm worsened, turning into a downpour that mixed with lightning and heavy winds that churned up the waters below. The Essex grounded her aircraft, securing them to the ship. Harrison, having little to do at this time, sat on the bridge and watched the waves break over the bow of his cruiser.

“The ships aren’t having any trouble getting through this?” he asked his XO, watching the cargo vessels punch through and ride over the waves.

“No Sir, same as before. No issues. The storm should let up within another twenty to forty minutes, according to the weather forecast,” Thomas answered him.

“And no updates from the sonar team about that possible contact?”

“Negative, Sir.”

Four hours prior, the sonar team had reported a possible submerged contact far off from them. The stalker had come and gone, appearing and vanishing at various spots and times like a phantom in the darkness of the sea. The faint signature had matched every time, and considering it seemed to be following the convoy it could not be any kind of marine life, less it was unnaturally attracted to the ships for some odd reason, but that was unlikely. It was worrying, but the crew was somewhat thankful the sonar team could track such a quiet submersible.

One of the unwritten rules Harrison had developed revolves around them. Simply put, do not disturb the sonar team unless it is important. Just as the radar acted as the ship’s eyes, the sonar was her ears. The men working these machines had to pay close attention to pick up the various acoustics under the sea and differentiate them, deciding what was harmless natural life and what was an enemy submarine.

Another twenty minutes in the storm passed, with Harrison gnawing on some cold, tough pork leftover from the mess. He had just finished his snack when a crewmember passed on a report from the Normandy, a sonar contact. It’s positioning came off as an emergency as well, being frighteningly close to the convoy. It, in turn, was brought down to the CIC and sonar team.

“This one’s smart,” Lieutenant Persico, the Bastogne’s ASW officer observed. “He was waiting in the storm for us to pass through, he knew we wouldn’t be able to use our birds, Skip.”

“How do you recommend we kill it?” Harrison asked.

“Well he seems to be sitting still, probably waiting for the convoy to move into his sights proper, we got a little time though. Depth is a little deep though, probably doesn’t know his cover’s blown. I’d say we get an ASROC ready, flip the active sonar on to pinpoint him, then fire immediately before he has a chance to run. But do me a favor and tell the other ships not to jump the gun, let me surprise him.”

“Will do.”

Harrison passed on the notice to the other ships of the convoy and asked them not to use active sonar so as to notify the submarine. It was a rather startling order, as many of the cargo ships had just realized a submarine was there and were understandably frightened. The amphibious ships, without their helicopters to work with, could not defeat the submarine either. Their fates were left in the hands of the cruisers. If the submarine realized it had been spotted, it would panic, begin to move, and fire off it’s torpedoes. It had to be killed quickly and instantly, not giving it any time to maneuver.

The anti-submarine rocket was readied to fire aboard the cruiser, targeting the area of the unsuspecting Bloc wolf. Suddenly, on the call, the cruiser's powerful sonar turned to active mode. Loud pings of sound were sent out into the deep, hitting the hull of the enemy vessel and giving its position to the Americans. Seconds later the Bastogne erupted as flames shot the rocket skyward, flying over the ships and driving itself into the sea, and in turn causing the submarine to start running.

“Sonar contact! Identify! Victor I class sub!” one of the operators yelled out.

With the torpedo falling almost on top of the Victor, there was very little that could be done. No real maneuvers could be made to outrun or outturn the weapon before it impacted. An explosion rocked the top of the submarine and sent a column of water shooting skyward, high above the ships through the rainstorm.

Instinctively, the submarine’s crew blew the ballast and began an emergency surface. The Victor rose out of the waves, a large hole torn on her top deck. Many of the men on the ships were able to spot her out, bobbing helplessly in the chaotic waters as she tried to keep her head above the waves. They could also see the crew scurrying out, bit by bit, and into the deadly waters, Shadow sailors from the looks of them.

Suddenly, the Victor slipped back under the waves and continued falling into the deep, leaving a handful of seemingly lucky crew to face the challenge of surviving the storm in the open waters. With the poor weather and the Americans being unable to launch helicopters or smaller boats, few stood a chance of survival. The Mesa Verde would swing in closely to check, but the convoy could not stop, and single-digits of survivors were plucked from the sea before the rescue attempt ended.

The hours following the first submarine attack had remained quiet. The convoy at last passed through the storm and the Harriers of Essex were able to resume normal patrols. Their CAP was a vital contribution, but so far they encountered virtually no air or surface targets.

The only airborne contact thus far, a Tu-142 Bear maritime reconnaissance bomber of the Griffon Navy, had been engaged and shot down by one of the Marine aircraft. Reports from radar stations in Alaska, however, noted a number of additional aircraft closing in on the area. After the initial submarine spotting, the convoy was left on edge.

One of the sonar operators on the Bastogne had been focused for quite some time, going over several suspected sounds only to find nothing for the past hour and a half. The only contact he could make out was a whale that passed far to the stern of the convoy. There had been some other noises in the water, but nothing definitive. The screws of the convoy’s ships churned up the water like a herd of bison kicking up dust on the plains. Even on the outside it was difficult to make things out; they had gotten lucky with the first submarine but luck was not something that could be relied on.

A loud sound broke through the noise. Through his headphones, the man picked up the distinct whoosh of air being forced into the water. It was mixed and then supplanted by the terrifying, mechanical droning; the humming of a high-speed propeller.

“Fish! Fish in the water!” he warned, throwing the room into a frenzy. “Shit it’s close! How’d they get that close!? Another! Second torpedo launched!”

“Where’d he come from!?” the team director yelled, calling up to the bridge. “Bridge, Sonar! Torpedo in the water, close! Hard a port!”

The cruiser took action, immediately swinging a hard left and applying full speed. Various anti-acoustic countermeasures were fired off, including noise-makers launcher from range and decoy torpedoes fired in the opposite direction. The rest of the convoy did the same, breaking form to escape the weapons.

“What is he? Give me an ID on who shot that!” Lieutenant Perisco demanded. “And get the Seahawk over that area now!”

“Unable to ID, I can’t match him! They’re moving slow but I can’t-!”

One of the cruiser’s helicopters, under the callsign Trident, followed the direction of the sonar team to the area of the torpedo’s origin. One of the Mk 46 torpedoes was dropped, activating and searching once it hit the water and pinging away to lock on to whatever it could find. The second Mk 46 followed after a quick position change.

“I got her, enemy sub is moving fast!” the sonar operator called out. “Identify, Sierra I!”

The Bastogne and the Normandy both fired ASROCs to add to the pressure as the enemy submarine dived and turned, performing its own dance to shake off the weapons. With countermeasures and sharp turns, the enemy sub continued to evade, though it was driven further from the convoy. The Americans also had to contend with the enemy’s torpedoes still, and at such a close range it was a frenzied race for each vessel to escape.

The initial torpedo, fired at an odd angle towards the Bastogne, was saturated with decoys that filled its acoustic homing and sent it in circles as the cruiser sped away. The second was launched at the nearest cargo vessel, the Pollux. With little time to react and no defenses of her own, the submarine’s torpedo struck the starboard side of transport, breaking through the hull before exploding. A great spite of water and debris shot up next to the ship as water began to rush in through the massive hole. The Pollux was attempting to turn away and increase speed, but now this only worsened the matter and the ship took an immediate list.

With water continuing to flow in and the weight of the cargo pressing further, the listing quickly became unbearable. The order of abandon ship was raised and her small crew took to the open ocean, leaving eight of their own behind as dead. Fifteen minutes later, the Pollux rolled near perfectly onto its side and went down. It took with it a hefty load of replacement tanks and other AFVs, vital equipment that would have helped to replenish the Army for the upcoming battles, but now they would never get a chance to be used.

The Mesa Verde began to pick up the crew from the lifeboats while helicopters ceaselessly hounded the area around where the submarine had been located. To their dismay, the Sierra had escaped, evading the weapons fired at her and diving deep to avoid detection. Many of the Americans had witnessed their weapons go off, though these were either against decoys left by the submarine or self-detonation after running their range out.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Harrison swore to himself. “How’d they get away?”

“Their commander is clearly skilled enough to do so, and the submarine is a more advanced model,” Thomas reasoned.

“I know, shit this is bad. We can’t lose him, he’ll be back. That son of a bitch will keep hounding us! You think we should stay and hunt him down? Catch up with the convoy later?”

“I’m not sure, Sir. He’s likely been driven off for now, and won’t approach again for some time. Staying here will leave the convoy with even less protection, and we don’t know how long we’ll be out here alone,” Thomas pointed out. “Alternatively, if we stay with the convoy, it will allow the enemy to shadow us unmolested. He could possibly repeat the attack.”

“Great, so neither is the right answer. What are you thinking?”

“You’re the Captain, Sir. The decision is yours.”

“Well that doesn’t fucking help,” Harrison bemoaned. “Alright, our mission is to protect the ships right? Get the convoy reformed and on the move again. We’ll have to be more careful.”

“Bastogne, Essex, come in, over,” the landing ship’s radio operator called.

“Reading you, Essex.”

“Report just came in from one of our flyboys, they caught and killed one of those 142 Bears.”

“Affirmative, we picked it up over here.”

It had been another day and a half since the attack, and the convoy had made good progress since then. More enemy aircraft had arrived to observe them from afar, usually retiring before the Marine Harriers could reach them. The frequency of the enemy’s appearances had increased notably, and every sailor who did notice got the feeling that they would soon have to deal with more than just submarine threats.

Harrison and the rest of the crew had remained focused, ready to ward off the prowling enemy Sierra. So far nothing had happened, and just as before the deep was quiet. They would not be fooled again though; they knew the enemy was there, tailing them, but they were unsure as to where. The first disturbance had been the report by the Essex, and twenty minutes later Harrison received a notification from the Normandy sent to all ships.

“Message reads ‘engaging enemy subsurface contacts at range, hold fire. Will notify of results’,” the young sailor read off.

“Guess they got the same luck we did,” Harrison said. “I trust them to get the job done, hold fire unless they ask for our help.”

The Normandy’s helicopter moved about over the wide field of water, stopping to hover at certain points. Another ASROC was launched from the cruiser and sent into the sea, while the chopper dropped its own weapons at another spot several miles off. Both of the weapons struck their targets, first the helicopter’s torpedo and then the ASROC. Two more Bloc submarines, these belonging to the Changeling Navy, sank to the bottom.

“Normandy reports two kills, one Foxtrot one Tango,” the report came in.

“Good, that’s impressive,” Harrison noted. “Tell the Commander good work.”

“They noted that they were a little harder to detect than usual, for what they are.”

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. They’re probably some kind of upgraded model, not the old Soviet ones. Those rusty things would’ve been killed a lot sooner. Didn’t say anything about that Sierra huh? I’m getting too paranoid about that thing.”

Nothing was left from the attacking submarines except for debris and oil slicks. The trip so far had been a mixed bag; most of the enemy units encountered had been dealt with, but they had not been powerful. They had killed two older models of submarines and gotten lucky in catching the Kilo early on. The Sierra, the most difficult to deal with, had sunk one of the cargo ships and escaped.

An hour later, the long-awaited bomber raid was finally closing in with fifteen Bear bombers and five Backfires from the Changeling Air Force. The Marine Harriers naturally launched most of their number to fly out an intercept, their slow speed made up for by the early warning from radar stations in Arcaia and Alaska. The radars aboard the ships, however, counted a large formation than warned. When the Harriers first made contact, the response was confusing and worrying.

“Allied aircraft state they’re committing against a handful of bandit Forgers, trying to break through to the bombers.”

“Forgers? Shit that’s…”

“Yak-38s Captain,” Thomas finished for him.

“Yeah, but those are VTOLs aren’t they?” Harrison remembered. “How’d they get all the way out here? Their legs don’t stretch that far, even with tanker support. Why those?”

“They weren’t mentioned in the original sighting.”

“Yeah, so where’d they come from?”

“A carrier would be the most likely point of origin.”

“But their flattops aren’t anywhere near the area, we know that, we uh,” Harrison stuttered as he paused to think. “It’s one of their raiders, it’s got to be.”

“One of their surface raiders Sir?”

“Yeah don’t you remember? Intel came out that the Shadows built some battleships or some kind of hybrid with a VTOL deck on the stern. One of them must be in the area!”

“Oh, that may very well be the case,” Thomas agreed. “If so, that would cause a new issue.”

“Yeah. We could take it normally but we aren’t outfitted for surface warfare. Still not contacts though, we just need to keep on the lookout-”

“Vampire! Vampire!” the radarman yelled.

“Ah shit they got through!” Harrison realized from the anti-ship missile call. “Engage at will, don’t wait!”

“Tracking, birds away!”

Both the Bastogne and the Normandy began to volley their compliments of SM-2 missiles to pick away at the ASMs.

“Heads up, additional missiles on radar! Cruise missiles!” the radarman warned. “Low altitude, possible surface launch!”

“Enemy surface contact!?” Harrison asked.

“Negative nothing on surf radar!”

“Sonar confirms subsurface launches Skipper! Enemy missile subs! At least three separate launch positions!”

“Fuck they weren’t kidding! How’d the Bugs coordinate a strike like that!?” Harrison wondered aloud.

“Enemy missile numbers spiking!” the radarman continued to warn.

The convoy now began to break and maneuver as the two AEGIS cruisers began to pluck away at the missiles. The many weapons clashed in mid-air, exploding into an inferno of shrapnel above the sea. The numbers continued to drop, and the bomber’s missiles were soon exterminated, but the submarine-launched cruise missiles moved in closer and began to pick out targets.

The RIM-116 and Sea Sparrow missiles on the other three military vessels began to launch, destroying the weapons targeting them. Harrison himself left the CIC briefly to Thomas and was heading to the bridge to direct maneuvers personally as the convoy’s ships turned every which-way. He passed outside briefly, running along the side when a loud, dull explosion and the forceful wind of a shockwave hit him, briefly stopping him. He did not notice at first and continued to the bridge, thinking an enemy missile had exploded close to them.

It was only when he reached the bridge did he notice some of the sailors glaring out the window to their starboard bow. He turned himself in the same direction, facing the awful object of their attention. A large cloud of smoke was rising from its origin on the water; another ship had been hit by the missiles, with disastrous results.

“Jesus, what ship was there!?” he thought to himself before repeating it to his sailors. “What ship was there!?”

“She’s just gone Captain, I saw it!” one of the sailors on watched cried out. “One of the landing ships, I saw it!”

“Shit she’s gone!” another man echoed.

“Landing ship? God, was that the Ponce!?” Harrison realized. “There were thousands of men on her!”

“She just fucking blew up! Blew up! Like a fucking firecracker!”

“Shit… fucking God,” the Captain groaned. “Helm, swing us six degrees to port! Get us over there, and keep clear of that tanker over there!”

“Aye!”

The final cruise missiles were destroyed by a RIM missile from Essex and heavy CIWS and gunfire from the Normandy, respectively. Upon closing in, the sailors on board the Bastogne did notice several survivors in the water, some crew others soldiers. In comparison to the original complement they were depressingly few, and the small boats of the cruiser and other ships took to the water while helicopters began to pick men out of the Pacific.

The missile attack had only just ended when the Bastogne erupted with another missile launch. Harrison prepared to call the CIC but was answered by Thomas first. The destruction of the Ponce did not bring about a close to the fight as hoped.

“Captain, sonar contact! Enemy sub’s back, torpedoes in the water after one of the transport ships! ASROC’s out, need the helm to turn hard-a-port!”

“Fuck, copy! Helm hard port!”

“Hard port aye!”

“Figures, damn Sierra was waiting to hit us while we’re down!”

“Captain, eyes!” one of the watchmen called out.

The Sierra’s torpedoes had been fired at the closest ship it snuck up on, the transport ship Dahl. In attempting to escape the onslaught of missiles, the ship had unfortunately closed in with the enemy submarine. Two torpedoes struck near the bow of the ship and she quickly came to a stop, the crew on her fighting a losing battle to keep her afloat as she sank by the head.

The Bastogne’s ASROC was not as accurate as the torpedo splashed down and ran in circles, trying to lock onto the quiet, near motionless target without success. Harrison, however, also noticed the range of the enemy submarine was much closer than before. Rather than wait for a closer estimate or allow the submarine to escape again, he would turn to one of the newer weapons to defeat his enemy.

“CIC,” he called.

“CIC here.”

“Is the Porcupine ready to fire?”

“Aye Skipper!”

“Get a range and position for it and fire when ready.”

The Mark 22 Anti-Submarine Bombardment Weapon, simply called the ‘Porcupine’, was another of the new weapons installed in the newer flights of the Ticonderogas and Arleigh Burkes. It was a close-in anti-submarine weapon built in the vein of the World War Two era Hedgehog and the more recent Russian GBU-6000. Rather than rely on the direct precision of homing torpedoes, the Porcupine fired dozens upon dozens of rocket-propelled bombs, scattering them over a wide area where the target was known to be hiding, exploding upon hitting or nearing the submarine as they sank. Though not as powerful as a torpedo, the one or two bomb hits could still damage a submarine, and the explosions would give a precise location to the sonar operators for follow-up torpedo attacks.

The Porcupine began to mechanically turn and fire its rockets from a large metal box near the stern, using computer guidance to thoroughly disperse the shots. The scattered weapons hit the water and began to slowly float to the bottom, with the strange noise confusing the sonar operators aboard the Sierra. As they never realized, the sudden eruptions against the side of the hull came as an understandable shock to them. Two of the bombs landed on the submarine, one directly on top her near the stern and the other against the side next to the starboard torpedo tubes. The hull was damaged, though not heavily, but the sudden attack and rattling caused a great scare among the crew.

The Captain, confused and thinking they had actually been struck by two small torpedoes, gave the order for an emergency surface. The weapon had worked far better in its first combat employment than the Americans had thought. They had damaged and detected the submarine, but instead of a follow-up attack the submarine delivered itself directly to the Americans as it broke the surface, splashing through the waves. Harrison, now presented with his tormentor face-to-face, refused to allow any chance of escape and ordered the CIC to open fire with their deck guns.

The Bastogne’s weapons trained on the enemy and immediately opened fire without hesitation, with the two five-inch turrets blasting away and putting two shells into the sail in the first shot. The CIWS and even the Bushmaster autocannons aboard targeted her and added their weight to the fray, raking the black hull with 20mm shells. The sea around the target was kicked up fiercely as round bounced off, struck, or penetrated the hull. One of the heavy guns put a shell directly into the waterline, punching through into the sub and opening her to the sea.

The Sierra’s Captain gave the order to abandon ship and the crew began to scramble out onto the deck. The Americans did not see the fleeing crew at first, and the submariners found themselves exiting into a maelstrom of angry, vicious cannon fire. The rounds, large and small, tore into many of the crew, blowing a number of them away into the sea as most elected to swim away rather than stay on the targeted hulk.

It was only after several minutes of heavy fire that the Americans noticed the Shadows in the water and Harrison ordered a cease-fire. There was some unspoken understanding among the Americans that, intentional or not, they had been firing on the enemy crew as they abandoned ship helplessly. Still, most did not feel regret as it had not been known, nor did they feel sorrow for their enemy’s harrowing ordeal after they had sunk two of their ships. Harrison certainly did not, even as he ordered the cruiser to shift to pick up their newly-acquired prisoners. Owing to the nature of the submarine’s demise the take was rather large at forty Shadow navy ponies on the dot.

The Mesa Verde had completed the rescue of the survivors of her dead sister ship, picking up those who had somehow made it through the great eruption through some divine grace. The Dahl was abandoned but thankfully did not suffer any losses, with the crew evacuating in a timely manner over to the Normandy only to watch their ship nose down and hang in the air for several minutes before plunging into the deep, taking her precious cargo with her. The Sierra was the last to sink, with her beaten hull slowly filling with water as she slowly slipped beneath the Pacific for the last time.

With the dramatic fight finally reaching its conclusion, the convoy once again reformed and began the final stretch of sailing towards the Equestrian port of Pensacolta. The Essex retrieved her Harriers from their own battle, tallying their own kills and losses. Two of the enemy Bears had been shot down, along with a single Forger, but two of their own had been killed as well. The single pilot that managed to bail from his damaged aircraft was picked up and returned by one of the ship’s helicopters.

The remainder of the trip was spent in a solemn silence among the men of every ship. The Bloc did not have further units in position to continue their strikes, and the convoy soon was under the protection of aircraft and ships from Equestria. Upon closing in on the port, Harrison had the depressing duty of giving the first report to a local Admiral on the convoy’s status over the radio.

“Two container vessels lost; Pollux, Dahl. USS Ponce lost; large explosion from enemy missile attack, heavy loss of life. Two Harriers lost, one pilot KIA, other rescued. Four enemy submersibles, three bombers, one fighter destroyed. Forty POWs, Shadows. Cruisers will require only moderate time to replenish stocks, no damage. Bastogne turning over convoy, will dock as instructed to refuel and rearm before returning to sea; awaiting next orders. Out.”

Author's Note

Sorry again for the long wait, ever since about May life has been extremely busy with work and only gotten busier, exhausting stuff that doesn't leave much time. I know this post is only a couple chapters, but I'm still writing, of course. Hope the next publishing won't take as long. Sorry if these two seem a bit cluttered too, I really pushed to get these two finished in a reasonable timeframe cause I hated the idea of waiting even more, makes me feel lazy and that I'm not delivering and letting people down. Spent most of the free time I had getting them finished so apologies for any mistakes. Still, hope you guys enjoy it and find them a little interesting.

Thanks again for reading, and for your time.

The Exploitation Wave

May 5th, 2006
1055 Hours
Central Sector of the Frontline

In the time since the initial Shadow breach was closed, the Papa Line had returned to a status of relative quiet. Skirmishes, bombings, and artillery strikes were still common but the Bloc had not made another attempt to break the line. This was concerning to the American commanders as their enemy’s losses, while heavy, were far from crippling to their invasion forces. Perhaps they were readying their armies for another attack, but no one knew when or where.

This matter did not worry the minds of the lowly grunts like Corporal Raymond Lee Henry. To him and his friends, it was a welcome silence from the great threat of death they had suffered under. Other than giving them time to better their positions, it obviously gave the men time to rest, free from the stress of heavy combat.

The 5th Division, still trying to replace it’s losses, had the front manned more lightly than usual, setting up other thin lines of resistance behind it. Many of the fortifications in the area had been badly damaged or destroyed, reducing their protective power. Henry and the squad were spread out along with a few others, keeping guard on the line. Private Axel, the studious Belgian of his fireteam, and Jarvis of Bravo Team, were sitting in one of the forward pillboxes, it’s firing slit and roof sporting holes from the multiple artillery shells.

“Did they say what's for dinner tonight?” Jarvis asked.

“We haven’t even gotten to lunch yet,” Henry replies, bouncing a rubber ball against the concrete.

“Yeah but I know what lunch is!”

“No, they have not told us,” Axel answered him, lazily resting his head and SAW on the firing slit. “It was not on the morning bulletin.”

“Aha, you see Rose? That’s why!” Jarvis declared. “Cause you don’t know if you’re going to get food. One day if those ships stop coming, the food’s going to stop coming. And one day we won’t be getting any dinner.”

“Man you’re worried about food before getting blown up?”

“I’m just thinking ahead. Forward planning is what the brass call it Ray,” Jarvis explained. “That’s why they don’t give you any butter bars.”

“I don’t want to be an officer to begin with,” The young Corporal retorted. “Too much bullshit with not enough payoff.”

“Hey, knock it off, I’m seeing something out there, lotta dust,” Axel spoke up. “Hang on I got movement… wait, nothing. They’re people, humans. No Shadows.”

“Forward recon patrol?”

“I am not sure, there are… a large number of them.”

“Well the offensive patrols have been bringing more guys lately anyways,” Jarvis reminded them.

A familiar series of pops and cracks filled the air and the hard sound of bullets impacting the concrete filled the small pillbox. A long burst of fire from a machine gun stitched along the firing slit, causing Axel and the others to dive to the floor. The bullets chipped and richocted against the fortifications as the three yelled back and forth to each other.

“What the fuck!? What are they doing!?” Henry shouted.

“Why are they shooting us?” Axel asked.

“They’re idiots! They must be getting something wrong!”

“Hey hold your fire!” Jarvis screamed ineffectively. “Shit, blue on blue! Crap it’s not working, hang on I’m going to head out and wave them down!”

“Hold the fuck on you bumpkin moron,” Henry shot back, yanking the back of Jarvis’ shirt and dragging him back. “You go out there in the open you’ll get shot!”

“We’ll all get shot if they don’t stop!” the Private replied. “They’ll stop when they see I’m human, just hang on!”

“Private Jarvis!”

The young grunt headed out the back foot of the bunker, leaving his weapon behind. He followed the trench a short way and out of the field of fire before pulling himself up over the top. Standing on the bluff on the green grass, his arms held high to show no threat, he began to wave frantically at the other group, jumping erratically like a madman.

The fire stopped as the other humans saw him, partly thinking he was surrendering before becoming very confused at him. Regardless, the fire had ceased without casualties and Jarvis continued to wave back, indicating for them to hold. He started on his way back to the pillbox to check on his allies, and Henry watched from the door, surprised he had not been killed.

Jarvis had just reached the structure again when the pops and cracks started up again. In an instant, right before Henry, his friend was struck down. Two rounds hit the side of his head and sent him careening down into the trench. In a second, the brave Private was gone, his face left as bloody mess in the dark dirt.

“Jarvis! No! Rose, Jarvis is hit!” Henry cried out, pulling him over and cradling his corpse. “He’s not breathing, he’s gone! They hit his head, he’s gone!”

There was no response but a rattle and echo of automatic fire from inside the pillbox.

“Hey, what are you doing!?”

“They can’t be friendlies!” Axel warned as Henry entered the pillbox again. “They’re enemies! Look ahead, armored vehicles!”

Ahead of the line various armored vehicles, IFVs and others, began to roll forward and open fire on the various fortifications. As Henry, Axel, and the other Americans returned fire they noticed some of the vehicles were not designs used by the Bloc nations. Their camouflage, and the camouflage of the human soldiers, was that of an overly-digital blocky pattern, and even with them some were able to notice a few small symbols painted on the sides, the look of a small red star with yellow lining on some parts of the edges. The men also began to subconsciously notice that the very few enemy faces they caught glimpses of all seemed to bear an Asiatic appearance. Their discovery of who the aggressors were coincided with panicked voices over the radio, calling for a general fallback to the secondary positions behind the line.

“You hear the radio? We got to get back! We have to figure out what’s going on!” Henry yelled, tapping his friend’s shoulder as he was still laying down fire from his LMG. “We got to go man!”

“Alright, run! Let’s go!”

The two retreated away from the frontline, and around them the ‘skeleton crew’ that was manning the fortifications was retreating along with them. Some retreated from fear, others in confusion, but the order to fall back made the difference pointless to determine. It was a broken, disorganized run as they abandoned the Papa Line for a second time.

They began to gather at a secondary line as a major battle broke out all along the front. The next line was manned by a few other troops, many from the local support weapons company with their heavy machine guns. Three M1A2s of the brigade’s 1st Battalion, 70th Armored stood ready as the men reformed. The rest of Henry’s squad found themselves regrouping behind one of the first buildings among many other soldiers.

“They’re Chinese!” one called out. “I saw them!”

“Definitely!” another added. “Damn it how’d we miss them?”

“Are we sure?” Sergeant Braxley asked.

“They’re right, we saw them too!” Henry confirmed. “Those weapons, and I saw one of their red stars! All the ones I saw, they were all Asian, and the uniforms were PLA! It’s them alright!”

“Damn commies hitting us while we’re in the corner!”

Another gaggle of soldiers soon joined them, a group from the neighboring 5th Battalion, 6th Regiment. The highest ranking soldiers there were three Staff Sergeants, of which Braxley was one of, but all agreed they would try to make a stand. The men were ordered into the string of houses at the front of the small hamlet.

“Alright squad, listen! Guys, eyes over here!” Braxley called to his own team. “We’ve agreed we’re going to try holding this area, alright? We’ll need to spread out a little and cover the tanks. Sergeant Pete, go with Orlov and Raul to that one-story house, left of the tank.”

“Where’s Jarvis?” Pete asked Henry.

“He’s gone Sarge, they shot him in the head right in front of me,” the Corporal responded, noticing another missing soldier, his own fireteam lead. “Hey, where’s Sergeant Clovis? Where’s Nick?”

“Dead, they shot him in the back,” Private Orlov answered.

“What!?”

“Guys I’m sorry but we can’t waste time,” Braxley interjected. “Bravo Team, you three go with that heavy weapons team on that building to the right. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, we can.”

The soldiers moved to their assigned positions as Braxley moved to another high structure just behind them, fiddling with a radio pack there. The area had been consumed by a full-scale battle. Tracers from both sides shot into the sky and artillery from both began to fall on each-other’s lines. Up above, fighter jets soared overhead, all coming from the opposing end of the front, all headed for the Allied rear. Their models were not like those previously experienced in the war; they, too, were Chinese.

“Baker One-Two to Mustang Three, do you read, over?” Braxley called to the three tanks alongside them.

“Mustang Three Actual reads you Baker, what’ve we got?” the commander of the reduced tank platoon asked.

“Chinese ground and air units have are initiating offensive actions against us.”

“Yeah we’ve noticed. Any details?”

“Not much. I’m seeing coordinated air strikes. Large waves of PLA infantry supported by armored vehicles have overrun the front. The hordes are at the gate here Mustang Three!”

“Then let’s kick those commie S.O.B.’s back to Shanghai. What’d you say Staff Sergeant?”

“Hooah Sir!”

“Heads up! Here they come!” Yakubov called out.

Long streams of tracers began to pelt the line, striking the buildings or flying overhead to suppress the Americans. Henry did not see them but the heavy weapons company soldier manning the second floor machine gun did. He aimed the .50 cal and began to fire near ceaselessly at the horizon, with others across the line joining in.

Henry grabbed some extra magazines before peering out from the house’s window, near the machine gun’s exposed position. He could make out the enemy as they drew closer, a great number running directly towards the American line as others held position to continue suppression. He selected the closest soldier, running across an open field, and fired two rounds into his stomach that caused him to fall dead on the ground.

Various other Chinese soldiers were quick in meeting a similar fate, not expecting to run into a heavy defensive position so close to the frontline they had overrun. Machine guns chattered and rifles cracked as dozens of attacking Chinese soldiers were cut down. There was no shortage of them, however, and it would take far more to actually stop them.

“APCs! Dead ahead!” Henry warned, spotting the large Chinese combat vehicles roll forward.

“Mustang, Baker! We’ve got hostile APCs inbound!”

“We see them Baker, hang tight!” the lead tank’s Lieutenant answered. “All Mustang elements, this is Three Actual! Hostile victors incoming at high speed, Tango Niner-Twos! In range, fire!”

The M1s concealed in the village took aim at a platoon of Chinese wheeled APCs charging towards the village. The main cannons of the tank erupted, as each sent a HEAT round down range towards an individual target. Three of the Type-97s were hit in seconds and exploded, either coming to a dead stop or careening to the side. The fourth and fifth ones following only had enough time to stop before they, too, were struck and blown into a twisted mass of fire and jagged metal.

“Mustang, Baker! Good kills on those victors Lieutenant! We’re still going to have trouble stopping their infantry though!”

“These guys can’t adapt for shit, they do everything by the book!” the tank commander replied. “If their armor can’t advance their infantry won’t advance, same if it’s the other way around! Knock down one part and their whole attack is fucked!”

The Abrams now opened fire with their own machine guns, sending further rounds downrange but preserving their cannon ammunition for any additional Chinese AFVs. A greater number of their infantry began to fall, and the attack seemed to stutter as the PLA troopers awaited for their superiors to do something. The tanks were trading gunfire with the soldiers on the rear firing line when a rocket shot out towards the left-most tank, striking it in the side and setting it alight.

“Jesus what the fuck!?” Henry yelled.

“Chinese AT teams out there!” one of the other soldiers shouted over the gunfire.

“Baker this is Mustang, Three-Three is down! Suspected man-portable AT rocket! You have to take them out if you see them, over!”

“Copy, we’ll do it, out!” Braxley assured the tanker. “Baker One-Two Actual to all units! PLA anti-tank teams are mixed in with their infantry! Prioritize and eliminate them! If we lose the tanks we won’t hold the line!”

“You heard him boys!” Henry said to the others near him.

“Look out for the ones with the bigass launchers on their backs!” the machine gun soldier pointed out.

“There! Got one!” Axel shouted, turning his SAW to plaster an area where one of the enemy AT soldiers was kneeling to fire. “Down! He’s dead!”

“One over here, at our nine!” Henry noticed, using his own M4 to put a long burst into a running AT soldier.

“Enemy chopper inbound!” Braxley warned. “They’re in hot on our armor! Right flank! Pete that’s you, watch out!”

“This fucking can not be happening,” the other Sergeant groaned in disbelief.

The PLA attack helicopter, a black Z-10, hovered up to the far right, taking aim at one of the Abrams tanks. It locked and fired a single ATGM across the battlefield, piercing the M1’s armor to the side and destroying it. Sergeant Pete’s team, taking cover in the building next to it, was rattled by the explosion, eyeing the helicopter as it was driven off by some unknown force far from their sight.

“Staff Sergeant, we just lost another M1!”

“Mustang this is Baker-“

“I see it! You guys have to do something, out!”

The long skirmish continued as colorful tracers shot in both directions and men on both sides fell prey to them. The PLA infantry continued the attack gingerly, still falling in greater numbers than their enemies. Bodies were strewn across the open fields ahead of the buildings from the American infantry’s gunfire and the coax MG of surviving tank.

The few PLA anti-tank teams with launchers were having a much harder time now that they were priority targets. The fourth AT team was cut down by .50 caliber machine gun fire from the infantry, leaving only a single one in reserve back at the skirmisher’s line. Before they could be sent forward, an American sniper of the supporting company put a bullet through the operator’s throat, ending the remaining immediate ground threat to the tank.

“Confirm another AT operator was KIA Baker One-Two.”

“Copy, good work! Mustang, we’re thinning out their anti-tank guys, we’ve got you covered.”

Before any relief could come from the good news, Henry called in with a desperate warning. He, and the few others who took a moment to look up, noticed a PLA attack fighter moving in towards their position. There was only enough time to send an alert.

“Fantan inbound closing fast!”

“You got to be shitting me!” the tank Lieutenant cried out.

The fighter nosed down and fired a long burst from its powerful cannons. The line of shells ran over the last M1, striking the thin top armor with dozens of armor-piercing and high explosive rounds. The entire tank was destroyed without survivors, the ammunition blowing out in the back as the Abrams burned.

“Fuck me that was loud!” Henry said to himself, rubbing his ears. “Fuck, poor guys. Rest In Peace pal.”

“Baker One-Two to Sharpe!” Braxley called desperately to the battalion command. “Baker One-Two to Sharpe, come in!”

“Baker this is Sharpe, we read you. What’s wrong?”

“Mustang is down and the PLA is renewing their attack! We don’t have any anti-armor capabilities here Sir! Can we get some support, over!?”

“Negative One-Two, the-”

“Mortars!” one of the soldiers shouted, followed by a repetition of the call along the line.

“Fall back!” one of the Sergeants called. “Get back to the second line of buildings!”

“Sharpe hold that thought, have to displace!” Braxley informed them before packing the radio and grabbing his rifle.

The American soldiers broke away, hustling back through the village as mortar shells began to upend the earth around them and running to a small grouping of buildings along the outskirts. Had some of the Sergeants and stronger-willed men not gotten their first to turn the others around, many would have likely kept running, but a new line was thankfully established and a brief respite gained as the mortar barrage continued, laying a barrier between the two forces. Most of the heavier weapons were lost, abandoned in the hectic and sudden withdrawal and leaving the remaining men, including those of the weapons company, had to make due with the small arms they had.

“Baker to Sharpe, sorry about that. We had to ah, displace. Mortars hit our position,” Braxley radioed in as he came to a halt in one of the taller buildings. “You were saying?”

“Baker One-Two we do not have any support available. Chinese aircraft are swarming all overhead and the Air Force has its hands full. Any fire support we’ve got is engaged or coming under counterbattery.”

“Alright… okay, understood. Are there reinforcements inbound, over?”

“Rein- One-Two there are no reinforcements! The whole damn line’s already collapsing and Battalion CP here is going to have to evac eventually,” Sharpe explained. “Whatever reserves we’ve got are already deployed trying to slow the tide down. You’ve got to help with that, too.”

“What!? Sharpe do not tell us we have to stay here! Don’t leave us to fucking die here! Please!”

“Relax and listen Baker! We’re trying to hold off the Chinese and get our people out. I know you can’t see it from where you are but this whole situation is an extreme clusterfuck of historic proportions! We’ll get you an evac but you need to hold and survive till then.”

“Ah… understood Sharpe.”

“Look from where you are in town, there’s a big three story blockhouse built as a defensive post on the outskirts of town, at the fork in the dirt road. You hold your current line as long as you can then you buy out back to that secondary line. Evac LZ is probably going to be the wheat farm farther east, so don’t let them reach that. Understood?”

“WILCO Sharpe, Two-One getting at it, out,” Braxley affirmed before turning to the rest of the troops. “Listen, we have to hold this area and survive till evac shows up. On my call fall back to the blockhouse outside of town, but not any earlier!”

“Heads up, I can see them! Hostile foot mobiles moving up!” Sergeant Pete yelled out.

The Chinese infantry began to advance into the village as the mortar barrage ceased, running over the abandoned American defensive line. Many took up firing positions in the buildings and began to exchange fire with the Americans across the way, reigniting the fire fight. Still, they did not advance as quickly as their commanders wished. There was a sizable gap of open space between the American and Chinese sections, not excessively large but enough that made entering it an extreme hazard, one many PLA infantry did not wish to take.

The firing intensified with random soldiers on both sides being struck, either from peeking out to fire or bullets penetrating the walls. The first two squads of Chinese infantry attempted to cross and instantly became the targets of every American weapon. Henry watched as Axel fires his SAW and cut down three running through a tight opening, watching them drop to the ground.

He noticed a single Chinese soldier through one of the alleys gesturing wild, most probably a sergeant driving his men forward. Two quick shots from his Carbine struck the NCO’s hand, driving him back into cover. His next target was a prone Chinese soldier firing on a neighboring American position in the open. After three shots one of the bullets struck his face, killing him instantly.

The slaughter continued in this manner. His next victim, a young rifleman charging across the open, recurved a three-round burst in the chest. Axel killed two others that attempted to follow, and then two more who came shortly after. He heard Yakubov holler as he gunned down one of the Chinese skirmishers, an automatic weapon operator in the far building.

All of the American teams performed synonymously in this manner, but the pressure and casualties were mounting quickly. As the infantry continued their assault, the Chinese APCs sheepishly moved ahead, halting along the edge of their territory and firing cannon rounds into the American positions. Seconds later, mortar shells began to strike their positions again.

“Fall back, get back now!” Braxley finally ordered.

The surviving Americans broke and ran almost all at once, high-tailing out of the village and across the open fields, down the road towards the blockhouse. The men gathered there, at the concrete position, standing at three stories in an ‘L’ shape. This time, thankfully, the commanders did not have to exert as much force to keep their men here. The various survivors spread out amongst the crowded building, losing most semblance of unit cohesion and turning more into a general group of ragged survivors.

Once again, the Chinese were unable to immediately follow. The chance to overrun them or gun them down in the open field had been lost as their advance had been halted by their own mortar barrage. Each of the Chinese commanders was furious at the delay, though there was little that could be done as the badly-lacking coordination skills of the inexperienced PLA broke down.

“Sharpe, Baker One-Two,” Braxley called over the radio, now thoroughly exhausted from the combat and anxiety. “Sharpe, come in.”

“Hey, any word yet?” one of the other Staff Sergeants asked.

“Hang on a sec. Baker One-Two to Sharpe, come in Sharpe… come in Sharpe. Sharpe do you read? Please respond. Come in Sharpe.”

“This is Sharpe,” the man on the other end of the call finally answered.

“Sharpe, Baker One-Two, we’ve retreated to the outskirts of the village, last line. Heavy losses, very depleted. Many wounded too. We’re also starting to run low on ammunition. Please tell me you’ve got an evac en route, over.”

“Affirmative Baker, you’re buying us a lot of time to get a lot of people out. We’ve got a Chinook lined up for you, callsign ‘Funnel’, but it’s still going to be a while before they can get over to you.”

“Thank you Sharpe, keep us updated.”

Henry and the others where setting up defenses in the meantime, waiting for the next wave. Ammunition was redistributed, but there was precious little to go around now. The order was passed to restrict the fire select to single shots only for the riflemen, and not to engage long-range targets. Every bullet had to be spent holding the enemy at bay.

“How much longer do we have to deal with this shit?” he asked to no one in particular. “They’re just going to keep shelling us to drive us back.”

“Those pussies can’t shoot for shit! That’s why they keep dropping mortars on us,” a nearby private pointed out. “Keep trying you blind-ass motherfuckers!”

“I got movement! Footmobiles swinging around the left flank!” one of the others warned.

“Break out your Bowie knives boys!” Sergeant Pete called out as the barrage stopped.

The Chinese infantry began to advance again, but it was far less coordinated and controlled than before. Various soldiers ran up at different directions and stopped at different points, making it easier to pick them off. Their own squads had become mingled and as such began to generally follow the actions of the others and the orders of the most immediate commander.

The building was plastered with small arms fire, though any Chinese attempting to cross were quickly cut down once they approached too closely. The handful that had moved around to the left flank to also attempted to advance but came under the same accurate fire, getting pinned down in a nearby tree line and in the ditches. At the front, a number took cover behind a short, partly broken stone wall only to find themselves pinned down here.

Henry performed as the others did, picking out individual targets and waiting for clear shots. He killed one with a shot to the chest, then another died when his own round and that of a fellow soldier’s hit him. He saw one of the PLA infantrymen behind the wall periodically sit up to fire his weapon and, after some timing, fired two rounds that grazed and wounded the target.

The assault continued for almost sixteen minutes, with the handful of soldiers of the 5th Division barely holding off the enemy. In spite of this, the Americans were still suffering heavily, virtually pinned within the small complex. The Chinese assault was designed to wear them down, which it was succeeding in. It would only be a matter of time before ammo would run out and they closed in for the kill.

Braxley had been firing plenty himself from his position at the higher tower of the blockhouse. He was reaching down to insert his last magazine when he noticed the radio was active. Dragging it up to him, he leaned back against the wall in cover, plugging his open ear to hear the voice over the constant gunfire.

“Sharpe to Baker One-Two, come in!”

“Baker One-Two, sorry Sir. Was a little preoccupied.”

“Baker we’ve got help headed your way, a flight of two Cobras will be on station soon, callsign is Cotton Two-One and Two-Two. They’ll cover your retreat.”

“Ho sh- man that’s great news Sir!”

“Yeah, we’re also going to lay down a smoke barrage on your previous position with the last of the mortar rounds here. Soon as that smoke hits you all hightail your asses to the farm. Funnel will be there for pickup, ETA is eight minutes. You can contact them and the Cobras on TAC Three, understood?”

“Copy, thank you Sharpe!”

“Alright listen, we’re about to pull out here ourselves. Soon as that lasts shell is out of the tubes we’re gone and you’ll be on your own. How copy, Baker?”

“Solid copy, Sharpe.”

“Good luck guys, out.”

With the battalion command retreating, Braxley switched the channel of the radio to the one of the helicopters.

“Baker One-Two to Cotton, can you read me, over?”

“Cotton Two-One to Baker, we’re almost on station! Get ready to fall back and leave the work to us, out!”

The first of the mortar shells struck the front, exploding into a thick fog of smoke and obscuring the vision of both sides. As only Braxley had been informed, neither side expected it, but when the Americans realized many shells landing atop the Chinese positions they realized it to be friendly. As suggested by Sharpe, Braxley wasted no time, immediately ordering a retreat.

“Fall back to the farm!” he called out to the men around him. “Retreat to the farm! Go! Get out of here!”

Seconds later, the Cobras arrived, moving in close to fire on the PLA in the smoke. The gunners peered through the smoke with their onboard infrared sights, picking out the masses of heat signatures within it. Their guns rattled away, quickly tearing apart many of the Chinese infantry trying to advance. Two Chinese APCs, which had just now begun to advance again, were spotted and struck with a barrage of rockets from the gunship’s Hydra 40s. The helicopters had quickly turned back the enemy attack, inflicting a number of casualties in the process.

The final obstacle between the Americans and the landing zone at the farm was a long, thick field of wheat growing abnormally high at an average of about five feet, blocking any real sight. The men quickly broke and disappeared into it, soon losing each-other within it. Thankfully, all only had to run in the same, straight direction to reach the other end. Each soldier used whatever strength left to hustle through the dusty field.

Braxley himself was just entering behind them when he heard voices over the radio shouting again. At first he thought nothing of it, knowing he had to retreat first or risk being left behind, until he heard a large explosion behind him. He glanced back to see one of the Cobras falling from the sky as a burning wreck, fallen victim to a Chinese MANPAD team.

He pulled out the radio again as the second Cobra retreated over him, but halfway past it was struck in the tail by another MANPAD missile. He only heard the pilot call out that they had been hit as the gunship spun and crashed into the field. A sizable cloud of dust marked the crash site.

“Cotton do you read?” he tried once before grasping the situation and quickly returning to the retreat.

He ran into and across the fields, knowing there was now nothing left between him and the PLA. In the mad dash, he incidentally also stumbled upon the crash site, seeing the Cobra on it’s side. The pilot was clearly still moving, trying to break out of his cockpit. The Sergeant elected to help him, knowing fully how quickly the danger was encroaching on him, but not willing to sacrifice others for it. Chained to a devotion to his allies, somewhat frustratingly for himself, he ran to the helicopter and began to aid the injured man as the others continued running through the field, cut-off from one-another.

Henry, like most of the others, ran blindly through the dry field, terrorized at the prospect of being left behind to the enemy. Running through the wheat kicked up a fair amount of dust as the soldiers realized how dry the fields were from lack of proper rainfall. The dust coated the men, covering and stinging their eyes and choked them as the exhausted troops gasped for air. Still, the men did not dare stop; driven forward by a fear for survival, they stumbled ahead until they reached the end.

Charging forward through a sea of brown and gold he suddenly burst out into an opening, clear for a long ways ahead save for a barn and farmhouse. He had made it, and bent over coughing and gasping, desperate for a clean breath. Many of the other soldiers were also around him, though lacking any further cohesion, milling about in confusion. Sergeant Braxley was nowhere to be seen, and Sergeant Pete was busy conversing with the family of farmers who lived there. No one seemed to know what to do anymore, and the helicopter that was supposed to bear them to safety had not yet arrived, causing an increasingly noticeable panic.

“Hey… where… where’s the chopper?” he asked one of the nearby soldiers.

“I don’t know man!”

“They’re coming, just hang on,” Orlov responded coldly, going through his remaining ammunition. “Calm yourself and get everything in order.”

“Shit, what now!?” another worried. “How long till the chopper gets here? We can’t hold out here for long.”

“Hey, give me a hand damn it!” they heard a voice call out as Braxley struggled out of the field, helping the injured pilot on his shoulder. “Orlov, get over here and help me! You, you too! Bring him to the barn, get a medic to check on him.”

Braxley handed the wounded man off as his squad and several others gathered around him. Sergeant Pete had to break off his conversation with the farm ponies and fall in to his superior, though the frantic civilians, not knowing what was happening, followed and ended up listening in from outside the circle of soldiers. Despite the confusion it was clear the situation was dire, and the only hope the men had was to survive. With their ammunition and their own bodies exhausted, and without true organization and cradling wounded men, there was no chance of real further resistance. The only chance was if the helicopter could arrive before the Chinese began their advance again, and with each passing second it was looking to be less likely.

“How many guys are left? Do we know?” Braxley questioned his men.

“I don’t know, I can’t catch them all,” Pete replied.

“I counted up to twenty,” Axel answered instead. “Probably more, I had to stop and more came in. Seven of them are wounded, counting the man you just brought in.”

“Most are guys are taking cover in the barn,” one of the other surviving sergeants added. “Can’t even tell who’s from what unit anymore.”

“Sir! What’s happening!?” the farmer pony shouted, becoming increasingly frightened by the dire state the soldiers were in. “What’s wrong!? I was told the front was way up ahead. Isn’t it supposed to be farther ahead!?”

“We got attacked, it’s not the Shadows, the Chinese are attacking us. They broke through our lines.”

“What!? Who-”

“Look, we don’t have any time for this! You and your family need to leave, right now! We can’t hold and they’ll be here any minute.”

“This is my farm! I can’t leave my home!”

“Well you can take your chances with the Chinese and the Shadows that follow, but… well I guess it’s my moral fucking duty to request you not take that chance,” Braxley shot back coldly. “Now get your family and whatever small belongings you can carry and go!”

“I… but I’ve got foals, we can’t outrun-”

“Then you’ll fucking come with us!” Braxley decided.

“You sure about that Sergeant?” Henry asked. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but we got to focus on taking care and ourselves and each-other before the civvies.”

“If we can find time to help,” the Staff Sergeant answered. “But we’re just sitting here waiting for evac. Fitting them on the chopper shouldn’t be hard, that’s all we have to do.”
“Yeah, I guess.”

“Axel, head to the farmhouse and help get the family and some of their stuff out of there.”

“WILCO Sergeant!”

“Sir, we know when the chopper will get here?” a corporal, seperate from the squad, asked him.

“Ah… few minutes?” Braxley replied, unsure of the exact time.

“We might not have that long, Sergeant.”

“We don’t have a choice, we can’t run anymore,” Pete pointed out. “We just have to pray the pilots get here before the commies do.”

“God I hate fucking waiting,” another private swore in frustration.

A loud warning from Private Yakubov acting as the lookout at the top level of the barn cut the conversation short, as if to suddenly kill any planning they might have started.

“Movement! I got movement at our previous position! Hostiles are reorganizing for another push!”

“Can you tell how many?” Sergeant Pete yelled up to him.

“Negative, but a lot! Seeing some dust and vehicle movement as well, they got some kind of armor coming!”

“Fuck man, this is it!” one of the men panicked slowly. “Soon as they get through that field-”

“Can that shit Corporal!” Pete fired back, trying to control the situation.

“Fuck, we can’t hold against that. I’m sorry Sarge… but, fuck we’re done. We can’t.”

“There’s no way we can hold off any advance. Especially not with armor,” Braxley admitted. “We can’t run anymore, too exhausted, and the wounded.”

“I say we fight, long as we can,” Orlov added coldly. “Kill as many as possible.”

“It’s just till the chopper gets here right?” Henry remarked.

“No way we can hold, and if they get across… even if the chopper gets here it’ll land in that open area behind the barn… totally exposed.”

“They’ll shoot it to shit.”

“Yeah… fuck… I’m sorry guys.”

“Orlov is right, we should go out fighting, killing our enemy. That’s how warriors die,” Yakubov continued without change to his demeanor. “That’s how a Russian should die.”

“Yeah well I don’t want to fucking die yet Ivan!” another soldier shot back.

“Staff Sergeant, what’s the plan!?” Yakubov called from the barn to his superior.

“We did all we could, I… I don’t know… anymore,” Braxley responded up to him, loud enough to get the attention of the rest of the men. “I don’t want the wounded to die, I don’t want the rest of you to die… I… maybe we should tap out.”

“Surrender!?” Pete jumped. “Sarge, what-”

“I don’t know what else to do alright! I don’t know what else to do… there’s no point in us all dying, we bought time for the guys behind us to retreat. We fought hard, didn't we? We did what we had to, we did good. We can call it quits with a little honor I think. Fuck… maybe get a white sheet from the farmhouse… roll it up the barn, I don’t know.”

There was an air of dead silence among the men, punctuated only by the sounds of far off battle. Many were left in a silent state of shock, and others dimly tried to bring themselves to the reality they were facing. All of them would be prisoners of war, subject to an unknown kind of treatment, but one that was likely to be painful. The broken Staff Sergeant’s words had put some solace to the beaten soldier’s pride, and now that the remaining option seemed clear and their fates sealed it was a matter of acceptance.

Each man slowly realized what they were about to lose. They would no longer be able to help their countrymen in this war, unable to help tip the balance to victory over defeat. They would no longer be able to see their friends or family, their homes and the happiness it brought for an extensive period of time, several years perhaps. It was quite possible they would not return home at all; depending on their treatment and which enemy nation kept them they could spend their last years of life suffering under the pain of a brutal camp for torture or reeducation in China. Each came to their own conclusions on the matter, but each soldier reserved his final solemn thoughts as a free man to himself.

“Alright… I’m going to call up the evac chopper and tell them to break off. Everyone get rid of your weapons and we’ll see-” Braxley started to order before being hit by a fit of coughs. “Ach-ah… fucken… ugh.”

“You good Brax?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, just some of that damn dust got in my mouth,” he said, spitting a bit of it out. “Damn dry fields.”

“Wait! I got it!” a new voice shouted. “Staff Sergeant, I got it!”

The voice belonged to Private Raul of the squad’s Bravo Fireteam. He was almost always silent unless he was required to speak, and had kept this up through the discussions of the men since they had reached the farm. His sudden surprising outburst was enough to grab everyone’s attention.

“Raul? What’ve you got?” Henry asked.

“We burn it! We burn the fields!” he declared. “I worked on a farm before this, you know that. We had to be careful when it got this dry. When it does get this dry it will burn up!”

“Scorched earth?”

“We just need to light it! With wheat this tall and dry, we’ll create a wall of fire between us and the Chinese!”

“You crazy fucking farm boy!” Pete exclaimed happily. “All that time you spend flipping that half-dollar must’ve turned you into a genius!”

“Yeah, yeah that could work!” Braxley agreed. “It’s like Sharpe said, the Chinese stick to the book. Their infantry won’t advance through a flaming field like that, and if they don’t advance the armor won’t either.”

“Alright, we’re doing it!? We’re doing it! Yak! Hey Yakubov! Find me some of those oil lanterns from the barn and bring them down here!”

“I’ll phone the chopper and tell them to expect a big smoke plume,” Braxley said before turning to Henry. “Corporal I uh… I need you to break the news to the farmer.”

“Oh shit you just have to ruin the moment by giving me that job huh Sergeant?”

“Just go tell him Corporal.”

Henry complied, taking his time to walk over towards the farmhouse and going over the wording of the explanation in his head. He met the farmpony halfway there and saw Axel accompanying the family members out of the house, lugging a few suitcases with their belongings. The farmer was clearly already in a state of heavy distress, and it hurt Henry that he was now about to make it far worse.

“Hey, so how are we getting out of here?” the small, stout pony asked. “Is it one of those, flying things, the-”

“Helicopter.”

“Is it here yet?”

“Well not yet it's… going to be a bit longer but-”

“How much longer!?”

“Uh… Sir we… look, we need to buy time for it to get here, and the only way we can do that is by lighting the wheat fields on fire.”

“What!?” the pony shrieked, nearly falling from the revelation. “You can’t burn my fields! This is my life!”

“We need to keep the Chinese at bay. Only way we can do that is creating a big fire between us.”

“But you can’t! I grew all that, that’s-”

“Watch out Henry!” Orlov called out, running to the fields with Yakubov and some others, carrying some lanterns and other flammable materials.

“No! Stop it! No you were supposed to be here to help us not burn everything!” the farmer yelled, trying to run after them before Henry restrained him. “Stop! Stop them! You have to stop them, let me go! You-”

“We’re all fucking dead if we don’t do this!” the young soldier shouted. “We can’t stop them, this is the only way we can get out of here. I’m sorry I- I wish we could do something else.”

“No… why… why,” the pony started repeating.

“We just can’t.”

“Why is this happening? Oh sweet… why does this have to happen?”

The American soldiers began to slam the lanterns into the ground at the edge of the field, shattering the glass and spilling the oil as the flames quickly jumped across the ground. Fistfuls of hay and other items were added as kindling and some began using their personal lighters to speed up the process. None knew if the Chinese were advancing already, but the drive to survive and escape drove them to fan the flames quicker.

Raul’s advice proved true as the dry, dusty plants quickly caught fire. The burning line grew within seconds and expanded greatly, the flames eating into the tall, tightly packed wheat. Soon the whole field was being eaten by a long line of fire inching across it towards the Chinese’s end, the flames reaching higher than the men who lit them. Tall clouds of smoke covered the air ahead of them as everyone watched. Henry still held the farmer back for safety, though he looked to be on the verge of tears while his family had already broken down and started crying, falling to the earth below them.

“Why… why?”

“God… son of a bitch. I’m sorry, I promise we’ll take this land back, we’ll take your land back one day,” Henry swore. “And one day I’ll… Hell, I’ll come over and help you grow all this back. We’ll fix it, I’ll help.”

Having spent most all of his life in Brooklyn, Henry felt this was somewhat of an empty promise. He knew nothing of growing any kind of plant, much less farming like this, but he felt he had to say something, anything to ease the pain, while inside the prospect of the lie to false hope stuck at his heart like a needle. All he said he would do was help, and he reconciled with himself that, once the war ended, there would always time to learn new things.

A handful of minutes passed and the fire line continued to burn forward towards the other end of the field. It seemed to be doing it’s job, as the Chinese facing it made no attempts to advance across the inferno. Soon the American soldiers were greeted with the sound of relief, a droning kind of hum from their rear, and soon after a long Chinook helicopter appeared, speeding into their airspace.

“Baker this is Funnel, y'all still kicking down there, over?”

“Affirmative Funnel, this is Baker! We’re still here, ready for evac, over!”

“Hell and damnation, what did you boys do down there!? That damn fire looks worse than when I dumped some gas on my grill!” the pilot replied, bringing his heavy helicopter to a stop and adjusting it as he descended. “You boys had better count yourself lucky the wind was blowing the other direction! God knows if it was the opposite, I wouldn’t be able to land, all that damn smoke blowing everywhere.”

“Very lucky, the smoke’s probably obscuring their vision, they might not see you.”

“Well then hurry the Hell up and get on board Baker, don’t be wasting time!”

“Will do Funnel, thank you, out!” Braxley finished. “Alright, our ride’s here guys! You all, help the wounded get on board! Everyone mount up, we’re getting out of here!”

The Americans moved with a fervor, collecting the various wounded men, including the surviving Cobra pilot, and helping them onto the Chinook first, seating them close to the back near the cockpit as the door gunners watched the flanks. Next the civilians came with what luggage they had, roused from their grief and brought into the cabin. Henry joined Braxely at the ramp and looked over the area, seeing if there were any stragglers, though with the noise of the helicopter every soldier knew where to go, and as such none would be left behind.

The two watched as each man entered the helicopter. Each one’s face was a mix of exhaustion, terror, and yet ultimate relief, dirty and gaunt and some rather bloody, but each was brought into their little ark. Each was a man, a life, and a soul saved in this Hellish scenario they all suffered through, and there was a great sense of pain at the small numbers of the men contrasted with one of joy at each man that was being rescued, and each boarding was personally relished. Their squad was the last to join; Corporal Jarvis and Sergeant Nick Clovis were not among them, but Henry went over the ones that were as their faces passed him to board the Chinook. ‘Pistol’ Pete, Orlov, Raul, were followed by Axel and Yakubov, then Braxley, and finally himself.

The heavy-lift helicopter’s rotors sped up and pulled the Chinook into the sky, making it’s course away from the battlefield and on to friendlier skies. It was a crippling battle, which some began calling the Battle of Goldfields, in reference to the town, and which many of the individual troops began calling the Battle of the Wheat Field in their own grim, dark sense of humor. The entire army had suffered, and the 5th Division was hurt; Baker Company and many of its other allied units were left beaten, bloody, and half-crippled. So many men of the company, of other units, all American soldiers, were left dead or wounded and captured on the field. Still, as Henry went over this in his mind, in the safety of the helicopter, he noticed with a smile and a feeling of delight that the cabin was uncomfortably cramped; the Chinook’s belly was quite full.

Author's Note

Flashpoints

May 8th, 2006
1000 Hours
Washington D.C.

Washington D.C. had been a bit dimmer as of late, dimmer and busier. This was all the result of the war, a far-off conflict that nonetheless provoked large, hard-felt effects. It was similar across the entire country, the feeling of a nation, of its people, gearing itself towards titanic martial conflict.

Recruitment had spiked, a hopeful sign showing the populace was largely behind the war and willing to bear its burdens, but a draft was implemented all the same. It caused some minor dissent, but this was padded by ensuring it was less stereotypically selective than in the past. Power, social standing, and career, or local thereof in other instances, did far less to exempt people from duty. Those who were capable of joining and helping would have no excuse to abandon their countrymen at the front.

Indeed, some people working jobs of a higher, more vital level had a greater chance of being called up at times, depending on availability. Some nuclear-trained personnel were selected and sent to the Navy to work on the nuclear powered warships. The selection of people, who, where, and how many, had to be carefully handled in many parts. It was ensured that the most vital elements to ensure society’s function, from police to doctors to farmers, maintained adequate numbers to perform their own duties on the homefront, but any excess was quickly drained off.

The only bit of exception falling to those necessary, which inevitably included the rich and higher politicians. These however were still not safe, as the ‘necessary businesses’ were redirected to more vital productions. Their immediate family was also not entirely safe from recruitment. Some had the option of escaping it by making an exceptionally sizable donation to the military through war bonds or to the common families that struggled with their sons having left. This choice by one of the wealthier men financed the construction of an entirely new Arleigh Burke destroyer on his payment alone. Another, doing so partly of an old sense of duty, gave enough to thoroughly equip a sizable portion of one of the forming National Guard divisions, with the added point that it be given to the unit forming in his home state.

The entire situation on paper gave off a darker picture than what reality was. The country and its people were certainly feeling the effects of the war, and it was quite noticeable, but despite all this it had yet to transform completely. Society had not evolved past the current form totally to one of pure war, with a people gripped solely by this great battle, only retaining basic needs as it rationed and overproduced itself for the war effort, with so many in harm’s way and the others dedicated to support. America itself, thankfully, was still in a relatively peaceful and normal, though greatly altered, state. However, the possibility of falling into such a one-track style was far more prevalent with today’s recent disasters.

Most within the government and military had been constantly at work since the war began. President James has made briefings solely on the war a daily matter, but these ‘emergency briefings’ were becoming uncomfortably common. The stress of the entire situation, waiting for news day to night and feeling his stomach twist when the phone rang, was taking its toll. Now he was in another meeting that was about to begin, surrounded by the Chiefs and various other military and government officials whose presence was required, chugging coffee to rouse himself.

“So what’ve we got now? What are these problems you were telling me we had?”

“The moves the Chinese and their friends are making on a global level.”

“I figured they had bigger plans. Alright let’s hear it, did they go with anything we predicted? What’s their doctrine look like?”

“It’s the Flashpoint Doctrine, Sir,” the Navy Chief, Admiral Lahure, told him. “Looks to be a modified version of the kind we theorized before. It seems the Chinese are going with it.”

One of the many possibilities for China’s grand overall battle plan, the Flashpoint Doctrine entailed expanding the current conflict into a true world war. Rather than attempt to fight all of America’s forces on one front in the Pacific and in Arcaia, they would, via proxy conflict, force the United States to spread its forces out across the globe in order to cover various key parts needed to ensure victory. This would ensure their forces would be drawn out and strained, or risk losing important locations and resources to them.

“So they’re planning to divide our forces after all, huh?” the President mulled. “Well, we had this contingency on the table. Give me the detailed rundown. Start with our backyard in Central and South America and work West to East. Where are the carriers? They’re on the move, still safe?”

“Yes Sir, they’re safe as far as we know. We can go over their positions as we move through the regions.”

“Let’s get to it then,” President James said, taking a drink from his cup.

“Well, as always the biggest issue in Central America is Cuba. They're the closest and with the supplies China’s given they’re a real threat to the Continental US. Florida is in danger now.”

“Have they made any aggressive moves yet?”

“A few US maritime patrol aircraft had some warning shots fired at them but no hits. Any American aircraft that flies within a few miles of Cuba, military or civilian, is getting locked and tracked by SAMs if they’re in range. The Cuban Navy’s been making shifty moves towards the coast, same with their Air Force. The whole state’s under alert and the Keys are on lockdown. There’s a real fear of them bombarding targets like the Keys and Miami with land-launched cruise missiles,” the Joint Chiefs Chairman, and Army general, explained. “Currently the USAF Air National Guard are holding things down in the area but we’re shifting forces. The George H. W. Bush is going to transfer there soon from her trial grounds in the Atlantic; we want to keep her close to home since she just finished outfitting and commissioning.”

“Alright… any ground forces we can use if needed?”

“The Corps’ reserve is getting the Fourth Division assembled in New Orleans. The Army National Guard’s Thirty-First Division is already deploying to defend southern Florida, so they’re the most immediate units I’d use if you want to take the offensive,” the Army’s General Taggert answered.

“Good, good. What about Guantanamo?”

“Hasn’t been attacked yet but it’s been blockaded all around. There’s very little chance we can hold it should full hostilities break out.”

In regards to Cuba, everyone realized Guantanamo Bay would be the most immediate issue to deal with. Beyond its use as a detention black site, it was virtually cut off from the rest of the armed forces and surrounded by potential hostiles. The three strategic options available to them were to be evacuated, attempt to stand their ground, or be reinforced in hopes of using it as an existing foothold to attack Cuba. Only the first of these made any reasonable sense; there were too few men there to withstand a full direct assault nor enough supplies for a prolonged siege, and it was too small to act as a sizable jumpoff point for a large-scale ground war.

“Then our first order of business for the carrier group is to evacuate all prisoners and key personnel, have them get through the blockade even if they have to ram through any boats. Make sure they’re escorted all the way but no firing unless fired upon. Strict rule on that, got it?” James ordered clearly. “We need to drag this standoff out until we’re in a better position. Just get our guys out. And have the group stay in that area. When the shooting starts I want all the men still stationed there evaced as well, we’re not leaving them there. Understood?”

“Yes Sir, though that will put the H.W. in a poor counterattack position, away from our coast.”

“We’ll deal with Cuba when the time is right. For now we need to isolate them and get our people out. Evac all key personnel immediately, then the rest once conflict breaks out. Then transition back to the States, got it?”

“Got it, they’ll get it done,” the Admiral affirmed, jotting down the long string of detailed orders in a notebook for later.

“Sounds like it’s covered then. What’s next?” James asked.

“Nicaragua is-”

“Nicaragua?”

“Yes Sir, it’s only a moderate ally to Cuba, even less so to China. They don’t pose a major threat to the US itself or our military but they’ve turned into a major problem as of late,” Lahure spoke up. “U-2 overflights and radio intercept has indicated buildup and a shift of their forces south. We think they may join the war and launch an offensive through Costa Rica and into Panama.”

“They’re going after the Canal?”

“We think so since it would curtail our naval traffic and ocean trade in general, it would give them a significant power boost.”

“And then they are a real problem… Christ sake,” the President groaned.

“Right now we have the Constellation and her group in the Gulf. But considering Costa Rica doesn’t have a military and Panama’s isn’t a match, it probably won’t be enough.”

“I was talking with the Costa Rican ambassador earlier,” the Vice President spoke up. “They said that due to the clear aggressive actions of forces on their northern border, their country is willing to accept a US division to stay there. One division, and no combat aircraft in the airports or ships in the seaports. And the division must leave as soon as the threat has passed.”

“Taggert?” the President turned to the Army’s Chief.

“Ah… huh… well I think I can get the Sixth together and there in good order. Just one unit but it’s a regular one, frontline. Well trained and fully equipped with armor, artillery, choppers, fully mechanized. It’d perform better than a Guard division.”

“Good, go with that. What’s next on the list?” he asked the Chairman.

“Venezuela.”

“Figures.”

“Like Nicaragua they’re not as close to China as others but-“

“But they’ve been friends with Cuba for years now.”

“Yes Sir. Radio’s been picking up a lot of traffic between them and Cuba. They’re probably coordinating as well, same as Nicaragua and Cuba.”

“I’m seeing a pattern here. Everything is revolving around that island.”

“For Central America, but Venezuela getting ready to fight is what’s rattling South America.”

“South America is turning into one of the most volatile places on the planet, James, the politics and dealing got played a little too hard. Now it’s a powder keg,” the Vice President cut in before allowing Admiral Lahure to conduct his assessment.

“Venezuela is cooperating with Cuba, and we’re predicting that their combined air and naval forces will try and take control of the waters between their two countries. The Forrestal battle group is moving into position in the middle, closer to Venezuela, to act as the wall between them. But there’s far bigger problems, because now all the neighbors are at each-other’s throats vying for regional power. Colombia and Venezuela have had border disputes in the past but now they’re looking to actually go at it. We’re not sure how Colombia will hold up, whether they’ll have to deal with FARC more isn’t known yet, but Brazil is supporting them thankfully. Either way they’ll need our help, and Forrestal will have to provide it.”

“Down south, Argentina’s causing problems, too,” the Air Force Chief added.

“We don’t have any issues with them. We’re not as close as we were and their influence has tipped a bit but they don’t like the Chinese,” said James before taking another drink from his mug.

“No Sir, but the Chinese seem to have played their hand in this regard. They’re not asking for any major alliance but they’re making noises about supporting Argentine territorial claims, two important ones in particular. The Falklands and the Tierra del Fuego.”

“Those little pieces of dirt and ice? They’re crazy enough to go to war over that? What’s that have to do with us?”

“Well if they try and take the Falklands, which it looks like they may, the British will move to take it back, same as last time. We’ll have to help them considering how much they’re helping us in Arcaia. What’s more worrying is Tierra del Fuego, that’s their main target,” the Chairman went on. “They’ll likely go to war with Chile; it looks like the 1984 treaty won’t hold up anymore. Argentina may go all-in and launch a full-scale invasion of the whole country to force it. It’s not our issue normally but the Chinese would support and possibly help them a little to achieve it. Problem is if they seize Tierra del Fuego, it gives them control over the Magellan Strait, and the single Chinese request is that they lock down any and all Allied sea traffic through the strait.”

“This is insane, we really don’t have a hand in a lot of these,” the President pointed out. “But they’re forcing us into it, they’re real devious with their promises.”

“Bolivia is saying openly they’d join in on any Argentine invasion, too. Invade from the north to claim a coastline. No pressure from our side or China, just a century-old animosity that’s kicked off. Brazil’s our biggest ally in the region, they’re not fans of China and have a vested interest in the status quo. They’ve stated they’ll go to war with Argentina in response and send their army into Bolivia as well. We can’t tell what any of the other countries will do, Paraguay, Peru, the like. But these few pushes are knocking the whole continent into the fire. There’s not much we can do to help one way or the other.”

“Nothing we can send?”

“The John F. Kennedy and her group are already in the South Atlantic, but all they’ll be able to do is support Brazil and will be on station to help the British in the Falklands. It’s not a full-strength CVBG, it’s got fewer ships due to them being sent to hotter areas, so less striking power.”

“God, it’s like the place is going to fall apart. We’ll have to focus on keeping our lanes open.”

“That’s all I’ve got for you for South America, Sir. You want to hear about Africa or Europe next?”

“Which one’s got worse news?”

“Africa.”

The group shifted over the large map, across the Atlantic to the lower half of the African continent. James chugged down the last of his drink, resting the mug down on the corner of the map before Lahure began with the naval regional assessment. The United States had virtually no existing presence in Africa compared to elsewhere, and with resources stretched thin and getting thinner any major action would be difficult to launch and complete there.

“Don’t bother with the local conflicts, you can leave all that to the UN and the Europeans in their old colonies. Just give the ones that involve us,” he ordered.

“Will do… well, there’s a handful of conflicts the Chinese have been sticking their heads in, but the most worrying one is in Angola. It looks like they’ve set up a naval base there. It’s small, and they don’t seem to have any major battlegroups there, but it’s sizable enough to act as a submarine base for Chinese or Bloc subs. We’re having a hard enough time protecting shipping in the Pacific, and any base there would give their subs free range through most of the Atlantic.”

“There’s also the danger of surface raiders,” Avery, a CIA analyst spoke up for the first time. “Sorry, but I thought I should add that. We’ve been seeing issues with Bloc surface raiders, mostly around Arcaia and it’s waters but in other areas of the Pacific. They’re spreading out, too. There seem to be a lot and vary in size; battleships, cruisers, frigates, destroyers. A surface raider in this area could cause serious damage to us, and to international shipping.”

“Thank you, Mister Avery,” Lahure replied.

“I get it, we can’t let that happen. I’m assuming that means Angola doesn’t like us either?” James assumed.

“They claim to be staying out of it, and don’t seem to be making any major moves, but I don’t think they’ll appreciate any combat operations on their soil. Still their military isn’t really exceptional in the conventional sense; they won’t be a large threat.”

“Any chance we can seize the base?”

“We can probably use some special forces to raid the base, but I’m not sure we can seize it. The Angolans don’t seem to want to fight but won’t likely accept us occupying a piece of their land. More importantly we can’t waste any more units for that task; they’ll be locked down there,” General Taggert answered.

“Best thing we can do is blockade it and use aircraft and spec ops to raid and strike it, and anywhere else the Chinese might pop up in Africa,” Lahure concluded. “Problem is we don’t have any spare carriers for the region. We had the Kennedy but she’s already been redirected.”

“Can we redirect another from a less-crowded region?”

“I suppose we could, it will be your call in the end. What do you want to do, Sir? Redirect the JFK or send another carrier?”

James drummed his fingers against his temple for a minute, trying to decide which would be best to send.

“Redirect the Constellation. Sorry but the Sixth in Costa Rica will have to make due. They can get their air support from Air Force flights from the mainland.”

“Will do, Sir,” Lahure acknowledged, writing another short note for later. “I’ll send the order to redirect them towards Africa.”

“Next is Europe,” the Chief Chairman moved on. “It’s the only place that’s got good news.”

James pulled his cup up to his face to take another sip before realizing it was empty.

“Damn it. Bill, could you fill this up again? Just from right over there, that pot on the table?” he asked, handing it over to the Marine Chief. “Thanks. So what’s the good news about Europe.”

“The good news is there’s not much happening, believe it or not. We figured the Russians would get in on the game, try to attack us there and open up another major front. That would’ve been a serious problem but it doesn’t seem like they’re trying to do that. There’s been some troop movements here and there but the massive buildup along the front isn’t happening.”

“It’s actually looking like they’re trying to do it through their own proxies,” the Marine Chief added, handing a full cup back to James. “There’s actually been some buildup of Belorussian and Ukranian troops along the Polish border. They might attack to try and distract us. But the Russians themselves? Not much. Might have some of their guys secretly mixed in them but without full massive commitment they won’t be able to drain off our forces. Any assaults can be dealt with by the rest of NATO and whatever units we’ve got left over there.”

“Their maritime activity’s about the same,” Lahure pointed out. “The Northern Fleet’s sortied out, been moving around the Norwegian Sea. The Royal Navy’s keeping some of it’s carriers there to keep an eye on them. Not much happening but we’ll have to keep an eye on it to make sure it stays that way.”

“Next on the map is the Middle East,” the Chairman said.

“That wonderful place,” General Taggert groaned.

“I’m sure it’s still as broken as it was when I was in the Gulf,” James commented. “I’m familiar enough with their local bickering, Lahure just give me the rundown of the naval forces there.”

“Kitty Hawk’s BG is holding down the Mediterranean. Libya’s likely to make some moves around there, try to assert the Gulf of Sidra again and go after some nearby oil platforms, might try to mess with us since we’re worn out but it’s unlikely they’ll be able to hurt us. The French and Italians are more than happy to help considering how close they are and their carriers are already sailing nearby too, so that’ll be locked down. Syria will probably take this chance to go after Israel but we probably won’t have to worry since the Israelis can take care of themselves. We won’t get involved unless they’re in real trouble and threatening to nuke the whole region if they’re overrun or anything like that, but again that’s unlikely. If we do decide to jump in the Hawk will have to move up and pull double-duty.”

“Doesn’t seem like it concerns us too much,” the Vice President noticed.

“No Sir, but it’s the same as always. Some threats to maritime commerce and other trades but not really a direct problem. Thing is, Syria and especially Libya don’t like us. They can’t hurt us on a strategic level but if they think we’re weak enough or not paying attention they’ll try small-scale actions. Small bombings like back in the day, attacking local patrol aircraft, anything to pick at us a little more on a lower level.”

“Alright, just make sure the carrier’s ready to move if we need her more somewhere else,” James said, ready to move on to the primary part of the region.

“The Arabian Peninsula’s next. The Iranians and Saudis already hate each-other and are in a stalemate, but Iran’s always been one of China’s closer allies, and the Chinese are really whipping at them to invade. Hard to tell what the outcome of a cross-strait invasion would be but it would likely be bad. Even if it fails, the disruption it would cause to the oil as well the shipping traffic in the Strait of Hormuz has the serious potential to cause a worldwide economic and energy crisis, so there’s plenty of agreement from most countries to keep them in check. The Truman is already in position in the Gulf. Other than that there are a few Air Force squadrons in Kuwait, and the army’s already moving three divisions there, including the 50th Armored Division.”

“And Iraq?” the President queried towards the CIA director. “You know if they’re planning anything?”

The Middle East, and Iraq in particular, had always been a worrying spot for James. It likely stemmed from his time in the Gulf War; having a personal experience with such things tended to focus one’s mind on them just as one better recognizes their home among other’s houses. Sitting at the crossroads of the world, in such a volatile area, it was difficult to not only predict but also truly, resoundingly deal with whatever happened there.

“No major movements yet, they might try something but they’re too scared after the Gulf War I think. They’re dealing with their internal issues, and the CIA says a Chinese attempt to get them to invade Kuwait and Saudia Arabia again was denied outright. They don’t like the Saudis but they hate the Iranians more,” the agency’s director spoke out. “We can’t say for sure what will happen, but as of now they’re sitting in place.”

“Good to see things are in shape there, at least. Guess we still have that area on lockdown since ‘91. We always kept a presence in the Gulf. But what are the odds of this exploding into something bigger? Like South America?”

“Very likely. But we can’t fully tell when, where, or how. The region’s somewhat unpredictable, and outside these areas we can’t spare anyone.”

James smoothed out the paper on his end, catching a glimpse of the time on his wrist watch. Almost forty minutes had passed since the briefing had begun. Time moved quickly when discussing defense doctrine and geopolitics, much too quickly. His holdover habits still plagued him, even at such a high level, every minute mattered. Every minute another soldier killed, another move made by the enemy, but someone at his high level could not command such minor things. They were moving faster than him, faster than he could keep up with, or anyone here could.

“The Indian Ocean is kind of a wild area. The only presence we have there is at Diego Garcia,” the Chairman continued on to the next area. “We’ve already got that base well manned, a fair number of fighter and bomber squadrons and the RAF has a couple squadrons there as well. The Nimitz CVBG is based in Diego Garcia and is currently pointed at Pakistan, but can maneuver to assist with Iran or head to Southeast Asia and strike at China from there.”

“I guess Pakistan’s made their choice then,” James added with a scowl.

“Yes, we figured they would side with the Chinese and now it’s looking like they’ll join the war with them officially.”

“Bastards, after all the support we gave back in the eighties. Some of those planes we’ll be fighting will be our own models.”

“It’s partly due to India, but I’ll get to that in a moment. Sir, did you have any plans for the Nimitz?”

“India? Tell me about India first and then I’ll make a decision.”

“Well, India is an ally to us, in a strange way. Not exceptionally close; they’ve trained with us in Red Flag but we’re not doing much other than that,” the Chief of Staff explained. “However, they’re gearing up to go to war with China and Pakistan. China and Pakistan are already allies and India dislikes both. They’re taking this chance to attack China over territory in the Himalayas, and Pakistan over Kashmir. I guess they’re just that foolish, more old hatred, but it pushes Pakistan into China’s camp by default rather than away from us due to our actions. I suppose I don’t need to explain China and Pakistan.”

“That’s a big development, that would be a whole new front to the war.”

“Yes Sir, but it’s one we don’t have any real stock in, and anything other than some basic help would not be worth it. We don’t actually expect this to amount to much. India’s army isn’t very high quality, in equipment or training, but the mountains terrain means it can be locked down, so we’ll mostly see a stalemate and bloodbath in the Himalayas and around the borders, barring a major operational-level offensive. In the end it may be good, as it will likely be a drain on Chinese troops and resources near their mainland.”

“I should mention the Indians are also attempting to help the Tibetans. There’s a lot of talk around that part of the world of a Tibetan uprising since the war’s breaking out,” the CIA Director added. “We’re already looking at supplying them with equipment with this new development; an uprising would bleed off more of the Chinese in the region. I can assure you this front will be a significant drain.”

Starting additional uprisings was not the most alluring option, particularly ones they could not really control. However, the Chinese had made this a game of range and numbers, and their numbers had to be drained as much as possible. If they wished to open additional fronts against the U.S. without much effort, the U.S. would have to do the same. A basic reversal of the Flashpoint Doctrine, bleeding out China’s numbers in conflicts with local rivals.

“Alright Admiral, I’ve got something for the carrier,” James said to the sailor as he pressed his finger on the map. “We’re going to go with War Plan Ruby for the Nimitz, Operation Ramrod. With some changes to the original contingency.”

“I’m listening, Sir.”

“Firstly make sure Diego Garcia is secure. Fight off all attacks against it. Once that’s done, have the Nimitz and the local squadrons coordinate in strikes against Pakistan, primarily aimed at neutralizing their air and striking power, and any other important targets. After that, the carrier goes east, conducting preemptive strikes against Burma.”

James gave Lahure a minute to ensure he had everything written down.

“Understood Sir, but Burma- or, Myanmar, they haven’t made any openly hostile moves yet.”

“We already know they’re Chinese allies, they’ve said it, they’re just waiting for the right time, and China will force them to soon. We’ve already seen Chinese aircraft making regular visits to military airports there, so you’ve got carte blanche to cripple their naval and air power.”

“Alright, they’ll get it done. First strike should give them the upper hand on anything there.”

“After that, head through the Strait of Malacca and begin counterattacking China directly, hitting anything they have in the South China Sea, supporting any allies in the region, and attacking China directly if the opportunity arises. Just tell them not to push it; they’re alone and we don’t need to lose another carrier.”

“Will do… got it,” the Admiral confirmed, finishing the last of his scribbling. “I’ll work out those changes and we’ll commence Operation Ramrod as soon as we can. We’ll get control of the Indian Ocean.”

James turned back to his Vice President, who had a better grasp of the local politics of the area. Southeast Asia was a greater mystery than other areas of the globe. They disliked China, but were not direct American allies and there were very few U.S. forces in the region. There was not much that could be done with it.

“Guide me through the rest of this area, fast,” James asked him.

“Rest of Southeast Asia isn’t looking too good. China’s also using this opportunity to move in on a lot of territory of its various neighbors, or they’re taking the chance to attack China; depends on the country but they’re all looking to settle land disputes. The Chinese are moving in on Borneo and the rest of Indonesia, probably to secure the South China Sea and break out into the Indian Ocean. We’re not sure just how successful they’ll be. Beyond that you read the Five Eyes report from PACCOM’s meeting, so you know about The Philippines. Recently one of their frigates had a missile fired at them in the Luzon Strait; no damage but we can assume they’ll be in the war as well, even if it’s limited to their own turf. We don’t know which side Vietnam will take, if they’ll saddle up with China or turn against them. It’ll likely be the latter due to recent waters disputes but they’re likely just waiting for the right moment. At any rate, we can expect them to seize control of the South China Sea.”

James mulled over this with the others. The bigger additional factor to this area was the Chinese Navy’s carrier fleet, unspoken due to a more detailed briefing discussion the group had the day before. The advances in building ships and other weapons systems had not been restricted to the allied side, as the Bloc were the first to undertake such rapid expansion and assisted the Chinese in doing such as well. The exact number of carriers China possessed was not certain, though known to be at least six or seven, with the best five permanently assigned to a combined fleet.

This was a daunting number but while the quantity was high the quality of both ships and crews were still dubious. Unlike their Bloc allies, who were quickly adapting to carrier warfare and were boasting both numbers and a great quality in equipment upkeep and crew performance, the Chinese were clearly lacking. The mix of inexperience with such operations was combined and magnified by the stringent constraints of the authoritarian communist system they persisted in. With freedom and flexibility being replaced by indoctrination and punishment, the ability to learn and adapt was paralyzed and in turn the advantage of their new large fleet was curbed.

Still, it was a powerful fleet, and was sailing somewhere in the Far Eastern Pacific. Because of these problems it usually remained there, close to China itself, protecting their half of the ocean and the ship transport lines between them and Arcaia, content to allow the superior carrier forces of the Bloc nations duel with their American counterparts. Regardless, they were a dangerous factor that required constant monitoring.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on things there. There’s not much else we can do, but we can’t let them take over too much. If they plan to do it. What about the Far East?”

“Taiwan’s under the most immediate threat, as always. The strait islands were already invaded and seized a few hours ago, I think we can expect a full invasion of the island soon. Considering the terrain and fortifications, and the lack of amphibious and airborne invasion experience of the attackers, it’s going to be very bloody for the Communists. But, without support, it’s unlikely Taiwan can hold out against that goliath, and they don’t have support.”

“Nothing we can offer them?” James asked Lahure.

“Nothing that won’t open up holes in our own lines. I can send one, maybe two of the subs we still have in Japan, get them to do a quick sortie against the invasion fleet. It’ll probably be easy to hurt it, considering how packed the straits will be, but not enough to stop them.”

The men stared at the map, and the tiny blue island that represented Taiwan. It had been hoped that they could be used to keep China pinned in, and later be used as a base for strikes against the mainland. However, without help, they had no realistic chance of holding out for a prolonged period.

“How is Japan looking?”

“Mobilizing themselves. They’ve told us they’re still not taking direct part in the fighting in Arcaia but with China it’s a different story. We can probably expect the two navies to tangle in the East China Sea, and over some of the Ryukyu Islands,” the Chairman answered. “North Korea hasn’t done anything yet, surprisingly, but there’s no chance it’ll stay that way. Satellite imagery has shown a buildup of military units, so their silence is likely just a poor attempt at being sneaky. With us in such a major war there’s no chance those insane guys would pass up an opportunity to take South Korea.”

“Then we can’t pull anything out of there?” James guessed.

“I’m afraid the 2nd Infantry Division and the Air Force units stationed there will have to stay, but we’re hoping it will be enough to at least stop the attack. Everyone there and the South's military has been on alert and preparing since the war broke out, so they won’t have the element of surprise.”

“And that brings us to the main front in Arcaia. Have there been any new developments since this morning’s briefing?”

“No Sir, nothing major.”

“Give me a repeat on the rest of the flattops anyways,” the President insisted. “Fully, no stops.”

“Enterprise is still the only one of ours left near Arcaia proper, though the Equestrians have the Magic, and the Royal Navy’s Prince of Wales battlegroup with the Ark Royal in it too. The America’s combined carrier group with the Independence, Ranger, and Saratoga are still active and holding down Hawaii. Lincoln and Washington are in Pearl, Reagan and Ford in Seattle, all undergoing repairs; they’ll be out of action for some time. HMCS Presence and the rest of COMMAG have been deployed to the Marshall Islands on a strike mission. Theodore Roosevelt is operating near Australia to make sure the Chinese or Bloc don’t make any moves in the South Pacific but she can move north if needed. The Stennis is transiting to Arcaia now and should be reaching it within a few days. Eisenhower is cruising at high speed, still moving from her old station on the Pacific end of South America. She’s along the Mexican coast right now, she’ll reach San Diego in the next two days. Once there they’ll replenish and begin moving up the coast to help defend Alaska and reinforce our naval power in the Northern Pacific.”

With this came the worry of the Equestrians themselves. The Ponies had done reasonable since the war began, about as much as could be expected considering the circumstances, but not exceptionally well. Since China's entry into the war, even more pressure had been placed on them, and it had only gotten worse. The sad part was that, at least for now, they could not be fully relied upon, and these new developments meant fewer human forces would be available to cover for them. James worried about them, needless to say, though the desire of Americans to fight and save them was not as high as it was for fighting to stop the enemy, as it was beginning to feel more like a fight for them rather than with them. He could only hope that would change, that the Equestrians would get past their own failures, inexperience, and reservations, and improve, and hopefully in turn the general mood of the Americans would change.

"I'll have to talk to the Equestrians about these new developments," he groaned. "Gentleman, if there's nothing else to add, we'll have to wrap up."

"No Sir, that's all we've got for now," said the Chairman.

"Thank you, you can all head out now. I've got some work to do."

As the group began to exit, one of them remained in the office. The final man in the room waited for the others to leave, resting on the end of the couch where he had been for the duration of the meeting. He had not spoken during the briefing, he had no need to. He worked in secret, high-level aerodynamics designing of the kind the Skunk Works lab specialized in. The President approached him once the others had left, taking a seat on the other end of the couch from him.

“What do you think, Mister Stone?”

“I think it’s a pretty shit situation-ah sorry to be crude, Mister President,” the man answered. “All these years talking with high-level government officials and I still can’t control my mouth. But it’s a bad situation alright. We’re lucky we’ve got enough resources to cover our bases. At least it looks that way.”

“Yeah, we don’t know what will happen though,” James replied. “You though. Tell me you’ve got some good news for me.”

“The new Blackbirds are coming along well. In fact, I've got a first flight test date for you over in Palmdale.”

“Excellent! Still, we might have to rush them into service though. Before they’re polished and ready.”

“They’re coming along well. I’ll admit it’s not the first flight overall, we ran a few low-level early runs. This is the first flight to really make sure it can get up there, you know? Really see what it can do.”

“So they’ll be ready soon?”

“Definitely! I’m looking forward to showing you how the Blackbirds fly.”

Author's Note

I know these chapters seem to take a while to get published, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm lagging. There's always tons of stuff to deal with in life but I'm glad I'm able to keep up with this. Thank you guys for reading and sticking with this, too.

And thank you to TNB for pre-reading this chapter for me, he's a lot kinder of a friend than I deserve. Go give his stuff a look if you're interested, you certainly won't be bored.

In terms of this, I get this chapter was a bit slow and blockish but I figured everyone deserved an explanation of how the world was working in context to this war. How things were shaking out and such, and I hope it was at least interesting. The following chapters will have a lot more action to them. If you have any questions concerning the stuff here, feel free to ask.

Bloc-heads in the Marshalls (An Iowa Class Battleship)

Source

May 7th, 2006
Naval Station Pearl Harbor
H.M.A.S Sydney (ABB-01)
Joint Commonwealth Surface Action Group Pacific (COMMSAG)
(Canadian Carrier Task Force Pacific/Australian Battleship Squadron)
Status: Rearming

It’s been a week since we arrived at Pearl Harbour after a tense month-long voyage from Sydney. Since arriving, our battleship was temporarily tied up alongside her American counterpart until we were given the all clear to be moved into Joint Base Pearl-Hickam, the major naval base for the allied pacific fleets conducting operations in Arcacian waters.

Being the first battleship built in seventy years came with its fair share of publicity as major news anchors on the island chain have flocked over to try to get their five minutes of fame in front of the ship. We did host an open day to the general public who were visiting the Missouri and the open night dinner with some of the Mo’s former crew was one to be remembered. Stories were shared, lessons on battleship operations were exchanged and we wrapped it up with a special ceremony of exchanging a deck plank between the two battleships to symbolise their unification as sister-ships.

Once we have been moved over into the naval base the crew got stuck into taking on new arms to replenish our used ordinance. New missiles were slotted into the empty tubes, all four phalanx guns were reloaded, and we were expected to receive some new shells for the sixteen inch and five inch guns.

“So, uh… What’s the deal with this shell again?” Turret 2’s Gun Captain asked curiously.

The senior gunnery officers were gathered on the pier to oversee the arrival of a new sixteen-inch shell that was reversed engineered from some prototype artillery shells on a captured Bloc freighter.

“Apparently this shell is supposed to help us with our next operation.” ‘Tower’ answered. “The yanks managed to snitch one of the Bloc's freighters carrying some prototype weapons not long ago and found these sixteen-inch shells onboard.”

“Strewth! That must’ve been one hell ova Op’. But what kind of shells are these exactly?” Aegis asked.

“San Shiki.” I called out to the gunnery officer as I joined in on their conversation with Husky alongside me.

“San Shi-what-now?” Aegis replied in confusion.

“San Shikidan, it’s Japanese for ‘Common Type 3 shell’ or ‘Beehive shells’ as they were referred to as such.”

“Oh, where did you learn that from, Skippy?”

“During my honeymoon to Japan when I got engaged to my missus. We were in Kure when the maritime museum had its grand opening last year. It’s located next to the shipyards where the Yamato and Musashi were built, which ironically the museum has a permanent gallery dedicated to those ships.” I spoke as I recounted my honeymoon with Holly.

“As we went through this gallery there was a display that had all the different types of shells that the ‘Yammy’ used in her service life. There’s a big red shell placed between two armor piercing shells and it’s the beehive shell, and the way it works is when it detonates mid-air in front of a group of fighters the shell explodes into a big burst of shrapnel and there are these tubes filled with rubber thermite which is ignited and launched into a formation of planes in a twelve degree cone. In practical terms the beehive shells were intended to devastate whole squadrons of fighters or more effectively, bomber formations.”

The group were left impressed with Japan’s ingenuity in regards of developing battleship calibre flak rounds which gave Turret #3’s Gun Captain, Akira ‘Yamato’ Yamamoto a sense of pride. Having come from a military family whose great-grandfather served on a Japanese cruiser during the war, Despite sharing the same name with the famed Japanese Admiral.

“I would never think that such a piece of ordnance like this would be reintroduced into modern warfare? They weren't the most effective weapons in those days, so what’s changed?” Akira asked with interest.

“With the advent of guidance systems in this day and age, an active tracking computer has been installed into the warhead just like what we did with the sixteen inch Laser Guided Munitions.” I started using the LGM as an example. “Fin stabilisers have also been fitted around the main body to help itself take aim at it’s targeted formation which by the time it reaches the two thousand meter mark a small rocket booster will ignite and sends the shell on a terminal intercept course, aiming dead-centre of the formation before detonating.”

“Are we still using rubber thermite in these rounds, sir?”

“No, the tubes on this variant are filled with thousands of explosive tungsten balls. The function of the beehive shells is to be area denial weapons, practically forcing the enemy aircraft into a killzone that’ll allow our anti-air weapons and fighter support from the Presence to be at their most effective.”

“Sounds plausible, but also risky if friendly fighters get caught in the blast radius.” Turret two’s Gun Captain, Shaun ‘Gustav’ Thompson pointed out.

“Which is why we’ll only be using these shells at a ten to fifteen kilometer radius. We shouldn’t have too much trouble dealing with the larger bombers and getting a surprise salvo on the enemy before they line the dots. After that it’s just a matter of controlling how the enemy makes their moves,” Husky reassured the gunnery officer.

“So once they bypassed the minimum engagement range of the sixteen inchers they’ll have to get pass the ‘turbo lasers’ if they wanna get close enough to guarantee a missile hit or drop their bombs or air dropped torpedoes.” A five inch operator chimed in on the conversation.

“Even so, can the big guns keep pace with those fast movers at those ranges and are the Washingtons getting these shells?” The CGO turned to me.

Before I could reply, Akira was ahead of me with a response. “The elevation and traverse mechanisms on the sixteen inch guns have been improved during the re-design phase,” ‘Yamato’ began, “The guns on the Iowa’s have a four degree traverse speed whereas on Sydney and the Washington’s the gun turrets have an eight degree traverse speed. The elevation speed of the rifles was also increased from twelve degrees to fifteen degrees per second. These guns have also been heavily modernised to incorporate a gyro-stabilisation system on the rifles to virtually keep them on target without the motion of the ship throwing them off under heavy conditions. Another fine example is the loading breech can be separated from the rifles and brought down to the loading position while keeping the rifles at the designated firing position and the loading mechanism as a whole is almost completely automated.”

“Unfortunately the Washington’s don’t have an onboard Aegis Combat System to network their guns to unlike the Sydney, so those Shiny-Monty’s will have to rely on other Aegis equipped vessels to help em’ out. So these shells are only given to us for now.” Husky follows up with the second question.

“Alright, so when are we loading these beauties!” The Chief Ordnance Officer claps his hands together in eagerness.

“As soon as we all get a few snags into us and enjoy a good ol’ game of cricket on the helo deck.”

As the sun rose to its peak, so did the game up aft ends. Today’s big game was what we called the Special Forces Ashes. A general game of Cricket with the embarked Naval Clearance Divers competing against the S.A.S.R platoon who’re also embarked onboard the battleship. On top of the 1,800 enlisted and officers that make up the standard crew the battleship offers additional accommodation spaces for sixty more personnel. This would allow us to carry not only special forces commandos but also reconfigure the extra spaces for disaster relief and humanitarian aid missions. I’m anticipating that’ll be what we’ll be doing when the war is over, but for now I have to do whatever it takes to ensure we survive what Bloc has yet to throw at us.

Focusing back on the game I just catch the ball get walloped by one of the S.A.S.R commandos running batter who sent it soaring off the stern of the Sydney and long past the port bow of the Perth Moored behind us. This time we had the ball tied up in its own netted bag that can be hooked onto a winch of the S-70B-2 Seahawk sitting off side of the flight deck. The winch operator fish the ball out of the water as spectators from the berthed ships watched and cheered for their betting team with the majority being from the Presence’ flightdeck.

The game wasn’t all that was going on onboard the ‘Big Red’. Chef and a few navy cooks had brought their BBQ’s with them and had set up a sausage sizzle underneath turret three’s rifles as the three smallest members of the gunnery crew crawl their way up the sixty-six foot long barrels conducting routine maintenance and scrubbing of the rifling. Akira had a makeshift scaffold set up on the starboard side of the gunhouse where she was painting the silhouette of the Changeling Submarine we sank last week on the side having been credited with the killing blow thanks to the sensors built into the sixteen inch warheads that provides consistent data to the ship’s fire-control computers from the moment the projectiles are fired up till impact to show whether it struck its target or missed by what margin they were off.

Speaking of taking names, the Sydney has earned her first battle star for her actions against the ‘Blockheads’ in the Marshalls and off Johnston Atoll and I obtained the Pacific Star award. Looking back to my early days it feels like it was only yesterday when I was awarded the Australian Victoria cross for my actions in the ‘Adelaide incident’. Australia was never officially involved in the Gulf War, the Adelaide was only passing through for her Mediterranean Voyage. The situation could’ve been avoided had we gone around the African continent rather than risking a quicker run via the Suez Canals. Whether it came down to incompetence or his blind ego, the decision of my long passed superior got himself and a lot of good men killed…

That was to be expected when your ship looks vaguely similar to an American ship. The Iraqis couldn’t have known either that they have unintentionally committed an act of war against us on that day. After we were relieved by the Theodore Roosevelt and her task force we had to be towed back to the nearest friendly port for repairs and getting the fallen back home. We had lost power to the ship from our second hit and anyone that wasn’t tending to the wounded was manning pumps to keep the frigate afloat while the damage control teams tried to get the generators running again. Those were the longest days I had endured on what was my first deployment. I became the first recipient of the Victoria Cross for Australia since Vietnam and my fellow crewmates would become the only Australians to each receive the Persian Gulf Medal.

My mind was pulled back to reality by the cry of a “Howzat!” when a SASR batsman was balled out by one of the clearance divers. That’s when an NCO approached me.

“Sir, new orders just came in from Admiral Brown.” He handed me the folder containing the classified papers and I dismissed him.

I motioned Husky to follow me back to my cabin once he got his sausage sizzle sorted. On the way back I stumbled onto some of the 5” gun handlers painting words on the gun rifles to give them nicknames. The secondaries on the starboard side have been named ‘Peashooter, Bug Zapper, and Thumper’. The handlers didn’t know what their portside counterparts were gonna name their gun mounts but a brief mention of ‘wanker-spanker’ prompted a mental note to go over to the other side and offer a few light-hearted words of encouragement to keep things family and media friendly when it comes to painting words and slogans on key parts of my ship. Another matter for another time, right now my attention is completely fixed on the Sydney’s first mission against the Bloc.

As soon as Husky and I have settled back into my cabin I go through the briefing paper.

SECRET
EYES ONLY: JTFP
Admiral Roger Brown (CFMCC) to Captain Elfyn Jones (ABB-01),
Rear-Admiral Erich Dolmann (CCTFP) Joint Commonwealth Task
Force Pacific

OP: Pacific Pearl
Theatre of Operations: Marshall Islands, Pacific Ocean

Overview:
May 8th, 13:30
Elfyn, you and the ‘Big Red’ are a sight to behold being here. The after-action report I received from you is beyond astonishing and I would like to personally congratulate you on your efforts on getting the ABS here with no loss or damage inflicted on your end. A lot of the top brass here are overly impressed by your handling of the battlewagon, it’s got the Yanks itching to get their big guns back into the fight. For now the Sydney will need to be doing some of the heavy lifting until the next big offensive.

Which brings us to your first joint mission overview, I know you only got here last week but those Blockheads aren’t gonna wait for us. The Changelings have begun expanding south, claiming and establishing outposts on several key islands in the Central Pacific Region. The main focus of their expansion is around the Marshall Islands where we believe they plan to build airstrips and submarine staging facilities on the larger islands. Latest satellite imagery have shown Bloc Amphibious units deploying multiple Changeling Engineer Battalions to the islands and they have also undertaken a large scale salvaging operation at Bikini Atoll where they are already dredging up the target ships once used in the U.S Nuclear Tests back in 46’. The motive for their operation is unclear but we have reason to believe that they are planning to ship the salvaged wrecks back to the Arcacia to recycle into surplus building materials.

We have also detected an alarming spike of radioactivity at Enewetak Atoll where a radioactive waste dome was built on Runit Island. As we all know that both Bikini and Enewetak Atolls were key sites for America’s nuclear tests from the post-war through to the late fifties’ which left a lot of radioactive debris. Most of which is buried under Runit and those bugs are trying to dig it all up.

The Changelings and their Bloc-head buddies cannot be allowed to complete these bases and carry out operations that could potentially cut off reinforcements from Australia and New Zealand. But more importantly get their hooves on that radioactive waste. If false word gets out that the Changelings are attempting to develop crude nuclear weapons, we both know how volatile this situation will escalate. Here are your objectives:

Objectives:
The corresponding objectives will fall under your first joint mission with the Canadians, codenamed Operation Pacific Pearl. Your primary objective is to assist the Presence in restoring air superiority in the region and assist friendly submarines in hunting down hostile submarines. Once you have regained control of the area, you’ll need to quickly move onto Bikini and Enewetak and put a stop to the Changelings salvage operations. Due to the significance of the latter, this will be a job exclusively for your embarked Commandos. CINCPAC has made a personal request to detach a USN Seal Team and an L.A class SSN along for the Enewetak Mission to examine the integrity of the Runit Dome and confirm it has or has not been breached. We have endeavored to give Colonel Burton and his team maximum flexibility in how their objectives will be achieved. A temporary decontamination chamber will be set up on your ship for the mission to Enewetak.

I wish you all the best, Captain Jones. Good luck and give the “Blockheads” my regards.

I place the paper on my office desk and pull out another piece of paper that outlines what we will be going up against based on the intelligence gathered at the time. As my old man would normally say; ‘Take what you read with a pinch of salt.’ Because by the time your intelligence travels from where it is first acquired to the briefing papers it would mostly be already outdated. Their purpose is to give us a foundation of the potential capabilities that the opposition has deployed and what they could be holding back that our eyes in the sky and beneath the ocean surface have missed.

Hostile Forces:
Once again you’ll be facing off against the Changelings along with some minor elements from their allies operating in the area as well. These guys are an odd bunch when compared to the other Bloc nations. They’re regarded as the least mechanized of the pact but their tactics is similarly aligned with the Chinese when it comes to large scale hit and run maneuvers and these guys excel at stealth with large numbers.

What makes these bugs unique is they possess a form of telepathic abilities compared to the telepathic magic that is rarely used by the Equestrian Unicorns and the Alicorn Monarchy. The Changeling social structure is based around the coexistence of the species under a Gestalt consciousness or in Queen Chrysalis’ case, a central hive mind. They heavily favour the use of their telepathy as a means of short range communications with other units as opposed to using standard issue equipment which makes them all the more potent enemies to face in combat and are the most well coordinated military in the Bloc Pact thanks to this unique trait.

The Commando’s will be facing Changeling Amphibious units and embarked engineers. A large portion of the Changeling Navy is also present and operating within the Marshall’s and we have identified a new ship class that we have never seen before. Based from our initial observations this vessel is based on the Soviet Project 1941 Titan class Communications Ship.

The original ship; SSV-33 Ural was sold to the Changelings back in back in December, 2002 shortly after the Russians decommissioned her due to high operating costs and the current economic state of Russia back then. The reasoning behind the purchase was that Queen Chrysalis was looking for a platform to mount experimental technologies that would allow her to establish a mobile communications array to actively coordinate with her navy officials and maintain the hivemind link with her subjects serving beyond the territorial waters that she controls as her telepathy is strong but her range is limited to the circumference of the Earth. Over the last four years we have seen the seen specialised communications towers and relays propping up all over Changeling territories as they gained new lands and their navy was heavily modernised, this ship plays a key role in Chrysalis’ hivemind network with her deployed fleets and the loss of such an asset could deal a serious blow to the Changelings that no longer have an active link to their central hive. At this stage it is unclear if the Changelings have built additional ships of this description but we can assume otherwise.

The Commando’s can also expect a heavy presence of two major Changeling Marine divisions scattered around the two atolls, their equipment and training is vaguely similar to that of the Chinese but their strength in superior numbers is nothing to scoff at. Expect to also encounter mechanized units on shore and/or air support from a Changeling carrier group operating in the general area. The carrier has a heavy escort group with her comprising of five cruisers, six destroyers and two unconfirmed SSNs that are providing cover for the amphibious landing craft and the salvaging ships brought in for the transport of salvaged materials back to Arcacia. We’ll keep you up to date with any new enemy activity that we pick up over the next couple of days prior to the commencement of the operation. We’re counting on Admiral Doleman to lure that carrier group away to allow you to get close and deploy our boys without compromise.

I place down the other paper on top of the other and look back up feeling semi satisfied with what we’re gonna expect when we return to the Marshall’s. Hopefully, we’ll be fully prepared for any surprises the bugs will throw at us.

“So? Where’s the top brass sending us off to, Elfyn?” Husky Piped up. “Back out chasing subs and flat-tops?”

“Something along that line, the Admiralty wants us to go back out west and retake the Marshalls from the bugs. They’re setting up shop on Bikini and Enewetak, and they’ve began digging up those target ships from Op’ Crossroads for scrap with the possibility of the same occurring at the dome where the yanks buried all their nuclear waste from their tests.” I replied as I passed the forms over to him.

“Bugger me!” John exclaimed as he read through the papers. “Those bugs move fast, I really didn’t think they would be this aggressive.”

“Well, if we look at the current situation from their perspective the bulk of all our forces are concentrated in Equestrian territory with very little available assets to contain the Bloc threat. The Gryphon and Shadow forces are heavily committed on the Equestrian border regions whereas the Changelings have their focus on the Central Pacific islands. It makes me wonder if our stagnation on this end of the pond has given the bugs a false sense of immunity from any counter-attacks we stage.” I replied with uncertainty.

“That false thinking is gonna come back and bite them in the ass if that’s how they feel.” Husky remarked. “This aggressive move by them reminds me of Japanese expansionism, quick to grab up land and are a bitch to get rid of without resorting to unethical means.”

“It kinda does, only this time we’re not gonna be hopping between islands to beat them back to their homelands. Just a simple eviction of the occupants.” I ended the last sentence with a smug.

John couldn’t help but roll his eyes in amusement with how I worded it. “You have an interesting way of describing what kind of a bad day we’re gonna give to the bad guys?”

“What can I say, I’m a simple man and I like to keep it straight to the point.” I shrugged back at my X.O.

Our conversation was interrupted by several knocks at the door.

“Enter!” I called out.

The door to my Stateroom opens as the Communication Information Systems Officer steps through and with a snap of his right arm saluted his superiors. “Captain, Commander, Message from CINCPAC.”

“At ease, Midshipman.” I returned the gesture and take the envelope containing the exclusive message from the top brass.

A quick read through of the message informs me that the Navy Seals assigned to us have just touched down at the marine base along with an attached sub-message from Prime Minister Spink herself.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. As you were.” I dismissed the CISO and turned back to John. “Team Rainbow just touched down at Hickam and will be boarding soon. Have their sleeping arrangements been sorted?”

“It should be, I’ll go have a double gander right now. They requested to take one of the spare rooms with a void space attached. Let me have a quick look at my notes.” Husky opens his notebook tasked for the documentation of embarkation and disembarkation of temporary personnel.

“Don’t we have enough bunk space where we are keeping our Spec-Ops? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind getting cozy with our guys?” I asked curiously.

“Nah, not enough bunks. We got our commandos shoved into one of the smaller accommodation spaces onboard. Ah! Found it, They’re gonna be setting up shop at spare room number two zero eight on deck two, compartment twelve on the portside which has the following void room attached, Alpha-two one six Victor.”

“Sounds good to me.” I nodded in approval. “Throw em’ the keys when they are on board and put a security detail in their passageway.”

“Aye, Skippy. I’ll see you at the officers banquet?” Husky patted my shoulder as he left my cabin.

“I’ll see, Admiral Brown has invited the top brass and the Hawaiian Governor on board for some function tonight and as the most senior person on this ship I have to fulfill my role in exercising foreign relations with our allies.” I shrugged.

“That sounds like fun, if I don’t see you after those Seals embark I’ll see you at tomorrow’s pre-deployment briefing.”

“No worries, see you around, mate.”

May 12th, 2006
Bikini Atoll, Marshall Islands, Pacific Ocean.
02:15 Hours

In the time leading up to where we are now Admiral Dolmann and the other COs of COMMSAG went over the game plan of how we were going to pull off this operation to the highest odds of success and with maximum efficiency. COMMSAG would position itself in the central Marshall Islands and attempt to lure the Bloc SAG away from the target islands and allow us to get in close to pull off the raids. However in order to reach the islands in question without detection the Australian Battleship will have to break away from the main fleet and proceed to Bikini alone. Under full advisory from my senior navigators we plotted a course that took us south-west under the central Marshalls to avoid hostile reconnaissance units. Once we were in the clear we would then steer north towards Bikini under full clamed conditions. That means full communications blackout, all radar, sonar, SatNav and Aegis systems are to be shut down until we are in a position to bombard the occupied atoll.

The only things to help us stay on course to Bikini is the Ship’s Gyro-Compasses and rotating watches. Having the ultimate responsibility of the ship and the crew I too would take part in the rotation, using only a sextant, a chronometer, timekeeper and utilising a bearing repeater mounted on the open flag bridge I confidently lead my ship to her objective.

Under the cover of darkness approximately 200 nautical miles south of the islands we had successfully slipped past the Bloc submarine patrols thanks to the assistance of allied subs operating in the area. We also managed to make our rendezvous with a fellow Australian Collins class Diesel-Electric Submarine; HMAS Sheean (SSG-77), and the Los Angeles class Nuclear Attack Submarine; USS Buffalo (SSN-715). From there the Navy Seals were transferred to the Buffalo and slipped below the waves for Enewetak while our embarked commandos boarded the Sheean and too submerged into the abyss for Bikini with the Aegis Battleship trailing behind.

Once we had received the go ahead to start Operation Pacific Pearl our boys were already on the beaches of Enyu and Bikini islands, and silently under the cover of darkness and a growing thunderstorm moved onto their objectives.

“Funnelweb Actual, this is Blue Ring Actual. We’ve reached our insertion point, how copy?” The NCD lead hailed over secured comms.

“Blue Ring Actual, this is Funnelweb Actual, reading you loud and clear.” Colonel James replied. “Big Red, both away teams are in position. Are we go for mission? Repeat, is Rainbow 6 in position?”

“Big Red to Funnelweb, Team Rainbow 6 have disembarked from Silent Thunder and have confirmed to be in position. We are go for mission, repeat, Pacific Pearl is a go!”

“Rodger that, Big Red. Funnelweb is going silent, out.”

“This is Blue Ring, moving onto the first objective, out.”

“Scope, update on the sheean’s current position?” I asked my chief sonar operator, Passlow.

Since transferring the commando’s over to our silent brothers and sisters the Sheean was able to get within a few hundred metres of the outer reefs surrounding the atoll before deploying the SASRs first close to Enyu and slow boating north to drop off the NCDs at Bikini. We last picked her up on passive moving into the interior of the atoll to conduct a photographic survey of the salvage ships until the signal is given to attack.

“Last passive echo reveals that she is moving into the atoll before I lost her going past the islands.” Passlow, her eyes still glued to the screen.

“So, the wolf has entered the sheep’s pen? Good, the more chaos and confusion we put them in the less we have to worry about them shooting back at us.”

“Yeah, if our boys can kill those anti-ship batteries first. How did we even manage to get as close as we have? The bugs should have set up a radar site already?” Husky pondered.

“I could only assume the few reasons behind the array not being active, They probably haven’t set things up proper or faulty equipment? This storm is going to cause further headaches for the bugs before we even give them a world of suffering. Whatever it may be, we’re gonna punish them severely for being incompetent with their gear. We are sitting about ten kilometres off to the south-west of Enyu and by the time Funnelweb has those missile trucks disabled, we should reach the second waypoint which should put us approximately five kilometres directly south.” I replied as I watched the live drone feed through one of the few screens intermingled with all the other key instruments and consoles that helps me keep track of almost everything that is happening with the Sydney. “We’re gonna be engaging them at point blank range.”

From propulsion to navigation headings, bearing repeaters, rudder angles, engine telegram positions, radar, sonar and ASW systems. Everything I need to know what my ship is doing and what steps I need to take, to plan ahead my next moves and making the most of my ship’s projected capabilities.

“Bridge, Ops!” The Navigation Officer hailed through a voicepipe from the armoured conning tower concealed inside the main navigation bridge.

“Bridge, this is the Captain, send traffic.” I spoke back clearly through the pipe.

“Captain, we’ve reached the first waypoint. Are we clear to proceed to the second waypoint?”

“Proceed ahead as planned, Lieutenant. Seven point five degrees starboard, heading zero nine zero, steady as she goes.”

“Seven point five degrees right rudder, heading zero nine zero, aye sir!”

As the Sydney crawls closer to Enyu not much has happened since commencing the operation. The only noteworthy moments worth mentioning were the commando’s giving the scarce changeling patrols the slip as they moved inland and only taking down the few bugs that had isolated themselves from his comrades or if there is no other way to avoid a risky confrontation. Eventually Colonel James and his team would reach the site where the Changelings had the ASM batteries setup according to the most recent intel.

“Eyes on the prize, lads. Looks like three, no, four sentries posted around the trucks and two technical engineers on the radar truck.” Colonel Burton radioed his squadmates in a whispered manner.

“Confirmed visuals, how do you wanna proceed?”

“Quick and Painless, right between the eyes. Gentlemen, pick a target and wait for the thunder.”

“Copy that, I got the one on the far left. Nathan, do you have a shot on the bug between the trucks?”

“I see him, Justin, ready to take the shot.”

“Mark, take the one second right to mine, get ready.”

“Eyes on, awaiting your order, James.”

As mother nature commands a chain of lightning flashes in the north and within the following seconds the sounds of thunder rumbled over the troubled atoll, concealing the near perfectly timed discharges of three suppressor equipped M4s and a MK.14 EBR, striking their targets with deadly efficiency. The four changelings instantly dropped like flies before their brains could even register the violent intrusion of the projectiles passing through their skulls.

“Targets neutralised.” Funnelweb called out, a quick glance back at the Changeling Engineers on the radar truck shows one of them taking notice of his now deceased hivemates. “Fuck! Mark, eyes on the Engies!”

“Copy, I have the left one!”

“I got the right, shoot!”

Two silenced discharges in a heartbeat and the last two tangos go limp with their bodies tumbling off the truck.

“Big Red to Funnelweb, status report? You guys compromised?” I hailed the commandos.

“This is Funnelweb actual to Big Red, you could say we had a small brown alert but we are not compromised. All hostiles eliminated, moving to disable the missile batteries.”

“Understood, be advised, team Rainbow have made contact on Enewetak. We have a limited window before the bugs on Bikini become aware of what's going on at Runit. Silent Thunder is jamming enemy comms.”

“Aye, skipper. Gentlemen, double time it!”

The Commandos make a steady beeline for the missile site keeping a careful eye on any sudden changes in their surroundings. Justin and Nathan climb into the cab of both ASM launchers to place thermal charges on the missile control consoles while James does the same for the radar truck. Mark hangs back to cover his squad, maintaining a constant swivel to track any Equine silhouettes through the thermal sight on his EBR.

“Nathan, Justin, got your charges set?” Burton radioed his two squadmates.

“All charges set on both vehicles, boss. Moving back to Mark’s position.” Nathan replied.

“Rodger, I got a charge set on the radar truck, moving to a safe distance.”

The commandos regrouped and relocated further back from the missile site to prepare a remote detonator to trigger the explosives. Once in position and not in danger of being spotted by the few patrols James armed the charges and pulled the trigger. What followed was a series of collective cracks from the detonating charges and the blinding light of the ignited thermite light up the cab of the trucks as the fire control computers were fried beyond repair and all exposed flammable materials were ignited from the intense heat and erupting sparks starting small fires within the trucks.

If it hasn’t become clear to the Changelings yet that something was wrong, the sudden commotion that has just occured would have gotten their attention now.

“Righto, looks like the bugs now know we’re here if they haven’t gotten word from their buddies over on the other side.” Mark quietly gestured in the general direction towards the other island where the NCOs are operating.

“If they haven’t already, then let’s make sure they don’t mobilize. Suppressors off lads, we need to make as much noise and confusion as possible.” James ordered his squad as he took the suppressor off his M4 and reached for his radio to contact the Sydney. “Big Red, Big Red, Big Red. This is Funnelweb Actual, stage one objective complete, I repeat. Thunder, thunder, thunder!”

“Funnelweb, this is Big Red. Confirmed authentication for fire mission, Enyu. Please confirm your first fire mission code?”

“Big Red, Funnelweb is requesting fire mission for Tango, Foxtrot, Juliet, Kilo at grid reference eleven point five two dash one sixty five point five!”

“Fire mission code authenticated, heavy gunfire support inbound. Keep your heads down lads, we’re about to ring in the thunder from down under!”

“Tower, Ops. All fire control systems are back online and Aegis is active, everything bug-flagged within a hundred nautical miles is now lit up like a homemade summer barbecue!” Tower’s voice echoed through the left side speaker concealed within my headset.

“Acknowledged, Tower, bring main and secondary guns to bear and engage primary targets on Enyu on my mark!” I replied as I switched over to communicate with my lead Aegis operator. “Aegis, prep TLAMs for all land-based targets on Bikini, TASMs and Harpoons for all seaborne assets.”

“Aye sir, prepping weapons. How many do want to deploy?” Aegis replied as she looked back from the main console.

My eyes immediately lock with Aegis’ as I gave her a straight answer. “All of them if needed, this is our only chance we get at hitting the Changelings where it will hurt them.”

Aegis said nothing but gave me a thumbs up as she turned back to her console and went into crunch mode, frantically designating as many targets as we had available missiles. We have eight armoured box launchers loaded with a variety of Tomahawks with additional numbers tucked away in the bow VLS among the ESSMs and ASROCs. All appropriate missiles now had a target designated whether it was a makeshift land installation or the multitude of amphibious ships and their light escorts dotted around the atoll. “All targets of interest acquired, Captain. Requesting permission to engage?”

“Permission to engage on my command, give em’ an absolute flogging, Aegis.” I nodded in approval.

Without skipping a beat, Aegis armed all her missiles and co-ordinated with her fellow Aegis controllers readied their share of the armaments. Outside half of the VSL tubes opened up and the portside armoured boxes were raised into their launch positions. At the same time the large sixteen inch guns and portside five inch guns trained towards the island of Enyu, high explosive shells loaded and ready to fire.

“All stations, this is the captain.” I addressed the crew over the 1MC. “Give them the Thunder from Down Under, hit them with everything we’ve got!”

“Aegis, Fire Control, weapons free!” The senior fire control officer commanded as all prepped missiles flew out their tubes followed by the bracketing roar of the Sydney’s sixteen inch guns each sending two tonnes of Australian made fuck you towards the Changelings. The five inch secondaries sounded off ceremoniously sending smaller caliber ordinance downrange.

The element of Surprise was achieved and the outcome would be devastating to small Changeling fleet present. Within the first minute of engagement the poor bugs had little to no time to react as our missiles scored a ninety percent hit rate as all the amphibious transports at Bikini were destroyed along with all but one of their escorts sunk or crippled. Our H.E salvo obliterated the airstip on Enyu which was being used as a staging ground for the disembarked helicopter squadron which now lay as twisted, burning carcasses and the former civilian aviation facilities were destroyed with lethal accuracy. In the heart of the Atoll the Sheean just launched her first set of torpedoes upon the salvage ships with each of the six MK.48s finding their targets.

“Big Red, this is Funnelweb. Occupied airstrip and enemy assets have been annihilated, your gunners are dead set on target as always!”

“Nothing but the best shooters on the triggers, Funnelweb. Do you require additional support?”

“Negative, Big Red. Changeling presence here is abysmal and we should be gold to mop up the survivors and gather any intel of interest. We’ll let you know when we are ready for extraction.”

“Copy that, Tiger one-eight-seven is on the flight deck ready to extract.” I switch the dial on my headset to touch base with the NCDs. “Blue Ring, this is Big Red, come in?”

“Big Red, this is Blue Ring, we’ve kicked the hornets nest over here and could really some fire support!” Blue Ring leader responded, the sounds of heavy gunfire and more concerning the sounds of screaming civilians in the background. “We managed to bag a Changeling officer and free some of the island inhabitants who were detained, requesting immediate extraction!”

“Copy that, Blue Ring, we’re coming to get you out! Fire control is ready to receive fire mission coordinates for Bikini, send when able.”

“Blue Ring, requesting heavy gun support for November, Charlie, Hotel, Yankee at grid reference eleven point six two dash one sixty five point six two, danger close!”

“Coordinates received, firing for effect! Danger close, repeat, danger close!”

A two-tone bell sounded in the background indicating that the sixteen inch guns have been reloaded followed by a faint mechanical whirl of the turrets adjusting to face the island of Bikini. The salvo alarm sounded and the thunder of guns echoed across the atoll with the second wave of H.E shells descending upon the bug occupied village, the NCDs, their HVT and the civvies braced themselves as the village erupted into a collective of explosions around them. A significant portion of the garrison was wiped out in the ensuring bombardment with those that survived were rendered too shell shocked to push onto the NCDs position.

The navy commandos took the initiative to push out from their holding and away from the now levelled village as the squad lead radioed the Sydney. “Blue Ring actual to Big Red, thanks for the assist right there! The bugs are on the run. All key objectives here have been achieved and we’re ready for pickup!”

“Big Red to Blue Ring, request for extraction authorised. Tiger eight seventy five and Lion two eight one will be airborne shortly and meet you at landing zone designated Alpha. Mark position with green smoke and ensure that they’re no hostile Manpads in the vicinity.”

“Wilco, let our pilots know that we’ll see em’ in five mikes, Blue Ring out!”

I briefly reach over the left side of my chair where the Captain’s Shipwide Communications Console is fitted and pushed a button to raise the Helo Control Station located direct aft of the main superstructure that oversees flight deck operations on the stern of the battleship.

“Helo-Control here, go ahead Ops?” The senior flight deck controller hailed.

“Helo-Control, this the Captain. Tell our pilots to take off and head for L.Z Alpha for priority extraction of a High Value Target captured by Blue Ring along with a group of civilian islanders.”

“Aye, sir. Our birds are lifting off the deck and heading towards Blue Ring’s extraction point.”

It didn’t take long for the embarked helicopters to get underway from the get go. The Australian S-70B-2 Seahawk was assigned to the Aegis Battleship from the RAN 816th SQN to serve as the battleship’s ASW helicopter. The accompanying USMC CH-53 Super Stallion had been detached from HMR-363 based in Hawaii with the intention to serve as QRF for extracting the Seal Team from Enewetak but a last minute change of plans would see Seal Team Six be extracted via the Buffalo once they had completed their objectives.

“Hey Boomer, cutting the grass a little short there bud? Those swells are gonna swat you if your not careful.” The Super Stallion Pilot radioed the Aussie chopper.

“Yeah, I’m more worried about those mongrel Manpads than getting my boots wet, Mate!” The Seahawk pilot named Boomer retorted. “Feel free to join us down here, the Bugs are gonna see you coming from a mile away if you don’t hit the deck!”

“Noted, Do we have an exact number of the civies we’re picking up?”

“At least twelve, most of the islanders left when the war broke out with the exception of this lot. Not gonna be too much of a hassle for you, Big Sky?”

“Just like Talisman Sabre last year, Boomer- Heads up, we got missile trails to the north!”

“We don’t have a missile lock on us here, must be ASMs from a Changeling ship. I can see the Sydney counter-firing ESSMs.”

The crew kept a watchful eye on the missiles ready to pop flares upon the first sounding of an alert tone but the guided weapons were indeed ASMs hurtling towards the Australian warship as a volley of missiles shot out of their tubes and intercepted the Changeling weapons. Sydney’s radar picks up the source of the missiles, a lone Krivak III class frigate that survived the first wave of Sydney’s missile barrage. The range finders immediately acquired the escort and the big guns locked on, firing another volley of HE shells down range. Ten seconds later the Krivak takes half of the nine shells fired at her, causing a chain reaction with the remaining ordinance onboard and the frigate detonated spectacularly.

“Oof, another one bites the dust!” Boomer called out witnessing the destruction of the Changeling ship. “We’re approaching the L.Z, Big Sky, you lads ready back there?”

“My gunners are ready to provide covering fire once you touch down, Boomer. Good luck to you crazy Aussies!”

“Hooah, beginning our landing approach. Confirm visual on green smoke.”

“That’s the Army Boomer! We say Oorah in the Marines, give em’ hell!” Big Sky almost shouted in annoyance.

The Seahawk buzzed in low over the palm trees and touched down on the open field with the Super Stallion landing meters ahead door gunners firing away at the Changelings as they focused their small arms fire towards the choppers. The EWO draws his M4 and returns fire as the twelve civilians ran for the Stallion slowing to a crawl and keeping low as a Marine Crewman guided them aboard. The NCDs would follow suit as they boarded the Seahawk and EWO slides the door shut behind them, the HVT was blind folded and looked a little beaten trying to resist capture.

Both Seahawk and the Stallion immediately take off in near sync as the changelings started firing RPGs at them with none of the unguided rockets hitting their mark. As soon as both Choppers were clear of the L.Z the Sydney pulverises the area with both sixteen and five inch guns. Tiger 75 heads for Enyu to extract the SASR Commandos after raiding a changeling outpost and have gathered a huge cache of intel.

By the time both Tiger 75 and Lion 81 were re-embarked and tied down I ordered the Sydney to pull away from the atoll at full speed. Seal Team Six were able to call in a stealth bomber strike on the garrison at Enewetak and the dome was secured before reboarding the Buffalo and left the area. The Sheean was successful in sinking all the salvage ships and later sinking the Telepathic relay ship using sub-launched Harpoons. The loss of the relay ship would spark a major telepathic-communications blackout for all changeling forces in the Marshalls cutting off communications with the central hive on the mainland until another relay ship can be sent to restore communications to the stricken forces.

May 13th, 2006
Central Pacific Ocean.
09:24 Hours.

Six hours up, eight hours down, that was the routine we’ve been pushing the turbines since withdrawing from the Marshall’s over the last couple of days, racing to get back to our escorting taskforce before Bloc gets the jump on us. As long as the weather and the sea conditions behaved into our favour the Sydney can comfortably maintain her top speed of 36 knots (66.6Kph/41.4NMph) for the six hours we can run the turbines at maximum revolutions before we need to back down and let them cool off for an eight hour period.

We have been keeping tabs on Changeling Comms and monitoring their activities as they actively hunt us to seek vengeance for disrupting their operations in the Marshall Islands. It is safe to say that they are not happy at all, on top of that Dolmann was able to cripple the Changeling CTF and his birds embarked on the Presence scratched off a flat-top.

Over the last few hours our SPY-1 and MK.2C air radars have been tracking a TU-142 shadowing us, sometimes he would pop in and out of search range and on another occasion he would hang around for a while until the Bear got spooked by a pair of Raptors operating out of Midway. Up till now everything has been unusually quiet, I was heavily anticipating a massive number of Changeling aircraft to appear on our scopes. With us being alone this would be the perfect opportunity for them to sink a Battleship, unfortunately for them they would unknowingly find themselves on the receiving end of the big guns.

“Mark two Cee, Aegis, radar contact spike off our port stern! Bearing, two three eight!” The Chief EWO calls out.

“What’s the return signatures and Composition?” I replied with me and Husky’s focus drawn to my radar display.

“Eight lights and twelve heavies identified as Flankers and Bears maintaining formation at twelve thousand feet and descending. Speed, four forty eight knots.”

“Sound General Quarters, all hands to air warfare stations! Secure all watertight compartments and ready the beehive shells.”

The klaxon sounded and the lighting dimmed fading the room into a sea of red. I relay orders to the bridge to bring the ship into a broadside position to allow a clear firing angle for the sixteen inch guns to engage the oncoming bomber formation. The gunnery crews get to work bringing up the new shells to be loaded into the main guns.

“Aegis, how far off is the formation?” I asked the CSO.

“Less than a hundred nautical miles and closing, Sir.”

“Getting awfully close to launch their ASMs?” I heard Husky muttered.

“Probably holding off on launching their payloads, get as close as possible to minimise our reaction time to counter their attack.” I pondered watching the grouped dots trickle closer to us with every sweep of the radar’s search cycle. “Roger gave me a brief rundown of the bugs tactics for killing our vessels, according to the AARs our commandos provided and the intel they’ve gathered the Changeling Air Force and their Navy counterparts have adopted their swarm tactics and developed an unconventional means of coordinating their attacks more effectively in comparison to their allies.”

John sympathetically shook his head. “No wonder the Yanks despise these guys the most. So far they’ve inflicted the most damage on our naval tonnage and they’re only gonna become more unpredictable unless we can break their tactics and put enough hurt on their numbers to minimise the damage.”

“Hopefully these beehive shells will prove to be a temporary but effective enough solution to our ‘bug problem’.”

“Enemy formation is less than eighty nautical miles out and closing fast.”

“Bring all guns to bear, enable Aegis assisted tracking for the main guns, lead the target formation by three degrees up.”

“Aye, Sir. Establishing handshake between Aegis and Gunnery Rangefinders.”

The CSO team on the Aegis Combat System began typing furiously away on their assigned consoles, constantly cross referencing targeting protocols and double checking cross system integration as they coordinate the system merge with the Gunnery Systems Controller team up in the fire control tower. It wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds until both teams were successful in linking their respective systems and the SPY-1 array with the laser designators on the MK.1B and MK.2C were now actively communicating with each other. As Aegis actively tracks the Changeling aircraft it is simultaneously relaying vital information to the rangefinders to guide the gunnery control officers as to where the guns need to be aiming to make the most effective use of the beehive shells. The calculated data is then divided and passed on the individual gun turrets for their respected Gun Captains to input the firing solutions should they be operating independently of the central fire control computer.

“Targets are less than twenty nautical miles out from entering the kill zone.”

“Husky, let our air cover know what we’re doing and hold their fire until we get the first salvo away.” I asked John who returned a nod and relocated to the combat communications station to warn the F-22s orbiting us.

“Captain, sixteen inch guns are loaded and ready to engage!” Aegis calls out.

I gave Aegis a thumbs up in approval. “Permission to engage when in range, Lieutenant. Let’s swat them out of the sky like the annoying flies back home.”

The room goes silent as we held our breath and mentally counted down the final seconds before the trigger was pulled. Mild tension builds up but the focus of the operators remains unfazed. Within the same heartbeat that the Changeling birds crossed the forty nautical mile marker, Aegis’ voice broke the ice.

“Enemy birds have entered the kill zone! Main batteries are locked on target!”

The Chief Gunnery Officer sounded the salvo alarm. “Fire Control, Ops, firing solutions locked down! Shells on the way!”

The silence of the seas was once again disturbed by the deafening thunder of the sixteen inch guns as the first set of nine Beehive anti-air shells were sent spiralling towards their targets at extreme velocity. Ten seconds into the flight a set of explosive bolts separate the bottom cap of the shells to reveal a small rocket booster which automatically ignites as a set of fins and stabilisers pop out the body of the shell and the remote guidance computer begins tracking the formation to home the shells in. The overall flight time would take forty five seconds as the shells began their final convergence upon the hostile aircraft.

Less than two nautical miles out the remote detonator for the explosive tungsten balls was armed and the rocket booster dies out from exhausting the small fuel tank. Within the final moments before the two groups intersected additional explosive bolts peeled off the outer panels and the thousands of tiny explosives were released into the open sky turning the surrounding airspace into a deadly airborne minefield. The formation made contact with the beehive shells and the payloads were detonated turning the sky into a colossal killer fireball and all the Changeling aircraft were instantly vaporized in the unsuspecting attack. The flaming carcasses of the once formidable warbirds exit the fireball spiralling uncontrollably towards the Pacific, the remains of their crews are nothing more than green paste.

“Aegis, hows our mark?” I called out to the CSO.

“Dead on target, Captain. We completely obliterated them, like, control-alt-deleted them.” Aegis replied, her facial expression painted with mild shock at the brutal effectiveness of the weapon.

“Then I call that a successful test of the new AA shells. Admiral Brown will be expecting a full data report of the shells performance be drafted by the time we return to Pearl.”

“Might be a bit too soon to start on that, Sir. New radar contacts off the port bow! Bearing, three two five!”

“Another wave? What’s the return signatures?” I asked in mild haste.

“More Flankers and Bears, but twice the numbers- Wait, a third wave has just popped up behind them. ‘Fencers’, Twenty of them!” Aegis observes the new contacts

“Ops, Bridge, hard right rudder! Realign us back onto our previous heading, All ahead full on the turbines!”

“Bridge, Ops, coming right to one-one-zero! Bridge to Engineering, give me full power!”

“Big Red, this is Garuda Team. We’re breaking off to lure as many escorts away from you guys. The rest is open season.” One of the Raptor pilots radioed.

“Big Red to Garuda, give em’ hell mates! Stay clear of the bombers, we’ll be engaging them shortly with battleship calibre anti-air ordinance.” Husky replied forewarning Garuda of the beehives.

The Raptors broke away from their orbit of the battleship and made a beeline towards the bomber formation gaining an altitude advantage as they went. The main guns were reloaded and countermeasures armed as we waited for the bugs to get into range. The fencers were showing a steady descent in altitude giving off the impression that they are going to deploy their weapons at sea level to divide our defensive weapons.

“Aegis, ready the Sea Sparrows, have them all target the fencers.” I ordered the CSO.

“All of them, Sir?” Aegis looked up from her console for verification.

“All ESSMs please, they wanna hit us with overwhelming firepower then I am more than happy to play their game.” I reassured the CSO.

“Aye, sir, all air to air missiles armed. Ready to launch.” Aegis nodded and turned back to her station.

“Fire Control, Ops. Second wave is in range and we’re ready to engage!” The GCO called out through the voicepipe.

“Ops, Fire Control. Standby, Garuda Team is about to engage the formation.” Aegis replied from her end of the pipe.

“They should be clear long before the shells hit their mark, shoot on my mark.” I called out to Aegis who looked back in bewilderment.

“Are you sure, Captain? It’s gonna be danger close if we pull the trigger now.” Tower advised me with initial concern.

“I’m aware of the risks, Tower. Once Garuda has called Fox-Two, pull the trigger.” I reassured my CSOs.

Meanwhile, high above the clouds and well out of sight of the Changelings, the two Raptors pitched their noses downwards and dive upon the unsuspecting aircraft. Both Talisman and Shamrock single out a bomber and fire their respective missiles at them. The targeted bombers were struck down as Garuda passed by the bombers in a near vertical dive, four of the sixteen escorting Flankers detach from the formation to pursue and engage the Raptors.

The bears and their remaining escorts continued on despite the threat of the American stealth fighters below them, the crews were semi confident that the numbers advantage would be sufficient enough to deal with them. Sadly their strength in numbers advantage was cut short by the next salvo of beehives intercepting the formation. The formation was mostly consumed in the blast like the first wave with all but two bombers and five fighters surviving the aerial bombardment, the Bears panicked fired their ASMs and turned for home, the pilots near screaming through the comms of their ordeal with the ‘sky bursting into flames around them’.

Most of the missiles wouldn’t acquire the Australian Battleship flying harmlessly over us, the ones that did would not be enough to overwhelm our defences with our counterfire catching the rest. The surviving Flankers remained committed to doing as much damage to us as possible, staying on course with full afterburners open. We let em have it by launching several ESSMs at them with one going down from taking a Sea Sparrow to the nose. The rest would evade and close in to the ten mile mark where they were greeted by concentrated flak fire from the five inch guns with two more Flankers going down. The remaining two would get their weapons away as they came under fire from the CWIS. The SRBOCs and a Nulka decoy were fired to distract the missiles with all but one of the enemy missiles would be baited by our countermeasures. I ordered the crew to ‘brace for impact’ moments before the sole weapon struck the portside armour belt.

The explosive warhead was insufficient to penetrate the heavy multi-layered armour plate and only left a large scorch mark on the hull. The CWIS guns would get a kill on one Flanker going vertical, it’s now burning airframe fell into the sea a few hundred metres off the portside. The remaining Flanker would get past before the CWIS could track him, emptying his 30mm autocannon into the navigation bridge during his flyover. Thankfully all crew present had retreated into the safety of the armoured conning tower as the hostile birds got close to the ship. The only casualties to be inflicted would be the bullet proof glass being almost shattered by the autocannon fire, various navigation and communications equipment were destroyed and the thinly armoured superstructure of the bridge riddled with holes and shrapnel.

The last Flanker passed over to our starboard side where he would be brought down by the waiting five inch guns as they all fired a full broadside into the doomed fighter and like his wingmen fell into the sea in a great ball of fire.

“Bridge to Ops, be advised that fighter just unloaded his cannon into us up here.” The Officer of the Watch reported.

“Ops to Bridge, give me a damage report?”

“Superficial damage to the superstructure, nothing serious, no casualties to report- Break! Fire, fire, fire! We have an electrical fire in the bridge!”

“Damage control to bridge, fire fighting team Hotel four has been dispatched to their assigned positions on level four. Recommend all assigned personal to evacuate the bridge.”

“All personnel have vacated the affected area, the Navigation Officer is still on the helm.”

“Bridge, this is the Captain. Tell Joseph to transfer ship control to the guys in the auxiliary wheelhouse and clear out of there.”

“Aye, sir. We’re handing to keys over to the guys back aft.”

Once we had refocused our attention back on the remaining Fencers we immediately fired our remaining weapons against them. Fifteen of the buggers went down to the ESSMs with the survivors being mopped up by the Raptors once they had dealt with the Flankers from the second bomber group that gave chase. I sounded the all clear and everyone including myself can breathe much easier now.

“Husky, relay a message to those flyboys. Let them know if we ever cross paths again, kindly inform them that we have two beers reserved for them in the officers lounge.”

“You got it, Elfyn.”

Once our invitation for the beer went out and General Quarters was secured both me and John made our way to the pilot house to assess the damage. Upon entering via the starboard door I was greeted by the smells of burnt electrical cables and CO2 fumes from the fire extinguishers used by the damage control party to contain and extinguish the small fire. Making our way around and the true extent of the damage was revealed, some cables hung loose from the ceiling and broken bullet proof glass littered the floor. Power had been cut and ship based controls was still being managed by the guys in the backup wheelhouse down below.

Most of the navigation equipment mounted portside were destroyed and the very few that remain intact were thoroughly examined by the Technical Engineers as they searched from any imperfections. Laying at my feet was the portside gyrocompass, picking it up for a closer look it was almost split open from where a 30mm shell pierced it and the following G forces of the shell’s velocity tore it from its mounting to my right. John was looking at some of the small dents made on the outer armour plating of the conning tower where several shells impacted and harmlessly bounced off.

“What a bloody mess, the boys up here are lucky they had some proper protection.” John shook his head sympathetically.

“It could have been a lot worse if they didn’t.” I replied humbly. “This is going to require a few days dockside to get this all fixed up and source some new parts, mainly replacing the damaged plates, glass panes and setting up some scaffolding. We have a small surplus of equipment modules in the stores, the boys down in the workshop will need to fabricate some new mounts and housings for them.”

“Righto, I’ll start putting together a shopping list and pass it to the logistics team.” Husky patted me on the shoulder as he exited the bridge.

I lingered around for a bit longer before making my way back to my cabin, I placed the broken compass down on my scorched chair which was the culprit for starting the fire being ignited by a damaged cable that came loose. This was gonna be one heck of an After Action report to forward to Dolmann and Brown once we have regrouped with COMMSAG.

Bloc Pact Naval Station Ravenholm
Gryphon Empire, Arcacia

In the North-Western reaches of the continent the bulwark of the Gryphon Navy have gathered in the largest available port city in their core territory, Ravenholm was already a well established maritime trade hub prior to the transition to Earth six years prior. Since then it has been heavily modernised initially to accommodate the mammoth cargo ships the Humans possessed before the embargo and the navy established its new headquarters here. Warships of various classes call Ravenholm their home base but what makes the city strategically valuable to the Bloc’s war effort is the shipyards that drives its local economy. Constantly building and launching new ships and submarines whenever the navy demands it. Time, effort and the latest in Gryphonian engineering craftsmanship is heavily invested in the shipbuilding industry.

On the opposite end of the harbour, at the Gryphon naval base, sits their latest creation. A floating fortress of heavy metal and large calibre guns to rival that of the American and the lone Australian battleships allied with the Equestrians. The Gryphon battleship, whose design was heavily influenced by the former Soviet Sovetsky Soyuz design and heavily modernised, has been blessed by the Gryphonian leadership as the pride of the fleet whose guns and missile capabilities can outclass her rivals and her armour serves as the nation’s shield.

Residing within his personal quarters onboard the mighty behemoth, Lord Admiral Victor Von Valkenburgh was overseeing his final preparations for the next string of operations against the Human fleets and strengthening the noose of the Blockade around Equestria. Victor was a well established and respected officer within the Gryphon chain of command prior to transition to Earth where he influenced the radical restructuring of the navy and oversaw its full modernisation. Hailing from a proud military family with close ties to the crown played a key role in Victor’s progression up the ranks, mastering the navy’s doctrines and accumulated an understanding of naval tactics that outclassed previous Admirals. A knock on his door broke his concentration.

“Enter.” His elderly voice broke the silence.

The door gently opened, revealing a young female Gryphon officer serving as Valkenburgh’s naval intelligence advisor as she passed through the doorway in a brisk pace and gently shut the door behind her. The young Gryphon approached her superior and greeted him with a salute.

“Lord Admiral, apologies for interrupting you from your work.”

“No need to apologies, Dixie, no time is ever wasted when it comes to news from the front.” The Admiral smiled at the young officer as he invited her to take a seat opposite of him as he offered a cup of lemon tea to her.

“Thank you, Sir.” Dixie happily accepted the cup and brought it close to her beak and gently blew into it whilst stirring a lemon slice around with her free claw. “I bring unfortunate news from the Changelings, Their attempts to occupy the Marshall Islands has ended in complete failure with heavy losses.”

“As predicted…” Victor shook his head with hinted annoyance. “Chrysalis is a fool to allow such an operation to take place, not to mention to complete waste of military assets she committed that would have been better used fighting the Equestrians. I anticipated the Americans would send a carrier group out to retake the islands.”

“Actually, sir.” Dixie Politely spoke up. “The Changelings forces were defeated by mostly a single ship.”

Victor Raised his brows curiously. “One? Are you sure?”

Dixie took a small sip of her tea before continuing. “Yes, we’ve identified it as the Australian Aegis battleship, Sydney. She managed to slip past the Changeling patrols and with the assistance of submarines, deployed several commando teams onto the islands and routed the Changelings off.”

“Impressive, whoever is in command of that ship is definitely a bright minded human who’s not afraid to take a risk to get the job done and confidently lead his or her crew into uncertain odds and accomplish their goals.” Victor took the news with heightened interest.

“Indeed, a Human who thinks like that and is given the right tools to carry out his required tasks efficiently is a huge threat to us that needs to be dealt with immediately.” Dixie spoke with worry.

“In due time, Dixie, but right now our focus is on the northern trade routes and suppressing the American’s ability to safeguard their convoys over the Northern Pacific. We’ll eventually confront them once we know enough about them.” Victor reassures the young intelligence officer.

“Of course, Admiral, I will continue to monitor the situation and inform you of any new developments.” Dixie stood as she downed the last of her tea. Before biding the Admiral a farewell. “Thank you for your hospitality as always, Lord Admiral. Rule Gryphonia!”

“Gryphonia shall rule the waves!” Victor chanted as the Intelligence Officer left the Admiral’s cabin.

Author's Note

Big thanks to Iowa for writing this, and he did damn fine at it too. I think he's able to write a more exciting and satisfying battleship chapter than I am, honestly. He's got more battleship stories under his account, if you want more of it.

Operation Rammstein

May 12th, 2006
0930 Hours
Brumbay Field, Equestria

Source

“How are you doing man?” First Lieutenant Walker asked his Captain as the squadron gathered in the small briefing room.

“I have to admit I’m not doing too well Runner,” Cole admitted. “All that work for nothing. Just for the damn Chinese to punch us while we’re resting in our corner. What the Hell do we do now?”

“I understand Cole, but all that fighting was worth something.”

“I know man, but I don’t know what. You know what it was worth?”

“I’d have to think on that.”

“See there’s the problem, I can’t see it either. I mean we can come back from this but will we?” Cole wondered. “I guess either way we have to make sure and get our guys out alive so we’ll have that chance anyways.”

“That’s what I’m thinking too.”

“I really hope Dash and all the others back at Everfree are good. I haven’t heard too much about it lately. Maybe that’s because they ain’t been getting hit too much,” the Captain admitted, his drawl laying heavy on the last half before shaking it off.

“I hope she’s okay, too. A nice kid with that much heart doesn’t deserve to die young,” Runner agreed. “But I know you won’t let that happen. It’d be too terrible for you to pull that rescue a few years back just for her to get killed now.”

“That’d be a… a wasteful tragedy, I guess.”

“That’s a pretty simple way of putting it, yeah. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

“Fate and chance have to decide that now, my friend.”

“We’ll see all of them again, I know it.”

“You can’t know that Jack.”

“I can John, I swear.”

“I’ve had people tell me stuff like that before only for it to not go that way. I can’t fully trust anything like that.”

“Then at least keep going so you’ll at least have the chance.”

“I will, I will. You know I will it’s just hard to-”

“And keep your head off it and what we’ve got right here,” Walker cut him off. “There’s plenty of stuff we can control, plenty of stuff right here. We actually have people to protect today, to save and all that. So let’s get to work playing hero, alright? Give it our best.”

“Hero huh… yeah, let’s get this shit on the road,” Cole agreed.

The entry of China into the war, primarily in Arcaia, had caused a dramatic tip in the balance of power, enough to break through the main American line. This at long last had put Equestria, America, and their respective allies on the definitively lesser end. Though the Chinese military itself, inexperienced and handicapped by its political positioning, would not alone be capable of totally defeating the Allied coalition forces in one great coup, the entry of this new and unique force added enough weight to the scale.

As with everywhere else in the line, this was also felt at Brumbay Field. Though the Chinese had only assaulted the central sector of the line, the total breakthrough combined with the renewed assaults by the Bloc had cause the 23rd and 94th Divisions to retreat in tandem as the 5th had. With both being outmaneuvered, the two abandoned the Papa Line on the southern and northern flanks, ceding the ground they had fought so hard to hold over those painful days past.

All of the Allied units were in full retreat towards central Equestria, though in many places it looked to be more of a route. Brumbay Field, being rather close to the front, would assuredly be lost to the advancing Griffon forces. A few units of the 94th had made it clear that they would defend the area ahead of the field until it could be evacuated, and no more than this.

The 1st Tactical had gathered in one of the base’s briefing rooms to go over the details. The other various unit commanders had already been briefed and passed on their information to their people. The Eagles has a slightly different mission: they were given the task of covering the frontline, the base, and the retreating aircraft from air attack.

“Morning boys,” the Captain greeted as the squadron filled into the room.

Cole gazed over the pilots, locking on to the newest member, a stubby Dutch boy nicknamed ‘Java’ in reference to the island he came from. The 1st had not been full-strength before with a noticeable empty space in Alpha Flight’s roster after Bursa died in the first battle of the war. Java had arrived as his replacement not two days before; no one even knew his life story yet before this disaster had struck. Bursa, in contrast, had died in an instant, almost without anyone knowing.

It was better in a way, for Cole at least. It made things quick and simple, no drama and shocking pain in the immediate moment. He did not think he would be able to continue if it were like that, it would make things too hard to handle. The funerals were harder, but in a similar way. With several thousand pounds of fire and metal crashing to the Earth from up high, there usually would not be a clean body to bury. Closed caskets took away some of the pain for Cole, and added more for others. Altogether, as hard as it was, it could be far worse.

Cowboy, as Cole came to find out, was a bit disturbed by it when Charlie flight lost its leader and two other members earlier in the year. He said that he did not think of what it would be like. The swift nature of the event stunned him. In one moment his comrades were alive and well, and in another second they were totally gone. No time for goodbyes, simply gone in a snap in the clouds.

“Everyone at ease,” Cole ordered. “Alright fill us in Lieutenant Walker.”

“Well as everyone knows we’re abandoning the base. The aircraft are going to be loaded up and shipped out, and we’ve got a few transport squadrons here to carry out necessary equipment and the personnel. Our job, as the only really full-strength combat squadron here, is to cover the evacuation.”

“The Army’s going to be holding the front line as long as they can to buy us time but we have to hustle, so everything’s pretty unorganized. I… ah Hell, might be easier to just go right to the questions. Whole thing’s a mess.”

“Wait, so does the evacuation even have a plan?” Firebird asked the Captain.

“They don’t but at least we do. Cowboy, you and Charlie Flight are going to be with me and Runner covering the base proper. The other flights are going to take off periodically to make sure the retreating aircraft don’t get jumped on the way out ,” Cole explained. “Bravo Flight’s going first, followed by Alpha and then Delta, then Charlie will break off for the final group. Me and Runner will follow later when we can.”

“So we’re escorting groups? How big?” Cowboy asked.

“Yeah, but... not really, let me explain. Basically the aircraft are just launching when they can so it’s a constant, steady stream. Best we can do is stagger up the flight time, cover the parts where the most aircraft will be in the air, especially the transport planes since they can’t defend themselves. So... yes but the evac will be a constant stream. It’ll leave some gaps but we’ll make due.”

“What’s enemy air activity look like?”

“Active,” Cole answered bluntly. “Most of it’s going to be over the frontlines and trying to hit the base itself. Might have a handful try and work around to the side to hit the evac route and cut us off, but we’re not sure if they even know about it.”

“And it’s just going to be us up there? None of the other squadrons are going to be helping?” Dart followed up.

“No, just us. It’s our job to get everyone out, the other planes are supposed to leave. The other fighters will be loaded with… well whatever’s left. Missiles, bombs, but it’s just to carry more ordinance out. Their job is to retreat, not hang around and help us,” the Captain continued. “Anything else?”

No further pilots spoke up with queries to the mission, if they had any remaining.

“Alright then, you boys get out of here and suit up. Get up there and do your jobs, and I’ll see you all at the other side when this is done.

After the men had dispersed, Cole remained in the briefing room going over the details again. He was about to leave before a new group of men entered, ones who were not part of his squadron. The only one he knew was Colonel Hottle, the commander of the 336th Fighter Squadron, with five other pilots in tow. Cole greeted them as usual, unsure of why they were here.

“I’m sorry if I’m in your way, Sir. I didn’t know you were planning on using the room,” he assumed. “My briefing’s over though, I’m just going over everything again. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Relax Captain, I’m here to see you.”

“Did something happen Sir?”

“No, I was actually going ‘round the base trying to get some help organized for you. I actually meant to get to you before the briefing but it took a while to actually collect everyone,” the Colonel explained.

“That’s actually one of the nicer surprises I’ve had lately, thank you Sir,” Cole said. “What is the ‘help’ you scrapped up?”

“Right here. I figured your squadron would need a few more men to carry out your mission. I got these men from some of the other squadrons around the base. They’re good pilots.”

“Thank you, Colonel but… I don’t mean any disrespect but, well I don’t want to put any of your guys in danger. My squadron can handle escort and rearguard, I just want everyone to get out of here for now.”

“Don’t start with that foolishness Captain. We know you’ll do that, but you need a hand to do it properly.”

“Yes Sir, thanks. These men are going to be flying with me then? From the other squadrons?”

“For this operation they’ll be under the First Tac’ so consider them Eagles like the rest. And, to be frank with you, they will be for the foreseeable future.”

“Sir? Won’t their units need them back?”

“Captain I picked out these men because they’re survivors. Most of their flights or squadrons were lost in some way or another and will have to be rebuilt from scratch. But they won’t do any good flying alone. They need a parent unit that’s organized well, not shambles. We don’t need to send them up alone, we need them to be part of a team.”

“So you organized them into one composite flight, all for my squadron,” Cole surmised.

“That’s it Captain.”

“Could you introduce them to me Colonel? I’ve seen some of them around the base but I don’t have any names.”

“Course!” Hottle agreed, dragging the closest man forward by the shoulder of his flight suit. “This is Captain Vittorio of the 336th, ‘Spark’, formerly Rocket Three-Three.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cole greeted.

“Same to you Captain.”

“He’s a fine fighter pilot, I’ll vouch for that,” Colonel Hottle attested. “Been with me and the Rockets for a while now. Sad to see him go but… well he’ll do good.”

“I look forward to working with you,” Vittorio greeted simply.

“Same.”

“Lieutenant Colonel ‘Hotline’ Krieger from the 12th,” Hottle introduced, bringing forward the next pilot.

“I haven’t seen anyone from that squadron on the base. How’d you end up here Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Well I lead Bravo Flight of the 12th back at Royal Moonstone AB, near Manehatten. The squadron was retreating to the southeast. My flight was the last to head out but by then we only had three birds left,” Krieger recalled. “We got jumped by a bunch of Griffon Flankers not long after takeoff. Both of my wingmen were killed, I had to break off and flew here.”

“Damn, that’s a shame. I’m sorry about your guys, Sir.”

“Don’t be, these kinds of things are what happen in war. You have to expect it, anyone can bite it.”

“These two guys are Lieutenants ‘Rose’ Rosenbaum and ‘Fastball’ Wynn, both from the 77th,” Hottle cut in, hoping to move the introductions quicker.

“Hope you don’t mind a couple Falcon drives with you Captain. We’ll keep up with you boys though,” Wynn said, shaking Cole’s hand firmly as if to drive home the point.

“Nah, not at all. They’re fine birds, the Vipers.”

“And last there’s ‘Grouch’, Captain Ritter from the 335th, another Strike Eagle pilot.”

“Good to work with you Captain,” he addressed Cole in an almost monotone fashion.

“And that’s that, sorry to rush the meet and greet but we’ve got to get moving. We’ve got to start getting out of here,” Hottle said. “Just keep an eye on these guys, they’ll follow your orders.”

“You’re all okay with that? Some of you are a lot higher on the food chain than me with your rank,” Cole asked the group.

“We won’t mind, Captain. Just do a good job, keep our people alive, that’s all we’ll ask,” Krieger assured him. “It’s your squadron.”

“My… yeah, my squadron. Alright, thank you Sir.”

“You stay safe up there Captain. I’ll be watching, but I trust you with this,” Hottle finished, heading out of the room to prepare for the operation himself.

Cole talked with his new wingmen a little more before sending them off to prepare. He simply said they would join him as a new flight and would be working alongside himself and Lieutenant Walker on frontline duty. Keeping them close as an add-on was easier than reworking the plan. The rest of the squadron would proceed as planned, the newcomers would be a simple addition, but it left Cole with an added burden on his already worrying mind.

“A provisional flight… okay, more the merrier. Christ even more people under your wing, more you have to take care of… make sure they don’t bite it… Jesus. More to die.”

“Cole!” Runner shouted, heading back into the room. “Hey, what’s taking you? You ready to saddle up man?”

“Ah, yeah. Thanks. Sorry just… I got caught up, have a couple adjustments to the plan.”

“What kind of adjustments?Do we need to let the rest of the guys know?”

“No, everyone’s still doing the same job. We just have a new flight in our squadron that’s going to tag along with you and me now.”

“A new flight? What?”

“I can explain later, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Just kind of gave me one more thing to think about… you know, more paranoia I guess, anxiety over the what-ifs.”

“Hey keep your head right, okay? You don’t worry, cause if I see you worry I’ll start worrying about you. And you know how I get when I worry.”

“Yeah I know we’re both fucked in the head.”

“And I’m going to smack you in the head to get it working right again if you’re getting paranoid like that.”

“Learning from me now huh Runner?”

“Come on, let’s go get our shit packed up. We’re leaving,” Runner told his Captain, who nodded in agreement but simply moved the argument to his own head.

“Die, am I going to die? Fuck that’s right, I can. That dream, or warning, whatever it was. I can die, but how? When? I haven’t seen it yet… fuck I’m dead. Can’t die yet though… can I? Fucking shit! I can die but am I doomed or something? Stop! Can’t think of that now, work to do. Get your stuff packed, focus on that.”

Walker lead Cole off to collect whatever smaller personal artifacts they had left, their lockers being the last to be cleaned out. Most of the crew’s belongings were being shipped off already, but Cole, as well as every other pilot, elected to take the most important things personally. Everyone knew the risk of the transport they had loaded up being destroyed in flight, or more likely simply losing or misplacing their items in the confusion. He opened a small locker and proceeded to collect his belongings, which thankfully could all fit easily within the cockpit.

The largest in size was a white silk scarf, one of several that Rarity had gifted to the unit during their time at Everfree Air Base, which he wrapped around his neck. Then the small religious tokens: a small pocket-sized bible, a little cross, a pendant of Saint Michael the Archangel, and a rosary of blue gems; all were grabbed and shoved into one of his pockets rather unceremoniously. A couple of coins, pictures, good luck charms, other small collectible items that he was determined to hang on to, were also grabbed and stored away.

“Ah, hey Runner? You happen to see my butter bar anywhere?” he asked, shifting through the contents of the locker.

“That one you carry everywhere?”

“Yeah, my first one. The first LT bar I ever got, remember?”

“I remember it but I haven’t seen it anywhere.”

“Damn it, okay thanks.”

After this were some of his books. A fresh copy of Ivanhoe, which he had yet to finish. A paperback of Sagittarius Rising, which in contrast he had finished in a quick rate despite the war. A batch of westerns that had been mailed to him from home, Lonesome Dove, Hondo, and Riders of the Purple Sage, ones he had read years before now serving as memories of times long before this. A collection of imported prints from Brumbay town's local bookstore, when he and some other members of the squadron went exploring the day after they had first arrived; The Three Musketeers, Casino Royale, Lord of the Flies, The White Guard and a full anthology of Tolkien's works. It was a collection, now shoved into a backpack, that was important to him beyond what the words said. The books themselves were memories of the times, a way of connecting to the past again for him, as many other small tokens were for people.

He glanced over these before throwing them in and grabbing a few others that remained, as well as a handful of other trinkets and artifacts remaining in the locker until there was nothing left. He would have to find a place for the backpack in the fighter somewhere, perhaps crammed back beneath the seat and taped down securely. With the last of their possessions, the two now followed the rest of their wingmen to prepare for the flight.

“I can’t let anyone else die, not like this. They’re Americans, my countrymen. Brothers right?” Cole rambled to himself as he followed his XO to get his flight suit and equipment. “I’ll do my best… God help me, just please help me.”

After suiting up, Cole made his way through the crowded field to the flight line, where many planes were being readied. The motley collection of aircraft were on full display for a final time along the line; Australian Hornets and Aardvarks, Equestrian Gripens, American Strike Eagles of various squadrons. He thanked the flight crews heartily for preparing his Eagle and the work they had done throughout their time at Brumbay, knowing they would not likely meet again.

The human and Equestrian flight crews at Brumbay had been true, unrecognized heroes. They had worked themselves beyond the point of exhaustion on the mass of aircraft and multitude of types, ensuring they kept as many flyable as they could. They too would be evacuated in whatever way possible.

The frontline miles away was clear, but the weather over Brumbay itself was overcast with a light, drizzling rain. Even though this, Cole could make out the tracers and anti-aircraft fire in the distance as he took off. There, various units of the 94th Infantry Division were attempting to slow the advance of the Griffon Army, buying time for the evacuation to complete before they, too, could retreat. Cole circled the field waiting for his team, watching the steady stream of aircraft launching, most fleeing East, some joining him until the AWACS took off.

“Spyglass to Eagle lead, is the blocking force ready, over?”

“Affirmative Spyglass.”

“Alright, cover force is ready. Eagle Two-One, is Bravo Flight formed up?”

“Bravo is on station at waypoint one, over,” Keno confirmed.

“Begin the operation. Bravo the first set of transports and other aircraft are getting up now. Escort them East. AWACS at our destination will help coordinate the retreat, callsign Red Rover.”

“Copy that, out.”

“Eagle One be advised, the ground forces are under attack on the front lines. We’ll patch you so you can talk to them directly. Keep an eye out for bogies.”

At the front, Private Hugo and his squad were among the men stationed at the left-flank strongpoint. There were three of these situated on high rise ground in the middle and on the flanks, ‘Dallas’, ‘Austin’, and ‘Houston’ from South to North, with the roads running down the two valleys between them acting as death roads under watch with screening units at the end. These strongpoints were what the 94th was tasked to hold.

It was no longer an organized group of units, just a collection of whatever men and fighting vehicles were available. Some were low on ammunition, others low on gas, and organized in whatever disposition worked best. Hugo and his squad crouched in a hedgeline as artillery impacted randomly on the plateau. He watched a Humvee far ahead of them fire off it’s only TOW round at an unseen target before reversing out and retreating towards them.

“Spyglass, Eagle, this Mayflower,” the ground forces commander called them. “Me and my headquarters team here are in charge of Task Force Gold, the collection of units tasked with guarding Brumbay.”

“We’re reading you Mayflower, you might want to increase radio power though, enemy ground jamming is picking up,” Spyglass warned.

“Understood we’ll stay in contact as long as we can. Our front line is coming under attack, we’ll try to hold the hedgehog defense as best we can just evac the base. Most of our ranged AA’s been lost in the retreat so we can’t cover for airstrikes. We might not make it out of this once you guys retreat.”

“Don’t worry Mayflower, Eagle Squadron’s been covering Brumbay since the war started. They’ll get you guys out, don’t worry.”

“That squadron, there’s a lot of units with that callsign around. Isn’t that the ah… volunteer squadron? The ones with the painted noses we’ve kept hearing about.”

“White nosed volunteers, and a gold tip for the lead,” Spyglass clarified. “Sorry I got an eye for detail.”

“Hey that’s good news! Their name kept coming up, if they’re as good as they’re made out to be we’ll get out of this.”

“Alright Eagles front force we’ve got company. Two groups of five bandits, inbound at bearing Two-Six-Nine and Three-One-Five. Looks like tactical bombers and some escorts, Fencers and Flippers.”

“Cowboy, take your boys and hit the group at Two-Six-Nine. Engage from range, you fly past the front the Griffon AA will target you.”

“WILCO lead, Charlie’s moving to engage, out.”

“And the, ah… rest of you guys. Damn I’m sorry, was hoping we’d get more time to organize you all.”

“Rest of us can take the next group,” Captain Vittorio suggested.

“Yeah that’s the plan, but I figured we’d have more time to work the structure out… Hell with it. From now on you boys are Echo Flight, sound good?” Cole announced. “Lieutenant Colonel Krieger, ‘Hotline’ right? You mind taking flight lead?”

“My pleasure Captain.”

“Okay from now on you’re Echo flight lead, Eagle Five-One. Break off and take down the second group, from range same as Charlie’s oing. Me and Eagle Two will hang back and watch the AWACS.”

“Copy that Eagle One,” Krieger complied, turning to lead his new, diverse flight West.

On the ground, watched as the battle continued around them, the range slowly dropping. Some Griffon vehicles continued driving down the road through the valley, on a speeding run towards the airfield. A TOW from a lone Bradely hidden next to them flew out and into the side of a T-80, sending the turret flying off. Multiple other vehicles broke off and began advancing towards their position, raking the ridgeline with machine gun and autocannon fire.

Another Bradley fired several Bushmaster AP rounds into a flanking BRDM, causing it to roll into a ditch. Multiple squads of Griffon motorized infantry, dismounting from their IFVs, began to advance on the Americans themselves, finally giving the infantry a target for their small arms in turn. Hugo aimed his M-4, aided by the height, and began shooting away at any Griffon he saw moving, one bullet following another, the shots plunging down towards their enemy along with the rest of the small arms.

“Hey Roth! Roth!” he shouted over the gunfire to his nearest ally. “You still got the LAW?”

“Yeah! Hey you better not be wasting your ammo! We don’t know how long we’re going to be out in the shit!”

Above them two missiles streaked through the rainy sky, AMRAAMs from Charlie Flight aircraft reaching out to their targets. A volley of missiles fired from the Griffon escort fighters flew back towards them in retaliatory fire, the smoke lines crossing along the air. One Fencer, weighed down by it’s ordinance, was struck as it banked away, the missile impacting the belly of the aircraft and detonating the outboard bombs, causing a grand explosion that bloomed brightly in the grey soup. An escorting Ye-8 was hit shortly after, the impact crippling a wing and tearing off a canard and forcing the pilot to bail.

The Griffon missiles attempted to chase after their targets as the F-15s evaded and dropped long lines of flares and chaff. All through the grey rain there were sudden lights, indicators of the duel in the clouds; an explosion from impact here and there, long lines of flares burning brightly. The fighters on both sides dodged and ducked, launching long-range attacks against each other.

The new Echo Flight did the same, it’s Falcons and Eagles volleying a number of it’s missiles to destroy four of the five Griffon aircraft in its group. The survivor launched his own radar-guided missiles without lock and dove, escaping back to the West. The Flipper’s afterburners drove it to supersonic in the desperate run, the distinct boom lost in the occasional thunder.

“Eagle Lead, Spyglass, this is AWACS Red Rover, we’re coordinating the evac from our end at the receiving point of the evacuation. First group is away, second should be heading up now, over.”

“Copy Red Rover, over,” Cole rhymed. “Christ that’s going to be annoying.”

“We’ll keep you all updated as to the status of things here, out.”

“Eagle One this is Firebird. Alpha is on station, we are beginning escort,” Lieutenant Desser informed his Captain.

“Spyglass here, multiple additional groups inbound at high speed. Three Flankers, coming right at us!”

“We’ll get ‘em!” Cole interrupted. “Runner!”

“With you!”

“Charlie Flight, two Frogfoots inbound from the direct South,” Spyglass continued, calling out more targets. “Echo Flight, enemy group. Flight of five. Four Brawnys and one escort Fulcrum.”

“Copy!” Krieger acknowledged quickly. “Grouch! Spark! Drop to treetop!”

“Another group in from the north, four contacts, composition unknown. Looks like they’re gunning for the airfield.”

“This is getting out of hand, there’s too many of them,” remarked Runner as the two Eagles moved to engage.

The various aircraft continued engaging in their own battles. Cole struck out first, firing two of his AMRAAMs at long range, not hitting but causing the Flankers to break formation from their charge at the AWACS. He continued running them down and kept moving and unfocused while Runner closed in, waiting for hard lock-one before firing three of his.

“Coin Three, got new missile alert!” one of the Griffon Flanker pilots called out. “Two can you get that closer F-15?”

“I’m trying he just trashed my missile shot! I got one coming at me now!”

“Those Eagles, must be the same squadron that’s been giving us so much trouble. The ones with white nose cones.”

“Coin One is hit! Pull back! Pull back now!”

The ground troops continued the desperate fight to hold their positions. A number of Griffon armored vehicles had driven down the valley roads bottleneck to be met by the cap force at the end, a grouping of tanks and some missile tracks that fired directly into them. Most of the Griffon army attacking them had wisened to this and was enacting the slow process of pushing the Americans off their higher strongpoints so as to overwhelm them along the front.

Half of Objectives Dallas and Austin were overrun, with fighting taking place in the middle atop them. Houstan had been cornered into the flank but was still largely in control, with the Americans being driven off the edges but the Griffons unable to move over the crest. They tentatively prodded the position, with most units driving past down the road as the humans atop circled in a patch of woods and shot everything moving over the top.

Hugo could not tell much of what was happening from his position, pushed back into their defense in the thick of a forest. He saw two of their Bradleys burning so far out of five they had brought, along with two Humvees. A lone Abrams was firing it’s machine gun at some unseen targets at the wood line, having already expended all but two of it’s low reserve of main gun rounds.

“Hostile track flanking left!” Staff Sergeant Willoughby yelled. “Roth get up here! Now! Get the LAW ready!”

“Got it, last shot- fuck how’d he get this close!?”

“Yeah I noticed! Shoot!”

Roth fired the anti-tank round into the side armor of a BTR-70 advancing through the woods. Hugo himself did not see where the enemy IFV was before the round impacted, setting fire to the gasoline and igniting the track. A second later, small arms gunfire erupted ahead of them. The sound of pops and the impact against trees rattled over their heads as the men ducked onto the Earth.

“Footmobiles right behind!”

“Shoot back! Engage!”

Roth aimed down his rifle, searching for muzzle flashes in the crowded, dim space. Unable to see any, he began to loose shots in the direction before him where he heard the gunfire, a tactic many of his friends were mimicking, and one the Griffons performed themselves. The Americans, however, began the fight low on ammunition, something Hugo was reminded of as he reached for his last reserve magazine. It was not a winning fight but a delaying one, though just how long it could be dragged out was getting shorter and shorter.

“Spyglass, Eagle Five-One, Echo Flight. We drove off the first group of Brawnys. Moving to chase down the northern group heading to the airfield. Running low on AMRAAMs, we’re closing to Sidewinder range, out.”

“Spyglass, Eagle One. Enemy Flankers retreating. Can I get a SITREP, over?” Cole asked as he and Runner returned to their CAP position.

“One, be advised the second group of evac craft is away, third one is forming up now with Delta Flight. Charlie Flight’s driven off their targeted group but they’re low on radar-guided missiles. Echo’s the same way, they’re chasing the group going after the airfield itself,” Spyglass updated the stressed pilot.

“Okay, I think we’ve got a breather. Looks like we shook off the worst of it. Cowboy, you listening?”

“Loud and clear lead.”

“Bring Charlie back around, rally on us. We’ll regroup and see the last transports off. Echo how are you guys doing?”

“We’re all still up Captain,” Krieger replied. “Last enemy group just broke formation. We’re trying to-”

“Bandit down! I got one of them Fencers!” Rosenbaum interrupted as his Sidewinder exploded against the target’s body.

“We’re trying to run them down but we’re low on ammunition. They’re pulling off back North, so the airfield is safe.”

“Let them go and form back up with us.”

“Understood. You heard him Echo Flight, let the rest go.”

“Damn, I guess we’ll have to win the war by letting the bad guys run away,” Captain Ritter, ‘Grouch’, joked through an air of sarcasm.

The various aircraft began to regroup in one spot as the final planes of the evacuation began to gather, giving Cole a moment to check on the rest of the battle.

“Eagle One to Mayflower, can I get a SITREP please, over?”

“This is Mayflower, we’re still containing the enemy but most of Objectives Dallas and Austin have been overrun. We’ll keep it up as long as we can. Good work up there by the way, we could see a couple of Crow birds falling from our position.”

“Eagle One, you reading this? This is Rocket One,” one of the Strike Eagle squadron commanders called.

“Huh? Yeah, I can hear you Rocket One. You haven’t evaced yet Colonel?” Cole asked.

“I’m about to. Me and whatever’s left are going to be heading out with the last group. How are my guys doing?”

“They’re doing great Sir. All still alive, great performance,” Eagle One commended his new flight. “They’re true fighters, real great pilots.”

“Great! Hey when you get back make-”

“Warning! Contacts! Two more hostile groups, six craft each!” the AWACS warned as he picked up the new bandits on radar.

“More!? From where?” Cole asked, stunned the enemy still had aircraft to throw at them.

“One group direct East at Two-Seven-Zero, four Il-102 Blacksmokes with escorts. Second formation, all Fulcrums, Three-One-Zero, on vector to Brumbay. Some of them are likely carrying air-to-ground ordinance.”

“Shit this is bad, we’re low on radar missiles. There’s not much left we can do.”

“We’re all exhausted out here,” Ramone from Charlie commented, his own craft down to two missiles.

“Lead we don’t have much left here,” Rosenbaum added. “I’m winchester. We should focus on the ones heading for the field.”

“Captain what do we hit first? The ones going for the ground troops or the ones heading for the airfield?” Runner asked.

“Eagle this is Mayflower, don’t worry about us! The primary mission is to cover the evacuation!”

“No way, we’ll get them both, no one’s getting hung out alone!” Cold declared. “Charlie Flight, anyone with Slammers sound off now!”

“Meerkat, Eagle Three-Four still got two on the rack.”

“Ramone, again I got one left.”

“You two break off and form on me, Grouch you too! We’re engaging the Blacksmoke group,” the Captain ordered. “Runner, take the rest and cover the field. Those other Crows have a longer way to go, closer to you, let em close to Sidewinder range and do what you can.”

“WILCO brother!” Runner agreed, geeking over his fighter to join up with the others. “Echo form an element on me, take position in front of the field. Rest of Charlie hold where you are and let them pass you, we’ll try and hit them from both sides!”

Cole led the three other aircraft in a quick rush to the frontline. The enemy flight was already quite close to the American ground forces. The Blacksmokes, laden with bombs, were already setting up for their runs when the American fighters broke and began engaging individual targets.

Cole selected the closest bomber, flying directly towards him. Moving in at high speed he locked on to it with his final AMRAAM. Holding his fire for a better angle, he watched the Il-102 turn and evade lazily, weighed down by it’s payload, dropping large scores of chaff and flares.

The others were already firing as they came into range. Eagle Three-Two, Ramone, launched his at another bomber, first one then the other, scoring with the second in a hit that turned the Blacksmoke over and sent it into the ground. Grouch fired his remaining two at an escorting MiG-21 that was attempting to attack Cole, the second missile’s impact tearing the small plane apart entirely.

Cole at last saw a good shot as the target turned too sharply and slowed, firing his AMRAAM at the sluggish victim. The missile hit the rear of the plane as it completed the turn, leaving the thick, sturdy build intact but badly hurt. As the engine gave out, the Griffon pilot and his crew ejected.

The remaining bombers, no longer willing to take the risk, emptied their payload over clear ground and began retiring West, only a short ways from the American positions. Cole and the others elected not to give chase, wanting to conserve what little ammo remained and keeping close to their sector. Only Meerkat continued forth to down another plane, hitting the second Fishbed, now retreating, with two of her Sidewinders after her AMRAAM was dodged.

“Okay… bandits retreating… nice work guys,” the Captain congratulated. “That was damn close. Runner, how’re things looking?”

“We’re good One, those Fulcrums all had bombs so we took care of them with the Sidewinders. They dropped their payloads and scrambled. We got two of them.”

“So we’re in the clear? Spyglass, anything on the scanners?”

“No bogies, at least none that are on course for us,” Spyglass informed him. “How the Hell did you guys pull that off?”

“Don’t know, I don’t think we can do it again though,” Cole chuckled lightly, catching his breath.

“You won’t have to, I think we’re clear. Delta and their transports are away. The last group of planes has formed up over Brumbay. Charlie, it’s your turn to escort.”

“Copy Spyglass,” Cowboy responded. “You all set here Lead?”

“Get going Cowboy. Me, Runner, and Echo will hold shit down here. Nice work out there man.”

“Spyglass to all allied units, confirm the last aircraft has taken off from the field. Repeat, there are no more fixed-wing craft at Brumbay Field. Anything left should be leaving shortly.”

“Eagle, Spyglass, this is Mayflower. You guys did incredible work up there today. Our frontline’s almost overrun but we’ll be able to get out now. Thank you for watching over us from up there, if we’d gotten bombed we’d have been wiped out.”

“Happy to help Mayflower. Thanks for holding the front for us. We’ll watch over the retreat,” Cole assured him.

“Mayflower to all units, Sunset! Sunset!” the ground forces commander announced, sending the code word for the ground units to begin retreating.

It was time for the surviving ground forces of the 94th to retreat, however they could. The codeword ‘Sunset’ had been sent out by Mayflower to every unit with a radio, signaling the mission success. At Objective Dallas, Griffon artillery had begun to fall in the area along with the rain, mixing with the other sounds of battle to drown the voices of the men.

Hugo did not hear any further vocal directions from his leaders on account of this. Some muffled calls of ‘retreat’ were heard from various men. He looked for the various hand signal commands in absence, seeing some of the Sergeants motioning and waving for their men to enter the IFVs or climb aboard other vehicles. In general the mass of men was clearly gathering to fall back, and he moved to follow the group.

“Ground force’s retreat is looking good,” Cole observed. “Let’s start retiring ourselves. All remaining aircraft, form on me. We’re heading East.”

“Are they going to be able to escape the Griffons?” Vittorio wondered, still worrying for the men.

“There’s a couple of Apache flights launching from Brumbay. They’ll cover the 94th’s retreat, hold the bad guys at bay before leaving themselves,” Runner told him as the fighters passed out of their airspace.

The flight passed over the airfield and then the port town of Brumbay itself, now abandoning it to the enemy. They had done their best with the defense, and they had warned the civilians days in advance to leave their homes or face occupation; most elected to leave. There was a hope in the back of their minds, a far off but notable one, that they would return for it some day. However, as they passed out of the sector, a voice cried out that shattered their pretense or relaxation and accomplishment.

“Eagle One! Spyglass! Red Rover! The evac group is under attack! Do you hear me? They’re under attack!”

“What!? What happened?” Cole yelled.

“Large group of Griffon fighters, they came down from the North! They must have swung around you while you were defending Brumbay,” the Red Rover operator explained hurriedly. “They’re already dogfighting with Floggers at close range! They need help!”

“Full power! Everyone get over there and get those Crows off our friends! Use whatever you’ve got left!”

The fighters pushed up their engines to afterburner, lighting the fires and burning through the rainy sky. Just ahead of them were their allies, a mass of various planes from various squadrons, muddled together in a chaotic mess. The final group of the evacuation had been jumped, and as Charlie Flight has expended most of their missiles they were near defenseless.

The few fighters that where there were already dogfight with the Griffon MiGs at close range, trying to cover for the transport aircraft. The sky here was covered by a fierce thunderstorm, cloaking the furball with dark clouds and rain. Without intervention, the storm would be the scene of an aerial slaughter.

“Alright break up and spread out, get those bandits off of friendlies!” Cole ordered as they arrived on scene. “Focus on getting them off our allies! Get in there!”

“Cole is that you!?” Colonel Hottle noticed as his Strike Eagle swooped through the clouds, dragging a Flogger behind it. “Damn good to see you! We’re in some serious shit here!”

“We’ll get you out Rocket One!”

“Help the other guys first! I can lead these chumps out all day!”

“Captain, Cowboy! We need help here!” said Charlie’s Lead. “The coyotes are in the henhouse, kick ‘em out!”

Cole’s closest target was a MiG-23 attempting to shoot down an Equestrian Gripen, one of the three in the area.

“Silver One, Eagle One, I’m on your bandit’s tail, I’ll clear your six!”

“Thank you! Please, help us!” the pony begged, unable to shake off the enemy.

“Silverspeed, don’t worry you’ll be okay. I need you to listen and do what I say, got it?”

“Okay! I will!” she assured him.

“Turn left, that’s right… bring him around… jink right!” Cole ordered, as the Gripen obeyed and led the Griffon into a prime shooting spot for the American. “Locked on! Fox Two!”

Despite having used his long-range missiles, Cole and the others still had a number of close-range Sidewinders. He in fact still had all four on his F-15, a thankful product of his conservative usage. One of these flew off the rail and in in two seconds impacted the Flogger’s body, sending it down to Earth trailing smoke.

“You’re clear Silverspeed, break away now.”

“Thank you Captain!” the Equestrian replied. “Thank you, I won’t forget this. Red Rover, Silver One is breaking off.”

“Lead this is Five-Three, Fastball-ah, Wynn! I got those MiGs off the rest of the horsies but I’m totally Winchester!”

“Confirm, rest of Silver Team is breaking off!” Red Rover added. “Get the rest of our people out of there!”

Across the area, the fighters did their best to defend their embattled companions. With each second that ticked by, the threat of an ally being shot down continued. As they did though, bit by bit, the aircraft were saved, with each call-out signaling their salvation.

“Rocket Two breaking off! Spark got that guy off my back. I owe you a beer Vittorio!”

“This is Rose, got a Flogger that was heading after one of our C-130s! I’m empty but Boxcar Four is clear!” Rosenbaum reported happily.

“This is Meerkat, Charlie Flight! Krieger got the bandit off my back, I’m out of here!”

“This is Dropkick Two-One, Seventy-Seven Squadron, RAAF! One of those Falcons got the bastard that was chasing me! Whoever you are, let me know when we get back, I’m buying you a grog!”

“This is Blackbird One, is anyone near me!? I can’t shake this bugger! I’m almost out of flares!”

“I’m nearby, hang on,” Cole observed the running Australian Hornet. “Rocket One, you still-”

“I’m fine Captain, go help the Aussie,” Hottle assured him.

Cole’s F-15 dove down closer to the Earth, leveling out at the same altitude as the Hornet and Flogger. He followed them in every turn, every angle, trying to burn through the Flogger’s onboard jammer and countermeasures to get a hard lock. He did not break off but constantly dropped flares, refusing to allow his target to escape.

The American’s targeting system finally got a lock and he instantly fired his second missile, but the Flogger instantly turned up while dropping long lines of flares, it’s wings cut back as it shot upwards. As the missile approached, the Griffon pilot turned the plane over and pulled downwards sharply, successfully dodging it. As he dropped, however, Cole fired another Sidewinder. This one hit, impacting on the back spine of the aircraft.

“Blackbird, you’re clear.”

“Oh, Christ... damn Yank, you like cutting it that close? Ah… thanks Eagle Lead,” the commander of No. 75 Squadron thanked. “Looks like you pony boys are the real thing, bloody oath.”

“Red Rover, Blackbird One is breaking off!”

Most of the allied aircraft had been rescued at this point, and so far their luck had held; Lieutenant Walker was now helping one of the final ones in his own squadron

“Runner, Cowboy! This sumbitch is on me like a horsefly, swat him!” Charlie’s lead asked of the nearby XO.

“I got him, break off left! Don’t try to turn the tables, just lead him on. I’ll take care of him.”

The three flew along, forming a constantly turning, winding line. Neither was able to stop maneuvering and get a lock on the other, but by luck and fate a small finger of God intervened. In a blink, a bolt of lightning struck the MiG, shocking the plane and jarring the pilot. It did not badly damage the plane, but it did surprise the pilot enough for him to lose Cowboy, and allow Runner to get a perfect lock. An instant later, a Sidewinder had blotted him from the sky.

“Hoo boy, thanks for that. Red Rover, Eagle Three-One is breaking off now.”

“Copy that, only Rocket One is left,” the AWACS announced. “Eagle One you’re closest.”

“This guy’s the last bandit, drop him Eagle One!” said Hottle.

“You got it! I’ll drop him like a bad habit!”

Cole sped over and began gaining altitude, his white-gold nosecone piercing through the thick clouds. He saw the two boxes on his HUD, one ally and one bandit, with Hottle dodging his chaser consistently. Locking to the final Flogger from below, he fired his final missile as he charged upwards. The shot connected successfully, causing the fighter to lurch and dive, giving the pilot just enough time to bail before it caught fire.

“Rocket One is breaking off,” Red Rover observed. “I think that’s it, all our people are clear.”

“Nice work everyone,” Hottle said, reducing his Strike Eagle’s speed and lowering his altitude. “We did real well today. Even if it’s a retreat, feels like it went about as well as it could have gone.”

“Red Rover, we’re going to need a tanker up here. I think a lot of us don’t have the gas to make it all the way after all that. At least I don’t,” Cole asked.

“Already on station, start heading this way and we’ll get a couple tankers over to you,” the operator assured him. “Mission is complete.”

“Hold on! Warning! New contact!” Spyglass suddenly shouted from the rear. “Multiple new contacts! Ultra low, high speed! Shit they’re gaining altitude fast!”

“What? Christ you’ve got to be kidding me!” Cole yelled in frustration. “How’d they get close to us? Did they fly between the hills?”

“Coming in from the south! These aren’t Griffons! One’s ahead of the rest!”

“What the Hell is going on!?”

“Rocket One, caution! He’s gunning for you!”

“Shit, who’s this guy!?” Hottle jumped as he heeled the Strike Eagle over. “He’s already here, he’s glued to my six! Damn it!”

The F-15E pulled around, but the enemy fighter was already closing to range. Dumping what countermeasures he had left, he drove the fight off to the side, trying to catch his fast-approaching enemy in a Split-S and force him to overshoot. He caught a glimpse of the oncoming fighter, a model the Griffons did not have, a J-10 ‘Firebird’, carrying markings of the Chinese, and with a unique paint scheme, his wings in the color and arrangement of an owl’s. Before anything else could be done, two missiles tore into the Strike Eagle, the plan failing from the enemy pilot’s quick reaction, and leaving it a burning wreck.

“Colonel! Fuck, no!” Vittorio cried for his former commander.

“He shot down Hottle! How was it that fast!?” a stunned Krieger queried.

“Rocket One is down!” Red Rover reported as the fighter charged into the nearby mass of aircraft. “Chief Seven lost, another one! One transport aircraft lost!”

“What’s with this guy? That’s a J-10!” Spyglass added. “Confirm Chinese presence!”

“No no no no no! What the fuck!?” Cole spat. “Who are these guys!?”

“What are the Chinese doing this far north!?” Runner asked.

“They must have got wind of our evac!” Cowboy suggested. “We got to break, everyone who can get out! We can’t fight them, we’re out of options!”

Watching the Strike Eagle fall, Cole knew Colonel Hottle was dead. All the men aboard the C-17 that had been hit were dead. He knew he was dead, he was predicted to die. Was this where he was meant to fall, what the odd arcane dream had warned him of? It did not add up, but he could not focus on that.

He knew what he had stood for, what he would do in such situations. The happier past reminded him; Dash, Spitfire, Sparkle, his own men, all the others he had met. Keeping them to his heart and soul to Heaven, he would not abandon the others, his friends, to a massacre.

“No damn it! You’re not getting anyone else!” Cole swore. “If I can do anything, one good thing with my damn life… you’re not killing my guys!”

“Eagle Lead, I’m moving to engage the bandit! I’ll keep him wrapped up while the others escape!”

“One you don’t have any missiles left!” Spyglass pointed out. “You need to disengage at once!”

“Yeah but he doesn’t know that! I can engage him and keep him occupied until everyone gets out!”

“Cole you’ve fucking lost it brother!” Cowboy yelled. “He’s got missiles, you don’t!”

“I’ll just have to play Bullfighter, dodge them best I can!”

“What!?”

“Runner, you still there? I need you and Charlie to form and element and keep those other three bandits at bay. You guys at least still got some shots left!”

“Shit... Cole,” the XO groaned.

“Don’t bow out on me now Runner!”

“Damn it alright!”

“Good luck guys, and thank you,” Cole said. “I’m breaking off now.”

Cole yanked his fighter over, away from the group, gunning for the lone J-10.

“You guys have lost it, this is insane!” Cowboy protested.

“You planning on riding into the sunset now Cowboy?” Runner shot back.

“Shit, alright fill your hands boys! There’s just three of them! Use our numbers to our advantage, don’t take them alone!”

Cole’s Eagle, moving in at full speed, quickly closed the distance towards the J-10. Focused on attacking the fleeing aircraft ahead of him, the Chinese pilot did not notice his new assailant until he was very close. Pulling away and cutting his speed, he attempted to trick the fast-moving F-15 into overshooting, but it cut it’s speed and moved in comfortably behind. The Chinese fighter dived down to a lower altitude, hoping to get the advantage, with the Eagle deliberately following.

“Owl to Dragon, I’ve been engaged by an enemy F-15 Eagle. It’s likely their rearguard,” the J-10 pilot reported. “I’m engaging at close range now.”

“Understood, we’ve engaged a large group of enemy fighters here!” the leader of the other three fighters, a group of Finbacks, responded. “Shoot him down immediately and attack the retreating craft! We must kill as many of the imperialists as possible!”

“I will do as needed,” the Owl retorted harshly.

Cole continued following the Firebird, turning and breaking as it did, tracking it through radar to keep the enemy on edge. With every spin and turn more energy was lost, and in one the J-10 broke harder than the F-15 could reasonably follow, threatening an overshoot. The American saw this and jinked in the opposite direction, pushing up the throttle as he did to recover power. He pulled into a full circle as the J-10 did the same and the two rebounded at an angle to pass each-other head on. There was only a window of a second, though Cole could hear the warning alarms from possible lock as he passed, but thankfully no shots came his way.

“Eagle this is Red Rover, Delta Flight has reversed course and they’re heading back towards you. They’re fully armed, just hang on!”

“I’m trying, this guy’s the real thing! Christ help me!”

Cole pulled the Eagle up, trying to get up to a higher altitude, when the J-10 came about to his six. From range, the Owl fired one of his heat-seeking missiles, setting off the threat warnings in the F-15. Long lines of flares began to pop off at intervals and Cole began to fly in a tight zig-zag pattern, causing the missile to copy such and spreading out the flares. He began a final tight turn when he felt a shock and the rumble of a nearby explosion; the fear of being hit was sidelined as he looked and saw the dissipating fireball in his mirrors. The missile had entered the makeshift cloud of fares and detonated prematurely among the decoys.

“Shit! Shit, that was close! But… I’m good… alright!”

The Eagle came about from it’s turn and dived down, hoping to get a straightforward run in the distant hopes of hitting him with his guns, the last weapon he had aboard. Instead of charging, however, the J-10 broke off again, and the two entered into another turning fight higher in the clouds. With a quick break and better speed, Cole was able to win this, getting on the Owl’s tail again.

He remained there for a few seconds, acting as if he was trying to lock on to him with a radar missile, before the Chinese fighter dived away with the Eagle giving chase. Yet another turning fight developed, if only for a few seconds, before the F-15 pushed into afterburner and pulled itself into an Immelman and brought itself over. The Chinese pilot rolled and jinked up in hopes of catching a lock as he pulled upwards but the angle was too low to achieve such.

“Dragon to Owl, what is the status of the enemy?”

“Continuing to engage, but this pilot, he’s staying out of my reach, like a leaf slipping through my fingers. He has not locked on me yet, though he has had the chance,” the Chinese pilot assessed, his interest totally seized by his opponent.

“Just what is so amusing about your enemy!?”

“His flying is desperate, as if he’s afraid, fighting to survive, death lingering overhead, and yet there is no panic in his movements, but… it’s something else, driven by something greater. This man has some other determination than a natural defense of his life. I can not tell what.”

“We are not here to observe the enemy Owl! Destroy him at once and press on!”

“What is your status?” the Firebird pilot asked, deliberately ignoring his comrade’s request.

“Still engaged with the rest of the enemy fighters. We are trying to break through but their numbers are greater! We can not get to one without being engaged by another!”

“The destruction of the fleeing enemy is your goal, I would expect you to strike out for it with a greater fire than this.”

“It is our mission, and yours as well!”

The J-10, upon seeing the F-15 break away from the close range yet again, turned and applied full thrust, shooting towards the group of defenseless, retreating aircraft. Cole noticed it seconds later, that the enemy was attempting to abandon the fight and attack those he was trying to defend. He had to catch up, he was already behind, at a slower speed. No time to rest or collect himself, he had to run him down again.

“Eagle, Red Rover! Delta Flight is halfway there, just hang on! You’re doing it!”

“I’m trying, enemy’s trying to pass me and get after our people! Bandit’s in the clouds!”

“You got him Cole!” Runner assured his friend. “Chase him down, you’ve got this!”

Cole turned his aircraft towards him and applied full thrust again, dumping much of his remaining fuel into his afterburner. Thankfully, one of the handful of advantages of the Eagle was the two powerful engines it had, accelerating it much quicker and propelling it much faster. Though the J-10 was quickly gaining on the retreating allied aircraft, the F-15 was gaining ground on him quicker. He knew he had to force the Chinese pilot to break off his attack, and all he had left to force that with were his guns, which he switched too and began aiming the sight.

At the same time, the Owl attempted a radar lock on, but the mass of aircraft also brought a mass of ECM jammers and chaff countermeasures. He was attempting to lock on to one of the closer ones, an Equestrian Gripen. As he did so, Cole’s powerful craft finally caught up, though at a poor angle of attack. Regardless, with this one chance, he left off a long burst of gunfire from the Eagle’s Vulcan, the 20mm shells stringing out in a long line of tracers. He fired off almost the entire stock of ammunition, moving and adjusting to force the enemy to jink, and by this he saw two small flashes, impacts against the J-10’s right wing. The Owl felt the impact and suddenly jerked the stick down to evade, though hitting the fire button at the same time, and rather than having the radar missile fly out to hit the pony’s jet, it flew straight down to the ground.

“Nice, that’s a hit!” Cole exclaimed. “Confirmed visual!”

“Eagle One hit him!” Spyglass repeated, keeping track of the battle from his own position high above.

“Christ that was close, thanks again!” another one of the Strike Eagle pilots gratefully lauded. “Man, so Eagle Squadron’s still holding them off? A handful of them are taking that monster on?”

“No… just one’s taking him on,” Vittorio clarified.

“What!? No way!” Silverspeed jumped. “We wouldn’t last a minute against that enemy pilot!”

“He’s doing it with no weapons left!?” one of the other Rocket Squadron fliers asked in bewilderment.

“Nobody turn back, do not engage!” Krieger interrupted. “He’s buying time for us, don’t get in the way. We can’t do anything to help anyways.”

The Chinese jet pulled down into a low-speed Yo-Yo, which Cole attempted to counter, breaking left and rolling down and around, catching the enemy as he came back up. For a split second he again had a clear advantage, but no lock and missile shot could be taken. The J-10 passed him, both getting a good look at each other, as both passed heading in opposite directions before continuing the duel.

“I’ve been hit by the enemy’s guns,” the Owl reported. “No major damage, I can continue the engagement. But something seems wrong.”

“What is it Owl?” Dragon leader asked.

“That pilot, he fired his guns at me, but not his missiles. When I was chasing the enemy aircraft, flying straight, he did not even seem to try to lock on to me, but he had the chance. Why did he not?” the Chinese pilot wondered, thinking as he flew and recalling the few glimpses of the Eagle. “Unless… he has no missiles. This man, he has not had any missiles… the entire time.”

“What!? That makes no sense! It has to be something else.”

“He engaged me, began fighting me in a close-range duel, and… ah. He is covering for his allies. He can not fight me but distract me. He has entered this to defend the others as they leave.”

“Then ignore him!” the Dragon snarled, furious at what he saw as a trick. “Ignore him and destroy the retreating enemies! He can watch them fall as his punishment for wasting our time!”

“Your mission is the party’s goal, mine is different!” the Owl said. “This fighter is something different, as is this battle, and it is to be fought first!”

“It is our duty to-”

“If you are skilled enough you can break through the enemy and attack them! And if I am skilled enough I can defeat him before attacking them. But this fight is mine, this duel is his,” the Owl interrupted. “You go and do your job.”

Cole’s aircraft was now, truly, devoid of offensive weaponry, and the only things remaining to defend himself were his countermeasures and onboard jammers. Most of his fuel had been expended as well, which constituted its own problem but the lack of weight made the fighter more maneuverable. He began pulling constant moves, jinks, turns, rolls, all at varying speeds, never stopping, stressing the bodies of both himself and the jet. The Gs pressed into him, squeezing, crumpling, and draining his form, making the most basic functions like breathing a tasking effort. They pulled at the frame of the aircraft, straining the metal, working the weary fighter over. The one comfort was that it affected the Chinese pilot as well, testing them both as they danced.

“These pilots are unique, what squadron are they?” the Owl asked.

“Radio reports suggest it is the same squadron that has been talked about in the years previous, the ‘Eagles’ that were in the Night Ponies’ reports to us,” the Dragon said.

“That plane, the paint on its head is different,” he noticed. “White and gold, why those? For their meaning? Do they mean something special to him?”

After breaking off from the losing end of a low-altitude lag pursuit, Cole found himself on the defensive end yet again, though with some range between them. The J-10, however, leveled out and by the luck of it got a lock at distance on his aircraft, getting a decent angle on the F-15 from above. He instantly fired one of his radar-guided missiles, and again the warning alarms in Cole’s craft sounded.

“Fuck! I got one coming at me again! Fuck!” he noticed, the mix of fear and weariness now piercing into his bones. “This isn’t- there! Alright I’m going to try something hang on!”

Setting the chaff to fire off at more common intervals, of which there was increasingly little, he headed lower instead of higher, and lower still, until he was near treetop level. Pushing the speed up again, he headed into a hilly area ahead, the mounds rising up high, in multiple areas, some in the hundreds of meters. Using them as terrain for interference, mixed with the chaff, would give him a better chance. Cole heard a rattling in the cockpit, as if something had come loose in the taxing, high-g fight, and pleaded and prayed that the Eagle’s wings would not get clipped and the plane fall apart from the tension.

“Come on, hold together, I know you can! I trust you just work with me! I know you’ll stay in one piece, I’ll get you out of this! Just hold on!”

He moved quickly, the metal sheets of the countermeasures kicking up in small clouds in the gusting wind. His craft rustled the tops of the pine trees as he dodged between the hills, trying to get more distance and force the missile to level out. He ran past them, past rises that were several hundred meters tall, avoiding the occasional set of powerlines, doing his best to keep control and not nose down too much and into the woods. The missile did level out at Cole’s altitude as it chased after him and, as the chaff bursts interfered with it’s guidance system, the missile simply tracked on and slammed into the side of one of the hills.

“He dodged the shot, that was an impressive tactic,” the Chinese pilot observed.

“Owl One, this is Dragon!”

“You carry out your own duty and I will carry out mine.”

“No, Owl Lead! The Griffon AWACS is reporting more bandits entering our airspace, likely reinforcements!” the Finback pilot warned. “We’re already being tracked by their radar, and we’ll be in range of their medium-range missiles soon! I’m pulling my flight back, I suggest you retreat as well.”

“Hmm, very well,” the Owl submitted, seeing the now far-off box of Cole’s craft pull back up. “So you survived, you were good enough to survive, for the rest of your men to survive. To lead me on as well, fight me… I’ll have a lot to think about when I get back.”

The individual Chinese aircraft finally broke away at long last, finally leaving the Americans at peace. The Finbacks dived and retreated at full speed while the Firebird exited in a different direction. Dart’s flight of Eagles entered the airspace, passing the retreating glut of aircraft at well over the speed of sound, racing to the rescue. The Chinese fell back before any could achieve a lock at maximum range with their AMRAAMs, but they had arrived in time. The other fighters were still alive, and their relief could not be overstated.

“Damn cavalry’s here, finally,” said an exhausted Cowboy. “Heh… haha, hot damn! Cavalry’s here we did it! Dart you made it!”

“Eagle Lead, the bandits are retreating,” Runner reported, not receiving an immediate answer. “Eagle One? Captain!”

Cole felt as if his very self had been scared out of his body. He sat there, still but on edge, in a heightened sense of awareness that only extreme pressure and exhaustion could bring to men. Now he had the experience of calm, of this awareness in peace, seeing the world from the air around him.

The smallest drops of water glittered in the light like crystals. Clouds rolled through the sky like great monoliths in a true spectacle. His aircraft leveled out, reduced to a comfortable speed. The occasional lightning bolt popped off here and there, sudden bursts of light in the darkness of the storm clouds. Breaks in the storm allowed the warm rays of sun to shine down, in a beautiful golden veil to cover him and his Eagle, as if to comfort him from Heaven itself.

“Cole! You’re still on radar, you okay!? Talk dude!”

“Yeah, I’m… I… good Runner, just-”

“That means you can hear me!”

“Yeah… yeah… thank God… I’m still here, thank you.”

“This is Red Rover to all aircraft, looks like the airspace is clear and most of us are about to exit it. We’re in the clear now.”

“Cole you guys did damn fine out there,” Krieger acknowledged. “We all owe you one, you crazy bastard.”

“Your whole damn squadron did incredible today!” one of the Australian Hornets added. “I never would have believed we could have gotten through all that!”

“Yeah, couldn’t have gotten out without the First Tac,” one of the Strike Eagles from Lancer Team, the 333rd, agreed.

“Man, I miss my old guys but I’m glad I’m with you all now!” Rosenbaum admitted happily. “Eagle Lead, you still okay? What, you don’t have anything to say to us?”

“Bore you forth on eagle’s wings.”

“Oh you going to get sentimental on us? Didn’t know we had a poet, haha!”

“What? Oh, ah… it’s not… right,” Cole stuttered, still collecting himself. “Ah, Red Rover, you there? Uh, Red Rover, over?”

“We’re reading you Eagle One.”

“The tanker, I’m almost totally out-”

“Already on the way, the tankers are heading your way now, don’t worry!” the AWACS promised. “You guys just fill up and get home!”

“Will do, thanks.”

Cole turned the rudder slowly, drifting the craft over. He made a slight turn with the stick that angled the jet and the clattering sound hit his ears again. For a split second, he saw something fly past his vision, a small golden object that jumped up and landed in his lap. He reached down to grab it, holding up a small Lieutenant’s bar.

“Huh... so that’s where that went.”

Author's Note

Sorry if there's an error here or there, had to write a good bit of this while on the down time at work. Hope you enjoyed it though, let me know if you did.

Fall of Canterlot

May 15th, 2006
1038 Hours
Canterlot

The entry of China into the war proved to be the disastrous hammer blow that many on the allied side feared. After their initial breakthrough, the PLA attacked and destroyed the Equestrian Home Guard’s 21st Lancer Division outside Cloudsdale, capturing it in the process. Still, the breakthrough of the Paradigm Line and the subsequent Battle for Cloudsdale had cost the Chinese far more in losses and disorganization than their commanders had predicted.

As such, the task of continuing the advance was passed back to the Shadow Empire military. With the American military falling back and the Equestrians routed, there was little left in the way of resistance. Now they had pushed all the way to the doorstep of Canterlot, their capitol, the magical kingdom-city that acted as the legendary beacon of Equestria and her kind. Even observing it from a far-off distance, the Shadows could see it shining in the sun, sublime and arcane, as a unique model.

General Vaquero observed it from afar, from the side of a knoll where his division’s command post was set up. Everything was set for the capture of the capitol. Air superiority had been achieved, to a degree, the lines around the sides of the operation were secured and the various units on the flanks pushed in, and once the outlying airbase was captured they could begin. Operation Coronation, this was his personal vengeance for banishment into the void; the Lobos Division would seize Canterlot in a blitz and strike the greatest blow of the war thus far.

“Vaq!” his assistant called, coming over with a long-waited report. “We’re ready now. The 98th Grenadier Division confirmed that Royal Canterberry Air Base is secured. But the American’s demolition work left most of it unusable. Apparently a large group of the US Air Force's Security Forces held off the advance before evacuating their personnel. Unfortunately our Air Force won’t be able to operate from it for a while.”

“Finally! They took far too long to get it done! They should have had it secured in time for our assault at dawn, and instead we’ve had to postpone it! It’s nearly midday! That division’s commander should be sacked!”

“At least we can start now. The plan is staying the same?”

“Yes, thankfully the Equestrians have not reacted to meet our movements. Some seem to be pulling back, along with a large number of refugees. The reconnaissance is reporting panic and confusion throughout the city, including within their military units.”

“Panic? From the airfield capture?”

“Seems so, which means we should strike now to take full advantage of it,” the General surmised. “Roca, go and tell Colonel Arzon to begin the artillery bombardment.”

As his aide left, Vaquero moved to the radio post to contact the assault units himself. They knew what the plan was, and knew there would be no deviation unless specifically told so, and all he had to do was send them the codeword to begin the operation. Two full brigades from his division would be given the task of assaulting and capturing Canterlot, while the remainder would move up afterwards to guard from counterattacks and continue the attack through the city’s outskirts.

All the ponies in the command post wore the same small cape and smocks and patch he did, the same as all the other members did. His division, his chapter, was the Lobos de la Ceniza, one of the many within the Shadow military’s elite Tormentas units. Their lineage traced back to the beginnings of their king, when Sombra created his first guards and expanded them to a greater army with various chapters. They were largely banished, along with their king, into the void by the Equestrian princesses long ago, but they returned alongside him all the same. Though not all of the ponies within them were original members who had been banished, a fair number were fresh, new Shadows, but both he and Roca had been, seeing their time in the first fights, their time in the void, and their return to the world and recognizing their new role to play.

With the military’s reorganization to one akin to the humans, the elite were reformed and acted as their own branch, with the individual chapters being turned into divisions. These by now had formed into another two groups, the División de Escudos, the ‘Shield Divisions’, and the División de Pegar, the ‘Strike Divisions’; a rivalry was already emerging between the two, and of the two he belonged to the latter. He recounted all this during his walk, recalling all they had gone through. Everything had come to this, up to this point, the beginning of their vengeance. It was important to remember, it was worth savoring, and he did so as he retrieved the radio.

“This is Rayo. Acero, repeat, Acero, out.”

A minute later the artillery barrage started, separated into two sections. The tube artillery, self-propelled and other, would bombard the Equestrian front line and the units there. Above the command post, long swarms of rockets raced across the sky; they targeted the rear, saturating the area behind the lines and any units that were waiting there. It was a short but violent barrage, lasting only four minutes.

Once it ceased, the ground units began to move. Two brigades, one mechanized and one armor-heavy, began a full advance towards the city. Large groups of T-90s advanced across the countryside, kicking up large clouds of dust as they approached. There was no resistance as they moved in, up to the limits of the urban areas, where they finally came under fire.

“The lead elements are coming under fire, losses already sustained but no major delays in the advance,” one of the radio operators reported to the General.

The lead tanks of the Red Brigade began to duel with the dug-in Equestrians in the urban area ahead of them, firing their cannons rapidly at any area they suspected and raking the buildings with machine gun fire. Two tanks were lost to ATGMs hiding in the buildings, and another to fire from some of the Equestrian Abrams platoon hiding ahead of them. The heavy return fire served to dampen it a good deal as other T-90s moved in closer, some forward and others around the side.

The defense itself was a poor one, badly spaced and suffering from the confusion and chaos within the city, and further damaged from the barrage. Several Shadow tanks found holes in the line and quickly broke through, moving cautiously down the streets. The initial Equestrian defense sections were now taken from the side, with the T-90s firing into the back of dug-in tanks and AFVs and firing into the buildings the infantry were hiding in. The entire defense line broke away.

“Report, Axe has reached phase line Oak. They’re saying the entire enemy front has broken and they’re unloading the infantry and are preparing to clear out the city itself.”

“What about Mace?” Vaquero asked, hoping they had not run into trouble.

“I can’t reach the brigade commander right now but Axe reports they are moving alongside them at a steady pace with no problems.”

As the mechanized Red Brigade unloaded and formed into teams of infantry and armor to clear the buildings ahead, the Blue Brigade continued on past them. The more tank-heavy brigade of the Division; it’s part in the play was to follow directly alongside the Red Brigade, almost crossing into its operation line, and move to the city. As their comrades advanced deeper inside, the armored brigade would continue on, in the very outskirts of the urban buildup, along the city’s edge to the Eastern end. Their flanking maneuver would take them to the enemy’s rear and cut their main road in and out of the city.

The city itself was in pure chaos as troops ran about trying to find a rallying point for their commanders, and civilians scattered about in search of cover or running from the combat. The preliminary bombardment mixed with the weeks of bombing raids had left a number of buildings damaged from the skyscrapers to small houses and leaving craters in the streets, causing further problems. The advancing Shadow units began to run into pockets of Equestrian resistance but no discernible coordinated defense. The damage and the frantic civilians began to cause greater delays for some platoons.

“Vaq! How’s the advance going?” Roca asked his friend as he returned from the artillery line.

“Very good, exceptional. Our units have already broken their outer defense lines and are moving into the city!”

“Already? Were the losses high?”

“No, not at all! There were some but far less than predicted.”

“Strange, I expected them to try and cut us down outside the city before we got into it for cover,” Roca said as he observed the confusing battle. “Are they trying to use urban warfare tactics? Hiding in the buildings inside the city?”

“I’m not sure, but I do not think so. There are some reports of resistance but there’s nothing to indicate a serious defense against us.”

By now the battle had been raging for two hours. The Blue Brigade had successfully swung around the side of the city and attacked the cluster of units waiting there in the open, starting a short but fierce fight that left dead on both sides but the Shadows ultimately victorious. The armor cut the main road leading East and fired on any military units attempting escape, and at times fleeing civilians on the mistake of believing them to be infantry. Canterlot was surrounded on three sides.

The mechanized brigade continued fighting through the city, encountering pockets of increasingly determined resistance by the remaining elements of the Equestrian military and local police. Casualties began to mount but the momentum was not lost, and any positions they could not capture directly were passed and surrounded, to be reduced at their leisure. As the Shadows began to reach the opposite end of the city, the battle’s outcome was very clear.

Vaquero and his command team watched the final conclusions of the three-and-a-half hour long battle from their hill, with the sun beginning to cross over them. Intelligence reports now began to come in as well, to be compared with what the intel had told them prior to beginning the operation. The Equestrian soldiers were a hodgepodge collection from multiple units, as expected. The primary defense coming from elements of the 2nd Hussar Division of the Royal Guard and the 18th Dragoon Division of the Home Guard, and supported by the miscellaneous others who had gathered in the capitol.

Vaquero was surprised by the end of the operation. Considering it was Canterlot he expected a much harder fight. He had also thought that the fighting within the cities buildings would be much more difficult, much longer, that the Equestrians would use the urban tactics to their advantage. Perhaps they did not want to cause further harm to their beautiful city by doing so, maybe they knew they were going to lose before the battle started. ‘What a pathetic bunch!’ he thought to himself.

“Reports are saying both objectives Moss and Pine have been secured, the city is now largely under our control. Only a few holdouts remain,” one of the radio operators informed the General.

“Any new enemy movements from outside the city?” he asked.

“Ground units are not reporting any visible counterattacks but they are setting up a defensive line to meet one. Commanders are requesting further instructions. Should they continue the advance out of the city or keep building a defense? They say the Blue Brigade can still attack if allowed.”

“No, tell them to set up a defensive line. I would like them to do so, but not now. Even after giving us such a poor fight, the Equestrians will definitely counterattack. This is Canterlot, the head of their country. Even they will not just give up on it as they have before in other places.”

“Yes Sir, I’ll pass it on.”

“Now, where is the Air Force’s liaison?”

A stout pony in an Air Force uniform was summoned, heading over to communicate requests to the pilots.

“Do you need any support General?”

“No, not yet. Most of the city has already been captured. My soldiers are digging in in preparation for a counterattack but they do not see anything yet. Do you have any reconnaissance planes ready?”

“Not directly, but I believe some are nearby. You want them to search for an enemy counterattack?”

“Yes, from the East. There will definitely be a buildup of Equestrian forces. If you can spot them, let us know. And if so try and hit them, or give air support to the ground forces if this counterattack begins before that. Whatever the situation demands.”

“Of course, General!”

“Vaq, one minute, before the liaison leaves,” Roca called to him. “The Red Brigade reports that a lot of Royal Guards are hold up in the castle. There’s no way we can break into that thing from the ground without serious losses. Should we just bomb them?”

“No, we cannot,” Vaquero denied. “Tell them to set up a perimeter around the castle and prevent any escape. And have the jammers cover their area in case they have radios; we don’t need them reporting our movements from a vantage point that high. We will just starve them out, there is no help coming for them.”

There would have been some pleasure in simply bombing the castle away, to see it crumble away along the mountainside, but it would not be done. Part of him wanted to partake in such, to personally order it, and another part of him wanted to leave it be and not destroy what was, to some, such a landmark of beauty. Beyond this, it was a good vantage and lookout point, and there could still be valuable items and magical artifacts worth collecting there. Of course, as he knew more than anything, the King Sombra would want the flag of the Shadow Empire flying from atop it, every day and night, to show the world who the victor is, for every time the Equestrians looked up they would see it.

The Equestrian Seventh Fighter Wing had gathered in Canterlot ahead of the enemy advance as the allied forces staged a general retreat across the entire front. Outside of the capitol, orders on a higher strategic level seemed to be confused, contradictory, or outright impossible to carry out from the commander’s detachment from the frontline situation. Most of the time orders did not come in at all, leaving the local officers to make their own decisions.

They had defended it from enemy air raids for only a day before the order came to evacuate the air base for the safety of one farther east. The disorganization and quick movement from one place to the other had taken its toll, giving little time for rest or maintenance. Even so, the day after they arrived at Royal Firefly Air Base in Las Pegasus, they received an emergency request, sent out to various bases, to partake in a mission taking them back to Canterlot.

Confused, exhausted, and run-down, the ‘Magnificent Seventh’ simply could not respond in full force. Only Captain Wild Fire’s team, the 3rd Fighter Squadron, ‘Phoenix Squadron’, could be sent to assist. As such, her and three of her F-14s flew out to Canterlot, meeting a tanker along the way to refuel.

They soon learned, thankfully, that they were not the only team there; others had answered the request in varying numbers. Four F-22s of the USAF 94th Fighter Squadron, which itself had just been displaced from Canterberry, were on station, as were two Strike Eagles of the REAF 21st Attack Squadron from the 2nd Wing. It was not a sizable formation, but they were told it would suffice for the mission.

As it turned out, it was another evacuation mission. A handful of military transport planes had launched from Canterberry not an hour before, and a few others were preparing to take off from Canterlot International, the civilian airport within Canterlot. The battle for the city itself would begin within the hour, and there was no real picture anywhere, especially on the ground, as to what the defense would be like. That, in turn, told them all it would be a losing battle. All that was left for them to do was to escort the transports out of harm’s way.

Surprisingly, the transports were not carrying anything of great military importance, nor anypony of great significance. All the sensitive military pieces had been removed already, the air base evacuated, and the Equestrian royalty, governance, and military command had left the city two days prior. The close call at Brumbay, which was now quickly spreading in rumors both of how dangerous the narrow escape had been and the seeming miracle that delivered them, had frightened all enough not to take their chances with last-minute evacuations. The transports, who’s urgent mission had been called out to any who could answer, were carrying the many arcane artifacts of great power that were held in Canterlot that could not be abandoned to the enemy.

Books and scrolls containing spells and information on magic that had to be kept. Various talismans and charms with magical properties to them. Staffs of great power, ancient artifacts, enchanted jewelry, armor, and weaponry. Any variety of magical items that could be thought of were held here, along with a handful of ponies tasked with caring for them and research. All crammed into the bellies of a handful of C-5s and C-17s of the 909th and 788th squadrons of Equestria.

“Wand to all allied air units, check in, over,” the Equestrian AWACS called from far-off. “Transport squadrons, what is your status?”

“Prism formed up, heading on course to destination,” the C-5 lead responded.

“Mane is bringing up the tail end, we’re a bit stretched out but we’re on track, no issues,” the C-17 followed.

“Copy that. Fighter escorts, report in.”

“Spad Flight confirms, everything is set, we’re bringing up the rear.”

“Phoenix Flight is good.”

“King Flight checking in, no issues.”

“All flights are go, continue with escort. Don’t break off until you reach the destination. We’ll keep you updated as to new developments. Wand out.”

“Phoenix, Spad, thank you for flying all this way to help us,” Captain Rector of King Flight told the others as the radio quieted down. “Especially you, Colonel Ulric.”

“It’s no problem King One. It’s just our job and we love doing it,” Spad One answered. “But make sure you use callsigns and codenames over the radio. We don’t know if the enemy’s able to listen in.”

“Why are you thanking us? We’re supposed to do this,” Wild Fire added.

“Appreciation. You all did not have to come all this way. I know these past days have been brutal to both of your wings. Constant combat, confused orders, running from one base to the next. No pony nor man could be expected to go through all that,” Rector explained. “I have to be here, this is my duty. Personal duty, as who I am, what I have to do. But coming this far is appreciated.”

“That’s what friends do,” Wild Fire replied simply.

“At least we still have that huh?” her RIO interjected from the backseat of the Tomcat. “We still go out of our way to help our friends, that’s what Equestrians do right?”

“Of course Whistler. Why are you getting all… sentimental?”

“I’m not, just something to be happy about. Helps remember who we are,” he explained. “I mean it’s pretty weird right? Flying around in metal contraptions? Fighting a war where we blow each other up with some aliens? Sure doesn’t feel like Equestria.”

“Because you’re not,” one of the American pilots pointed out. “You’re on Earth, so you’ll do it our way.”

“Yeah I noticed. Doesn’t mean a pony should be doing this kind of stuff.”

“Well we didn’t ask you to come here, but you’re in our house so you’ll play by our rules,” the number four in Spad Team retorted. “I don’t care what you used to be or what you’re supposed to be. It’s not about you ponies anymore, we have to deal with your shit now. So you’ll do as you’re told.”

“Listen pal, we didn’t want this either!” Wild Fire yelled, her own rage breaking out as it did in such times. “If our magic still worked as well as it did we wouldn’t need your help! We could probably even beat you! But that wouldn’t matter because we wouldn't be here! We don’t even want to be on this terrible planet!”

“Alright that’s enough!” Spad One interjected loudly, tapping into his command voice. “We’re allies, we don’t need to get into this. No fighting over the comms either, we’re on a mission. You all got that!?”

“Yes Sir, sorry,” his wingman apologized.

“Right, we’ll keep the radio clear,” the Ponies agreed.

The flight continued in silence for a few more minutes before the AWACS called in with a contact report.

“This is Wand, got two new contact reports, both closing in on your position. First one is coming from the northwest, bearing three-three-one. Large formation, Angels Fifteen, moving at about nine hundred, over four-hundred miles from you. We count ten bogies.”

“Copy, I’m thinking we should go intercept them,” Wild Fire suggested.

“Wait, our mission is to escort the transports,” said Ulrich. “They’re coming in loud. They might be trying to lead us away and leave the transports defenseless for some other bandits.”

“Huh, I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s why he’s the boss,” Spad Two agreed.

“We’ll stay here until we have to engage them,” Spad One decided. “Wand, what’s the other contact.”

“Allied aircraft, coming from the northeast. Just one though. Probably another friend coming to help. We’ll try to establish contact and patch him through when we do, over.”

The collection of bogies continued, not changing their speed of altitude, running in towards the transports like ravished hounds. The single allied fighter arrived sooner than they did, closing in closer. The AWACS hailed and confirmed that it was another American aircraft, and patched the pilot through to the others.

“This is Eagle One, are you reading me, over?”

“Spad to Eagle, affirmative. Is that the same Eagle callsign that I think it is, over?”

“Maybe, if you’re still the same Spad Leader I met way back when. Probably is, your squadron's callsign is a lot more unique than mine. You'll see people using mine all over the military.”

“Damn, I haven’t talked to you since we moved over out of your old airbase. Though I heard you guys got redeployed too. Good to hear you’re alive, we’ve been hearing plenty of stories about what’s happened,” Ulrich mentioned.

“Heard plenty about your sector too. Heard Canterlot was under constant attack, just one dogfight after another. Good thing you held them back though,” Cole congratulated, slowly shaking away the thin vagueness over the radio Ulrich wished to keep. “What other teams are with you? Can you guys sound off?”

“Phoenix Team here.”

“King Flight.”

“Phoenix? No way, does that voice belong to the pony I think it does?”

“It’s good to see you Captain Cole.”

“Hey, Wild Fire! You’re still flying too! It's great to see you.”

“You know her too, Eagle Lead?” Spad One asked.

“Yeah, from even farther back. She’s from Ponyville. I played Blackjack with her at a celebration the town threw when we first arrived there, back when it was just us. Or… did I watch her play it with someone?”

“Both, and you both beat me!”

“Ah yeah! Sure did! Keno and Cowboy are still around by the way. You better stay alive, they'll want another game with you.”

“Damn,” Spad Two swore. “Is there anyone here he hasn’t met?”

“I don’t think I’ve met King yet. But my memory with people isn’t the best. Or ponies.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t met you yet Captain, but I have heard good things,” Rector greeted the human. “Thank you for coming to join us. Is it just you?”

“Yeah, just me. I know flying out here alone is nuts but me and the squad just barely got away from Brumbay. Was cutting it real close, they need some time to rest. But I heard the emergency call from Canterlot and I couldn’t… well, not help.”

“I’m grateful you made it all the same.”

“So am I, figured you guys were throwing a little party and I didn’t want to miss it! Is the attack on Canterlot underway? I’m ready to defend where needed, got my air-to-air loadout ready.”

“We’re not here to defend the city Eagle One,” Rector explained in a somber tone. “We can’t hold it. It will likely fall within a few hours.”

“It… you what!?”

“There’s no way we can hold the city, it’s simply impossible.”

There was a silence before Cole spoke up again. His voice was far harsher, angrier, whipping and striking out angrily like a biting snake, like a predator sinking it’s talons not into prey but an opponent. It was a deep fury buoyed by Hell he had suffered through and the battle, the near death and deaths suffered by others, getting nearly wiped out, the constant frustrations building up to this now, and it took control of his thoughts.

“You mean all this- everything that happened everything I got through! I flew all the way out here after what happened! What the Hell, you’re just giving up!? We’re not going to fight for it at least!?”

“The enemy has a much greater mass of forces arrayed against us.”

“You’re just fucking giving up!? You’re giving up the heart of your country, your home!? You won’t even try to fight!?”

“Eagle Lead, calm down!” Ulrich asked. “We know it’s bad, we know we’re running, but we still need your help.”

“Help? With what? What was the point of that call being made?”

“We made it because we needed escorts for a transport flight evacuating Canterlot. It’s VIP stuff, Eagle Lead. The kind of stuff that can lose us the war if it doesn’t get out.”

“Yeah… alright, I’ll help escort the people or ponies to wherever they’re running off to. Who’s on board? I know it’s not the government. Generals?”

“The ah... main cargo isn’t ponies,” Rector further clarified, a bit saddened and afraid from the outburst of his ally. “It’s various magical artifacts of great importance that we can not allow Sombra or his allies to capture.”

“Artifacts? Magical artifacts!? All this shit, another evacuation, and I left my team behind… you called everyone across the country to get help running away with a bunch of fucking trinkets!?” Cole raged over the radio.

“Eagle Lead, please calm down we can explain this in detail when-”

“It’s been explained before. I thought you all said your magic barely worked anymore. All this high-end stuff didn’t work anymore.”

“It doesn’t, but there are some that can be made to work. We just haven’t found out how yet!”

“You haven’t found a lot of shit out yet! You can’t even use this stuff to defend the city?”

“Captain, knock that shit off, now!” Ulrich finally reprimanded. “We don’t know how this stuff works, we’re not experts. This war’s not over, and we’ll be back for the city. But we can’t be fighting each-other. You understand?”

“Copy, Spad One. I’ll help escort to where you’re going. I’m going back to my squadron at Goldenray after that,” he agreed coldly, resigned to his superior, knowing he was right, at least partly.

“This is Wand, allied aircraft you’ll want to switch to an open channel. The enemy’s broadcasting a surrender request.”

“What?” Wild Fire asked. “They haven’t done that before. Too bad for them, I don’t plan on just giving up.”

Far off, a well-trained squadron of Ye-8 ‘Flippers’ was moving to intercept at high speed. The planes were painted in a dark, ashen grey, the canards near the nose a bright scarlet red, the lines and edges along the wings a fiery orange, the stabilizers in the rear a cold black, and the tail a clear white. They had no intention of luring away the escort fighters as Ulrich theorized, they intended to attack on their own. The allied fighters switched their radios to an open channel, hearing a rather spiteful, deep voice calling to them.

“This is Gallo Squadron, of the Shadow Imperial Air Force. Transport aircraft you will surrender, be taken under escort by us, and will follow our guidance. Follow our instructions and you will be taken prisoner. Any Equestrian escort fighters, now is your chance to bail out before you get killed. Don’t think of running either, because we will catch you.”

“Surrender? You really think we’ll give up that easy?” Rector responded first.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but because of what you’re carrying my orders are to try and capture first,” Gallo Lead admitted. “I’m glad you won’t, I’m ready for another round of vengeance against you Equestrians!”

“Guys who is this stupid bastard jacking his jaw on the radio?” Cole asked his pony counterparts.

“Who is that? An American!? It figures you would be here to interfere. This battle has nothing to do with you, this is revenge against the ponies who banished me!”

“Yeah? Well I’m already pissed off so I’ll enjoy taking my anger out on you! You can consider this my personal revenge if that fits your view!”

“You have no clue what it was like to be stuck in there, this is retribution for-”

“Shut the fuck up already, you just got here and I’ve already had enough of you! I don’t care what you think about them, I’ve got a fight to pick with you now!” Cole yelled. “I don’t care how long you were gone you pissy son of a bitch, I’m sending you somewhere much worse!"

“A thousand years! We were banished into a void for a thousand years! You humans have no idea what it was like!”

“You get ready Rat, I’m sending you to burn in Hell!”

The F-15 redirected to intercept the incoming fighters, attempting to move into AMRAAM range. Wild Fire also ordered her Tomcats to break off and close range with the enemy squadron, likely out of her own frustration. The Shadows noticed the movements and, rather than take their enemies apart piecemeal, elected to split their squadron as well.

“Gallo Six through Ten, break formation and go after the transport squadron!”

“Phoenix watch what you’re doing!” Rector warned. “Spad Team, it’s just us, we have to protect the transports!”

“Wasn’t planning on leaving! Keep your eyes open, they’ll be on us soon! Hang on, I've got a plan.”

“Coming into range now,” Cole said as the missiles locked on at maximum range. “Firing, time to crash and burn!”

Two of the Slammers were volleyed at the five aircraft before putting his own into a dive from the high altitude. The Shadow jets also broke formation to evade, while two of them were able to fire their own long-range missiles at the Eagle from an awkward angle. Turning around, dropping countermeasures, and enacting evasions, the F-15 avoided both. One of the two AMRAAMs, in turn, struck a Ye-8 as it banked too late to evade, tearing the aircraft to pieces.

“Gallo Four is hit!”

“Charge them all down! Drive them into the ground!” the Leader shouted. “How could you ever know what happened!? What right do you have to stand in our way!?”

The Phoenix team also moved into range between the two groups of bandits, and volleyed most of their own radar-guided missiles at them. They were able to hit one of the bandits going after the transport group, but had no more success from the enemy's maneuvers, instead electing to move into range to help Cole as he was vastly outnumbered and attacked the enemy group directly with no intention of retreat. The four chasing after the F-15 quickly began to close the distance, moving in at afterburner to close the range.

As they charged in, the Eagle banked off left and reduced power, hoping to play the energy fight the Flippers had against them. As the fast-moving Shadows followed, lagging just outside of firing, the American plane suddenly pulled up, increasing power again. Pulling into the apex of a high yo-yo, the Eagle turned back down, pulling in behind the turning jets. Most either increased speed or banked hard out of it, but one lagging jet fell perfectly into the pilot’s sights. The hard lock tone for the AIM-9 whined and two Sidewinders were loosed at the target, striking it and sending Gallo Five crashing to Earth.

Meanwhile, the other half of Gallo Squadron was closing in on the transports. Ulrich elected to take full advantage of his F-22’s stealth capability and brought them closer to the bandits at a high, slower, and straight trajectory. It had worked so far as the five enemy jets moved within range of their ally’s radar missiles.

“King to Spad, enemy aircraft are in range, we’re volleying now!”

The two F-15Es fired off all of their AMRAAMs at maximum range or further, hoping to break up their target’s coordination. It did so very well, and though because of this they were unable to score any kills, it left the Flippers in a broken formation unable to keep watch or support each-other. The four Raptors, utilizing their stealth, dropped down on their scattered enemies with total surprise and opened fire, quickly shooting down two of them. The remainder were left to try and find their way, with some trying to utilize their already built-up speed to escape the trap.

“I got one at my two, he’s running,” Ulrich notified his team. “I’m on him, you with me Soda?”

“Right behind you Whiskey, keep on him! Don’t let him get away!”

The running Flipper attempted to escape but was forced to turn and dodge the attempts by Ulrich to lock on, beginning a winding fight. The F-22 kept it’s throttle up, thinking the enemy interceptor was still trying to use it’s high speed to escape. After pulling into a left lag turn, the Flipper dumped it’s speed and just barely achieved the upper hand as the Raptor passed. Ulrich in turn cut his own speed and pulled the stick back, breaking off right in the opposite direction and up to escape the foe. However, the now-slow Ye-8 turning to follow had made itself a much easier target, and a quick missile shot from Spad 2 blotted the Shadow pilot away.

The other battle several miles away was entering its next phase as this occurred. The Tomcats of Phoenix Team had merged into the fight as well, making it far more cluttered as the Shadows attempted their high speed energy maneuvers and hit-and-run tactics. One of the Flippers was able to lock on and hit an F-14 with a heat seeker; the large plane shuddered and lost power, it’s crew bailing out as the plane fell in one big piece.

“A thousand years! A millennium of confinement in the void, left to be forgotten! Vilified by legends! What can you say of this!? We will destroy every human who stands in our way, no matter who!” the leader continued fanatically.

“I don’t care about your semantics, you don’t belong in this world! So I’m sending you to Hell instead!” Cole retorted, unable to keep himself collected.

“Don't belong in this world? You don't belong in the sky at all! What gives you the right to do this!? What makes you think you and your kind should stand before us!? In a conflict you could never understand!? I have the right to revenge!”

“I don’t care what you think you deserve. All that matters is what actually happens, and I can see reality! We’re picking a fight, the two of us, and you’re not going to get to see the end of it. What you want doesn’t matter, you hear me rat!? Doesn’t matter one damn bit!”

“Gallo Two here! I’ve got an Eagle behind me! Trying to increase throttle to escape but he’s keeping up!”

“Three here I see you! Give it max thrust and try and lead him straight on, I’ll swing in on his six!”

“Eagle One you’ve got a bandit pulling around on your tail, coming in high at your four! Phoenix One is moving to get on him.”

“Copy just shoot him off me, I’m not letting this one slip away!”

The crafts entered into an odd four-ship line chase burning across the sky. There was some maneuvering as the lead jet, Gallo Two, attempted to follow his wingman’s instructions and make it easier for him to lock on to the F-15, while also not getting shot down himself. Trying to stay somewhat straight, the afterburner was fired on in full, causing the same reaction down the line to cause the high-speed chase.

“Eagle One, we’re having a hard time locking on. Recommend you break,” Wild Fire warned.

“Just stay with me, shoot him down!”

Cole was able to keep the distance close, his engines burning up the fuel and the long, colorful fires flying behind. He began to fire the gun in long bursts, hoping to get lucky striking the fleeing aircraft. Some did strike at the win and tail, but not enough to cripple or slow the Flipper down. Finally, a perfect angle shot was achieved and the Sidewinder’s burned through a row of dropping flares to find the massive heat output of the engine.

“Fire Fox Two!” he signaled, letting the missile fly and successfully killing the bandit, the plane falling apart into hundreds of pieces from the velocity. “Got him! Bandit terminated!”

Cole slowed down slightly, cutting the afterburner and giving the engines a respite. Wild Fire was also able to achieve a hard lock on at this time on the tailing Flipper, itself not moving very much from the line. Two AIM-9s and a volley of cannon fire tore the plane apart, the extravagant paint being shredded and torn away as the plane broke apart and fell, burning up as it went.

“Gallo Seven here, all of our team here is down! They ambushed us with Raptors! Two of them on my tail now, another coming in at my nose!” the second-to-last Shadow pilot warned his commander. “My left wing’s hit! The canard’s been torn off too! I’m bailing, sorry Gallo One!”

“I won’t retreat, I won’t be denied the moment I’ve waited so long for!” said Gallo One.

“You stay and you’ll lose, it’s as simple as that!” Cole rebuked.

“I won’t lose to you, not to you humans! Wild, sick barbarians!” the Shadow pegasus shouted. “This may be your world but you don’t belong here! You don’t belong in the sky! You can’t fly!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what we mean, you’ve seen it in our propaganda. Humans, no wings, you don’t belong up here, you weren’t meant for it! You forced your way into the sky with metal machines! You being up here does nothing but taint it! You hear!? You don’t belong!”

The final Flipper continued to duel with the F-15 and the two F-14s, using its energy for height and better movement while the others followed, trying to force him to bleed off his speed. With each lag turn and high or low maneuver, one of the allied fighters would threaten him and force a sudden break in another direction, causing the interceptor to gradually lose energy. There was no chance of turning the tables against three aircraft, and maybe a chance of escape if a lucky opportunity presented itself, but no such opportunity was appearing. As he and the Eagle pressed each-other in a final flat scissors move, the number two of Phoenix Team, which had been trying to follow in lag turns, finally achieved a perfect firing solution and shot two missiles at the Flipper. Both impacted by proximity, shredding both the wings with metal and sending the smoking jet into a shallow dive.

“So, after all this time… denied by them,” Gallo One lamented as the plane fell, the voice crackling over the radio from the damage. “AWACS, can you hear me? Send a report of this… failure because of interference, the Americans, humans. They’re as arrogant as we thought, rageful, don’t think we can work with them. Remember us, keep it up until we’ve hammered them into submission. You will carry our pride with us, the pride of the Shadow Empire.”

“Hostile pilot, eject from your aircraft now,” Ulrich ordered, hoping to convince him.

“Another thing, one of the pilots that intervened was an F-15 Eagle with a white nose cone, I think I saw a flash of gold too. The same squadron we’ve heard about for so long, been causing us problems since before the war. The ones we heard rumors about… they were right. That flying though, swooping in like an angry vulture. A buzzard… not what I’d expect. You can beat them; remember they don’t belong up here.”

“Enemy aircraft, your altitude is dropping, eject now!” the Equestrian AWACS ordered.

“Over your territory? So you can take me prisoner? Prisoner again for you Equestrians, I won’t take that shame,” he denied vehemently, resigned to his fall. “The damage prevents it anyways, and that’s for the best. I still lived to see Canterlot fall to us, you won’t be able to beat us. The weapons we’re building, you can’t stand against us! You won’t-”

The ranting was cut off as the radio broke down to static and silence as the plane fell apart and finally struck the ground. It was an odd thing to witness; many fighters that fell in combat were lost instantly with no chance for last words or death calls, often not even noticed by their teammates. This one had been strangely lucky, giving out the details to his far away observers. Regardless, with his death, the airspace was finally cleared and under allied control once again.

"Huh... well... it's over," Cole said, still suffering from some lingering frustration but now tired. "He sounded like he was pretty temperamental. Drama queen."

“Guess that’s it huh?” Wild Fire observed as the aircraft leveled out from the fight. “He shouldn’t have messed with us to begin with.”

“We’re not picking up any other bogies near you,” the AWACS reported. “I think we’re in the clear. All aircraft reform and continue escort operations.”

“Copy that Wand.”

“I’m running a little low on fuel from that fight,” Cole added. “I’ll follow you guys as far as I can go. Are there any tankers you can call up?”

“Not on station, but I’ll see if I can find somepony who can help.”

“Copy that.”

The fighters moved back to regroup with the transport aircraft. It was a very quiet flight, no one seemed to want to talk, even with regular reports. There were no further disruptions as the group of planes fled the combat zone slowly, carrying the arguably precious cargo. Behind them the city was left to it’s fate as the battle for the capitol began it’s final conclusive phase. As for what would come next, none could tell.

Author's Note

Sorry it's just one chapter, I've got more I'm working on. Took some time to write this out since I've got some more now with what's happening. Still, considering that, things are pretty nuts; there's just a lot of different stuff to take care of now. Hope this helps you guys eat up some more time while you're at home.

Thanks for reading, especially the whole story up this far. You all take care out there.

The Owl and The Nightingale

May 18th, 2006
1234 Hours
Canterlot, Equestria

The mood around Canterlot was noticeably somber, even on a sunny and clear day like this. Much of the remaining citizenry were forced to live under the new restrictions pressed into them by the Shadow occupation forces. Being the capitol, it was far from the mere rear-echelon police units but multiple ones of greater variety. Canterlot quickly became the nerve center for the Shadow military in their drive to take over the other half of the country.

At the same time, this was the first breath of relative peace the city had since the war began, albeit a bitter peace. The damage done to it between the multiple air raids and the battle finally began to be repaired very slowly. A countless number of flags of the Shadow Empire were strung up around the city, and fluttered in the wind, with the largest being at the castle on the mountainside, far away but still clearly visible.

A single human stood in the sun of midday, studying the flag from where he was on a street of the more modern, urbanized New Town. He looked to the side and saw another small flag resting on the corner of a building. They were everywhere, and under their watch and shade a clear feeling of control and oppression was signaled. The city was a pitiful sight.

He was a member of the Air Force of China, the ‘People’s Liberation Army Air Force’; too much of a mouthful to say each time, he always thought. A collection of flamboyant, but empty and meaningless words. That was what he thought, anyways, but for the rest of the organization it did not matter what he thought. They did not want it to matter. Air Force Senior Colonel Dai Jun, fighter pilot, that was the better title, his title.

Jun had been a pilot for some years now, suppressing and hiding whatever unacceptable thoughts the service might find, until they could not afford to kick him out. Punishment and counseling then came, but nothing serious, for in his work he had climbed to be one of the better fighter pilots in the nation, through his own drive of skill rather than any military thought or tactical doctrine. Jun liked to think himself the best pilot in China, but he repressed that when it came about; wise men know overconfidence can spill into arrogance, and then death, and Jun tried to be a wise man.

The ‘Owl’, that was the name he had received for many a reason, the above being one of them. With war approaching, China could not afford to lose any of their skilled pilots. Being the best, and with the party’s love for optics, he was used as a propaganda piece, though only in visual and the approved stories. It was awkward, the Communist Party, never allowing dissent, leaving such a free, vocal critic of it to fly for the armed forces, and then use him for propaganda. Yet in the end, the party had turned this critic into a face of Chinese skill for them to use. Jun, the Owl, hated it, despised it, but now could only try and go on with his own path and studies in life; nothing could be done to change his country now.

He pondered this history, as he had done so many times before, as he walked down one of the streets of the city’s urban, business downtown area. He came across a tall building scarred and burned slightly from the battle, the broken skeleton of a restaurant on the ground level. It was clear on the outside what it was, but it was hollow, the inside blown and tossed like a tornado had kicked through, the effects of a point-blank tank round put into the business. Out in front of the store, sitting at one of the few metal tables left, was a pony he had been asked to meet.

“Ah, good morning! Are you Colonel Jun?”

“Yes, I am, and you are eh.. you are the one who asked for a meeting with me?”

“Yes that’s me. Just call me Nightingale, please,” the mare said, letting the Chinese pilot take the seat across from her. “I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can offer to eat or drink. As you can see the restaurant here was destroyed in the fighting.”

“Thank you, I had no hunger for anything. Now, what was it you wanted to speak about?”

“It has to do with one of your sorties, one of the battles you recently took part in,” Nightingale replied. “I heard during your attempt to stop the enemy from escaping Brumbay, you had an encounter with an unusual fighter squadron. Is that right?”

“Yes, they all seemed to be exceptionally skilled. Our radio interception and intelligence gathering after the battle say that they were the first-”

“I know who they are,” she interrupted. “United States Air Force, First Tactical Fighter Squadron. Is that it? They use the name ‘Eagles’ after their planes, even more so from the symbolic bird of their nation. Is that accurate Senior Colonel Jun? Were they the ones who defeated you?”

Jun was quiet for a moment; though he held no resentment against the enemy pilot he disliked admitting he had been thwarted, especially in the blunt way Nightingale put it.

“How do you know of them? I’ve heard various things since-”

“We’ve been fighting them for a very long time. Did you know they were the first American unit to land in Equestria? They voluntarily joined them in a way to fight us.”

“Yes I remember the stories that were coming out in the news.”

“Their squadron commander was once forced to bail out over Equestria and was captured by the ponies. Brought to their Academy. There must have been some agreement reached because the rest of the squadron soon joined him there. We sent a large formation of bombers and pegasi, not knowing the rest of the squadron had arrived. The hope was to bombard the base and capture him. Or his body. It was a risky operation on its own but once the entire squadron of jet fighters intercepted… almost the entire formation was destroyed.”

“Yes, I remember hearing about this. This was 2005. Not very long ago, but it seems like it.”

“A lot happened after that. This was the time before the United States and Equestria formed an official alliance. As such the squadron became ‘volunteers’ and in turn became part of the Equestrian Air Force as well. This development seriously disrupted our plans.

“We attempted to set a trap for them, and succeeded in shooting down some of their aircraft. But they started to fight back. There were two separate engagements with Griffon and Changeling aircraft. Both times the Americans tried to intercept our ally’s spy planes. They were unsuccessful in this but they did engage and destroy the fighter escorts following them. After this, probably because of this, the United States signed its alliance with Equestria. They began sending combat units and training and arming the Equestrians. Our entire strategy for winning the war had to be cut and reworked around a faulty contingency.”

Jun relaxed back into his chair as Nightingale recounted the history of the squadron. It was incredible to hear, putting so much into perspective. He began to mentally plug this new information into his own theories, adding it to his thoughts on the team and it’s commander. It only added more to his curiosity though, only bringing up more questions.

“That is impressive, seeing that one unit can have such an impact on the planet,” he commented through his less-than-perfect English.

“They’re certainly not the only enemy units that caused us problems, far, far from it. But that squadron has been a unique pain for myself in particular. Much less the Shadow’s failures.”

“You are not one of the Shadow horses correct? You look different from them.”

“No, me and my squadron are Night Ponies. We belong to a different group, look to a different leader. I only receive some orders from Sombra as part of their military.”

“Acting independently from the king of the Shadow Empire, while being part of his military? Only because you are not like them? It seems like a difficult relationship to understand.”

“Oh, if only you knew how much Sombra owes me.”

“And you said your plans, are your plans different from the Shadow’s?”

“My plans are my own, but they do rely on victory from this war effort, seizing Equestria as our home and putting a rightful ruler in place,” she explained vaguely before changing the topic. “Did you know that American squadron made a lot of friends with the Equestrians? Their leader in particular has a close friendship with a pegasus in the Equestrian Air Force. One that has influenced both of them significantly.”

“Why do you tell me all of this?”

“Because I have not fought their leader yet. Outside of a single ambush, my own squadron has had no contact with them. But you have. I brought you here because I want to know what you experienced in your fight.”

The Chinese pilot relaxed into his seat a bit, taking his time before answering her.

“What happened? It was not much, not long, a single encounter, but it was... fascinating… curious.”

“Can you be more detailed about the actions rather than vague feelings?” Nightingale asked with a hint of annoyance.

“The mission we had was sudden. The Griffons were having trouble stopping an American evacuation, so we were sent to help, though we only arrived at the end of the action. I was able to ambush one enemy fighter, a straggler, and shot him down before being engaged by the escort. From everything I saw it was indeed the Eagle squadron you speak about.”

“How many of their aircraft engaged you, specifically?”

“Myself? Only one. The other-”

“One? Just one?” Nightingale repeated incredulously.

“There were several fighters of the squadron, but they all engaged my companion’s squadron. The Dragon squadron, which itself had multiple members. All except their leader. The rest of my squadron was not with me. I was alone, and he was alone,” Jun recalled.

“So the fight was between the two of you. But neither of you were shot down.”

“We moved around each-other, trying to gain an advantage for a while. After spending some time fighting him I found something. He had no missiles. He was mostly unarmed, but he was still fighting me as if he did have them.”

“Unarmed!? He couldn’t fight back?”

“Yes, but he did. He distracted me, bought time for the other aircraft to escape, covering them.”

“He was unarmed. And yet you couldn’t shoot him down,” Nightingale surmised, her view of the Chinese pilot’s abilities noticeably waning.

“He was able to evade the few attacks I was able to make. He was straining at times. But the arrival of additional American fighters forced us to end the battle.”

Her opinion of the American pilot’s skill changed only slightly. Instead, she seemed rather disappointed in the vaunted Owl and his inability to defeat such a declawed opponent. From everything she had seen so far, and despite what had been accomplished, it seemed that the Chinese, especially the PLA, revered and paraded themselves far more than what they were actually capable of. It was clear she needed something else to defeat this squadron, more so than relying on luck or her new overblown human allies; it would require planning and some trickery, and failing that a direct intervention by the Shadowbolts themselves.

“If what you are telling is true then it seems like Dash had a greater effect on him than I realized.”

“What?”

“Rainbow Dash is the pegasus that I told you about, the one that befriended their leader. All of the squadron befriended the Equestrians of the local area. It’s not surprising, considering the Equestrian’s broken ideology about companionship. It’s had an interesting impact on both groups. Actually, my squadron fought with Dash’s and the Wonderbolts not long ago.”

“Really? What was it like?”

“Not as difficult as I thought it would be. We shot down a couple aircraft. No losses in my team of course. We've never had any, never will. But they broke and ran. It wasn’t easy but pitiful all the same, since they are supposed to be the best Equestria has. Their grand ideology leaves them far too weak and confused in a world that has no need for it.”

“Ideology? You think that affects how well they fight?”

“Yes, of course! I’m sure of it. I would know,” Nightingale spat defensively.

“Could you explain this ideology to me?”

“I don’t think I should. I’ve tried to explain it to some of your comrade countrymen before. They never really grasp it, just creating some false equivalency to ‘imperialist America’, but it has nothing to do with that. They are very dull and dim.”

“As I have said, I am quite different from the rest of the Chinese military. I was not born on the mainland. When I was younger I had a fascination with the cultural history of my country, but much of it was destroyed in the Cultural Revolution,” Jun explained, knowing full well talking about such matters could lead to trouble with the party. “The lack of any history or subject left a hole. It is hard to explain. I tried to find something similar to study, or something connected. For some reason I chose flying, I do not remember how I found it, but my fascination changed to looking at the human condition, through flying and war. And combining it in some ways. It is very strange. I can not explain it well”

Nightingale was more focused on her own thoughts, not caring to hear of the Chinese pilot’s story. She leaned forward on the table as he spoke, resting her legs on it, feeling the metal warmed under the sunlight. Once he finished, she sat up again, wanting to continue her own explanation in the hopes a human would finally understand.

“Well don’t worry about it, just know that their ideology is a failed one that they cling to, one that stops them from performing well in the actions of this world, like war. It’s a hypocritical lie that will lead to their destruction.”

“You sound very invested against it. Did you have some personal fallout with the Equestrians?”

“I keep the specific details to myself and my own circle of family, but I was Equestrian once I believed in it. Until I found that the ideal of being friends with everypony, using that power to overcome any obstacle, it did leave out some. There still had to be some villains, somepony that was the obstacle, of course."

Jun listened closely, much closer than she had listened to him; it seemed that despite the claim of keeping this to her personal circle she was eager to share it, perhaps wanting another unique person to agree with her.

"Of course I didn’t realize this for a time. But I was not a friend to them, I was ostracized, and rather than try to become friends with me I was mocked- for... at any rate, one day I ran to the woods. And there, Nightmare Moon took me as a friend, a servant, but a friend, when nopony else would. Equestrians try to be friends with most, but not all, and those few they did not befriend came to us. The Mare in the Moon took us in, herself driven out by her sister, and the lot of us were friends, family when no others would be.”

“Hmm… and these followers, these are the Night Ponies? Different from the Shadows as you told me?”

“Yes, we are Sombra’s allies, but not his.”

“And your family, that is your squadron you told me of?”

“Yes.”

“You are very different from what I first thought of you,” Jun admitted. "But it is difficult to trust you with this. I have spent my life being lied to by people I was told to trust. You could just be lying to me too."

“I think I was more wrong about you, you seem to be as arrogant and stubborn as the rest of your countrymen,” Nightingale retorted.

“I doubt this, I try to explore the ways people think.”

“All you do is confuse yourself thinking that much. If you had spent less effort on thinking and more on action you could have killed that American pilot.”

“You sound the same as a friend of mine, another pilot. He was with me when-”

“You should listen to him then, maybe he can bring some success instead of thinking and failing.”

“I have my reasons to ignore him,” the Owl shot back in frustration. “You do not know what our situation is like.”

“Oh so now you’re telling me I don’t know what your situation is like? But you can speak freely on my own without knowing what happened?” she scowled, electing to break off the conversation there. “Ah, hypocrites, you’re no different; I already know who I can trust. I think I got what little I could from this meeting, so I’ll end it here.”

Nightingale got up from her seat and flared her wings, the natural feathers flowing in the wind as she readied herself to fly off.

“I think I’ve gotten what little information I can get from you and your encounter,” she spoke down to the Owl as she floated up and hovered over him. “I will contact you if I need anything else. Go and take some time to enjoy Canterlot, Senior Colonel. From what I’ve heard, even in it’s damaged and occupied state, it’s still much more beautiful than the cities from your country.”

Following the fall of Canterlot, Cole found himself to be in a strange, painful position. Helping the aircraft escape from Brumbay had tightened the camaraderie of the squadron, but Cole leaving on his own just after this to race to take part in the Battle for Canterlot had left them shaken, as it was a sudden decision and he only told a few that he was going. They were not angry, not upset in any major way, but most agreed that he should not have done this; at the very least he should not have gone alone, even if the squadron was exhausted. They were now wanting to stick closer together, not stick their necks out that far for the Equestrians.

For Cole himself it was another peg of pressure to add on. The burning anger from the dogfight had already soured by the time he returned to base. Now the multiple worries concocted in a mix of frustration and worry over the course of the war.

Still, the men continued going about as usual. The retreat to such a far-off base had given a brief bit of downtime to recuperate. The men made the most of it, as Cole saw when he passed the Bravo and Charlie Flight leads reengaged in their card rivalry.

“Lieutenant Maurice, Sylvester,” Cole greeted. “How much cash are you waging now?”

“Not just cash, we thought of something a lot more fun to bet on,” Cowboy smirked. “Kills, we got enough now to bet one or two.”

“Really?

“Yeah really! Makes the card games more exciting. Hell you can make money back, there’s tons of it, it ain’t that important. But a kill to your name? That’s something real special.”

“Oh yeah? And just how much is a kill worth? What price do you put on something that important?”

“Well, we said fifty bucks,” Cowboy quipped. “Honestly Sir we usually just buy ‘em back from each other when it’s over.”

“Not a lot of either changes hands at the end of the day,” Keno admitted. “Hey, are you feeling alright Captain?”

“I’ll manage,” the Captain responded, quickly avoiding the question.

“Okay, well did you want to talk to us about anything?”

“No, no, nah. Nothing. Just on my way to talk to someone else anyways, so that’s covered. Thank you though.”

“Well… alright Sir. You take care.”

Cole left them to continue their game, wandering off to meet Lieutenant Walker in seclusion. He had tried to keep up the act, marching about with the proverbial mask to hide his worries, so that the team would not worry about him, but he needed to talk to someone all the same when things got bad. The USAF Chaplain had helped, but his own Executive Officer knew him a bit better. Ever the honorary ‘brother’, Walker was the one best suited to discuss concerning issues, and as such he was one of the men who could tell full well something was wrong and would blatantly bring it up.

“You want anything to drink?” Runner asked, standing from a table in the unoccupied lounge. “Water, tea, anything like that?”

“Yeah water’s fine, thanks.”

“They actually got a good selection of food and drinks here. Not like Brumbay,” the XO remarked, filling a styrofoam cup. “Perks of being inland, farther behind the lines. Deeper inside civilization.”

He handed the water off, and Cole thanked him, not making eye contact with his friend.

“So what’s on your mind?”

“All the shit that’s been happening, building up I guess. Any anger I had over the situation I burned up in that last dogfight. Now I’m just burnt out. Kind of down. Feels like it’s just complaining now though, and a squadron doesn’t need a captain that does nothing but bitch. Better to keep my trap shut.”

“I know what you mean. War’s not going too well huh?”

“No, it’s not. As much effort as we’ve put into it it’s not enough, everything else is just collapsing. I don’t even know what we can do anymore,” Cole rambled on, staring into his water. “And you know it’s cause of the fucking brass to, whatever generals are in charge of the ground forces. They still haven’t let the marines or the British off the leash to help at the front! Still! After the whole fucking line collapsed!”

“I don’t get it either, though the ground’s not our forte. Maybe they have something planned. Keeping it really secret.”

“I don’t know what they could be planning but they need to move quickly. Everything’s falling apart,” the Captain went on, now directly looking at his friend. “Way I see it, everyone’s got bug out fever.”

“What’s that?”

“Everyone’s freaking out over the front’s collapse and is running East. Regardless of if there’s enemies actually in the area, regardless of orders. Especially the Equestrians. Christ and after all we did too, most of them still won’t fight.”

“Some of them are trying though. I’m sure Dash is.”

Cole was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes shifting between Runner and the still water. That hurt a little, almost like an unintended cheap shot at his views, but Runner was right. After taking it in he felt better; it was no cheap shot, it was something to be hopeful about. He knew she had not given up, he just knew.

“Yeah she’s definitely still fighting. I’m sure of it. She’s not the kind to give up on something important like this.”

“She wouldn’t give up on her friends either, I’m sure,” Runner explained. "Yeah they’re not very good at the war business. But from what we’ve heard, the friends we’ve made, they’re still trying. So don’t give up okay?”

“Was never planning on giving up the fight Runner, you know that.”

“But don’t give up on them, that’s what I mean. I know a lot of guys in the military are getting to that, but we got to stick together. I know you won’t give up on her, or the other friends of theirs we met. They won’t quit on us. It’s all about that, you understand? We can’t lose that, that means you can’t lose that.”

“Yeah I wasn’t planning on abandoning them either. Really hitting that home huh?”

“What I mean… like I said, a lot of others want to give up on the ponies. But a lot of people know about you, even if they don’t look up to you. You’ve got the oldest friendship between a man and an Equestrian in history you know?”

“Well I’m not-”

“You two are real friends. You’ve done good for each-other, you won’t give up on each other. You and Dash, this squadron and all the friends we made back in Ponyville. That’s the proof, that’s the big shining light showing everyone else we can do this together. Equestrians keep talking about friendship and all they do is worry if it fits in this world. We’re the proof of that man, and you and Dash are the brightest tip of that light leading the way. John, you understand what I’m saying? Captain?”

Cole did understand, at least he thought he did. Walker had explained it all in a somewhat cluttered way, but it was not something he himself had not done and was not used to. The explanation had put things in greater perspective for Cole. He had always worried about the war, worried about many things, but he had not seen how what he did, and the friendships he had made, fit into that. Every little bit helped, but he had not realized how something as small as his friendship with Rainbow could grow into something that had an effect as far-reaching as this. Not to mention the rapport the squadron had made with the various Equestrians in it’s time since they had been here.

“Yes, I understand. Honestly, I do,” the Captain answered truthfully, looking to the eyes of his comrade with a slight smile.

“Good, I’m glad I can help.”

“Thank you man. You ready to head out? We need to- oh damn we forgot about our water. Didn’t even touch it.”

“Ah that’s no big deal.”

“Yeah but for some reason I don’t want to waste it.”

“Well… alright,” Runner agreed, grabbing his cup.

“Toast?”

“Sure, what to?”

“Friends, I guess. We were just talking about how great they are.”

“Sounds as good as anything else,” the XO agreed, raising the cup. “To our friends.”

“To friends,” Cole met his raise, bringing it back down and drinking all the water in one quick downing. “Let’s get back to it!”

Author's Note

Sorry I'm not updating the story as much. I wish I was. The year has been pretty crazy and life's gotten busier; granted I know I say that all the time but now it's much more than it's been before. Wanted to write out this little backstory chapter and barely had time for that. Still, I'm happy I could give everyone something. More is on the way, I promise. Thanks to everyone who bothered to read this, and take care.

Brass Royal

May 20th, 2006
0830 Hours
Guam

Clark ‘Sunny’ Scott, the commander of VF-33, hailed from Goldsmith, Texas, a small town on the outskirts of Odessa. Though he loved Goldsmith itself in its quiet demeanor, the absorption into Odessa was something he despised. He found nothing to be proud of in the city itself.

Odessa was large with a population of over one-hundred thousand, but it was a large city few outside of the state itself knew of. In the open land of Western Texas, Scott found nothing there he liked, being nothing but a big city in the middle of nowhere; no distinction, no identity, no prospects. He hated Odessa, and his abhorrence towards it only grew alongside his own maturity.

Finally, as soon as he could, he left the blank metropolis behind, not caring of the claims of the folk living there. When he would mention it, they would argue, of course, make their unconvincing claims, before moving to the argument that he was impatient, glory-seeking, missing the ‘beauty’, or simply a bad person. He never understood, never cared, and subsequently never looked back, continuing his vocal disapproval in return for many years.

He moved to Oklahoma for his College years, and never cared much about it being a smaller town. He soon discovered flying, a natural staple among the citizens of the state. For him it offered the greatest movement, the greatest freedom, the ability to escape wherever he was and go wherever he wished.

Living his early days jailed in Odessa had given him a deep desire to travel, to not get stuck in one place. Home was not a permanent location to him as it was to normal people. He was a wanderer, a rambler in the sky. This type of character in him made a natural fit for the Navy, where the ever-sailing ships were home, and an even better fit for flying for them.

His career went well, if uneventful; uneventful until the arrival of Arcaia. From the beginning, the Pegasi held an interesting, revolutionary place to Scott. With their natural wings and given instinct of flight they were a league closer to the idea of an aerial vagabond he wondered about. He never hid his mild jealousy of them and their gift.

Flying one of the two Tomcat squadrons off the America had left him with little to do compared to other squadrons. Guarding Hawaii was one thing but lacked any real satisfaction as the proper war in Arcaia continued. However, after a short meeting with Admiral Jay, that changed. He and his team were temporarily transferred to Andersen Air Force Base in Guam, under great secrecy, for a unique mission. He and the others pondered in length about the nature of the mission, and as he was crowded into a large auditorium for the briefing with several other pilots from different squadrons, it felt exciting to begin his first action of the war.

“Everyone here? Alright, let’s start the briefing for Operation Brass Royal,” the Air Force Lieutenant Colonel stated. “I know you all haven’t heard anything about just what this is or why you’re here. It’s been kept secret until now, and for good reason. Brass Royal is a rescue mission, a big one.

“Over the past few weeks, our spy plane and satellite fly-overs have gathered a lot of intelligence on Bloc forces. Some of these pictures include what look to be development sights for superweapons, a lot of them; orbital bombers, satellite weapons, all sorts of bad stuff. More importantly, our Blackbirds have brought back photographs of the movement of a large number of prisoners of war from their camps. After some follow-up U-2 flights, we found that they’re all being transported to the same city, the port of Onda Cálida on the Shadow Empire’s east coast. In addition to this, our radio intercept was able to pick up the following message transmitted from the city: ‘Barter Line is set and will commence in eighteen days.’

“The last piece of the puzzle came when the USS Greenville sank a small Chinese transport ship on its way from Arcaia back to China, and picked up a couple of survivors as prisoners. One of them had a written order that read ‘Barter Line confirmed, essential trade personnel to be transported to Shanghai at the agreed-upon date’, a more detailed version of the radio transmission. With that, and a few other bits of information, we figured out what they were planning.”

The Lieutenant Colonel took a minute to take a drink of water and breath before continuing, flipping to the next slide. It was good to give the pilots a moment to think, it was a lot to take in even for a military briefing. Though this was far from a standard military briefing, and far from a standard combat operation.

“We have determined that a large number of the human POWs that the Bloc has captured during the early days of the war, probably a majority of them, are to be secretly transferred from Arcaia to China. The handing-over of the prisoners looks like some kind of deal between the two factions. What the details are, and what China is sending in return are unknown, but that’s not what matters right now. What matters is that this is our chance to try and rescue them.

“Now, this is where our actual operation comes into play,” he noted for the fliers, taking a long drag from a cigarette before shoving it into an ashtray. “This is all about your job, so listen closely. Got it?

“We will have one chance to launch a rescue mission and save the POWs. They were already near-impossible to rescue in Bloc custody, but if they make it to China they’ll be out of our reach for good, and in for a far worse time. The Bloc nations seem to vary but in general they don’t seem to treat the prisoners too badly, but we all know what the commies will do to them. So, we’re going to bail them out. There’s a specific point in the journey that offers a clear window.

“We believe the Bloc will be attempting to transport them in secret aboard a cruise ship, the Vesper Star, and under this guise they will only have a single small escort. We will coordinate a pincer attack with our air power between Guam and Japan, where the window is best for us.”

The officer flipped the slide to a new picture, a map with drawings detailing the plan, along with the participating units’ emblems along the side.

“For Brass Royal to start off at all, we’ll need to take the enemy by surprise to give us as much time as possible to rescue our men before they can mount a big response. The beginning of the operation will rely on two squadrons from the Tactical Corps of USAF squadrons, Mage and Golem. They will send in a single fighter at low altitude, hugging the water to get in under the radar, and will use air-to-surface missiles to eliminate the escort ship in a surprise attack. Mage and Golem will then secure the airspace over the Vesper Star. AWACS Sky Keeper will oversee this area.

“The two other areas will be the large fighter waves coming from Guam and Japan, who will form a CAP and guard the flanks against the initial emergency response by both the Bloc and Chinese. Out of Kadena, there will be the 44th and 67th Squadrons under AWACS Timeline, ‘Vampire’ and ‘Rooster’ respectively. From here at Andersen, the 525th and 53rd under AWACS Stagecoach.

“Now once the airspace is secure, we will then mount the rescue effort. A large team of SEALs and Pararescuemen will be brought in by helicopter and seize control of the ship. Because of the large number of POWs, and the fuel limitations on the helos, and the increasing enemy pressure by this time, we won’t be able to evac via helicopter. Instead the Navy will be handling the evacuation.

“This last part is where the Tomcat teams come in, so you all listen closely. We do know that the Chinese combined aviation fleet with their multiple carriers are somewhere in the area. Because of their proximity, it’s highly likely they’ll launch a large-scale air attack before we can complete the mission and bug out. But because our carriers are stuck elsewhere they won’t be expecting you. Starfighter and Gunfighter will be on emergency response for this, and when the armada of Chinese aircraft arrives, you will use volleys of your Phoenix missiles at long range to drive them back. You’ll refer to Stagecoach and a little to Sky Keeper but they could come from anywhere to the West, so keep your heads on a swivel. Once the evac is complete we’ll bug out, questions?”

“Sir, you said the Navy is going to be handling the evacuation. How are they going to be doing that?” one of the pilots asked.

“Ah… unfortunately I can’t tell you. Because of the… sensitive and complex nature of the mission we’ve had to keep this half of the mission a secret in order to assure our own cover. Don’t worry, they will be able to handle it. Just make sure to focus on your own mission.”

“Well shit that’s not good,” Scott thought. “We don’t need to be kept in the dark on our own mission.”
He was wary of the mission, of it’s strange complexity, something that could easily doom an operation in the planning stages before it even began. Keeping parts of it confidential only exacerbated the problems. On paper it seemed any number of things could go wrong, but they would undertake it all the same. ‘Rescue’, that word stuck to every man in the room, it was arguably the most important of any they would get. Those on the ship would not be abandoned so long as there was a chance, and now that one had presented itself, regardless of the difficulty, it had to be seized.

The large collection of Tomcats were orbiting over a patch of water, one that was not any different from the rest of the Pacific. Vast and simple and with no visual guides, the ocean stretched on. This specific latitude and longitude was their holding position, outside the small radar coverage of the escort. They sat here, waiting for the call for their part in the operation to initiate, biding their time until then.

“How do you think the war is going on this side of the ocean anyways?” Sunny asked his RIO, ‘Grip’, only now noting that they had kept the carrier wing in deep secret and rather uninformed on Guam.

“You’re just now wondering that?” Grip replied.

“Yeah?”

“Oh… well… I don’t know.”

“Figures, you never keep up with the news.”

Scott continued to ponder the state of the conflict in this half of the Pacific. It felt like an uneasy, low-intensity sideshow compared to the main front in eastern Arcaia. The two sides had launched piddling, inconsistent strikes at each-other from aircraft at the various bases and from the few warships in the area, yet neither side had conducted any major offensives. The Bloc home countries were far too well defended to attack without serious loss, defenses which were growing by the day. Yet due to the other active conflict zones, and more so due to politics, neither they nor China dared enter allied airspace.

None had tried to attack Japan directly, which was holding its own as a neutral country and a major eastern base for the U.S., and despite having an official state of war with the Bloc did not wish to invade American territory; perhaps they believed that if they seized Arcaia proper and drove the allies off the continent entirely America would sue for peace. China, despite having it’s armed forces directly clashing with the allied nations, would not invade other lands officially either. No direct state of war meant no attacks from either side on Chinese territory or vice-versa, for the most part at least.

Scott pondered this as he anxiously waited for the operation to commence. None of this would last, this bizarre standoff was unnatural for a war of this size. Japan, China, Guam, western Arcaia, it would all eventually get swept up in this expanding conflict. There was no getting around it, the real question was when, and then the question of whether or not the forces here would be enough to ensure a victory.

“Hey did you know my cousin’s on the Ringgold?” his RIO asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Well his destroyer’s been prowling around Japan. The news said they already popped a couple Chinese aircraft that closed in.”

“Did he say if there was a major increase in activity there?”

“No, but I can ask him next time I talk to him.”

“Jesus Christ Grip,” Sunny moaned.

As the main force loitered, the operation was finally beginning to the north of them. The initial lone aircraft was pushing ahead, waiting for the signal. The ABMs checked and coordinated from their stations on the massive AWACS planes. Everything was in position, the clock ticking down slowly, wearing out every agonizing second. When the minute finally turned, the call went out like a war horn, signalling the beginning of Brass Royal.

“Stagecoach to all units, Repunzal. Repeat, Repunzal,” the AWACS announced, passing the code phrase from high command to begin the operation. “Sky Keeper, did you copy that?”

“Affirmative. Mage Two, do you read? Commence. Remember you are forbidden from making any contact with us. We need to achieve total surprise so keep silent.”

The F-16 went in low and alone, his allies far away and unable to help. A large collection of broken, low-flying clouds crowded the distance between it and the target, complicating the mission further but giving another layer of cover to him. The Falcon flew low, as close to the water as it dared to get, as much as it could to further decrease the time and chance of detection by the radar of the enemy escort ship.

It was a tense few minutes, with no one knowing what was happening. The crew of Shadows on the escort would be the first to find out. The Grisha corvette’s radar reported a single contact, very low, and fast. Initially, for a few seconds, it was thought to be a mistake, some kind of glitch in the electronics. Then it was seen as a very real contact.

The initial response aboard was slow, they were expecting the voyage to be kept in total secret. That was the plan, the entire point of only having a single escort. Even if the Shadows did encounter an enemy they expected it to be a patrolling submarine. As the crew scrambled about, they did not think an American fighter, especially one on an attack course, would be this far out in the western Pacific.

The Falcon released two AGM-84s, giving the crew of the corvette very little time to react. Both missiles streaked in at high speed while the small vessel increased it’s run to flank speed and heeled away from the Vesper Star, trying to bring it’s guns up for defense. It was too late, as the weapons flew in too quick, even as the guns were being turned the first missile rammed into the top superstructure and exploded, blasting away most of it.

So little was left that the second missile actually missed and passed just over the boat, turning into the ocean. Miraculously the hull of the Grisha was mostly intact, but everything on the top deck and above had been totally obliterated by the explosion. She was left as a careening wreck, no longer a decisive factor in the battle.

“Enemy corvette down, looks disabled at least,” AWACS Sky Keeper reported, giving a relaxed sigh. “Trigger the first stage of the mission is clear.”

“Stagecoach to all units, hawk, hawk, hawk!”

“Alright Starfighter team, move to the rendezvous point!” Scott ordered.

“Fight’s on now baby!” his wingman Wolf jumped.

The various squadrons of fighters all fanned out, heading towards their various guard points. The primary attack force of helicopters, carrying the rescue force of SEALs, Air Force Pararescue, and a handful of miscellaneous others increased their altitude and speed to move in. The Vesper Star down below was frantically trying to send a radio message for help, only to be jammed by the American aircraft. This all took time however, time that was now of vital importance, as every second passing the enemy could discover the operation.

“Stagecoach to Bulldog, we have contacts, do you copy?”

“Bulldog copies, send it,” the Raptor pilot of the 525th answered.

“Two bogies, altitude angels twenty, speed one-thousand. They’re heading directly for your guard station at Point Delta. ID and engage if hostile, out.”

“Bulldog Three-One, take Charlie Flight ahead and get to work!”

“Couldn’t they be civilian airliners?” another F-22 pilot asked.

“Two civilians, out here at that altitude? No chance. But we have to ID to be sure. Paco?”

“I heard ya lead, Charlie is moving!”

The collection of Tomcats rendezvoused with the two Tactical teams from the north over the target ship itself. The helicopter team arrived sixteen minutes later, Chinooks moving in at their maximum range to deliver the rescue team. The vessel had begun to speed up and was now moving in an awkward, wide zig-zag, though there was little that it could do to defend itself without any weaponry.

“There’s no way those helicopters can transport the prisoners off. There’s not nearly enough,” Wolf noticed, a worried tone in his voice.

“No, they couldn’t even try. They don’t have enough juice to loiter around. That’s what they told us, remember? Got to pay attention in briefing Wolf.”

“What are the SEALs going to do? Sail the damn ship all the way to Guam?”

“We’ll have to assume so for now.”

“These guys know we can’t cover them the whole time right?” Scott’s RIO asked.

“We’ll stay out here as long as we need to.”

“Yeah but that’s not going to be long enough. Unless we just keep refueling over and over till we get the ship all the way back. And I don’t think I want to stay up here for that long.”

“This is Pine. Sky Keeper, we’re beginning our attack on the target. We’ll offload Hammer soon,” the helicopter lead reported.

The helicopters broke away to their various offloading points around the vessel. The crew of Vesper Star, knowing full well they were under attack and now about to be boarded, had already armed themselves and were on alert. There was nothing more for them to use than AKs, though this could still prove deadly if they got lucky, with some of them opening fire on the helicopters as they closed in. The gunners on the Chinooks responded to the sudden aggression instantly, returning fire with their own miniguns if they were able.

“Mac, cease fire!” the pilot of the leading chopper yelled. “That ship’s full of our guys! No shooting unless you’ve got a confirmed kill shot!”

“Shit, shit alright!”

“Pine Lead to all Pine units, watch your fire! Stray rounds could kill our men!” he warned the other helicopters. “We’re going to have to get in real close! Only fire if you’ve got a good clear shot on a tango, and then only short bursts! Everyone got that, over!?”

The process of suppressing resistance became much more surgical, with the Chinooks flying cautiously closer, giving their gunners some chances to pick off the crewmembers that stuck out. Rifle rounds impacted on the sides of the choppers, doing little damage but each held the small possibility that one would strike a critical system, or penetrate and hit one of the passengers. Still, it was with the unique, cool discipline the pilots had that allowed them to carry through with their assault mission. The SEALs boarded from multiple areas around the ship, using rope or direct landing where possible, and finally they could get about the mission of pacifying and seizing the Vesper Star and her priceless cargo.

“Hammer is onboard and in play!”

“Stagecoach this is Bulldog, we splashed those bandits but it looks like there’s a lot more coming! We’re going to move in and cut ‘em up, over!”

“Copy that, Stagecoach to all units, be advised I’m seeing a spike in bogie count, over.”

“This is Sky Keeper, confirmed. We’ve got twelve contacts nearing Bulldog. More than thirty contacts massing to the northeast and another ten about five miles south of that. They know exactly what we’re planning to do, all units prepare to intercept!”

“Stagecoach to Bengal, there’s another group of bogies to the southeast. Bearing one-three-three, altitude forty thousand. We need you to engage ASAP, how copy over?”

“Solid copy Stagecoach, we’ll engage!” the 53rd Squadron lead complied, heading the group of F-15s out to fight.

“CAP is getting spread out,” Wolf mentioned to his lead.

“Remember our mission, keep looking west. They’ll call us if they need help,” Scott reminded him.

The battle continued for some time, with the F-14s and the handful of planes from the two tactical squadrons orbiting protectively over the ship. They could only keep track of the air battle mentally through the various radio communications. All four of the assisting fighter squadrons were engaged; the combat was broken but noticeably intensifying. They knew it could not be kept up for long, as the fuel would be drained and even with tankers the enemy’s pressure would only increase.

The reports streamed in steadily. The 525th shot down eight enemy MiG-23s, but lost one Raptor in the process. Then the 44th called in, three more Floggers were shot down and an enemy squadron turned away with the loss of one of the ‘Vampires’. Then the ‘Bengals’ defeated their group, claiming three MiG-29s in a close dogfight while losing two of their own. The 525th again, turning back a huge formation of Flankers; six of them shot down, two F-22s lost and running out of fuel and ammunition. Again, the 53rd, another ‘Bengal’ lost for two Flankers, still holding the line. The 67th Squadron reporting from the north with a huge melee in the clouds, four more American planes lost for nine Shadow Fulcrums. It could only continue for so long.

“Sky Keeper to Golem One, we have a flight of bogies inbound towards you from a hole to the northeast. Are you available to engage?”

“Affirmative, we’re good to go, just give us the bearing and details. Mage Team, stick with the ship, keep the Navy guys out of trouble would you?”

Four F-18s broke off on an intercept course, leaving the two Falcons with the Tomcat teams. Down below, the SEALs thoroughly cleared the ship of hostiles, moving through each deck, breaching each room, cutting down any crew that tried to resist. One was lost in the process, taking an AK round to the head, and another two wounded, but the Vesper Star was secured. The intelligence team’s hunch was perfectly accurate, as the ship was loaded with human POWs belonging to various branches, and some to allied nations, all in rather good condition as well. Even as the ship was reported clean, it was clear time was running out; the 44th reported two more losses for one Flanker kill.

“Hammer to Sky Keeper, objective has been captured! Check the clock, are we on time?”

“Affirmative Hammer we are on schedule. Let’s hope the other half of the rescue is ready too. If not, this operation is doomed.”

“You don’t need to remind me Sky Keeper!”

“Golem here, we’ve turned back that hostile flight but there’s another on its way. We’re engaging now.”

The airborne battles continued, with the lines of the CAP slowly contracting as planes were lost or forced to retire. The defense was pushed in but by bit, but the Tomcats were held back for a specific retaliation the commanders expected, much to their chagrin. All they could do was circle the ship, constantly worrying, wondering what the SEALs planned to do to get the ship, and the prisoners, to safety. They would have to be covered for as long as possible, but even the longest the F-14s could provide was not long enough. One anti-ship missile and the unprotected vessel, and the souls aboard, would be lost. The operation seemed more and more shortsighted as the pilots waited.

“Hey look down! At the target!” one of the VF-124 pilots shouted excitedly.

“Sunny, down at our ten, at the water!” Grip jumped. “Look at the water, something’s breaking the surface!”

Down along the ocean, not far from the ship, a disturbance in the waves instantly changed as something broke through the top like a whale breaching, carrying a geyser of water upwards. It took another second for the shocked onlookers to realize that it was a submarine enacting an emergency surface at a high angle and speed. It shot upwards before falling down onto the sea again, obscuring itself with a splash and a wall of seawater and foam. It lasted no more than a few seconds but the sub had come to a rest, the long, pitch-black ship only identifiable from it’s sail and the diving fins on it.

“Christ, that’s a submarine! Where’d it-”

“Sunny that’s ours!” Grip interrupted. “That’s one of ours! It’s an LA!”

“That’s a Los Angeles! So that’s how they’re planning to get our boys out!”

“Those brave crazy sardines!” Wolf howled in delight. “Haha I should’ve known! Wooo boy!”

A garbled radio began to pierce over the airways before coming in more clearly.

“Testing, anyone reading this? This is the U.S.S. Louisville, can anyone read us!? Come in!”

“Louisville, this is AWACS Sky Keeper, it’s a relief to finally see you! The target has been secured, are you ready to start the transfer, over?”

“Affirmative, we’re ready! Can you give us the frequency of the unit on the ship that’s conducting the transfer, over?”

“Copy, one second.”

The operators and prisoners on board the Vesper Star had all turned their eyes to the submarine when it arrived, and finally they made contact after a tense waiting period.

“Hammer One, this is the Louisville, your taxi is here! Have you got our guests ready to move, over?”

“We’re ready, thank God you guys made it! We’ll have to work fast, we’re sitting ducks out here. We’ve got a lot of people, do you have enough room onboard?”

“Don’t worry Hammer One, we’re going to bring everyone home!”

The evacuation could now finally get underway, utilizing whatever boats that were available to move the prisoners to the submarine as quickly as possible. However, they only had so much time to do so; the American fighters were still trying to fend off the Bloc aircraft and should any enemies slip through it would quickly lead to massive casualties, even the sinking of the cruise ship, or worse, the Louisville, sitting out exposed on the ocean’s waves. Despite the exuberance and relief at being rescued, there was still a worry for this. The now-evening sun casting it’s golden light over the sky and water colored the scene beautifully from above as Scott watched, masking the tense anxiety that was buried in each man both above and below. They waited as the sailors worked, each minute going by painfully slow, waiting for any call, the time dragging on but allowing their rescue to continue without interruption. At last there was a call from the AWACS, and to the joy of the Tomcat crews, the call for them; for the exact mission that they were here for.

“Sky Keeper this is Timeline, I’m seeing a massive wave of bogies coming in from the west bearing two-eight-zero, heading for the ship! Are you picking them up?”

“We are, that’s what we’ve been waiting for. Starfighter, Gunfighter, set course to intercept.”

“That’s them, the Chinese Naval Air Arm,” Scott noted.

“Finally! Time to spring the trap!” Wolf lavished in the opportunity to fight. “No way they’ll be expecting us!”

“Bet their carrier fleet isn’t far off,” Scott’s RIO commented. “Too bad we can’t go after them huh Sunny?”

“One day brother, they’re going to burn and drown.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Yeah, now get to locking up those bogies! No way they’re civilians!”

The two squadrons of Tomcats adjusted their course, heading for the horde of Chinese fighters. They stabilized, flying straight and level together at a comfortable pace, aiming to intercept. The American’s hunch was accurate; because no American carriers were in the area the enemy did not expect any Tomcats, or their long range missiles.

“Starfighter to Gunfighter, volley launch on the Phoenix, are you ready?”

“We’re coming into range now and locking targets. They’ll probably notice.”

“Everyone pick out targets but hold fire, get in a little closer. We’ll volley launch and break them up, the surprise should be enough to drive them back.”

The two formations closed in like two packs of ravenous wolves, desperate to wipe each-other out. Slowly the Tomcats slipped into range for their long-range Phoenix missiles, still out of range for even the largest AAM the Chinese carried. The distance closed, the F-14s holding their fire, locking on to individual targets, though the fire-control radar warning told the Chinese that something was wrong, but they refused to break formation.

“Starfighter here, mark! Mark!” Scott shouted. “Fire! All planes fire now! Launch!”

A chorus of replies ran over each other; ‘firing!’, ‘launch!’, ‘Fox Three!’. Dozens of the giant missiles fell from the underbellies of the jets in seconds. Their rocket motors ignited, sending the mass of ordinance out towards the various targets. The sky ahead of Scott was dotted and streamed by the lights of the rockets and the long lines of smoke trails in a mesmerizing modern version of a mass volley of arrows from a company of bowmen.

The Chinese, in their horror, heard the missile warnings and realized what was happening. Instantly, instinctively, the call to break and evade went out. The long lack of real wartime experience and their awkward training and command took their toll, as the break was done at random in various directions. Some broke left or right, some dove, some climbed, some turned around to try and outrun them, some commanders ordered them to keep formation and keep flying forward, which a number of the underlings complied to. The sudden maneuvers created an airspace ripe for mid-air collision, causing further chaos, and the carefully crafted, rigid command and coordination the Chinese emphasized fell apart, scattering them in every direction to the four winds.

Then the missiles arrived. The large Phoenix, the giant that it was, sacrificed maneuverability for it’s legendary range and power, meaning it was easier to dodge than other American missiles, but it was by no means inaccurate. This was proven when the first enemy jet fell, flying straight on and struck head on in it’s nose, the heavy missile tearing it apart. Then two more, then three, then several in succession. With the cover broken one of the Tomcats of VF-124 made a wise and lucky shot and struck the sole Chinese AWACS that led the group, sending it falling into the Pacific. In total, eighteen Chinese fighters, along with their lumbering AWACS, were lost to the massive saturation attack, but there were still twenty left, and should they regroup they could still pose a threat. With the F-14s now reduced to only short-range attacks with their Sidewinders, Scott made a quick decision to press the attack.

“Starfighter One to all Starfighters, press in and wipe them out! Max power, move quick! Gunfighter you want to help us?”

“Affirmative Sunny, we’re going to have the short end of the stick though, getting into a dogfight like that. They could have the upper hand.”

“That’s why we need to get in there now! Take them out while they’re still scattered!”

“Ah, I got you, good call! We’ll move in and engage! Sky Keeper, do you read? Gunfighter and Starfighter and pushing in to finish off the bandits at close range. You copy that?”

“Affirmative, just be careful, we’ll have support on standby if you need it.”

The evacuation of the prisoners to the Louisville was progressing smoothly, but at a slower rate than the operators wanted. Using the various boats on the Vesper Star, and those available on the submarine, to ferry the men over was an arduous process, prolonged further by the difficulty of getting so many through the sub’s few openings. The boat operators began to simply ferry the men to the deck of the rescuer and let them wait there for their turn to go below while they left to get their next load. The deck of the Louisville was soon being crammed with the POWs; most of those from the Army and Air Force had never been on a submarine before, and standing there on the slick deck of one, crowded and with the waves kicking up, instilled a very real sense of vertigo and worry.

Finding space inside the submarine was also a hassle, with the crew having removed everything they could to make space, but it was clear they would still have to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in most of the compartments. Worry slowly began to evolve to panic as the fighter’s CAP cover to the operation dwindled and the battle homed in on them, shaking the discipline of the various service members. Some of the POWs, particularly the handful from the Navy and Marine Corps, elected to swim the short distance between the two ships rather than wait; the SEALs preferred the safer method, though that did not stop some of them from attempting, and accomplishing, the feat.

“Sky Keeper this is Starfighter, do you read? We’re in some trouble here, over.”

“What’s happening Starfighter?”

“These Flankers are turning the tables on us, we got a few more of them but most of us are Winchester! We need some help!”

“Mage Team, move in and get our guys out of there, help the F-14 teams disengage.”

“Trigger we’re going to have to work fast to bail these Navy guys out,” said Mage One to his wingman. “Let’s make sure none of them get shot down. We came here to rescue our guys, not lose more of them.”

The two Falcons headed out towards the spacious dogfight out west. At this time though, the extended CAP covering the operation had to finally give way. Most of the fighters had run out of weapons with which to fight and retreated, while those remaining were exhausted and left out alone over the vast emptiness of the ocean. Having fought the Bloc fighters to a standstill, for the time being, most of the fighters were given the order to return to base.

“Golem One to Sky Keeper, we’re winchester and have to pull out now! There’s still two bandits coming in low towards the ship, we can’t get to them!”

“Copy Golem One. Hammer, do you copy? This is Sky Keeper, we have two bandits inbound to the ship and we don’t have anyone who can get to them in time. Expedite your evacuation!”

By now most of the prisoners had been transferred over, and some of the rescue team were beginning to head over as well, but there was precious little time to do so. With the quickened pace everyone soon realized they would come under attack soon, and desperation began to take hold. Still, the move was preceding well, just not fast enough. Bit by bit, boatloads of prisoners or their rescuers were brought over to the submarine, but it was not fast enough. More people began to take to the water out of fear, or to allow others to take their place in the boats.

“Sky Keeper to Hammer we’re tracking the bandits, they’re moving in closer now and they’ll be able to- shit! One of them’s fired a missile! Hammer get everyone off the ship! Now!”

Now the order was done away with in hopes of getting everyone off and away from the ship. As such the men clambered down ropes and netting to the ocean, which now presented itself as relative safety. The missile itself was an updated copy of the Kh-31 anti-ship missile, which an unarmored cruise ship built for luxury rather than war had little real chance of surviving. The missile streaked in, it’s computer selecting the largest, closest target, and adjusted the flight path until it final impacted. The weapon struck the Vesper Star on it’s starboard side, near the aft, tearing into the ship’s hull and exploding.

The ship instantly rocked and began to list, the only thankful part being that since the evacuation was taking place on the port side there were few people in the impact zone. Sadly this would not be the case for one of the SEALs and a Pararescueman, as well as three of the prisoners who were still there helping to search. Regardless, the few men left aboard made for the water and would have to swim for it. There was now a general collection of them paddling about in the open waters of the Pacific, leaving it up to the various boat crews in charge of transporting to rescue them, launching a frantic new operation. Despite this the submarine officers were relieved; the missile had impacted the mostly-empty cruise ship rather than their own vessel. Had the Louisville been hit, all would have been lost and several hundreds of men would be left to drown alone in the vast ocean, but all they had to do now was enact a pickup of those left in the sea.

“Sky Keeper, Louisville. The Vesper’s been hit and it looks like she’ll be going down. Most of the rescue boys and POWs are off though, looks like light casualties. We’re going to pick up the last of the guys in the water and get out of here, over.”

“Stagecoach, Timeline, this is Sky Keeper. Initiate the retreat the operation is wrapping up. Pull back your aircraft, this place is only going to get hotter the longer we stay here.”

“Copy that Sky Keeper,” Stagecoach answered. “Starfighter, Gunfighter, have you been able to disengage?”

“Negative not yet, these last few fighters are trying to wear us down. Can’t run without getting shot down.”

“Mage Team, are you able to engage?”

“We’re almost there, we’ll take care of it!” Mage One answered. “Trigger we need to work fast with this. And remember we came here to rescue our people not lose more of them. None of these guys can go down.”

The two Falcons broke from their formation to engage the handful of Chinese fighters that were harassing the Tomcats. Though there were more of the F-14s, their low fuel, altitude, and speed meant their enemies held an advantage. It was through their numbers that they had warded off the enemy for now, and most did not think they would be able to get out of the situation without losses.

The lead Falcon moved in and focused on the closest Flanker trailing after a pair of Tomcats. The sudden warning forced the enemy fighter to break off and defend, and an initial AMRAAM shot missed. A second shot a moment later, this time by a Sidewinder, connected and destroyed the target, freeing up the two F-14s.

Mage Two, at the same time, focused on another bandit which was chasing down a Tomcat at low level that was attempting desperately to ward him off with a long sort of zig-zag weave. The pilot opted for a gun shot due to the low speed and predictable movement, and as such snuck up on the Flanker without any warning given to the Chinese pilot. A long burst of cannon fire at the next turn riddled the Chinese jet and rescued another Tomcat. It had only been twenty seconds and Mage Team had already shot down two enemy jets.

“Starfighter Lead, looks like Mage Team is here. All Tomcats that are winchester or low on gas start to RTB, clear up some space.”

One of the Gunfighters who still had a hostile on his tail attempted to dive, with Trigger latching on to the six of the Flanker as well. Likewise, one of the Chinese pilots nearby that was initially chasing Gunfighter One noticed this and shifted to try and dive at the F-16. The initial lock by an AIM-9 on the Falcon was noticed by the first of the Chinese pilots and he instinctively fired off countermeasures when he heard the warning, only to find that the Falcon pilot had noticed this and waited until after the flares had fallen, giving him another guaranteed kill. The second Flanker was diving on the F-16 from his ten at a high angle and the pilot made a sharp pitch and speed adjustment to meet him. In a split second shot, Mage Two locked and fired his second and last missile while the Flanker fired one of his radar-guided weapons. In another second the Sidewinder struck the nose of the J-15 and sent it careening towards the ocean while the Chinese missile just missed due to the poor angle of the shot.

“Damn did you see that!?” one of the Navy pilots shouted. “That guy in the Falcon just killed two of them in like five seconds! Holy shit that was lucky!”

“Gunfighter Lead to Starfighter, looks like Mage cleared most of my Team. Sorry but I’m using this opportunity to break off.”

“Copy that Gunfighter!”

“Gunfighters Three and Four break off that engagement and follow me.”

Mage Lead targeted the second to last Flanker that was going after Starfighter Two, and in turn followed by another F-14 that had only gun rounds left. He locked on with one of his AIM-9s and fired but a burst of flares and a hard break caused a premature detonation of the missile. Another shot with his last missile also detonated early but close enough for the shrapnel to riddle the tail of the jet. A line of black smoke belched from the fighter, pitching about wildly before the pilot ejected from his plane.

“Sunny, Wolf. I’m clear, you need me to give you a hand?”

“Yeah, if you can. I’ve still got one behind me, just leading him in loops. Don’t burn up your fuel because of me though.”

Scott pulled his big plane around again, trying to use energy tactics and superior speed and power to keep the J-15 off of his tail. After another break, he looked back and noticed that his aggressor was absent, setting off a slight panic as he was afraid he had lost sight of him. Grip spoke up directing him to their own three o’clock, with the second Mage aircraft chasing after him. The sole surviving Flanker was chased down closer and closer, constantly firing off countermeasures in advance, until the F-16 caught him at a good angle and fired his gun into the body of the jet.

“Starfighter Lead, breaking off. Stagecoach, was that the last contact?”

“The last one in your area, but there’s more coming. You all need to get out of there now.”

“Understood, all Starfighter units RTB at once.”

“That’s six kills for Mage Team in less than twelve minutes! Six!” Wolf congratulated loudly. “Four of them just from the number two plane alone! Hot damn!”
“That the same one that hit the corvette at the start of the mission?” one of the other Starfighter pilots asked.

“Yeah, that’s him,” another confirmed.

“How the Hell did he do all that? What kind of pilot is in that plane?”

“Gunfighter, Starfighter. Can you give us an estimate of your losses, over?”

“Starfighter, everyone sounded off. No losses in our squadron, over.”

“None? Copy that. Starfighter Team, sound off.”

One by one the members of VF-33 responded, confirming the near-miracle that no F-14s had been lost in the engagement.

“Not one loss, how’d we manage that… that Falcon pair, must have pulled some real magic flying. Christ I’ll have to buy them some real top-shelf liquor for this.”

“Stagecoach to all units, if you’re low on fuel we’ve got a couple tankers ready for you. Only take what you need to get back to base, we don’t need anyone running out of fuel. Mage Squadron, you guys are first in line.

Mage Team followed the Tomcats and headed to Guam. The chaotic nature of the return of the aircraft made it difficult for the air controllers to organize everything. The runways were in a constant state of use in the scramble to land the aircraft in appropriate order, fast enough so that none would run out of fuel. The fighters, the AWACS aircraft, the tankers, all of them took time to land and taxi. Bit by bit the planes landed safely, the weary pilots and aircrew staggering out, totally exhausted from their mission.

Scott watched as the Falcon landed on the runway in the last of the failing daylight, tracking it from final to touchdown to end. Once both F-16s had taxied back and shut down, the sun had finally set, the last rays of light barely careening over the horizon’s edge. He walked over to the two pilots, personally thanked them for their help in the operation and in saving his wingmen, promising them any gift he could give in return, and started heading inside to debrief.

Most of the airmen, while happy they had successfully accomplished, were far too tired to celebrate, with most finding somewhere to rest or going to get a drink before passing out. He met with the Lieutenant Colonel who had given the briefing for a general debrief, and as the latter had already met with the other squadron commanders there was not as much to go over.

“So how’d it go? Did the sub have any trouble?”
“No, everything seems to have gone fine. They surfaced a short while ago to send a message before diving again. It’s pretty cramped, even for a submarine, but everyone’s alright. They’ll keep their heads underwater and make the trip back to Japan.”

“Losses?”

“Aircraft wise? Four Raptors, five Eagles from our sector. Don’t know about the flights out of Japan. From the rescue team, two SEALs and one PJ, and five prisoners they think. But everything went according to plan. Somehow, everything went right.”

“Sounds like we did good today.”

“Yeah you did, more than you realize too. You remember during the briefing we talked about Bloc superweapons?” the Lieutenant Colonel reminded him. “The prisoners we picked up are starting to corroborate some of that. SEALs found some papers on board too talking about it. Not a lot of details but the bad guys are definitely up to some real evil shit.”

“How evil are we talking? Like biological weapons? Chemical?”

“No this is some… real weird magic engineering.... superweapon stuff from what we’re looking at. Nothing like that but it looks like there’s a variety of WMDs. Orbital weaponry, mass explosive… I don’t really know how to describe some of this. There’s still a lot of details missing. We’ll have to wait for a proper debrief from the POWs and for more recon flights and intelligence to come along.”

“Sir shouldn’t you be keeping some of this stuff classified?”

“Honestly no, I don’t think so. They’re beyond just theorizing with some of this stuff. We’re going to have to deal with it, and we need all of our guys to know about it.”

“Alright, but it’s not my fault if this leads to trouble.”

“Just go get a drink and something to eat, and then go try and get some sleep. Those weapons are something to worry about for tomorrow, for tonight we can rest. You all did excellent, real heroes tonight. A victory like this is good news for our people on mainland Arcaia, they need something to boost morale.”

“Yeah, tomorrow, sure Sir.”

Author's Note

Had a very brief break from a busy schedule to write this out and publish it. I hope it doesn't seem to rushed. At any rate thank you again for reading and for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Happy Halloween!

Burning Homes

May 22nd, 2006
0700 Hours
Ponyville

After the initial battering, the 75th Ranger Regiment had been pulled back to recoup. Now, camped just west of Ponyville with some elements of the 2nd Armored Division, they had to be called back into action. Disaster had struck, and they turned out to be one of the few units still in good shape, and as such they had to be called into action once more.

The small grouping had the appreciated luck of enjoying a quick breakfast of apples and biscuits given to them by a local farmer. Some members of Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion were enjoying it and relaxing just outside Ponyville with some members of the Armored Division who were camped there. With the division moving further east and the Rangers staying in preparation for a battle, the lot took the time they could to enjoy what life they could.

“So what are the rings on the barrel?” Sergeant Wakefield asked as one of the tank crews gave him a look over their machine.

“Kills,” Sergeant Spicer answered.

“Tank kills,” Lieutenant James specified.

“So you have four so far?”

“Eight actually, red counts for five.”

“Eight… all at once? In once battle?”

“Aw yeah man, all at once!” Corporal Simson, the driver, joked with a thick sarcastic layer. “I mean they just came at us in a fucking line and pop! One two three, it was nothing for us!”

“I get it Corporal.”

“We even got a three-for-one special! One Sabot round, smacked right through three BTRs in a line! Right through one to the other!”

“I get it Corporal.”

“You keep track of your kills?” Spicer asked.

“No, I don’t. I don’t think it would make one of my other squadmates happy… or my family.”

“Huh, I’ll admit I took you spec-ops guys as neck-deep in ultraviolence.”

“Well I am a bit odd. I come from a… mildly rich family, and one of my squadmates is a former priest, or was going to be one. At any rate, no collecting ears for me. Seems a bit too much anyways.”

“Hey we all have our weirdos. Hell we’re no strangers to you great aristocrats in this tank. You know our Lieutenant James here has a bit of a passing relation to our current Chief.”

The officer looked up at the mention from his maintenance on the M240.

“Really? A relative to the President?” Wakefield beamed. “I know James is a common name but… well it’s not often out here that I get trumped on the social ladder.”

“Hell, we’re all soldiers out here, hooah? We just got to look out and keep each other alive while we get the job done. Then I can grab a branch and hit rocks off the deck of this baby and pretend I’m back at the golf range.”

“Hey James! Get over here!” one of the other tank officers called from far off. “You got to see this!”

“Okay!” he shouted back. “I got to go, you take care Sergeant.”

James headed over to the company commander’s tank, where Captain Patrick and some of the other crewmen had gathered. Lieutenant Kenneth was showing off a small painting his own tank’s gunner had added to the side of the M1, rather proudly. The Captain’s reaction seemed lukewarm at best.

“Hey, I got just what you guys wanted!”

He brought the XO over to the metal canvas. The white upwards-facing chevron painted on the sides of all the tanks in the company, to show they belonged to Alpha Company, had been utilized in Sergeant Fink’s artistic endeavour. A red line had been painted across the opening under the chevron, now giving it the appearance of a capital A.

“Check it out! ‘The A Team’! Not bad huh?”

“What do you think, Lieutenant? I know I said we’d let them come up with some nickname for the company but I was expecting something more… ah-”

“Hah, that’s what you came up with Ken?” Sergeant Duchamp chuckled from the top of the tank.

“Well shit, I like it,” Corporal O’Toole retorted to his crewmate. “You got anything better?”

“Sorry if it’s a little basic Captain,” Fink followed up. “You did ask to keep it simple. And small. Not something that would stand out too much as a target or anything.”

“Yeah but how small did you think he meant?” Duchamp asked, pointing his M1’s front. “Did you not see the big ass snake I’ve got running down the length of my barrel? Shit you should’ve asked.”

“It’ll do for now, just try and think of something unique, deadly. We’ve got a name to make for ourselves so I want it to be a good name. So that when those rat bastards hear we’re rolling towards them they break and run,” Captain Patrick explained, taking James off to the side. “Actually wanted him to call you over for something else. You talked to the new Lieutenant yet?”

“No Sir, he’s here? I didn’t know he arrived.”

“Yes, about twenty minutes ago. He’s talking with Gammon and some of the Rangers right now. See the blonde guy? A little short? Not quite as bulky as the Rangers? The guy next to Corporal Caiu.”

Across the way from them, the newest addition to the company, the replacement for Fitzgerald and Third Platoon’s new commander, was talking with some of his new friends, doing his best to get to know them. The young Lieutenant Lewis Cooke, only twenty-six and far away from his home in Savannah, had constantly been moving to try and find his new unit in the chaos of the general strategic retreat. Considering this, and that he had only gotten his new assignment but a day and a half ago, it was a miracle he found them so quickly.

“Yeah, thanks for pointers,” said Cooke. “I’ve been through a couple units before, but I haven’t taken over for someone who was KIA. Wounded yeah but, this just feels bad, taking his place and everything, just feels off.”

“Bad things happen, people die. Just do your job good and try to make sure you and your guys don’t die,” Lieutenant Gammon responded honestly, if bluntly. “It hurts losing Fitz… it’ll take some time to get in with us, same as any. Stick with it and you’ll be fine.”

“Hey LT, what’s up with that… paint?” Caiu asked, referring to the black zig-zagging line on the rear side of his vehicle.

“It’s a native war symbol.”

“Wait, native?” he repeated.

“Yeah, I’m Indian man. Comanche. None of that one-thirty-eighth’s shit neither, I got a lot of it in me.”

“Well shit how come you never told me that?”

“I’m from a place in Oklahoma called Medicine Park, and Hell you look at me… shit I figured it was a given.”

“Well I don’t assume things like you, but I guess that's why I’m not burdened with the curse of being an officer,” the Corporal joked. “So what’s it mean?”

“It’s the symbol of lightning, of the thunderbird. Way back in the day they’d paint this and others on the sides of the horses of warriors riding out to battle. Supposed to give speed and power. This is my horse now, so I figured it’d fit.”

“Really? When you put it like that it’s pretty badass.”

Kenneth passed by the group as they continued their discussions, heading back to his own Abrams from his small art exhibit. Before he got there, he was stopped by a Ranger Captain, a company commander, who wanted to talk to an officer from his unit. After the initial greeting, the tank commander suddenly recognized the man from long before.

“It’s good to meet you Lieutenant,” Captain Roland greeted.

“We actually met you before, Captain!” Lieutenant Kenneth corrected him kindly.

“Have we? I’m sorry if I do not remember.”

“Yes Sir, way back last year. When we were all first getting here, offloading in Pensacolta.”

“Ah… yes I do remember now. At least I remember your tank. You called it the ‘Hellcat’? You talked more about it than yourself.”

“Yeah, man I’m glad you remember all that Sir! Feels good being unique.”

“Unique, that is accurate; you seem to be quite the showman at times.”

“I guess I like people remembering me. Out here you could go at any moment, so I want as many people to remember me as possible,” the tanker explained. “Anyways, how have you guys been? I heard you really gave it to those Rats on the first day of the war!”

“Yes the men performed exceptionally well in combat, especially under those terrible circumstances. It’s unfortunate we had to retreat from Saddleburg so early, but we really hurt the airborne forces the enemy sent to pin us down and destroy us. I couldn’t be more proud of my boys. But, Lieutenant, I’m afraid I didn’t come to you to catch up.”

“Oh, ‘course Sir. What can I help you with?

“I wanted to see your Captain and ask if any of your tanks would be able to help us in the upcoming battle in Ponyville.”

“Oh, I can tell you right now Sir, we’re not going to be able to do that. Not that we don’t want to of course, we’re all chomping to take out some more bad guys, but the whole division’s given strict orders from the very top down to rock bottom. We all have to pull back and reorganize, and they want everything. Every tank, every IFV, every single armored infantry crunchie and his rifle.”

Roland desponded a bit, but understood he could not change such a large movement of men and equipment. He left the tankers to their work, and continued on to the 2nd Battalion command post. The battalion’s colonel had not long ago concluded the 75th’s battle plan at regimental command with the unit’s lead and the other battalion commanders, and now it was time to pass it down further to the lower chain of command. He reached the collection of tents that made up the battalion’s CP and, after giving his greetings and saying his hellos to the men there, waited for the last two company commanders to arrive, the Colonel finally starting his briefing once they arrived.

“Gentlemen, I know you’ve been asking about the strategic situation lately. Thankfully we were informed of it during the briefing and given permission to share it, considering our next mission depends on it,” the Colonel began, taking out a batter paper map of Equestria. “To keep it short, the situation across the board is FUBAR. The Chinese breakthrough of our main defensive line sent us reeling back and the loss of Canterlot left the Equestrians broken and fleeing east. As it stands right now the Bloc forces are advancing too quickly for us to form a solid defensive line. As usual when the Army finds itself in a shit situation, they’re calling on us rangers to save the day.

“The basic premise is that they want us to dig in around Ponyville and the surrounding area and perform a delaying action while the rest of the ground forces retreats and reforms a proper defensive line with the center around the Second Armored and Eleventh ACR, and whatever they can scrounge up from the Fifth ID. Now because of this, that means we’ll be on our own for the most part, same as in Saddleburg, but we’ll get some mechanized support in the form of Strykers to deal with the enemy’s armor, and the Equestrians have promised a squadron to provide CAS and CAP over the town.”

“We have any help coming from back home Colonel?” Delta Company’s commander asked.

“Yep, good news is we’re already receiving real reinforcements now, not just replacements. The Third Infantry Division is supposed to be on arrival to Pensacolta soon, and that’s just the start; the Fortieth and Ninety-Ninth will be joining a week or two later. But that all relies on us dealing with these guys. We need to do more than just trip them up, we need to punch them square in the face and send them into a daze. Then our boys can reform the center, and hopefully the Equestrians can pick up the flanks. Major General McBroom has personally said as much to us, that’s how serious this is.”

“McBroom? Sir, What about General Hall? Has he said anything? We haven’t heard much from him in a long time now,” Roland asked, referring to the 4th Army Commander.

“I’m worried honestly. This doesn’t leave this post, but… well I’m assuming all your boys are already talking about it the same way. He’s losing it a little more day after day, denying the situation. It was his idea for the US to form the center of a new line in the middle of Equestria with the ponies forming up the sides, but they’ll be doing it alone. He’s still handicapping everything,” Colonel Mapes explained. “He’s still keeping the Marines in Las Pegasus and the British in Baltimare. He just won’t deploy them.”

The officers did not say anything, being more professional and not wishing to break the general code of outward respect among higher officers in front of their Colonel, and more so because they all thought the same way and had little more to add.

“For now we need to focus on our own battle. Let me go over the details with you gentlemen.”

Back in Ponyville, the soldiers were in the process of trying to evacuate the town. Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt was assisting the ponies in town near the train station, having sent Crockett to try and again retrieve any information on the upcoming battle from the platoon’s Lieutenant. Many of the citizens there were reluctant to go, and slow-moving when reality finally settled in.

“Ma’am are you alright?” he asked of a pure white unicorn that had stopped. “Is anything wrong? Do you need help?”

“Hm? Oh… no thank you dear. It’s just…”

“Hard?”

“Yes, very,” she admitted, sighing and looking back for a minute through a moment of tears. “Very much so, to say goodbye… and under these circumstances… I’m sorry to be a bother, I’ll be alright.”

“I can help you with your bags if you want. You’ve got a lot of them.”

“Oh, no it’s no trouble, not for a unicorn. But… do you see that earth pony over there with the hat? Would you mind going to talk to her? Ask her to join us on the train?”

“Sure, of course.”

Walking over to the Earth Pony the Ranger could tell she was intent on staying just from the look in her face, one of stubborn determination but with a worrying pain mixed in.

“Excuse me? Miss?”

“Hm? Anything I can help you with, partner?” she drawled, looking intently at the man.

“Are you planning on getting on that train? It’s the last one out of here. And it’s a long walk east.”

“I can’t leave,” she responded in simple fashion, instantly turning her gaze away. “I’m not leaving.”

“Ma’am you need to, it’s been requested that everyone evacuate,” he insisted, keeping a solemn tone. “This whole place is going to turn into a battlefield soon.”

“I know what’ll happen. I... said I can’t leave,” she persisted shakily, not looking at the Ranger but out past the train tracks to the field far beyond.

“Listen lady, we’re trying to fight a war here, we don’t need a bunch of ponies getting in our way,” Vanderbilt retorted, becoming somewhat frustrated for the first time that day.

“I know! I’m sorry! I don’t mean to, I just… I can’t leave!” The young farmer cried, breaking down to the human’s dismay. “That farm out there, that’s my family’s, and my family’s still there, we can’t leave it. We can’t, they’ll wreck it!”

“That’s yours? Yeah I remember now, you were the one giving out apples earlier in the morning huh?” Vanderbilt recalled, a bit of shame mounting on.

“And some of my friends ain’t leaving either. Most are, I mean… I-I don’t blame them but, one hasn’t yet and… well. We’re supposed to stick together. I don’t want this to happen… how am I supposed to let them go?”

Something changed in Vanderbilt, and he shifted from the way a soldier usually deals with civilians.

“I understand… I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I didn’t think much about how you all… I don’t know. Sorry.”

This was not Vanderbilt’s first time dealing with civilians, far from it. Not only had he directed them in peacetime and relief, to varying degrees of satisfaction and frustration, but also in battle. Civilians had become part of the fight in Mogadishu, something he had taken part in years before, going from neutral entities that were not to be harmed, to be avoided or even protected, to enemies who were trying to kill him.

He had felt regret, but of a different kind. He felt regret that the world had to be this way, as it was now, and what he had to do. He felt regret that some of the women had elected to take up arms. He regretted that the children had been conscripted into soldiers by their elders. They were horrid things, and he regretted simply that these things had to happen. He was upset for killing them, but he had not hesitated to do it; it had to be done and he did not cry about it afterwards.

This, however, was different. Something about their nature affected him far deeper, more powerfully. The ponies here gave him a sadness that struck hard and lingered. Even the children in Somalia felt like they held some form of impiety to life, willing to kill blindly, the look of those common sins that seem to cover every human, but the Equestrians were pure in a way. At least these were.

“You can stay, if you want,” he relented, unable to look at the farmer. “I can’t drag you away from this.”

“Thank you sugar,” she said gratefully, still crying lightly. “Shucks, sorry to cause so much trouble.”

“It’s okay.”

“And crying like this, a tough girl doesn’t need to be crying like this. But most of my best friends already left. It hurts something mighty.”

“Yeah, looks like you’re not the only one,” he admitted, looking around as the last of the small crowd of ponies entered the train. “Looks like a lot of you are staying… hmm… I’ll let you be ma’am, I uh… need to get back to my guys. You keep your head down.”

Now, for the first time, he felt a sadness, not a regret, but a true sadness at everything. Sadness for the very concept of war, a hurt of the losses it gave. Sadness for soldiers and pity for these pure new friends of his. Not regret, not guilt for his actions or rue for an enemy. Just a shallow sadness and a deep pain at it all. For the first time, he not only hesitated, he stopped, and for the first time Vanderbilt could not do what was needed.

Even a sturdy man, the most adherent warrior, was not without emotion, that truthful honest reaction of humanity. The mature man buried it down, preventing it from impacting his work and decisions, keeping it contained in a vault; the soldier tempered his with discipline and wisdom to keep him in the right path, to do what was needed. Those men who suffered the worst, felt these the most, buried them deep within; those who had the closest grasp to humanity had to restrain it, and it made them look inhuman.

For the veteran Staff Sergeant, as with others, there could always be a point where that emotion broke out, overwhelmed that, bursted out as many others allowed. However, it was different this time, it felt different when talking to these ponies. The empathy he and many others felt would not break out suddenly from it’s prison in an outburst, instead it grew out and slowly, gently took them over like a warmth, and as he wandered back to his squad with Sergeant Crockett returning, he could only conceal it.

“Damn horses, even when there’s a war going on they can’t get out of our way,” Carlyle complained, looking over the numerous Equestrians that were remaining in their town.

“Not now Carlyle,” Vanderbilt ordered softly, not bothering to look at him.

“Sergeant, we can’t be having them in the way when we’re trying to shoot guys. They’re being a bunch of stubborn-”

“Not now Private! We’re going to make due, that means you too. Now can the shit talking for now before I knock you back down to Buck and let Disco take your place.”

“Sorry, alright… sorry Sergeant. Even I don’t want them to get killed,” the PFC submitted, taking out his pipe and lighting it to relax as the rest of the squad gathered.

“Ah geez, since when did you start smoking?” Corporal Roche asked in a mild irritation.

“Since always, just not cheap sticks. Only pipe.”

“That’s a fine pipe, very nice quality. Where did you get it from?” Wakefield asked.

“Home, family sent it to me in a care package. I missed it, used to use it a lot. It helps in the winter, it gets cold in Yankton.”

“So what’s the big picture looking like Sergeant?” Corporal Marcus asked.

“Regiment’s been ordered to delay the enemy here, try to break up the advance, cause a little trouble. Buy time for the ground forces to form a new line a little ways back.”

“Form a line? With what? There’s less power now, can’t trust the Equestrians to hold a solid line,” Vanderbilt worried.

“Don’t know, they didn’t tell me.”

“Probably because they don’t know either,” De Soto commented sourly.

“What about the Marines down in Las Pegasus? And the British division up in Baltimare. They haven’t seen any action yet. That’s two fresh units right there,” Sergeant Wakefield suggested.

“They still haven’t released them,” his colleague admitted.

“What?”

“Oh bullshit! Really?” Carlyle swore. “Well how long are we supposed to delay here?”

“Long as we can.”

“And how long do they need to do this?”

“As much time as we can give them.”

“Sounds like this ‘new line’ plan doesn’t have a whole lot of thought put into it.”

“Doesn’t matter, we have a chance to make it work. We’re back in action now. The bad guys are moving in on this town and we get to kill ‘em," the Staff Sergant summarized quickly. "That sounds like a pretty good plan for winning the war, hooah?”

“Hooah,” the team replied in affirmation.

"Sergeant Crockett? Back to the plan."

“Second Battalion is spread out holding the town itself. First is holding down Everfree Forest, Third’s going to be holding the airbase. Fifth Battalion’s going to be on our other flank to make sure we don’t get cut off. Fourth and Sixth are in reserve. Reports say elements from two Shadow Army divisions are moving in on us. One’s coming down from the valley to the northwest from Canterlot, other’s coming from the west directly ahead of town over the rough terrain. Now the good news; Second Armored’s detached the Second Squadron of the Fourteenth Cavalry to help us out, so we will have Strykers joining us in the defense. The Equestrian Air Force is also going to be flying sorties, so we’ll have CAS on station.”

“That’s better odds than last time,” De Soto noted.

“For now we’re moving to the dug-in positions to the north. Once the engineers get done setting up mines and obstacles they’re moving out. Then anything coming out of that valley is fair game. Hooah?”

“Hooah”

The men waited in their slit trenches and foxholes for some time, watching for the enemy when he would finally arrive. They could hear the sounds of movement coming from the valley, engines running and the ruckus of an advancing army, but nothing was in sight yet. Clouds of dust wafted upwards and shaking and movement could be seen ahead, but even then with the distance and the woods among the hills it was difficult to find targets with the naked eye. It would be the accompanying Strykers that drew the first blood of the battle. Using it’s scopes, the accompanying ICV, fired a burst of .50 Caliber from its remote-controlled RWS gun into the hills to the side of the valley. Eyes were drawn to the tracer’s impact area, scanning it for any glimpse of the target.

“Enemy scouts!” one of the nearby Rangers passed on. “Scouts and infantry moving over the hills! Eyes up, watch it!”

The battle had a meandering, rolling start to it, rather than a sudden outbreak, as the firefights steadily increased. Armored vehicles fired away at an increasing rate, individual Rangers began to fire at any targets they thought they saw, followed by sporadic return fire from the hills, then enemy mortars began to fall here and there, and then short rounds of enemy artillery. The primary targets, the Strykers, began to move and reposition constantly to avoid them, allowing various Shadow infantrymen to begin making their way down the hills, allowing the gunfights between them and the infantry to develop properly. The battle expanded over the course of this as more soldiers and weapons were brought to bear.

Vanderbilt was sitting low in his foxhole, partly covered by the tall, fresh green grass, trying to find any target he could. He eyed the tracers, trying to follow them to their impact, and saw several groupings of enemy soldiers moving about and in cover behind the trees high above. He aimed high, knowing it was unlikely to hit anything at the unfavorable angle and long distance, but it was worthwhile to keep the enemy suppressed and wear them down.

The firefight intensified from a skirmish to a full battle. The Shadow troops, firing downslope on the Rangers, were in turn being cut down by the heavier machine guns on the American vehicles. What would have been a very advantageous firing position, firing down on entrenched infantry in the open from high, wooded cover, was reduced by the Strykers picking them out through the vehicle’s thermals.

Farther back, at the company’s command post, Captain Roland attempted to follow the battle’s layout on his map. The forward line was taking withering fire from the hills overlooking them, and had taken some casualties, but the enemy was being held off. The Strykers were a big help, being able to find the enemy and cut them down from range. At this rate the battle would go well, though he knew it would not stay at this rate; it would only be a matter of time before the enemy brought fire support to bear on his men.

In truth, his company had gotten one of the easier sectors. The hills above were a pain but the enemy could not move fighting vehicles through them effectively. Their main mechanized force could only push down the bottleneck of the valley, which was well defended and prepared, and was already suffering from doing so. The Rangers on the west side of town would have it much harder, once the enemy finally got there.

As the battle continued, the worries of a commander in battle lingered in his mind, running through possible problems and the solutions to them. What enemy forces were coming up that he could not see? Would they send more infantry into the hills and keep firing down on his men rather than advance, gradually wearing the Rangers down through a prolonged firefight? He held an advantage there with the Strykers and had fire support if needed. He also still had a platoon of Charlie Company in reserve that could be sent up to relieve the front.

And what about the enemy’s fire support? The Shadows were not stupid, they would not blindly run into a covered bottleneck like bison being driven off a cliff; if they could pass or destroy it they would. What would happen when they decided to bring artillery and air support to bear on his men? If the former came up there was little that could be done; tell the men to change positions now and then and not stay in one place for too long, and pass the word to their own artillery for counter-battery. If attack jets came then it would be the job of the few covering allied fighters to drive them off, and if they got through he would have to rely on the few Stinger MANPADS they had.

“Hawk to Colt,” the 2nd Battalion’s commander called in.

“This is Colt.”

“Hawk to Colt. We’re getting reports of multiple tangoes with RPGs and possible ATGMs in the wood line ahead of your company. Have you gotten any reports of this, over?”

“Negative, I haven’t received any reports from the forward platoons of an increase in missile fire yet, over.”

“Copy. We’re going to be detaching a fast mover for CAS duty against that position. We’re going to put you in touch with the TACP, how copy?”

“Solid copy Hawk.”

Even if his men had not reported it yet, it did not mean those enemies were not there, and Roland did not want to turn down a free offer of air support.

“Colt can you hear me? How do you read me?” a new voice over the radio asked.

“Read you five-by-five. Are you the TACP?”

“Affirmative, Lighter. Listen I’ve got Glider 2-5 on standby but I need to know exactly where on that treeline the tangoes are most concentrated so we can hit for maximum effect.”

“Understood. Wait one while I contact Colt 3, out.”

Roland switched from the radio utilized for contacting command to the one used for contacting the subordinate platoons. Going back-and-forth in communications like this was one of the many underappreciated angles a leader had to handle. The many constant responsibilities an officer in his position had to juggle was never fully understood by the enlisted, focusing on their own jobs as they should.

“Colt Actual to Colt 3, come in.”

There was a minute of silence before Roland repeated the call.

“Colt 3, this is Colt Actual. Please respond, over.”

The company commander retained his patience and cool demeanor. It was normal for responses to take time during battle, the platoon commander could be in the middle of giving orders or in a firefight himself. There was, as always, the worrying possibility that he could have been hit, though there had been no report of such happening so far.

“Colt 3 to Colt Actual, come in over.”

“Colt Actual we’re reading you. How are you holding up?”

“Good for now but we’re seeing a burst of RPG fire against our positions as well as our attached victors, over!”

“I understand, we’ve got CAS waiting to strike them down but I need you to tell me exactly where they’re coming from on that treeline.”

“Copy that, there’s not too much in the way of visual landmarks though. So… from the edge of the hills where it meets the valley, running northwest along the treeline, about… maybe a couple hundred yards up from that. It’s near a big oak tree. Way bigger than the ones around it. It’s got part of it’s trunk blown away from a cannon round. That close enough, over?”

“Copy, I’ll pass it on, out,” Roland assured the platoon commander before switching the frequency back. “Colt Actual here, is Lighter still there?”

“Affirmative you’re talking to ‘em.”

“Reports state the target is mostly near a large oak tree at the wood line on the hills, about two-hundred yards northwest from the valley. They say the tree trunk is partially blown out from cannon fire. Can you see it, over?”

There was another eighteen seconds of dead air as the team searched for the crippled oak.

“Affirmative we see it. We’ll take care of it, out!”

Far above the ground, miles away from the battlefield, two flights of Equestrian Strike Eagles circled on standby. All of them belonged to the same squadron, and Night Glider anxiously waited in the lead aircraft for calls from either their AWACS or the ground forces. The 15th Attack Squadron was the only allied air unit supporting the Rangers in Ponyville, and thus had to shoulder both air-defense and CAS operations between their few aircraft.

She sat in the cockpit, strained, tensed like a coil, waiting for something to happen, frustrated at not knowing how the battle itself was going for her side. Unlike most other times, Rector and King Team were not there with her, nor were any other combat craft. It was just her and her own wingponies, something that greatly stressed her. So much so that when the radio finally keyed she jumped in her seat, making the fighter jolt a bit in response.

“Lighter to Glider, are you reading me, over?”

“Yes I hear you! What’s going on? Do you need help? How's the battle going?”

“Affirmative we have a CAS mission for you. Are you ready to service, over?”

Close air support, that meant bombs, something her own fighter was not carrying at the moment.

“Glider Two-One are you hearing this? Are you ready to strike?”

“Yes ma’am I’m ready!” the other Equestrian assures her.

“Glider Two-One requesting JDAM strike, target is designated via laser, should be appearing now.”

Night Glider watched the lead aircraft of the squadron’s second flight peek away and depress its nose. The Equestrian Strike Eagle began it’s bombing run, preparing two of the JDAMs the plane carried. The Shadow’s anti-air fire was surprisingly absent for one reason or another, and the fighter easily carried through the attack.

Two bombs were dropped and the fighter pulled away quickly, looking to return to safety farther behind the line. They fell, little black dots to most who spotted them, adjusting their own flight and fall to hit the designated area. Both impacted within five seconds with a great thud and a cloud of dirt and dust. Leaves, branches, entire trees flew upwards in a mass. The oak tree, and much of the land around it, was eviscerated, along with the Shadow troops around it.

Sergeant Vanderbilt watched the impact from his own fighting position further up the line. After this the enemy fire slackened noticeably. He began to find fewer possible targets, it seemed like they were backing off for now. Were they giving up? No, he knew better. They would not quit so soon. They were stopping to reanalyze, change tactics, reorganize, call support. The battle would only get harder, not easier. Off to his side, he saw Sergeant Duville from the company’s support platoon waving his hand towards his body, signaling for him to come over; whatever he was yelling it could not be heard over the gunfire.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Vanderbilt asked upon arriving.

“Wrong? Plenty but not this. Platoon’s getting relieved! Fight’s dying down a bit so the reserve platoon’s coming up to take over.”

“Good! When are we moving?”

“Now!”

“Now!? You said now?” Vanderbilt shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because I was just told now! That’s why they sent me as a runner. Come on and get up, we need to get out of the way! Get everyone out of their holes and back behind the lines, step to it!”

As the forces of both sides shifted during the relative lull in the fighting, the Equestrian fighters overhead were tasked with a new mission.

“Crystal Ball to Glider,” the Equestrian E-3 contacted them. “Bogies, two bogies, bearing Two-Seven-Seven, Angels Twenty, speed four-thirty.”

“How far?” Glider asked.

“Not far, a few dozen miles. You should pick them up soon.”

“You’re just picking them up now?” another pilot complained.

“Heading for the town?” Glider continued, trying to focus on the new arrivals.

“Affirmative!”

“Alright, we’ll have to wait till they get in range. If we head over enemy territory we might come under AA fire.”

“They have heavy AA back there?” one of her wingponies queried.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to take the risk. We were told to cover Ponyville and the rangers. That’s it.”

The two bogies came in a lackadaisical manner, low and cruising but without much emphasis, relaxed and almost like they were on a training run rather than an actual combat sortie. As they closed the distance, they suddenly increased speed and pulled up, eventually reversing their course. They were just barely outside the F-15E’s missile range, saving themselves by the shortest hair.

“There, MiG-19s! Farmers!” Night Glider's wingpony jumped. “They’re running? I guess they’re alone.”

“They might not have thought the town would have air cover,” she theorized.

“You think they’ll be back?”

The pegasus thought for a moment, remembering a piece of advice one of the American pilots had given her long before.

“You think they dropped their bombs?”

“I don’t think so… was far away but I didn’t see anything falling, no explosions on the ground… looks like the bandits are still flying like they’re carrying some weight.”

“They’ll probably be back then, with help. Just keep on the lookout.”

Down on the Earth the battle progressed, and as more forces poured in and the Shadows gradually found more details of the defense, they struck at the Regiment. Charlie Company had just barely gotten back behind the lines, allowing a sister company to take their place. It had been no more than an eight minute reprieve, enough time to restock some ammunition and water along with caring for and triaging the wounded to be handed over to the medical team for CASEVAC.

“Colt Company! Fall in!” Roland came about, waving his hand as if to rally his men around him. “Platoon leaders to me! We have a new mission.”

“Sir? What new mission?” one of the Lieutenants spoke up.

“Delta has been overrun on the western end of town. We need to counter-attack through town and run them out. We’re all going, I’ll be with you myself every step of the way.”

“Yeah that makes me feel a lot better,” Corporal Marcus groaned to Sergeant Crockett as they listened from a distance.

“Save it Sandman, things are about to get real serious.”

“Our brother company reported they took out most of the Shadow’s armor support so we just need to drive back the infantry that got in, but this will be street-to-street engagements, even if it’s a bit wide. Same rules apply. First Platoon will be going up the center towards the breach, you’ll have a Stryker to go with you the whole way.”

“Now that makes me feel better!” Marcus grinned.

“Second Platoon will be on the left flank, drive up to the train tracks and clear the train station. Third will be on the right going up to the edge of town. Rangers! Prepare to take the offense! Route our enemies back until they’re driven to the gates of Hell!”

The remaining Rangers in the company gathered into their platoons and stepped off into their counterattack. The position for the entire regiment was becoming increasingly intolerable as the pressure of the enemy divisions mounted on. Still, their mission was to delay and disrupt the enemy’s advance as best they could, and in spite of the danger the 75th could still defend the town.

As the counterattack commenced, Night Glider and her team continued their support mission. By now most of the second flight’s bombs had been expended. Two more fighters carrying bombs were moving in, this time escorted by a trio of MiGs. It was left up to them to engage the bandits as the pressure piled on, with her wingponies engaging the escorts as she went after the CAS planes.

“Almost… locked on!” she shouted, targeting one of the two attackers. “Fox Three! Fire!”

The AMRAAM from the F-15E connected with the Farmer as it was beginning its bomb run, detonating the ordinance and causing a large explosion that rocked the second. Another Slammer hit moments later, tearing off the tail of the second Farmer. The pilot attempted to hold his glide path as he flew over the town but the release switch for the bombs failed.

Vanderbilt watched the burning jet fly past them, crashing back behind the town. Roland was waving the collection of Rangers forward, cradling his SCAR while attempting to coordinate with the accompanying Stryker. Vanderbilt joined the rest of his team in helping to clear the streets and buildings.

“Trench! Target behind that stone wall!” Crockett called the squad’s shotgunner.

“I see him! Flechette up!”

PFC Byrum loaded a specialized shell into his Mossberg and fired; the wall was punctured by a number of sharp knife-like metals, and the Shadow soldier behind it, as several other rangers of the company continued the advance.

“Skewered! He’s down!”

“Two more behind the wall of that red house!”

“Shooter in the second story window! Jameson, Gonzalez suppress! Ramirez, grenade through that window! Go!”

“Crockett, Ortega’s squad is clearing that house on the right! Alpha, fire on those tangos down the street, far end!” Vanderbilt ordered, turning to Wakefield and having to grab his shoulder and motion to him with hand signs as the noise grew. “Bravo! Bravo, left! Go left, that alley and hold the corner there!”

“Badger this is Colt, can you hear me?” Captain Roland called the supporting Styker over the radio. “We’ve got an enemy fireteam in the red house towards the street corner, do you copy?”

“Badger copies, you want us to shift fire?”

“Affirmative, shift fire and suppress the house so we can get close! Watch your fire!”

“Copy that, be advised we’re rolling down the street now.”

The Stryker shifted it’s fire to the designated house, the CROWS turret firing in steady bursts at the building’s various openings. The heavy IFV began to rumble slowly down the dusty dirt street, with some rounds impacting off the armor from the enemy’s return fire. There was little the Shadow troops stuck in the house could do to the slow beast moving in on them.

“You, Sergeant! Sergeant!” Roland called to Vanderbilt, eventually getting him to run over through more hand signals to the alley he was in. “Sergeant, how’s your squad? Are they up?”

“Ah, yes Sir no one’s down yet.”

“Alright take one of your fire teams and form up behind the Stryker to move in on that house! I’ll stick with the other one and watch your six, understood?”

“Yes Sir! I’ll take Alpha, my Bravo Team’s behind that fence over there!”

“Good man, get moving! Lieutenant Vance, you set up a casualty collection point in that shop a couple rows down, Lieutenant Spencer, take the rest of the platoon and clear the neighboring street to make sure we’re still keeping pace and linked with our other company!”

Vanderbilt huddled behind the IFV along with Crockett, Byrum, Marcus, and Rockford. The five men moved slowly along under the protection of the vehicle, ensuring their own flanks were safe as they were led up to the target house, with the Captain and Bravo Team adding their fire from another angle. Once at the doorstep, the five men began clearing the building with grenade and gun. The mass of fire had already caused several casualties, and the final clearing brought a total of eight enemy bodies. The Stryker continued it’s fire at other hostiles, covering the Rangers as they worked.

“Badger to Colt,” the Stryker called before adjusting and correcting themselves. “Badger to all supporting infantry, our threat warnings are reporting RPG threats up ahead. We need you guys to thin them out. How copy?”

“Badger this is Colt Two-Four we hear you,” Vanderbilt answered.

“Badger, Colt Actual, we’ll deal with them,” Roland affirmed. “Colt Actual to all, we’re getting warnings about RPGs in the area, we can’t let the Stryker get hit. Prioritize any anti-tank you see.”

As Alpha began to file out of the house, there was a small explosion, a great cloud of dirt and dust kicked up on the side of the IFV. Vanderbilt, who was leading the men out, fell backwards and scurried back inside with the others for cover. A mortar had landed next to the vehicle, leaving its armored side dirtied and scarred with shrapnel. The Stryker’s turret turned and began to fire at a target off to it’s left, out of sight of Roland and Bravo Team.

The Captain called up his fire team, as well as the assortment of Rangers around them, and beckoned them forward. As they ran ahead to catch up, an RPG shot flew over the deck of the Stryker and impacted the house next to it. It detonated after breaching the wooden wall, blasting a chunk of it away and rattling the vehicle and Rangers even more. Chips of wooden shrapnel, large and small, went flying like a tornado had torn apart a spruce, wounding some of the other men. A collection of house goods, tools, appliances, food, plants, scattered across the ground.

“Van! Van can you hear me!?” Sergeant Wakefield called, jumping into the house, terrified the explosion had killed one of his friends.

“We’re up! We’re… we’re good,” Private Rockford replied, dazed and coughing. “Everyone’s ok thank God.”

“Where’d that come from?” Crockett asked, brushing some dust from his face.

“Outside the house, somewhere, check the victor’s fire!”

“Alpha, up to the second floor! Get to the windows up there and suppress any hostiles you see.”

Outside, Roland and a number of other Rangers were taking cover next to the Stryker, between it and the house where it was relatively safe.

“Badger, Colt.”

No response came.

“Badger this is Colt do you read me, over?”

Inspecting the Stryker, Roland noticed it’s antennas in the back cut short; the mortar seemed to have sliced them down or damaged them enough to where the radio did not work.

“Damn!”

“What’s wrong?” one of the other Rangers asked him.

“I’ve lost comms with the Stryker!”

“Lost what!? They’re right next to us!”

“No time to complain… there, you, you son!” he called, pointing to a Ranger close to the opening of the house. “Grab one of those tools on the ground! That hammer, grab it! Toss it here!”

Roland caught the small hammer and shuffled over to the back of the Stryker near the door. He had a crude idea to correct this, almost uncouth, but this was not the time for worries. He reared his hand back and struck the door with the hammer, causing a metallic clang that echoed even among the gunfire and yelling and roar of the engine. After several more strikes, no one answered.

Frustrated and not wishing to stay out in the open, Roland clambered along the side of the vehicle and began striking the deck, closer to the hatches up front. With a number of strikes, the vehicles commander finally opened his hatch and tepidly stuck his head out to inspect the noise, cautious of the firefight happening. The Rangers nearby increased their rate of fire to cover as some of the sergeants took their own initiative to begin assaulting the building where the nearby RPG and shooters were.

“Sir!? What the Hell!? Was that you making that noise?” the commander yelled at the top of his voice.

“Your radio’s gone!” the Captain yelled back, his voice drowned by the still-shooting CROWS.

“What!?”

Roland climbed up and pulled the crewman closer, shouting almost directly into his ear.

“Your radio is gone!” he informed the crewman, pointing to the cut antenna. “Hold your fire on that building, some of our guys are moving in now!”

“Cease fire, hold!” the Stryker commander ordered as he dropped back inside. “Shit… uh, Sir? What do you want us to do now? We can replace the antenna if you want but I don’t think we have time for that.”

“No, we have to keep up the momentum of our offense. Keep your hatch open, I’ll call out targets to prioritize. The rest of the infantry will keep advancing on their own,” Roland said, before standing on the deck and waving to his Rangers. “Keep going! Rest of you keep advancing! Lieutenant! Sergeants, keep your teams moving until you reach the edge of town!”

“Captain, you know we don’t have any cover on the deck… as you can see,” the vehicle commander pointed out.

“Don’t worry about me, just focus on the battle. One last street to clear along the last row of houses. Go right up here and take a left.”

The commander complied, dropping back down to pass the order to his driver, mumbling along the way of a ‘stupid bird getting himself killed’ and ‘glory hounding’, among other thing. Roland ignored it, holding on as the Stryker lurched forward. He pronned himself against the hot metal top of the Stryker to make himself less of a target, positioning himself in a way as still be close to the open hatch while minding the CROWS turret. He was quite exposed, and as they turned the corner back into the fight he wondered if there was a better idea, but this is what he chose and there was no time to stop and brainstorm. They had to see through the final push.

Rangers were already driving out the stragglers from the street, and out of town entirely. The scenes of Delta Company’s battle were still present, with the bodies of dead Shadows and Rangers scattered about. A burning T-72 lay still at the far end, while four BTR-60s and a lone Stryker MGS sat still and dead on the other side of the street near the woodline.

“Colt Two-One here, we’ve got shooters in that red three story house at the end of the street!”

“Colt Actual copies, everyone keep clear we’ll get the Styker to suppress it!”

Roland nudged himself forward along the hot metal of the vehicle, reaching to get the attention of the commander.

“What you got?!” the crewman called as loud as he could over the noise.

“Red house, right there! One o’clock!”

“What!?” the commander yelled over the noise, not able to take off his helmet.

Roland grabbed his shoulder and directed his hand at the large red house, motioning and pointing at the target, and after a few seconds of confirmation the VC dropped back down. Roland backed up again as the Styker opened fire on the house, targeting the windows and other openings where the Shadow troops were. Some were hit, others ducked back down under the rapid heavy fire of the IFV, allowing other rangers to begin moving in. Some return fire sprung up, with rounds impacting the dirt or ricocheting off the thick armor, being largely ineffective and inaccurate, though still posing a threat to Roland and any other nearby soldiers.

The ranger Captain saw some movement near the edge of the house, near a hole at the corner that had been blown open on the second story. A Shadow soldier, just barely noticeable behind the wreckage, fiddling with what looked like an RPG. Coming up to his knee, he took aim with his SCAR and aimed carefully, firing several shots at the target. The rounds punched through some of the thin wood debris and the unfortunate pony fell forward onto his weapon, out in the open, badly hurt. He stumbled around, trying to get up, and for an instant Mac Roland considered not firing, thinking the poor soul disabled and no longer a threat, not wanting to add another death to the tally, but as the Shadow appeared to continue grabbing at his RPG the realist took over again. He fired again, and again, and setting his weapon to full-auto he held the trigger until the rest of the magazine was emptied and the gun ran dry.

The dying Shadow was moving only lightly now, no longer to escape but the pained squirms of a creature who was slowly fading; punctured by multiple rounds, he stopped only seconds later. Roland emptied the magazine from his gun, tossing it to the side of the deck, and replaced it. There were no other immediate targets, but his men on the ground were now closing in on the house to clear it, so he got the Styker commander’s attention once more and motioned for him to cease fire. As the rangers began to clear out the building, the Stryker pulled past and rounded a corner to a short field stretching from the edge of town to the treeline.

The remaining Shadows in the town were already retreating back into the woods, with some of the rangers firing and chasing after them as they went. Roland gave word to halt the advance and the other officers had to coax their subordinates back to the line in town. As the men calmed themselves, a watch was set and the various teams reorganized, tending to the wounded, rehydrating themselves and sharing ammunition to balance off. The Stryker pulled back behind the buildings into cover and shut down the engine so as to save fuel, with the VC standing up through his hatch to stretch and speak with Roland.

“Damn Sir… sorry to be blunt, but I don’t think I’ve actually seen a Captain get in the shit before. A lot of them are commanding the bigger battle from the back, even the frontline one’s aren’t this close up.”

“Yes, that’s usually what I do. But if there’s an important mission that needs to be handled, it feels like a bit of a responsibility to go in and help them.”

“Don’t they try to keep you guys at the company CP?”

“Yes son, they try. More and more often they get upset when they can’t. Still, so long as the mission is complete, and the men are in good shape, and I am still in one piece myself.”

“I got you Captain.”

The men did not get more than six minutes of time to rest until the situation changed again. Roland was helping to properly space out the men for a new defensive line when the battalion commander called him, the sound of urgency taking him by surprise. The Captain responded quickly, now worried over the sudden shouting.

“Colt Actual here. Hawk? What’s going on?”

“Colt where are you, say your position! Are you in contact?”

“Negative contact right now Hawk, we’ve just retaken Point Vegas and are setting up now.”

“Colt you need to pack it up and fall back ASAP! Do you copy? Regiment’s said our job is done, we’re all pulling out now, the whole front’s getting hit!”

“I copy that Hawk but we’re not in contact yet. We can stay longer if you need-”

“Captain I appreciate your desire to go above and beyond but this is not the time to fuck around! Recon and radio intercept’s saying the rest of the Rat’s 7th Infantry Division is moving in after you kicked their initial force out! That’s at least two brigades worth of troops, with armor!”

“Ah, thank you Hawk that certainly puts things in a different perspective! I’ll get the men together and begin a retreat. Where are we going?”

“Pull back to Rally Point Reno, I’ll have the other companies hold your flanks for a bit until you pass them. Once the battalion’s assembled we’ll rejoin the others and move east. Don’t make us wait on you! Understood?”

“Perfectly Hawk, Colt out!”

The Captain groaned slightly, frustrated that they would be abandoning the entire town just as their counterattack had been successful. That was the nature of war, however, and the 75th’s mission had been accomplished. There was no need or time to fret over it. Roland called over the nearby Lieutenant and Sergeants and gave a basic summarization, and joined them in calling for the men around them to begin the retreat. After sending out the same order over the radio to his other platoon commanders that were out of earshot, and confirming they all understood, he yelled out and waved over the Stryker’s commander.

“Listen we need to get out of here, we’re pulling out of town! You remember passing that candle show back farther down the street? That’s our casualty collection point. Get back over there, load up as many as you can and get going! And pass the word to the Lieutenant there, I wasn’t able to reach him!”

“Aye Sir!”

“And don’t wait up for us!”

As the Rangers began their belated retreat, far above them in the sky, the Equestrian fighters were on their last legs trying to defend the town. Most of the Strike Eagles were low or out of ordinance, the last of the bombs of the CAS flight having been dropped on supposed advancing enemies in the woods. The CAP flight had run out of medium-range armament, and there were few Sidewinders left with which to fend off the enemies harassing them.

Noticing this the arriving Shadow fighters had adopted the tactic of firing their own radar-guided missiles at their max range in launch-and-leave moves, reducing their chances of hitting and giving the Equestrians plenty of time to conduct evasions, but keeping them well out of range of the AIM-9s. Most of the shot missed, but two lucky hits had struck, with one aircraft being inflamed instantly and another crippled, forcing the pilot to fly further behind the lines before ejecting.

“Another one, coming in… Fox Two!” Night Glider called, firing a shot at another strike aircraft that was going after the ground troops. “Trashed, didn’t hit! It turned around, it’s turning away! Crystal Ball we can’t stay here much longer, they'll pick us all off!”

“We, uh… understood, Glider Lead. The uh… the ground units are beginning their withdrawal,” the AWACS informed, caught between the decision to cover the retreat or save the rest of the squadron. “If the situation is… unsustainable, you can withdraw.”

“Affirmative we’re disengaging to the east now!” Glider replied before ordering her team away. “Glider One to Glider team, disengage and retreat east as far as your fuel will take you.”

“Copy Lead, Alpha Flight turn and retreat! Put some distance between us and the bandits!”

“Night! Missile! Enemy missile coming at us!” her WSO shouted.

“What!? Tiny where!?”

“At our four! Just launched! It’s closer than the others! Twelve miles!”

“I see it hang on!”

The F-15E began it’s evasive maneuvers as the modified AA-10 closed rapidly. Long trails of chaff and flares fell from the jet, attempting and failing to distract the weapon’s guidance computer. As the missile moved in, Glider attempted the final evasion, increasing her speed as the time clicked down. As the weapon reached them, she pulled the aircraft into a violent break, as hard as she could, the Gs straining both pilot and plane as they tried to dodge the missile.

Locked by the force, looking ahead, Night Glider felt a sudden, harsh shake and a muffled, crashing explosion. It took another two seconds before realizing the plane had been hit. She looked over her shoulder to the back; there was some heavy damage to the tail and some small fire but no great inferno yet. She saw her WSO looking down, almost like he had slumped off into a nap. She pulled on the stick and pressed on the rudders, trying to correct the jet, only to find to her horror that neither was responsive at all.

“We’re hit! Did you hear me? We’re hit!” she cried over the radio to anypony or anyone that could hear. “The controls aren’t working! I-I have to bail out! Tiny did you hear me? We have to eject now!”

No response came from the back seat, but if he was unconscious then Glider could not wait for him to wake up, they would still both eject.

“Hey, if you can hear me, we’re ejecting!”

After some short preparation, the canopy of the aircraft was blown off, the pony being thankful the necessary electronics still worked for it. She pulled on the handle, and both seats rocketed out into the open sky. After the extreme strain from ejection, Glider’s chute deployed. She caught a glimpse of her friend floating down to Earth on his seat, head still hanging, and only then realized he was gone. The F-15E tipped over and landed out in the woods in a great flaming eruption, and with that Glider passed out, totally overwhelmed.

Among the retreating Rangers, Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt and his squad were at the tail end of the company. Having stayed and traded shots as skirmishers with some of the fresh arriving enemies, they were now moving back through town themselves. The initial plan was to keep moving out of town, and find a ride away from the battlefield with the rest of the Regiment. That quickly changed when Vanderbilt noticed the Equestrian pilot parachuting down near the center of town.

“Fuck, you see that?” he said through his exasperation. “I think that’s one of our pilots.”

“Picked a real bad time to get shot down,” Crockett balked.

“I’ll go after him, you guys keep going,” Vanderbilt ordered, making a snap decision. “Crockett you’re in charge until I get back, won’t be long.”

“You sure about going alone? One of us should go with you.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m just getting this damn pilot! I’ll go grab him, we’ll run our asses off and meet up with you guys, no problem!”

The team continued on, letting their leader head off in a different direction, content on the simple plan and not wanting to waste precious time debating when more hostiles were closing in. The Staff Sergeant hustled through the town alone, finding it eerily deserted in the space between armies as the Rangers abandoned it and the Shadows moved in. The sounds of battle continued, keeping him aware of his unseen time limit.

Eventually he found where the parachute had touched down, lying on the ground near a large tree that seemed to have been converted to a house. The pilot was nowhere to be seen, no trace to be found. His eyes darted about, scanning the area as he tried to catch his breath, looking for anywhere the flier might have gone. He noticed the door to the tree lay ajar, and running out of time and not wishing to stand out in the open, he ran inside.

“Huh!? Where’d you come from?”

The first thing he saw was a small purple unicorn, a civilian, one of the many that had elected to stay, that he did not evacuate. Next to her, down on the wooden floor, lay a dark blue pegasus in a flight suit, unconscious but alive, her pure white mane ruffled from the ground. The human surmised that the unicorn had been hiding here from the battle, and when the pilot landed down in her front yard, she dragged her to safety.

“I- Christ, look I came when I saw the parachute. I’m here for the pilot, are you okay? You live here?”

“Yes, this is my home. I was just trying to help this pony, I… is everything alright? I’m sorry I was just trying to help her-”

“No, it’s fine, you did good. I’m glad you got her into cover.”

“Really? I didn’t screw up?”

“No but- look the bad guys are going to be here any minute. I need to- ah fuck me,” he swore under his breath at the realization. “I need to throw her over my shoulders and hustle back out of town with her, Christ, that's going to slow me down. You… you need to come too alright? I can’t leave you here, you’ll be in danger. You have magic right? Do you think you can float-carry her or whatever it’s called? We can move faster that way.”

“What!? I… Sir, I can’t leave! This is… I’m sorry I won’t!”

“Look I don’t have time to dick around! If you want to stay- fuck, I can’t! Look you need to come with me alright?” he snapped back, getting caught up in indecisiveness.

“I’m sorry! I just can’t leave! And one of my friends is still in town-”

There was a loud, mechanical rumbling that flowed in from outside, and the ranger’s eyes widened before he darted to the window to check.

“Oh shit it’s a T-72!”

“A-a what?”

“Tank! Fuck there’s infantry coming with them too! No, no, no, no I was trying to beat this! Fuck we’re trapped here! They’re spreading out through town already!”

The unicorn did not respond, seeming rather despondent and shocked at what was happening, the situation being far out of her grasp and not knowing what to do. Vanderbilt stared at her for a bit, neither of them knowing what to say, before checking the outside again. His eyes began to go back and forth until several rounds from AKs struck the upper end of the window. The glass shattered, raining down onto the unfortunate man and sending him falling backwards and away from the opening.

“They know I’m here! Is this it? This is really it,” he said to himself, checking the amount of ammunition he had left for his final stand. “This is it. Is there any other way out of here? Damn it it doesn’t matter they’re all around the building by now! Is there anything else we can do!?”

Vanderbilt fired a few rounds blindly out the side of the window before firing a few more quick, properly aimed shots to keep them at bay.

“Go get into a basement or a closet somewhere! Get somewhere safe and hide! Take the pilot too, try and hide her from them!” he ordered, firing more rounds out the window as the unicorn watched, her eyes darting about now. “What are you waiting for!? Go damn it! Go now!”

“No, wait! There is a way! A way out! I can teleport us all out!”

“What? You can do that!?”

“Yes! Yes I can! I’m just not sure where, I-”

“Calm down! You need to stop panicking and do it! Now!”

Vanderbilt checked out the window again, barely able to see through the withering suppression fire, but caught a glimpse of the T-72’s turret turning towards them.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck the tank’s aiming at us!”

“Where can we go that’s safe!? The airbase- no they already abandoned it, what about, no! I can’t think of where to go! I-I can’t focus! I don’t know where we’ll be sent!” the unicorn panicked before coming to another awful realization. “Spike! Spike where are you!? Spike!? He left earlier but he should be in the kitchen-”

“Anywhere’s better than here! We need to go! Just do it!” Vanderbilt interrupted, falling onto his back and sliding next to her.

“No! No I can’t leave without Spike! I know he’s here!”

“Just do it! Do it, do it now!”

“Alright! Spike, please!”

“Now!”

There was a great flash of light and a loud, powerful explosion all at once. From the outside, the tank had fired it’s round and blasted open a huge hole in the old tree, with wood and glass and papers flying about. When the dust settled the firing ceased from both sides. The Shadow Infantry moved in quickly but cautiously, breaking down the door and checking through the openings. The inside of the tree was left chaotically disheveled, the main room filled with debris from the tank round and the multitude of books on the shelves knocked to the floor. As the soldiers slowly cleared out the tree, they were surprised to find no trace of the long American ranger, nor the Equestrian pilot, nor Golden Oak’s famed resident.

Many miles away, far from the battle, and Ponyville, far from any military unit, or any note of civilization, Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt opened his eyes again. He was alive, and it took a minute for the good Sergeant to process this. He had seen the explosion, felt it’s heat on his face, saw a flash of white-purple light and shut his eyes a microsecond later. Still, he was breathing, he felt the beat of his heart, the sweat on his face and the weight of his gear and uniform on his body.

He looked around, finding they were in a desert, one that reminded him of the American Southwest. The Equestrian pilot was still there, still asleep, as was the purple unicorn, though it seems she had fallen unconscious as well, either from the shock of the blast or the strain of the spell, or both impacting together. Vanderbilt sat down on a rock, trying to collect himself, shaking and breathing as the adrenaline from battle had suddenly ceased. The danger of death had passed, but now until they woke up he was stuck here, alone in a desert, somewhere unknown on the great mass of the Arcaian continent, and for the first time in quite a long time, he felt totally alone.

Author's Note

I had some trouble making time to write all this so I just wrote it pieacemeal in what free time I had. I felt kind of bad for going so long without writing anything, hope it didn't come out too scattered, I know there was a lot of stuff I wanted to add in. Still things are busy so updates can't be regular but I'll keep at it as I can. Going to try and make the next chapters shorter, tighter, more focused.

Thank you again for reading and for your time.

The Free Forces

June 11th, 2006
1020 Hours
Somewhere in north-central Equestria

Years ago, the Changelings began their initial invasion of their traditional enemies on the southern edge of the continent. Usually unable to get far past the frontiers of the Karalians, the shock and disorganization of the sudden change in worlds offered an opportunity that was seized to full effect. After breaking through across the borders and very bitter fighting over the urban areas, much of Karalia and it’s military was evacuated to the eastern panhandle overlooking two of it’s neighbors, and then eventually to Equestria once that bottleneck had been outflanked.

The Union, long holding a contempt for the Changelings, though not bordering them, was the next to be invaded, something it was wholly unprepared for. In spite of the hard fighting they put up, akin to their Karalian friends, they fell much quicker and warranted a similar retreat into exile. Now two of their divisions continued to operate in Equestria as part of the armies of the exiles, a general term for all those conquered nations who could still stand-up military forces.

The actual operation, however, was limited at best. The humans, the Americans in particular, had come in and taken control of the war, and their leadership held little faith in the combat capabilities of any of the new ‘alien’ races to their form of modern warfare. As with many other units, all the exiled combatants had been held back far, far from the frontline.

Now, in what was thought to be far from the frontline, a lone tank was rolling slowly through the countryside, partly on patrol, partly for practice. It was a Type-90, Japanese made, Kyū-maru as they called it, one of only a relative few in the continent and assigned to the Union’s army along with other arms and equipment from that nation. In spite of having it for months, it’s crew were still frustrated by the complex nature of their new weapons compared to simple swords and spears.

“The Americans told us Japan was famed for their technology!” the gunner complained, hitting the computer near him. “All this technology and they can not bother to make it work!”

Major Hisiu, the tank’s commander, scoffed at the continued complaints.

“Our ponies are still trying to get used to working and fixing these.”

“It makes you miss the days of arrows and magic. You know the Kisouma Division still has a platoon of bow ponies. Maybe I could join them.”

“Watch your tongue Sergeant Kaiyo, you’ll be dueling a sniper with a bow.”

“Wait… I think I have contact, there are vehicles moving along the road ahead, coming from the village, from Hoof’s Bend!”

“Dao! Driver halt!” the Major ordered before opening the commander’s hatch.

The midday sun beat down upon the open land, with a dusty, hot wind blowing and stirring up the dry day. The Major expected the approaching group to be allied vehicles, as they were quite far behind the front lines. After a long gaze, and then a look through his binoculars to confirm, he was shocked to see the lead elements of what looked to be an enemy light unit.

“Changeling reconnaissance group! Confirmed!”

“What!? This far behind the lines?” the gunner asked.

“Where did they come from? An air drop?” Dao jumped in his driver’s seat. “We’re supposed to be well behind the fighting! Didn’t the Equestrians reform the line?”

“I think the Equestrian line is far less stable than when we last heard,” Hisiu correctly surmised. “But my friends, this is an opportunity! This is what we have waited so long for!”

“Ah, no retreat?” Kaiyo grinned happily.

“No retreat, no humans to order our retreat! A taste of vengeance is within our grasp! They have no heavy tanks, we will attack and run them down for what they’ve done!”

The crew let out howls over the radio; after all this time, the Union ponies, equipped with much better technology than the last time they fought the Changelings, would go into battle against their foe.

“I will need to contact regimental command to inform them of this, you will have reigns on the initial fighting Sergeant.”

“Most of the division is already packed and moving, Sir.”

“Yes, but a report still needs to be made. If the enemy has made it this far without resistance then the greater strategic situation is much worse than we thought,” the Major explained before giving his own instructions to his tank. “Xue load HEAT and high explosive rounds first, we’ll be dealing with light units. You’ll need to work fast.”

“Understood!” the tank’s loader replied.

“Dao, take us right through them and block the road. Kaiyo, you know what targets take priority. I’ll resume command once I’ve talked to the Colonel. Does everypony understand?”

“Yes Sir!” came the united confirmation.

“Begin! Attack! Full speed, fire at will!”

The tank lurched forward, going straight for the small dirt road that exited the village. The Changeling group had spent the last day charging ahead of its parent unit, moving deep into the country to chase down Equestrian army ponies fleeing east. Strung out from their brigade, tired and lacking in fuel, they were in no shape to properly resist an enemy tank unexpectedly barreling down on them with such aggression.

The first victim was a BTR-152, driving lazily down the road, suddenly struck by a HEAT round and exploded, leaving almost nothing left. The Changeling infantry dived away into cover as the Type-90 pulled onto the road, blocking it and blasting a Ural truck filled with the unit’s food rations. Kaiyo switched to the coaxial gun, picking away at what Changeling infantry he could see as his commander spoke with their own command.

“Affirmative Tora has engaged the enemy. Daito can you send us support?”

“Negative, the division has already begun moving eastwards. Tora you are alone out there, do you understand? It would be better not to get dragged too deep into battle.”

“I understand but the enemy here is weak, we can hurt them badly here,” Hisiu clarified over the battle’s racket. “Can you see if there are any other units nearby?”

“I will check for you, be careful Tora!”

“Thank you, Tora out!”

“Enemy advance down the road has been halted!” the Sergeant reported triumphantly.

“Good, we’re going to crush them while they’re down! Kaiyo, primary targets will be the vehicles, destroy their mobility. Dao, make sure to keep us moving in the streets. I’m retaking command now; driver, forward!”

The Changelings retreated into Hoof’s Bend, where there was a chaotic rush to organize. Most of the infantry took their initiative to take cover in houses as the tank rolled in. The Type-90 picked out two stationary trucks, followed by another APC at the end of the street. From inside the tank, the Major noticed an object fly over the top of the tank trailing a thin smoke.

“RPG round! Gunner target the second floor of that building to the left!”

“On target!”

“Fire!”

“Shot out!”

The shot struck and tore open a massive hole across the upper wall of the building. The gunner sprayed machine gun fire into the dust-covered building as the hostile infantry scurried out the back. Another group ran across the street, gaining his attention, and the tank rolled forward again to chase them down.

“Kaiyo, cease fire, we don’t need to waste fuel slaughtering the poor infantry bugs. Go find some more vehicles to kill, rob them of their mobility.”

“Understood Major.”

“Sir, we only have four HEAT rounds left,” Xue advised, going through the main gun’s ammunition.

“Load AP then. Gunner did you hear? You’ll have to make due with sabot for now.”

“Good, we’ll be targeting vehicles anyway- target! Watch it!” he jumped, grabbing and aiming the gun down the street without waiting for orders. “Round out!”

The tank fired and the sabot round shot out, just barely having time for the outer shell to break and release the dart before it cut through the thin light vehicle.

“What was it!?” the Major shouted.

“Enemy truck of some kind, but I saw a missile launcher on the top of it,” Kaiyo explained, examining the disabled vehicle. “Kornet.”

“Sir, in close spaces like this the sabot won’t have time for the shell to break and release the dart. Not at these ranges,” the loader informed his commander, the worried tone notable in his voice.

“We won’t be facing heavy tanks, the shell itself will suffice. Driver, we’re heading into the village proper. Keep us moving so their infantry does not swarm us. Do not stop unless ordered too.”

“Very well, tell me where to go!”

“Forward, down the street, search the village!”

The Type-90 rumbled down the street, and was greeted by two more RPG shots. One directly forward that straddled the tank, and another from the side that hit at a poor angle and only damaged the armor. It continued on, not slowed down a bit, the turret spraying machine gun fire at the first launch site. Rounding the corner it came upon an unmanned BRDM and put a round through it lengthwise, the heavy shell tearing much of the thin recon vehicle asunder.

The one-sided battle continued to play out this way as the ‘Tora’ continued to shrug off what hits the Changelings could land on it while adding kill after kill to it’s tally. Another Kornet, two more cargo trucks, what seemed to be a command UAZ abandoned by its commander, and another BRDM-2 with a Konkurs configuration. The only issue was their own supply situation, the tank burning more fuel and Xue counting down the few rounds it had left. As the tank moved out of an alley it was fired upon by a flurry of RPGs, one of which struck the turret’s face.

“Driver stop! Stop now!” Hisiu ordered frantically, holding his shaken head in his hooves. “Back up! Back into the alley!”

The tank finally came to a halt before Dao forced it into reverse and drove it back, his sudden movement shaking the crew more.

“Crew report! Sound off!”

“I’m fine!” Dao shouted first over the comms.

“My head hurts a little… I hit my nose on the wall,” Xue mumbled. “Ugh, my vision is blurry.”

“Do your eyes hurt? Were they hit?”

“Uh… no Sir, no just hazy.”

“Oh you- blink you fool!” Hisiu shouted at the young stallion, who had become lost in his focus and excitement and forgetting basic things. “Blink until it clears and then load our HEAT rounds!”

“Of course, my commander!”

“Kaiyo!? Report!”

The gunner was striking the tank’s computer violently, almost punching it.

“The fire control computer is broken!” he angrily spat.

The Major grabbed his hoof and shoved him down to his seat, nearly hitting him in the process with the power behind it.

“Stop! Stop hitting the machine, you can still fire without it! That’s what you wanted anyways, isn’t it? Now be ready to hit that building when we move out of the alley!”

“Yes! Yes Major!”

With a quick order to the driver, the tank rolled out of the alley and back to the street. Within a second another RPG flew past and straddled the tank’s side armor, impacting on the street right next to it. The gunner fired at almost the same time, the HEAT round hitting the second story of the tall house-store building and sending dust and debris flying.

Amazingly, even after this, another RPG round shot out and struck the top of the turret, impacting early against the mounted machine gun and wrecking it, but preventing any penetration of the armor. Kaiyo aimed lower and put another HEAT round into the base floor, and half of the building collapsed. The various accessories of a home, the windows, a table, a bed, parcels of food, all manner of objects fell out onto the street.

“Driver, forward, down the street. No time to admire the Sergeant’s work.”

The powerful war machine continued on it’s rampage, using it’s final two HEAT rounds on a Changeling ATGM team that was trying to dig in in some shrubbery just outside town, and on another building where a group of stragglers had run into for cover. Switching to their few remaining armor-piercing rounds, they continued to hunt for vehicles in particular, destroying another UAZ and a Kornet that faced the wrong direction. After an hour and a half of battle, they could find no other vehicles in the town, and, still wishing to wallow in their long-awaited revenge, contented themselves with using their few remaining main cannon shells on the infantry scattered around town. The awkward game of cat and mouse ended as the final Sabot round was fired into a store near the center of town.

“That’s it, we’re out!” Xue reported to the crew.

“Very well, prepare to fall back out of Hoof’s Bend.”

“Major no, we can still fight, the machine gun-”

“Do not be stupid, we can not stay here and let the enemy overwhelm us! We have no infantry support and now no ammunition!”

“We don’t run! I will not run again!”

“Enough! Stand down!”

“Sir, our fuel is running low as well,” Dao interrupted them. “We will barely have enough to make it back.”

“Tora, stand down, we are done for now,” Hisiu commanded sternly, calming the crew through his own stoic demeanor. “Dao, take us out of the village, keep following the road.”

“Yes Sir.”

“What’s our kill count?”

"Fifteen enemy vehicles destroyed!" Xue reported.

“Ah, all that skill, we’re as good at this as any human,” Kaiyo grumbled, trying to enjoy the victory but still unsatisfied.

“Do not worry yourself friend, we wiped out their mobility, they are trapped in that village,” Hisiu reminded him. “We will return, but in order to dislodge the infantry we will need help.”

“Fifteen!? Surely you are joking! You?”

The Major watched with a cold frustration as these shorter, stockier ponies shared a hearty laugh over the reported number of kills. He had to remind himself that it was not one of insult, it was more one of amazement, an almost jolly laugh. These were Konik ponies, from the other end of the continent from where the Union was, and were quite different from his own culture. With their own army having begun to move on, the Konik’s division camped nearby was the next immediate source of help they could go to.

“Still if you did, it’s a very good ah… wyczyn, a… feat!” he struggled.

Both had to converse in general Equestrian, the language of Equestria both knew, the already dominant tongue that they had to learn as it was similar to the human’s English. Neither knew the other’s native language, and though it was difficult at first the two tanks teams had settled into a good flow of conversation. Hisiu had explained the situation in Hoof’s Bend to the Konik, a Captain named Iskra.

“Yes, but the enemy is still stuck in the town. I can thank you for the supplies for my tank, but we need to attack the town. We need your help, they will have reinforcements. We need to destroy them. One tank can not do that.”

“Ah yes, yes, I would like that!” Iskra agreed, leaning over on the turret of his Challenger. “But we can not help. My division is the same as yours. The Hussars are already leaving, we are one of the only ones that are ready to fight.”

“Taii please we must-”

“Ah ah!” the Captain interrupted him. “But there is another army nearby. The Karalian ponies. They should be able to help us. Their infantry are good, very good! They can support us to take the town. And they despise the Robak yes! The Changelings, they do not like them. They will help!”

“Ah excellent! Thank you, that is excellent!”

“We have a messenger of theirs in our camp, I will explain to him. You go and send your report to our higher command. The American and Equestrian must know the line has failed! Once your tank is ready we will attack!”

Dusk began to fall, though there was still enough light to see for a good distance and undertake combat operations. The Union ponies were already quite tired, having woken early in the morning and already grown fatigued from their earlier battle, but they were driven by the prospect of a victory over the Changelings, the sense that they were weak while they had grown stronger with their reinforcements. The sun setting almost directly ahead of them added to the frustration and misery of the situation, only occasionally blocked by the stout Challenger leading them.

“Tora this is Lanca we are approaching the village, the recon says the enemy has reinforcements of his own, and they are moving out of the village towards us. Ready for battle, yes?” Captain Iskra notified them.

“Understood Lanca, we will break to the fields to the right and engage them as they come down the road,” Hisiu answered, taking his own initiative. “Crew, action stations, prepare for contact!”

The Type-90 moved off to the far right flank, over the shallow ditches and dry fields, watching for the enemy. The Challenger continued down the road, with it’s commander giving the all-clear to any potential targets down the road. Not long after, the driver brought the vehicle to a halt as the clear image of another MBT came into view.

“Gunner target ahead!”

“Identify, it looks like a T-72!”

“Fire, open fire!”

“Shot out!”

The sabot round went out just as the commander of the T-72 spotted the enemy tank, only realizing it once it was too late. The round tore through the T-72’s armor, going through the loader and out the other side. The remaining crew bailed out of the tank as a fire broke out, gradually engulfing the armored shell.

“Lanca to Black Clover, do you read me?”

“Affirmative Lanca,” the Karalian infantry commander responded immediately. “We’re right behind you only a few minutes away, we’re ready to blitz the town with you!”

“Halt your team! The enemy has been reinforced with tanks of his own and has attempted to advance out of town. We have run into them, and once they are destroyed we will continue our attack.”

“Agh… understood Lanca, we will hold short,” the frustrated Karalian agreed.

As Iskra finished on the radio, the Challenger and a second T-72 down the road traded shots. Both gunners were on target but unlucky, with the Challenger’s shot hitting a poor angle on the front and ricocheting the sabot, and the T-72’s impacting against the frontal armor and careening off to the side, doing some mild damage and rattling the crew. A second later Hisiu’s tank fired an AP round into the side of the Changelings and hit the engine block, crippling them. Both tanks followed by killing two BTR-60s, the last vehicles of this advance force, as the Changeling infantry and surviving crew fled back to town.

“Aha, they’re nothing! How could the Equestrians be having such trouble? Artemor, any critical damage to the Stalkon?” Iskra called to the driver.

“No, some damage to the front armor but she is fine!”

“Ah, first combat in a tank, it is satisfying to prove ourselves,” Szarik, the tank’s gunner, congratulated the crew as he relaxed.

“We’ll have more to prove soon. Driver, take us off to the left side of the road, up to that barn,” Iskra ordered before contacting the others. “Lanca to all units, the enemy advance has been halted. The Changelings in the village likely know we are coming now. I think it is dangerous to go down the road into town.”

“Lanca, Tora; you stay to the left flank and we will cover the right, we will approach the village over the fields and through the bushes and engage their defenses from there. Black Clover, it will be better for you to get off before you reach town and attack. We can not all charge in.”

“Black Clover, we hear you. We will dismount and attack the town to clear it out.”

The two tanks now maneuvered individually to attack the town from distance and pick off any targets that were visible to them. Despite the Changelings being warned from the destruction of the advance force, they were still taken by surprise; they had not expected another attack, at least not so soon, and though they were more dug-in and prepared than before it was still a shock. They had hoped that their reinforcements would be advancing soon, and that their horrific ordeal had been an encounter of poor luck. They especially did not expect to be assaulted by a large force of two tanks and a platoon of infantry.

The two tanks rumbled off to the flanks, picking out targets at the edge of town, a long line of German-made Fuchs APCs came to a halt along the road and unloaded their infantry in the dusty cloud they had kicked up. The Karalians belonged to the Twelfe Flexible Infantry Battalion, part of the First Skittari Infantry Regiment, a total of two-hundred traveling in a ‘century’, their variant of a human company. In their grey uniforms and Stalhelms, these ponies, more than any other, had long awaited with a deathly patience to take their revenge on the Changelings, and with this opportunity for battle they would seize it with a fervor, and relish it.

Captain Blaze Afterglow was their commander, ready to return to fighting their traditional enemy after he had nearly been killed by them long ago. He tightened his uniform and his officer sword and ‘Dicer’ SMG, so named for the Karalian who had engineered the strange gun, as he observed his battlefield. He lamented that they would not be able to get in close to the village, to enter into the close-quarters battle they exceeded in, but he knew they would be victorious all the same.

“Finally, it’s time, after so long, you’ll get the first taste of payback for what you did,” he thought to himself. “Too bad our artillery couldn’t be brought in in time. We could’ve just shelled those Ticks into oblivion, burnt them away like old times.”

“Thunder Coy!” Afterglow called to his friend, who trotted up cradling his heavy sniper rifle. “I want you to go with the Arc ponies and set up a sniper-MG nest along that rise over there. See the hedge on it? It should give you a better view of the battlefield. Flaretail, you go with him, see if you can help spot for them!”

Thunder Coy nodded in agreement, smiling at his commander as if to wish him well.

“Just try to be careful this time Blaze! You wouldn’t want me and Coy to rescue you again!” Flaretail teased him as she hovered above the two.

The Captain smirked and sent his friend off after a light tap on his helmet, sending him on his way. After a few minutes, Coy and his team had reached their position and already opened fire. Even over the thump of the tanks he could hear Coy’s rifle ring out with each shot, and the steady macabre melody of the MG-3. Climbing to the top of one of the Fuchs, he commanded his infantry, raising his sword high and lowering it towards the town.

“Black Clovers! Attack!”

Iskra noticed the charge of the infantry from his commander’s hatch, stunning him into action.

“The Karalians are charging the village!”

“Directly!? They’ll be cut down halfway!” Szarik exclaimed, turning away from his sight in surprise before going back to keep watch. “Ach, I was told the Karalians needed more offensive training but-”

“No time, we need to reach the village first and guide the infantry in! Crew get ready, we’re running our own charge! Kasztanka, load our HEAT shells! Driver, forward, full speed! Get us to the entrance of town at the main road again, don’t stop!”

“Aye Captain!” they all replied.

The Challenger lurched forward, quickly gaining speed and covering the distance. A Changeling ATGM fired from an alley in the town, but the gunner spotted it and sent a cannon round into the emplacement. The uncontrolled errant missile, with only a short way to go, still struck the tank but only grazed the side of the turret, not slowing it down a bit. Bursts of machine gun and cannon erupted from inside the town, directed towards the infantry, as another T-72 rolled out to try and stop the attack.

“Gunner target tank, one o’clock!”

“Acquired!”

“Fire!”

“Shot! Hit confirmed!”

“He’s still shooting, re-engage!”

“Shot out! Hit, his turret flew off! He’s dead!”

Major Hisiu’s tank, having not been informed of the actions of either, was slower to catch on. When he saw the Challenger moving in, and noticing the Karalian infantry attack, he realized what was happening and ordered his own attack in league with Iskra’s. The Unionists rushed in, firing their machine guns wildly at whatever Changelings in the foremost buildings dared to stick out to fire at the Karalians.

“Gunner, target machine gun nest! In that cupola of that red building!”

“Yes I see it!”

“Fire!”

“Out!”

“Target demolished! Next!”

Iskra’s Challenger reached the main road of town and came to a halt, with Hisiu’s following behind shortly. The infantry finally reached Hoof’s Bend, having suffered some losses but far from what could have been had the two tank’s shock assault not suppressed the Changelings. The two tank commanders conferred and agreed that Iskra would continue slowly down the main road in town while Hisiu would take his tank along a smaller winding side street. They would support the infantry as they could, who would now be clearing out the town.

Blaze arrived along with the rest of his ponies, tired from the run but still energized and ready to fight. Already the Karalians were proving they were still masters of close-quarter fighting, especially when adapted with the new weapons of modern warfare the humans had given them. The Cohorts were flooding through town, moving aggressively but attentively. Each time a Changeling popped from a window to fire at them the opening was sprayed with weapons fire. Each building was to be cleared and the Karalians took to it with ample amounts of grenades and flashbangs.

Afterglow followed down a side street and joined a smaller group who needed another pony to clear out the town’s tiny sheriff’s building. Saddled up with his comrades as he had been taught, and knowing the Changelings were inside, the lead pony threw two flashbangs in and the group breached upon detonation. Blaze went left and, with his Dicer, gunned down a stunned Changeling rifleman stumbling in the corner as the group killed a second ahead of them. The ponies continued to clear the building as Blaze held the entrance, keeping his sword in one hoof and his small SMG in the other.

A rattle of gunfire came from down a hallway near where he was and one of the Karalians fell, struck in the back of his leg by an AK round. The Changeling charged into the room, hoping to fire on the team from behind, only to be hit twice in his right hoof by Afterglow’s gun and stumbling back. Seeing his foe this close, driven by his hunger for vengeance, acting on instinct and his skill from years before, Blaze lunged after him and raised his sword to smite his victim. The terrified Changeling, unable to fire due to his wound, raised his gun to block the attack, with the sword impacting against the weapon, biting into the wood and metal.

Now the moment of decision had come as the blade knocked the AK to the ground, having driven into it and nearly knocked it apart. Blaze now pulled the blade up, forward, directly at his target, and rammed it into the black shell of the Changeling. It let out a welp and cringed and groaned, it’s wings buzzing as it was pinned against the floor, bleeding out. The Karalian yanked his weapon free and delivered the coup de grace against his head, before finally stepping back to observe his work.

Blaze lingered on his sword after this, still spotted with blood. Drain Hornet, a sword he had specially customized long before during a different time, able to absorb magic through striking others, though the usefulness of that ability seemed to have died out. However, as he bemoaned this, the blade’s magical field began to glow lightly, vitalized by the natural magic it had drawn from the Changeling. Apparently each individual had more magic left in them than initially thought.

“Huh… and they told me magic was slipping away. But if I can get enough to charge this a little… from a Changeling, especially a Changeling. Just how much is really left in this bloody world?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by a loud mechanical clanking as the Challenger advanced past their building at a slow, cautious rate to support the infantry. They came upon a large opening with the town hall in the center, a three-story building with a bell tower, the largest building in town. Many Changelings had barricaded themselves in this strongpoint, for as soon as the tank came close a barrage of RPG fire erupted. The Challenger was hit twice, again saved from any critical damage but hurt nonetheless, reversing suddenly while firing a cannon round into the corner of the first floor.

The Karalian infantry had no better luck as withering fire from rifles and machine guns poured from every opening of the building as an intense firefight developed. A Karalian AT team fired their own launched at a window on the third story, though this was not very effective and countered by an accurate RPG round that wounded every pony in the team, putting it out of commission. This standoff continued for thirteen minutes before Hisiu’s tank arrived to break it.

Having gone through the town at a much faster rate, the Type-90 had turned back and now approached from the opposite end of the street. Realizing the Changelings had fortified themselves in the building, the tank took aim and put a high-explosive round into the bottom of the bell tower, collapsing it and the machine gun team in it. The fire eased for a moment before breaking out again, and another RPG shot hit perfectly in the side of the Type-90’s right tread, knocking it off and preventing them from moving.

Both tanks now began to fire rounds into the building and poured machine gun fire across it, though both had now exhausted their high-explosives and could only use armor-piercing, but the combined firepower was able to suppress the old wood and metal building. With this, Blaze collected all the smoke canisters the troops had and had them flung ahead of the building, with the tanks adding to it with their own launchers, creating a thick cloud around the building that was impossible to see through.

While the Changelings fired wildly through the smoke, expecting the infantry to breach the building, the Karalians sent only one team around the back to deal with them. Ladened with explosive charges, the infantry reached the building and spread out carefully, tossing C4 in or around the structure as they could before retreating back through the cloud. As the smoke began to disperse, one of the ponies hit the detonator and the many charges erupted in a great eruption.

A new cloud of dust and debris flew up, and with the call to cease fire the fighting stopped. A full half of the town hall had collapsed, with only the battered portion of the front remaining. Several dead or wounded Changelings lay amongst the rubble, with the few survivors running or flying back out to flee, hoping Hisiu’s tank would not catch them.

This proved to be enough for whatever Changelings remained in town, with the remaining stragglers retreating from Hoof’s Bend. Thunder Coy killed two more with his sniper rifle during this phase before the last of the fighting ended. Hoof’s Bend fell quiet save for the shouts and discussions of the soldiers there, and birds returned to sing on the buildings still standing and the ruins.

In a day’s fighting, the exile forces had suffered one tank disabled, necessitating a repair vehicle, and another moderately damaged. The Karalians lost 6 ponies dead and another 17 wounded. Looking over what they could find, it was clear they had destroyed more than a company’s worth of Changeling infantry, along with the many destroyed vehicles the free ponies had wiped out almost half a battalion. The Battle of Hoof’s Bend, while small and inconsequential in the larger picture of the front, was the first showing of the exile forces against the Bloc, and the first defeat of the latter by the former with their new technology and training.

“The town is finished? Clear, yes?” Iskra asked Afterglow as the three nation’s commanders met.

“Yes, it’s clear, secure. Quite a mess ain’t it? But it feels good, really good,” Blaze admitted. “What do you think? Feel good?”

“Hai, yes. Good,” Hisiu agreed, watching the Karalians collect the corpses of the Changelings to pile near the town hall, showing little regard for respect to the bodies of their foes.

“Yes but we will need to evacuate the town soon. We will lose the sunlight in ah… maybe thirty minutes,” Iskra told the two. “If all of the Changeling Army is advancing, we can not stay here alone. This was a small battle. We must return to our units.”

Afterglow grumbled something to himself, but agreed, the strategist in him knowing they would eventually be overrun by a superior force.

“The recovery vehicle will be here soon, it would be good to leave during the night,” the Konik continued.

“Yes, and I thank you both for your help,” Hisiu thanked them generously. “To defeat our enemy in battle... was something we needed. I thank you greatly.”

“Bloody pleasure, I’ve been wanting this for as long as I can remember!” Blaze agreed happily.

“Ah, you Karalians are good soldiers! And you Unionists! Both good, great! All of us, it looks like!” Iskra praised them. “

“And one day we’ll take our land back from those invaders, we will.”

“One day,” Hisiu and Iskra both repeated to themselves, deeply, determined, hopeful-

“Aye, one day.”

“One day.”

Far from the front, in the port of Pensacolta, sat an bland four-story building, not looking very important save for the guideposts around it and the large sign dictating it as the headquarters for the 4th Army. The building was always full of activity, though in one small meeting office on the corner of the second floor the army’s S-3 sat in a chair, waiting for his friend to return from an important meeting, a sudden one. Major General McBroom was watching the waves lap up against the sand of the shore, daydreaming with good view, until the 4th’s XO General Stokes arrived.

“It’s happened, just like we said it would,” the XO said plainly, with almost no expression on his face.

“What did?”

“Both.”

“Both of what?”

“The Equestrian Army failed to fill out the line on our flanks. They just melted away, like there was no line there, no one was backing them up. Our guys in the center are holding but that’s meaningless now.”

“I was afraid of that. We’ve got some contingencies for that, or at least we brainstormed some. What’s the other part?”

“General Alton Hall has been relieved of command of the Fourth Army.”

“Was waiting for that to happen too,” McBroom sighed, relatively nonchalant for such a major upset in the chain-of-command. “Him screwing around with strategies, keeping the Marines and Brits in his ‘reserve’ he called it. Was always bullshit wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, even the Chief agreed he was detached from the reality of the strategic situation by now,” Stokes explained further, taking a chair and dragging it to the window next to McBroom’s. “But that’s what we were right about; McBroom, there’s something else.”

“Oh good lord what now?”

“Here’s what we didn’t expect. we’re both being promoted.”

“You’re taking his place?”

“No, you are.”

McBroom stared at him for a moment, gawking and confused at the sudden leap in position.

“There’s been some reshuffling. You’re going to be taking over for the Fourth Army. I’m going to a new position, though they haven’t finalized it yet,” Stokes explained. “It’s something like a Supreme Allied Commander for Arcaia, at least that’s the acting title.”

“Jesus Christ Michael, you’re starting to overwhelm me! When the Hell-”

“Then pipe down and get a hold of yourself, you’re in a bigger seat now and you’ve got to be able to take it; we both do. It’s up to us to help fix this mess, so hold the chatter for now,” his superior interrupted him, trying to keep focus rather than devolve to pointless conversation. “But yes, it’s some kind of Supreme Command position but not really, not yet. Still have a lot of connections to be made. I’ve been given total command over all the human forces based on this continent, I mean Hell we did it anyways but point being. All of them are under me now.”

“But not the Equestrians?”

“We’re still trying to get the Equestrians to fall under my wing; as of now I’m only on par with Royal Marshall Silver Lance. He’s still got them and the Exile Forces under his command. But they want me to work with him. Hopefully this’ll be the step we need to a proper unified command.”

Stokes rose from his chair and dragged it back to the small table in the office, waving McBroom over as well. He wanted to start going over new strategic plans to implement for stabilizing the situation in Equestria. Usually he would hope to hash them out in a better setting, with their own Staff and a proper map to do so, but he did not want to waste time. They were in command now, and he knew what actions needed to be taken, he knew that time was precious, and even hours and minutes counted now. No time to waste on small talk like it was some business, it was an impromptu briefing, and orders were to be passed. Not a second need be wasted.

“First things first, we need to evacuate the entirety of central Equestria. Send the word for the Fourth Army to pull its units back, otherwise the 5th ID and 2nd Armored will get surrounded in the center,” the senior commander told McBroom. “The Rangers have already pulled back right?”

“Yeah, the 11th ACR is still there too. They’re in the best shape of any unit there.”

“Good, we’ll need some fresh units. We might need the 11th to help out then, just one regiment though. 3rd Infantry Division’s already moving inward after landing here in Pensacolta but that won’t do, they’ll have to be the lynchpin for a defense.”

“I’ll order them to hold for now, with so few fresh units we can’t mount a large defense on these big open areas. I’ll tell them to camp down on the other side of the Comtois River… near… Clefland.”

“Alright, we need to get in touch with the other branches too. Because of what Hall did, our friends are guaranteed to get cut off. The 1st MARDIV is going to get cut off at Las Pegasus. Knowing them they’ll want to stand and fight but we can’t lose them,” Stokes continued, his friend writing down notes on a pad to remember. “The British in Baltimare are in the same mess, we’ll have to evacuate them anyway we can. Oh, what about the Canadian and Australian units? They aren’t in the center are they? Are they with the Brits?”

“No, they’ve been pulled back to the east to rest and replenish after that initial scare at the start of the war. They’re also going to be getting a lot of additional units from their countries.”

“Good, that’s good that’s very good! We’ll need their help. The other divisions, what about the 94th?”

“They’ve been resting to the east of Baltimare but they can’t attack or even defend. Our best bet is for them to pull back to the Cob Peninsula, try to hold Boston- uh Bostrot, sorry, fucking names. But, beyond that, the 23rd is in a bad way now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well with the line gone… the 23rd Division down on our southern flank pulled back to ah… Fillydelphia? That was a couple weeks ago. As you know it’s a major logistical station inland for us, lots of supplies and replacements there. But they hunkered down to get back in shape there, along with a bunch of Equestrian units. To be frank, they’re in no condition to fast move over land back to friendly lines, and with everything else happening it’s not likely the Air Force can evacuate that amount of men. They’re going to be surrounded there.”

“Jesus Christ, they’re going to get locked down there,” Stokes repeated, his mind racing to try and find a solution.

“I know as the commanders we’re supposed to have solutions but… Michael for them I can’t come up with anything. They’re already exhausted, they try to mount up and move, they'll get hit as they try to escape. A good chunk of the division would get destroyed, or all of it,” McBroom sadly admitted. “I wouldn’t even tell them to try it, it’d be suicide.”

“You think we can tell them to stay there? Fuck how would that look? Brand new commanders and we’re telling them to sit there while the enemy surrounds them and starves them out?” Stokes lamented to his colleague. “I don’t want to abandon them.”

“We can come back for them, just not now. And it’s not as hopeless as it seems. They’ve gotten a lot more replacements, and other auxiliary guys around that town. Lots of Equestrian units and stragglers too. Plenty of supplies from the depots on top of that.”

“Maybe… we’ll get to them one day though,” the higher commander swore before going over his notes to summarize. “But looking at everything, we’ve got… a full army retreating from the threat of getting surrounded. Need to enact two port evacuations. One battered division’s hunched up in a peninsula against the ocean to the north and another one’s going to be locked down in an inland siege to the south. Ah… alright, let’s get these orders down the chain.”

Author's Note

I had to rush a bit to write this chapter considering the lack of time available. But I wanted to write something and not waste half a year for it. Hope this continues to expand the world a little bit, next chapters should get back to more familiar characters. Thanks for your time reading.

Et in Arcadia

June 14th, 2006
1200 Hours
Somewhere in East-Central Equestria

A week after being stranded in the aftermath of the Battle for Ponyville, the desert seemed increasingly vast. Vanderbilt had been in the desert before a few times, down in New Mexico, but never had he been totally lost and alone in it. There had been survival training but this, this proved to be so far and away from anything expected it was daunting.

The brightest point for him was that he was not alone, at least not anymore. A little less than a day later, his two Equestrian companions had awoken without any noticeable injuries, physical or mental, other than some headaches. With no real idea of where the trio was located, and with no real plan for such an event, they agreed to simply head east, in the direction of friendly forces.

The journey was a constant, long haul of a march, but was made easier by talking with his two companions, their discussions of their lives making the days of walking go by easier. The unicorn he had met, who in all justice had saved their lives from the tank shell, was surprisingly more important than the Sergeant could have guessed. Her name was Twilight Sparkle, a personal apprentice to the ruling Princess of Equestria and, according to her, one of the most talented and gifted magic users in Equestria. She and her friends once held the duty of wielding some powerful magical items and were responsible for saving Equestria on several occasions, long before their land came to Earth and the magic diminished. It was strange to him, but there was no reason to doubt her in this; her talk of the vital ‘magic’ of friendship seemed par the course for the saccharine yet honest philosophy of the ponies, but she did connect with him quite fast, and made him feel more comfortable in spite of the situation.

The pegasus pilot he had rescued proved to be more mysterious. She admitted that her name was Night Glider, a pilot of the Equestrian version of the Strike Eagle, and leader of the 15th Attack Squadron that bore her name. She was more than happy to talk about her interests, her views, her history up to a certain point; when it hit that vague certain point she stopped giving information. Her origins remained mysterious to the both of them, a curious issue though considering she was friendly and a fellow comrade-in-arms they retained their manners and refrained from asking about it; could have very well been something more traumatic that they had no place in asking.

“What do you think of her?” Vanderbilt asked Twilight of the sleeping Pegasus.

“Her? Night Glider? What do you mean?”

“Well, she seems a little distant sometimes. You think she’s worried about something?” the Ranger wondered. “You’re better at reading these ponies than I am.”

“Well… I don’t know, I mean I get the whole friendship thing but I’ve always been kind of weird with other ponies and ah… I don’t know. She kind of seems like… like she’s worried about us finding something out.”

“Hm, I suppose this isn’t a great time to pry over that huh?”

The unicorn nodded, cutting the conversation there. A fire sat in the middle of the three of them as they rested in a small clearing under an overhanging rock, providing what warmth it could against the deceivingly hard ensnaring of the cold in the desert’s night. The two grew ever more drowsy, and Vanderbilt threw what remained of the collection of dried-out timber. Thankfully the trees in the area seemed quite similar to ones he at least knew of, and as such he cut out more Ironwood than what looked like Palo Verde; his dull family vacation to the southwest had given something back finally.

“Where did you say you were from again?” Twilight questioned him again as she yawned.

“Pittsburgh. Big city called Pittsburgh, in Pennsylvania. It’s a big industry city or, well used to be decades ago. Still kind of is though, still lots of it there, getting a little more back,” the Sergeant described, somewhat to himself as he reminisced. “Steel was the big thing, lots of steel. Way back in the late 1800s it turned into a huge steel production city, really made a name for the place. Even named our football team after steel.”

“Is it a nice city? Are the ponies nice? Or people, I mean?”

“Yeah I think so, nicer than Philly anyways. I mean it’s got the problems every big city has. Dirty, crowded, crime and everything. I do like to get out when I can, take vacations out to the countryside or upstate New York. Go hunting, mostly small game and birds… I guess you don’t really hunt do you?”

“No, I d-,” Twilight yawned loudly before composing herself. “I don’t, but I think we could find something to do together as friends.”

She stared at the embers of the fire for a moment before speaking again.

“I… really wish I could help more. With this… fighting, the war and everything.”

“Anyone can fight but not everyone is built for a war, especially winning one. You Equestrians really aren’t, just not in your nature, and you especially.”

“I know but it used to be that me and my friends could handle things. Now everything is really out of hoof. The Princess keeps telling me we have important roles to play but it’s hard to figure out what they are.”

Vanderbilt chuckled a little, an amused almost comforting one, with the deepness of it showing his relatively older age.

“Look I can tell you this much, I’ve gotten along better with you than most other ponies I’ve met here. I think if your whole deal is being friends, then you don’t need to worry about that magic going away.”

“Aw, thank you! I know it’s a little hard for humans to get along with ponies right now.”

“That’s just the war I think. A lot of guys aren’t happy with how bad- or, inexperienced Equestrians are. It’s hard for them to fight properly. That and this whole place falling out of the sky, starting up this war, getting thrown into it. The stress is just getting to everyone,” Vanderbilt rambled to her. “I’m sure if it was peacetime we’d all get along well.”

“When it’s peaceful again I think we can,” Twilight corrected him with a smile. “A war can’t last forever, even here.”

“Yeah but we have to win it first.”

“Maybe… I can help us to… get along a little better? So we can work together? That would be something,” she speculated. “Then when it’s over, and we’ve won, things can go back to normal. Better even, if we stay.”

“Stay?” the Sergeant repeated. “What do you mean stay? You all are planning on going somewhere?”

“Well, maybe. Princess Celestia was looking for ways to return us to our world since we got here. She told me she had found something before her work was stolen, or destroyed, something bad had happened,” the unicorn admitted. “She says that she’s still looking for old spells to fix it, that there’s still a possibility.”

“So after the war is over, you’re just… poof, gone back to where you came from? You’re not going to stay?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight answered, looking at the sand floor of the desert rather than him. “I’ve met some really great humans here, and made a lot of great friends. Learned so many amazing things! But we really don’t belong here, at all. I-“

“Well, I hope we can find something to do as friends before you go.”

Vanderbilt smiled at her, a forced but honest one; he seemed to understand, acting totally unmoved by it.

“I’m sure we can-“ Twilight yawned again, lowering her head. “I think I need sleep.”

“Yeah, you go ahead, I won’t be far off.”

The following days became repetitive to the three. Vanderbilt initially had nothing more than one MRE packed for a lunch he never ate on the day of the battle, which he rationed carefully. Thankfully, two days after their journey had begun, they had come across an abandoned farm. Unfortunately there was nothing to point them towards a town, or show where they were, but there was a good amount of food and water.

The ponies could eat some of the vegetation, and as such Vanderbilt packed up with a large amount of fruits, bread, cheese, and other foods he could eat. The ponies found a single saddle bag and packed it with hay. More than anything they carried every drop of water they could find in the residence.

The land they trekked through was sparsely habitable, but there were signs of it all the same. These became less as they moved on, a painful realization for them as they had hoped for the opposite. Occasionally they heard the roar of jet engines above, but they were always far too high to be seen, and as such there was no chance of them being spotted.

“Still no idea where we are?” Glider asked the two, indulging her habit of obvious questioning.

“No, we don’t know,” Twilight responded.

“So you can’t teleport us out even if you know the place you want to go, right?”

“Right, that’s how teleportation magic works. You have to know where you are so you know the relation to where you’re going. Otherwise this is what happens.”

“Yeah I remember that. But, couldn’t we just take a gamble and have you teleport us somewhere?”

“And get lost all over again?”

“We could end up somewhere better?”

“We could also get dropped into the middle of a big lake and drown.”

“Jeez, that actually doesn’t sound too bad right now.”

“Let’s save that option as a last resort,” Vanderbilt spoke up.

The rest of their day went on without much change. Vanderbilt found and killed a snake, hoping to skin and cook it that night for some meat. The ponies found some plants they could eat, hardly tasty but helping to save their supplies. Yet, as the morning dawned on the next day, a major discovery jolted them.

Coming over a ridge, the group spotted some thin columns of smoke in the distance, and after climbing another hill they found the source. A village, a small one, far from any great civilization, but inhabited. They could see ponies milling about below, and finally, celebrating breathlessly, without energy, their odyssey seemed over.

“Look at that! Oh look at that, a town! Finally! Oh thank you sweet Jesus, finally!” the ranger celebrated.

“It’s not deserted either!” Twilight noted happily. “We actually made it! Come on, let’s go down there and introduce ourselves to our new friends! We need to get some rest and ask them about getting back home.”

Night Glider did not respond, she stood there, stiff, frozen like a marble statue.

“Glider? Are you alright? Come on, let’s go!”

“No!” she blurted out suddenly.

“No!? The Hell do you mean no?” Vanderbilt shot back at her. “What’s the problem? We need to-“

“I’m not going back there! We can’t go down there!”

“Why the Hell not damn it!?”

“Wait, what do you mean? You can’t go back there?” Twilight noticed. “You mean you’ve been there before?”

“I… I… well… I,” Glider stammered before grimacing and grinding her teeth. “Yes, I really can’t go back there. I used to live there, I… alright, wait.”

She sat down into the sand, breathing deeply as she cautiously considered what to say. The two stared at her, their initial frustration slowly being replaced by a cautious worry. After a minute, Glider looked back up at them, trying to talk, but could not keep eye contact. She eyed the dry ground under them and finally began her explanation.

“Please, please don’t tell anypony about this when we get back. But down there, the ponies that live there, they don’t have cutie marks, they follow this… philosophy, I guess… they really hate them, and what they do and everything, so they removed them with magic.”

“What? How?” Twilight gawked at her. “How could they do that? Why?”

“They like to follow this idea of perfect equality, so everypony is made the same. Or they try anyways,” she continued, ignoring Twilight’s question. “Thing is, they don’t allow anypony to leave either. That’s why it’s all the way out here, so it can’t be found easily.”

“I think we have something like that here on Earth too. Just that they don’t want to keep to themselves, if this war says anything,” Vanderbilt said. “But your town, sounds like a cult.”

Night Glider whimpered at those words; they were a little too accurate for her liking.

“Oh, hit too close to home?”

“Yes, it feels like it looking back. Even if it’s been a while. So I never told anypony, but it hurts and scares me to look back at it.”

“Sorry about that.”

“But… I don’t want to go into my history there too much. Just that it was… bland and nerve-wracking. Nothing special and you’re out in the middle of nowhere but you’re always worried you’ll do something wrong and… I don’t want to talk about what happens with that,” Glider continued on, summarizing her experience without detail. “One day, Rector, my friend, he’s the lead in one of my wing’s squadrons. He was able to escape, he never told me how. But a year later he came back and rescued me, and my cutie mark. After that we just integrated back into society, and with this big new war going on-”

“Wait, so you escaped after you came to Earth?” Vanderbilt noticed.

“Yeah, well sort of. Rector escaped before, then in the first days when we came he got me. Anyway, he helped me join the military to stay close to him so we could watch out for each-other. With all the other crazy stuff going on, no one really

“And you never told anypony? Why? We wouldn’t have done anything bad to you,” Twilight asked, trying to understand the pegasus’ logic.

“You sure? I mean… yeah you wouldn’t, but some of the other ponies have gotten pretty panicked, suspicious since we got to this world,” Night Glider retorted, showing her first small drop of anger before stowing it back away. “This didn’t happen very long ago. Was back when we were still fighting in the Crystal Empire, about to retreat from it. Tons of ponies were on edge with what was happening in this weird world, and a lot of them were expecting spies too. Changelings and stuff, you know? I thought they’d come after me for being part of a… cult… or something.”

“I guess, but that’s still not a great reason. If you just explain what happened, nopony would come after you. You’re clearly a good mare yourself.”

“Are you sure about that? The Princess did send her own sister into exile on the moon after all, and banished Sombra and all his followers, and turned some of her other foes into stone! What would she do to me if they didn’t believe me?”

“You- what!? There’s a really big difference between what they all did and what happened to you!” Twilight shot back, rather frustrated herself. “You were really afraid of that?”

“I guess there’s a difference… but-”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vanderbilt interrupted, offering his simple view. “Now that you’ve kept a secret like that they’ve got a reason to be suspicious of you. Even if it wasn’t that bad, even if you were afraid.”

Night Glider fell silent, then apologized lightly before going quiet again as the trio stood there, each waiting on the other to declare some plan.

“What do we do now?” she spoke up again. “I still can’t go down there, I’m sorry I just won’t!”

“You might not be able to go down there, but I can,” Twilight pointed out. “I could at least get some food and water for us.”

“I wouldn’t do that. If you go in there they’ll probably just take your cutie mark too.”

“I can go too.”

“They’re not really keen on aliens either Sergeant,” Glider cautioned him. “They were already cautious before we came to Earth. Since we’ve gotten here they’ve become pretty on edge.”

“Well, all I really need to know is where in Equestria we are and I can teleport us somewhere else,” Twilight simplified the problem. “Do you know exactly where we are, Night Glider?”

“Uh, at the village? It’s weird but I never really figured out where we were. In a big desert, sure, but there’s not a lot of other stuff around.”

“There’s got to be a map in the town, me and Sparkles can go get it,” Vanderbilt said plainly. “I can probably defend her if they try anything.”

“I don’t know, if they catch you two-“

“I’ve still got a full mag for this, I’ll be fine,” he clapped his M4, knocking some of the dust off. “Could do with some cleaning, dust might jam it. Should be ok though.”

“Could you please not shoot anypony!” Twilight shouted at him. “These are still Equestrians, you don’t need to shoot them even if they’re strange.”

“Hey I’m not a murderer! It’s just self-defense is all.”

They were almost halfway there now, but it felt like an eternity, the length of a marathon to them. For both it reminded them of a march down a hall when they were in trouble. Twilight under the old fear of having done something wrong, in school or otherwise, and to the Sergeant it reminded him of marching to a higher-up’s office for a dressing-down. This, of course, was a much more dangerous situation.

“Oh, Sergeant? My name is ‘Sparkle’, not ‘Sparkles’. No, ‘s’, not plural. Not that it’s a huge deal or anything,” Twilight stammered. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. It’s hard doing this without my friends.”

“No ‘s’, okay, sorry. Don’t worry I’ll make sure you’re ok. You should probably do the talking though.”

As the two strolled calmly, slowly down to the village, they saw the ponies below began to stir, and many filed into the street. It was easy to see the two of them coming out in the open like this. They noticed that some of them were armed, some with swords and arrows, and spears being the most popular weapon among them. It was a worrying view, though not too worrying, as the ponies below seemed to be armed more out of caution than outright hostile intent; they could have easily attacked and possibly killed the two outsiders by now if they desired.

To Vanderbilt the village came off as very bland, almost pathetic, barely existing as a settlement compared to his home. Two long rows of houses, all looking the same, all connected wall-to-wall, ran down the only street, with one large house at the other end disconnected from the rest. The ponies here were odd in their appearance alone, being of the same colorful nature as other Equestrians but their vibrancy being muted, dulled out and greyed. He began to hear them chattering in confusion as they neared.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like that!”

“That’s a human! Like we were told about!”

“A human? That’s what the aliens look like?”

“What is it here for? What’s it going to do!?”

“But it’s here with another pony! Is it friendly?”

“Uh, hello! Everypony! Uh… how are you?” Twilight asked them awkwardly, trying to hide the anxiety that had been building up since their walk began. “Can anypony tell us where we are?”

“Who are you? Who’s this alien with you?” one of the ponies with a spear questioned her in turn. “Is this a human?”

“Uh, yes, don’t worry he’s a friend.”

“We heard they could talk, can it talk?”

“Yes, I can talk,” Vanderbilt spoke up, causing the ponies to recoil slightly. “I’m Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt. U.S. Army Rangers.”

“What’s a Ranger?”

“What’s a ‘U.S.’?”

“We’re sorry to bother you, we were just wondering if you had a map we could have?” Twilight sheepishly asked. “We’re just a little, little lost.”

“We… could… but ponies from outside our town… we don’t really.”

“Well, what’s your name?” Twilight stopped the stallion. “Maybe we could get along? Be friends?”

“Uh, Party Favor, but it is really weird just to have a pony with a cutie mark visit. Especially with some weird alien soldier. But, uh, maybe you’d like to… stay for a little bit?”

“No thanks, I don’t need to stick around, I’ve heard plenty about this place already,” Vanderbilt jumped, not happy with even the thought of such a thing.

“You’ve heard about us?” Party Favor repeated curiously. “From where?”

“Shit why did I say that!?” Vanderbilt thought before replying. “Nowhere… just here and there. Met a lot of ponies traveling through Equestria you know. Hear a lot of stories.”

“Who did you hear them from?” a new voice called out.

The crowd dispersed a bit, allowing another mare to move through up to them. She seemed to be the leader, from the way the other ponies moved and observed her. Sticking out badly among the other villagers, having more color to her in contrast to the dulled tones of the others, the unicorn held a very commanding presence, one built by intimidation from the feeling of it.

“I don’t remember. Some unicorn back in Pensacolta,” Vanderbilt lied.

“Hm, well… welcome to our town, I’m sorry for the pointy greeting but things have gotten a little crazy over the past few years,” she apologized, waving the ponies off to the side. “My name is Starlight Glimmer. You said your name was Sergeant Vanderbilt right? And you, you’re Twilight Sparkle, aren’t you?”

“You know her?” the Sergeant queried, the new unicorn's aura making him feel uncomfortable.

“I have! Not too long ago I heard about what she had been doing since the world turned all topsy-turvy.”

“I do get recognized every now and then. It kind of comes with being Princess Celestia’s student. And an Element of Harmony. And… saving Equestria now and then,” Twilight admitted. “But all the way out here-”

“I heard you say you were lost? You’re looking for a map? I know you don’t want to stay but please let me show you around some!” Starlight insisted, motioning for the other ponies to fall into line. “I’m sure once I give you the tour and explain how we do things you’ll love it! You’ll probably even want to stay!”

“No no no no that’s ok! We don’t need a tour, we know about it! We just need to get a map and we’ll be on our way, yep!” Twilight nervously rejected, becoming increasingly worried.

“You know about it?” Glimmer questioned her, eyeing her suspiciously. “What do you know?”

“Shit now she screwed up!” Vanderbilt thought, noticing the other ponies glaring at the two of them.

“Oh uh, nothing! I mean not nothing but- uh… not-”

“Who did you talk to?” Starlight demanded in a much more aggressive tone.

“We already told you. We’ve heard it in passing, that’s all,” the human insisted.

Some of the armed townsponies stepped out of line, holding their weapons closely as they moved back to their leader.

“You’re starting to worry us, Sergeant Vanderbilt.”

“You’re worrying me a lot more. I’m not a guy who likes to worry.”

Twilight had been effectively removed from the conversation, her mistake getting the better of her as negotiations deteriorated.

“You may want to reconsider staying with us,” Glimmer told her.

“She’s not doing that,” Vanderbilt retorted, his assertive, deep sergeant’s command voice speaking out above them.

The situation rapidly approached a deadly breaking point as a number of ponies lowered their spears towards them in threat. Vanderbilt held his rifle closely, slowly moving towards his combat stance, though not aiming at any of them, but ready to shoot if any made a move. Twilight, who seemed to have lost her words, seemed to rally finally, no longer afraid but now staring down the town leader. Vanderbilt saw a purple aura of magic around her, and a bright light emanating from her horn’s tip.

“Alright fine! Stop! Stop! Fine, we don’t need to start fighting,” Starlight relented, flinching in their standoff. “You just wanted a map right? Fine. Double Diamond, would you kindly bring our visitors to the storehouse and get them one? We’ll escort them out of town after that, and very far from town.”

Vanderbilt breathed in deeply, shakily, almost coughing; he did not realize he had not been taking air since things went sour. Twilight calmed down much easier, quite satisfied with the result of her display. This result was satisfactory for both of them, and the two did not look at any of the other townsponies as they followed Diamond away from the crowd.

“Geez, where did that come from? This whole time I’ve been with you you’ve been pretty soft-spoken. What made you go from nerve-wracked to superpowers?”

"Oh it's just ah, I'm just odd like that. I used to be able to use a ton of power back home, back when we were in our world I mean. But... I felt a whole lot there too... maybe I have more than I thought," Twilight theorized to herself. "I’m sure you did plenty though. Those ponies have probably never seen a gun before, they probably don’t know what it can do. I think it scared them more.”

"Nah, superpowers are way crazier than this little thing."

"But that little thing's hurt a lot more ponies, I'd be scared of it," the unicorn replied simply, not knowing that she had shifted the tone much darker, to Vanderbilt's pain.

"Yeah, well, I guess it's necessary in the end."

"Yeah it is, I've been realizing that more and more."

The two continued following Double Diamond into the storehouse, which was stocked with various odds and ends, and noticeably more swords and arrows than one would think. As they entered, Diamond closed the door behind them, not in a sinister way, as he began looking at the window, watching to see if they were followed. Rather than go straight to the map, he looked at them, his large eyes almost pleading to them before he spoke.

"So you two are really from the outside huh? What's it like?" he asked of them.

"It's pretty violent right now," Vanderbilt answered. "Guess you're more interested in the rest of the world than your friends?"

“We heard the war had started up, and things were getting worse. That’s why we stockpiled so many weapons.”

"I hate to tell you but little weapons like these aren't going to save you from the armies we've been fighting. Best you can hope is that they don't notice your town here."

"We're afraid of them, we know they have very powerful weapons, a lot more magic, a lot more ponies than the rest of us. But we can't submit to them, and if they do find us... I guess that'll be it."

"And I guess leaving is off the table."

"Yes."

"Sorry man, but I can't really help too much, I doubt the rest of your friends want help-"

"No I know but- look there's not a lot of time, I shouldn't be talking too much with you. I just... really need an answer to something."

"To what?" Twilight allowed him to ask.

“Please. Please, just tell me who you talked to,” he begged quietly.

“Not sure I should tell him, that could lead to someone going after Glider,” Vanderbilt debated to himself. “I don’t think these guys have the ability to call a hit, they don’t look like they leave town at all. And with the craziness of the war going on?”

“It was a pegasus called Night Glider,” Twilight admitted to him.

“Well… guess she’s not as worried as I am.”

“Night Glider!? She’s alright?” Diamond jumped.

“Yes, she’s fine, she’s actually fighting in the war. She’s a pilot, a really good one.”

“Hah, really? She’s controlling those big machines up there we were told about? It’s kind of hard to believe… I guess I don’t know what to say. Look, we can’t stay here much longer, but when you see her again can you please just tell her… uh… just that we miss her. Even if she doesn’t miss us, or Glimmer mostly. But we’ll always see her as a friend.”

“Yes, I’ll tell her myself,” Twilight promised.

“Ok… well… hang on a second,” the unicorn used his magic to levitate some papers out of the way before selecting a single scroll and sending it to the human.

“There, that map tells you where we’re located, and the surrounding region. Will that work?”

“Yeah, that works fine! Thank you!”

“Good now let’s get back out there before we get in trouble!”

Double Diamond hurried back out the door first, followed by the two guests of the town. Glimmer was no longer waiting outside for them, having retired to her own home to go through her own devices. The rest of the villagers had calmed by now, and had begun to return to normal discussions. The return of the three caught their attention once more, though Vanderbilt and Twilight, eager to leave the unwelcoming town, preferred to continue on rather than stop to talk more.

“Hey, took you long enough huh?” one of the more gruff guards shot at them.

“Yeah, someone moved all the stuff around! It took me a while to find it,” Double Diamond bluffed, turning his focus back to the two visitors. “Hey, is there anything else we can do for you?”

“No, this is good! We’re just going to leave now, we really don’t want to cause anymore trouble!” Twilight responded.

“Alright, well uh… it was good… meeting you!”

“Yeah, have a nice life! We’ll be going now,” Vanderbilt responded hurriedly.

The two now began to march out of the village, side by side, in the same direction they came. They could feel the eyes of some of the village ponies tracking them, observing them, giving the very uncomfortable feeling that they would receive an arrow or a blast of magic in the back. Both would occasionally look over their shoulder to check, and continued to do this until they were far away, passed over the top of a dune, and the village out of sight.

"Glider! Hey!" the unicorn shouted happily to their waiting comrade.

Glider jumped a little in surprise, but was elated to see her friends returning. She jumped up in the air, hovering there as they joined with her again, sporting a wide smile. She was clearly as ecstatic as they were at surviving not just the village but the entire journey.

"You guys did it! All right! There wasn't any trouble was there?"

"Well there almost was but we kept our cool," Vanderbilt summarized poorly, "but uh, we did run into a pony who seemed to remember you."

"An earth pony named Double Diamond," Twilight picked up from him as Glider's expression turned to a mixture of stun and amazement. "He seemed pretty happy to know you were doing well, and he said he missed you, that they all do, and even if you don't they'll always see you as a friend, him especially."

"I um... I... thanks Twilight, I'll need some time to think about that... I," the pegasus choked on her words as some memories flooded back. "You're still the Element of Friendship right? If you have time I'd really like to talk to you... about all this."

"Oh, oh yes! Yes! Of course I am! I'd love to help!"

"You should probably think about doing that somewhere safer, we still need to get out of here," Vanderbilt refocused the group.

"Oh right, yes! Okay, I'll get us out of here, safe and sound!" she assured them, taking the map and studying it closely. “Alright… let’s see… just let me focus… and… there!”

The three were again enveloped by purple magic and a flash of light, and were gone in a blink. It lasted less than a second, and after rubbing his face Vanderbilt wondered if it had worked. They were still in a desert, but not the same desert.

“Whoa! Hey, you guys!” a voice called out to them.

The Ranger turned to see a town, a true moderately-sized town, and a group of American soldiers both relaxing and working on an 11th ACR M3 Bradley parked nearby.

“Where the Hell did you guys come from!?”

“Oh man that’s cool! You see that? I told you, they can just pop from place to place!”

“Hey hey, hold on, who are you guys? You hear for something special? I mean I get you unicorns can teleport but… sorry I’m still getting used to it.”

“Afternoon boys. You uh… got something to eat?” Vanderbilt asked them, not bothering to answer anything until that was settled. “And a bed? And a bath maybe? If you’ve got a hotel in town I could duck into for a night that’d be appreciated.”

“Uh, yeah, I can show you Sergeant. You here to meet someone?”

“Cool, great, sorry I skipped introductions. I’m Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt, Second Battalion, Seventy-Fifth Rangers.”

“Rangers? Oh wow, real spec ops guys!” one of the men responded. “I thought you guys were pulling back after that big fight out west!”

“Out west… where are we anyways? What town is this?”

“Dodge Junction. Not Dodge City, USA mind you. Dodge, Equestria.”

“So it worked! I knew I could still do it!” Twilight exclaimed happily.

“It’s a long story, but to keep it simple the three of us got lost,” Vanderbilt continued. “This is Captain Glider from the Equestrian Air Force, and this is Miss Twilight Sparkle. She’s like a… superhero around Equestria, and royalty, or a student to royalty I mean. She’s a big deal.”

“Well, you all do look pretty tired,” a Sergeant sitting on the Bradely said. “How’s about we get you to that hotel so you can R&R? Then we can see about getting you back to your units.”

“I’d love that, go ahead and lead the way.”

Author's Note

Thanks again for reading, a slower chapter I thought would be a nice change of pace. As always now, apologies for long empty spans between updates, though I always appreciate those who continue reading. Take care until next time.

Shockwaves

June 15th, 2006
1130 Hours
Las Pegasus, Southeast Equestria

The rolling hills around Las Pegasus, tumbling up and down along the landscape in chartreuse and ochre, was a calm idyll that the marines had spent months running over. But not the hills, all the open land of Applewood, the little green that lay before the San Palomino Desert across from the canyon, was to be torn apart. First by the entrenching tools of the men, and eventually the grinding armaments of war.

The grudging restrictions of General Hall had borne its awful fruit, and the change in command had not come soon enough. Without enough notice to move and deploy against the rapid advance of the enemy, the 1st Marine Division was soon going to be surrounded and cut off in Las Pegasus. In turn, the MARDIV dug in for a protracted defense. The area was sandwiched between the thin Long Trot River and the Dusthoof Arroyo, a long-running, deep canyon that stretched for such a way up till the ocean that separated the area from the San Palomino Desert. With the Applewood Mountains off to the north, this in turn meant that, while surrounded on land, their enemy could only attack them from one front.

However, despite the demands of the Commandant that they be allowed to stand and fight, after a week of fighting the decision was made to extract the division by sea. The overall strategic situation across the continent was poor, and allowing the division to remain would only doom it to a long death; losing it would be totally unacceptable. As such, the Navy scrambled to initiate Operation Backgammon and extract the marines by sea, the only open route remaining, before that too was cut off. The marines were to be shuttled back to Hawaii, after which they would reorganize before finding the best way to use them to counter-attack.

“How much longer are they going to make us wait?” Chaffin complained. “We’ve been out here for an hour.”

“You’re telling me, we’re so fucking exposed out in the open like this,” Diego agreed. “Bugs are just over the rise there too. One artillery strike and the whole platoon’s fucked. How did they not see us rolling up?”

“I’m just that good of a driver,” Roycewicz answered smugly.

“San what’s the new callsign?” Chaffin quizzed him suddenly.

“Alta.”

“Correct, finally.”

“All the ‘a’ words we could get in the reshuffle and we got that.”

“I like it, could be worse.”

“Avalanche, asteroid, anvil, amulet,” Diego drones on, trying to occupy himself.

“Next time you can put in a formal complaint and they’ll let you pick out of the Corps-approved dictionary,” said Roycewicz.

“Arrow, arson, ace,” he continued in a mumble, only trying to keep himself from thinking too much about the upcoming battle.

“Ant.”

“Alloy.”

“Arquebuse.”

“Oh okay smartass.”

“Is the air still in play?” Chaffin asked, trying to continue the conversation.

“Yeah last I check we’ve got plenty. Our own birds as well as the Navy guys from the Stennis. Chair Force even bothered to send some guys down.”

“Aw, see Chaff? They do care,” Roycewicz tacked on.

“They better, bunch of pussies.”

Diego opened his hatch to allow some fresh air in, but it was soiled. They were positioned downwind from the earlier battle, and the breeze picked up the odor of war and carried it. Even from this distance, they could smell the powerful aroma of various blasting powders, and the mixed smoke of burning buildings and plant life. Surprisingly, almost embarrassingly, the Marines had almost forgotten what it felt like to be on a real battlefield, having not been in combat since their tangle with the Changeling paratroopers some time ago. Slowly they began to realize again just how war pressured them at every sense and angle.

“Alta Three-One this is Trapper Two-One, we’re coming up at your six now.”

“Hey hey, it’s about fucking time Trapper,” Diego half-chuckled to the radio in response, just happy that they could finally get to work. “You guys enjoy your stroll up here?”

“Glad we could make it to the party.”

“I know you Second Battalion boys don’t love us that much, but you think next time you can hustle a little instead of letting your fellow marine sit around out here like a fish on a hook?”

“Maybe you can take us with you next time taxi boy, your fat asses have the wheels anyways.”

“Yeah alright, listen the tangos over the next rise don’t seem to know we’re here. Get your recon done and let us know when you hash out a battle plan, kill?”

“Copy that, sit tight Alta.”

The LAVs continued to wait anxiously, in a deep frustration from the conditions, holding on by patience for the infantry to ready themselves. Due to the suddenness of the mission, there was little time for an actual recon team to do work. Even as an ‘Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, they had to make do on their own without eyes to guide their actions.

The infantry moved slowly against the ground, taking care not to be spotted as they peaked over the rise. After a short while they returned in the same way, conversed with the rest of their team, and tried to come up with a plan of attack. The LAV’s radio crackled and spoke up again after eighteen minutes of quiet.

“Alta, Trapper. The built up area ahead contains numerous foot-mobiles but no victors spotted. Just infantry but some of them may have AT launchers.”

“Copy that, you have a plan? What do you want us to do?”

“Only thing we can do, we’re gonna hump it out and move in as quick as we can. We can’t have you guys doing an armor assault first if they have AT, so we need you guys to move up and lay down suppressing fire on them. Cover us until we can get in there and drive them out, oorah?”

“Oorah, Trapper, you ready to step off?”

“Affirmative, as soon as you guys open up we’ll step to it. Just don’t shoot us in the back.”

“Copy that, Alta out,” Diego confirmed, now switching to his own platoon’s radio. “Alta 1-4 here, all Alta 4 units, we’re going to advance up to that peak and hold there, lay down heavy fire once the enemy is in sight. We’re covering the infantry as they move in so watch your aim. How copy over?”

The three other vehicles in the platoon confirmed and waited as the infantry moved up, crawling along the red ground under them. Before long there was a series of cracks, and the infantry on both sides began to exchange fire, the pitifully short moment of surprise gone. The LAV platoon advanced as planned, moving on the left of the Marine infantry and holding to suppress the hostiles.

“Gunner, targets all along our front, in those shot up buildings, engage with coax. Save the cannon for when we need it.”

“Engaging.”

The LAV’s machine gun, already worn by the days of combat without much maintenance, rattled away as Chaffin fired long bursts of rounds at the Changeling infantry hiding on the second floor of a large concrete building. The other vehicles opened fire as well, and the sustained attack by a full platoon of LAVs was more than enough to cause the Changelings to shrink back away from any openings. The Marine infantry advanced quickly, not stopping until they had reached the edge of the compound, and began the process of clearing the buildings of the enemy lurking deep within.

“Chaff, gunner, cease fire. Don’t go shooting our own guys,” Diego ordered.

“Sorry, got it, trigger finger is stowed.”

The remaining LAVs did the same, holding their attack and awaiting any need for their commander to request it. They instead watched, waiting for any development, as their fellow Marines moved into the complex and out of sight. The infantry took to clearing the rooms with prejudice, grenading any occupants who were too well positioned to terminate with gunfire. First one building was clear, then the next, then another as they worked their way through.

“Alta, Trapper, you still there?”

“Affirmative Trapper. You guys on?”

“Yeah we’re good, complex is clear of tangos. We found RPGs on these guys, fuckers are definitely packing heat. We have the second just a ways up but there’s a lot more Bugs up there with MGs and on alert. Can you give us a hand and punch through? Over.”

“Affirmative Trapper, we’ll try and run right through, but you tell your guys to keep close if they’ve got anti-tank there! Kill?”

“You got it Alta, I’ll get my guys together, out!”

“Driver move out, down the road into the complex, take it slow,” Diego said before passing orders to the others. “Alta Victors, form column. We’re going to escort the infantry up to the next compound and then run right through it to the other side! Maximum fire output, they’ve got AT so keep their heads down and chew up anything that moves!”

The LAVs formed into a single file, moving in through the buildings where the infantry had gathered underneath the barrage of small arms fire from the upslope buildings.

“Chaff, cannon, HE, coax too. Engage at will. Everything to our front is bad guys.”

“Oorah!”

“Driver, ready? Go, go now, fast move!”

The LAV lurched ahead from its slow crawl up the twisting incline, the tires rubbing harshly over the broken road and dust and dirt. Two the LAVs in the rear swept the taller three-story structure with machine gun and cannon fire, knocking off pieces of it in the process. Chaffin immediately identified a mounted machine gun behind sandbags and barbed wire, and four high explosive rounds demolished the position and the crew there. The vehicles moved through the thin single line of building to the other side, Chaffin trying desperately to rotate the turret as they turned around into the open rear. One Changeling was able to find the courage to fire off an RPG round at the LAVs as they passed, but it was a panicked shot, flying very high over the turret of the third vehicle and off into the sky to come down on some far off hillside.

Trapper team had followed the back line of the armor and assaulted the distracted enemy violently, clearing them in a fraction of the time it took for the first assault. All in all, fifteen Changeling soldiers were killed in the attack on the initial outposts for no American losses; luck had favored them heavily. The final, strung-out group of two small warehouses and shipping containers were unoccupied, and the marines took cover behind them to organize for the last attack.

“Hey! You guys all good!?” San called to the infantry, who could not hear him over the multiple engines until he dismounted to their level. “I asked if all you guys were good!”

“Yeah thanks for the support devil! All my guys are up!” Trapper team’s leader informed him with appreciation. “Main objective’s just past here, over all that open ground. Objective Lima, that little town.”

“Town? I was just told it was some bigger complex than the others.”

“Just different words for it, it’s the same shit. Going to be a long, drawn-out fight. You got any supplies in the back there? Ammo, water, all that?”

“Yeah, yeah, there’s a little left in the back of number Four, that last one back there. If you want we got some heavier shit in Three we’re still holding on to after we bailed out Weapons Company; a Javelin and a couple sniper rifles.”

“Nah just the basic shit, we need to keep it light for now. Hey Jamey! Get your team to grab all the supplies out of that LAV over there and bring them over here so we can divy it up!” Trapper’s leader ordered before turning back to Diego. “But yeah, locals said it used to be some mining town, not a town really, it’s all just industrial and administrative buildings, no housing or luxury, just a center for the workers who lived in Las Pegasus.”

The group of marine infantry gathered around their leader and Diego a short ways from the LAVs so as to discuss the plan of attack. The men divided the fresh rounds among themselves, none acting too selfish over what he got, along with water, CLP, and other miscellaneous necessities. After a quick SITREP to higher command, the plan was laid out.

“We know there’s a lot more Bugs in that town, maybe a platoon’s worth with heavy weapons, not sure what else. Now I’d like the LAVs to escort us in but you guys are going to be sitting ducks in those open fields to any AT, and if we lose you guys we’re screwed. Good news is that we’ll have a mortar barrage hit the front of town just before we step off, and we have a Cobra flight that’ll do a pass for us too. Combine all that with the LAVs laying down suppression fire again and we should be able to get into town.”

“We can do that, I’ll spread the guys out to cover the whole front,” San assured him.

“He also said Marine and Navy Hornets are overhead somewhere, running strikes against enemies far out to the north of Objective Lima so they might help us if they can. Fireteams Alpha and Bravo with me up the middle along the road, Charlie swing wide left and hit the corner of town. Oorah? LT once your guys are in place I’ll call it in and we’ll step off. We’ll call you in once we’ve cleared the town.”

“Oorah, I’ll get to it.”

Diego returned to the LAV and passed on his order, with the platoon spreading itself out thin to cover the front of the town. Its large, garish, shot-up concrete work buildings lay ahead on a notable rise, with the sun shining overhead giving it a red-gray look in the dust. It was an intimidating attack, though as the LAVs were sitting in the open they did not come under fire; it seemed the Changelings did not have ATGMs, or anything bigger than an RPG, which set the crewmen at ease.

The crews began to see scattered puffs along the front of the town, explosions, mortar fire. Diego gave the order to open fire on the front, with his gunner picking out a two-story fabrication building for the 25mm gun to rake over. The infantry began to advance along the planned axis; they had forgotten to inform Diego but it was not a major issue, and the LAV gunners were trained enough not to shoot their own in the back of the head. Return fire was minimal, with only potshots from the Changelings who could stick their head out for a second.

Trapper was halfway there, Diego kept the main group in his sight. Two helicopters flew in from behind them, close enough to rattle the LAVs, AH-1s. The Cobras slowed and made a single pass over the complex running east-to-west, firing their guns almost non-stop and earning a fair amount of return fire from small arms. As they banked out and moved away to the southeast, the second Cobra suddenly exploded, coming apart in a quick fireball.

“Shit one of the Cobras got hit by something!” Diego yelled.

“I think I saw a launch, they might have MANPADS in there,” Roycewicz noted.

It was then that he noticed another voice on the radio calling him, and he fumbled with it to answer.

“Alta I said do you hear me!? It’s Trapper!”

“Alta, go!”

“Tell your guys to hold their fire! We’re trying to get into Objective Lima!”

“Copy that, Alta out! Gunner! Hold fire, hold!” he ordered his own crew before moving to the others. “All Alta victors cease fire! Hold, hold your fire! I say again, Alta Four-One here, everyone hold fire! Let the infantry move in!”

The overwhelming sound of battle calmed into an echo of the gunfire in town, with the LAVs holding where they were. Time ticked by, minute by minute, the on-edge crewmen agonizing over having to wait. There was no word from town, only the sounds of small arms fire faintly heard over the sound of the engines.

“Alta Four Actual, Highlander,” the battalion commander called, causing the crew to jump from surprise.

“Aw shit, Highlander? That can’t be good,” San groaned to himself as he grabbed the radio. “Alta Four Actual here.”

“Alta, we wanted to inform you that a group of Marine Hornets will be operating overhead. If you need to contact them check alternate channel romeo, their callsign is ‘Moon’. Highlander out.”

“Hah, looks like it is good news for once,” Diego chirped as he played with the radio. “Uh, Moon? This is Alta. You copy, over?”

“I hear you clear Alta. Glad we could finally make contact. We got a few flights decked out for air-to-ground do strikes in your area. Callsigns are Moon and Check. Just want to be sure we don’t hit you guys,” the pilot explained.

“Two callsigns?”

“Flights from two squadrons. But keep us in mind if you need help, and keep us updated on the situation. We’ve already talked with Trapper.”

“Copy that Moon, thanks, Alta out.”

The fighting in town continued, but how it was going was unknown to the LAV crew. Twenty minutes had passed and not a word from Trapper. In some sense the gunfire was a good thing, as it signified that the Marines were still alive. The men were abruptly treated to the sight of a large explosion inside the complex, throwing dirt and rubble high into the air.

“The fuck was that!?” San yelled.

“Missile, missile from the sky, I saw the smoke trail,” his gunner calmed him, looking out the turret. “Came from behind us, was one of ours. Must have been those Hornets.”

“Shit I hope so!”

The men continued to hold in anxiety until Trapper finally called them.

“Alta Four, Trapper! Are you there!? Over?”

“Four Actual reading! Go!”

“Alta the Bugs have pushed us back and we’re pinned in a three-story living quarters on the southeast corner of town! It’s right along the main road! I need you guys to get in here and clear the bad guys out from around us! Can you do that!?”

“WILCO Trapper hold on! All Alta units, get into column along the road, prepare to enhance enemy at close quarters!”

The platoon of LAVs lined up, one behind the other with good space between them, and started down to road at a moderate speed. This was the type of situation that made the crews jumpy; the LAV was not designed for high-intensity, extended combat in tight urban areas like a tank. Still, they were the only ones available that could help. The enemy’s capture of this town meant there would be a hole in the already thin USMC line around Las Pegasus, which was unacceptable.

Diego’s LAV lead the way into the complex, slowing further, on the lookout for movement. The buildings were dismal concrete, gray and blackened and damaged by the constant fighting. After a shallow turn their view was filled with a slightly open lot ahead of the living quarters, and numerous Changeling infantry scattered about.

“There! Gunner footmobiles-”

“On them!” Chaffin shouted, firing the coax.

“Driver pull off left here and halt! All Alta victors spread out and engage!”

“Alta we see you, we’re hold up in the building to your right!” Trapper called him.

“Yeah we see you just hang on!”

“More tangos in the building! Switch to cannon!” Diego yelled, more to himself out of habit than the command process. “Come on you bastards!”

A few smoke rounds from mortars fell in the area, having been called for earlier to cover the Changeling infantry in a final assault on the Marine riflemen, now wasted with the appearance of the LAVs. Some switched to their thermals and continued firing, but by now the Changelings were pulling back. The firing ceased for a time as the gunners lost their targets, leaving a short lull in the battle.

“Alta… Trapper here. Thanks for bailing us out. How are you guys doing on ammo and gas? We still need to take this place over.”

“Should still be a little over half of both. How are your guys?”

“We’re ok, the wounded guys are going to get taken care of but we need to keep fighting.”

“You had a plan of attack in mind, Trapper?”

“Two of your victors are going to go with one of my fire teams down the road to the left, winds through town. Clear out any resistance. Rest of us will continue down this main road, do the same. We’ll all meet up on the outskirts. Sound good?”

“WILCO, we’ll get going. Out.”

All of the men were already tired from the battle, but it only made them react more bluntly. For the Marines, the battle would end whenever it ended, and that would be until they had won. Diego’s LAV and his number two began the advance cautiously down the left street, moving very slowly with their infantry escort.

Incredibly, the vehicles’ appearance in town seemed to have routed most of the Changelings out of town, leaving only scattered teams in various buildings rather than a concentrated defense. A fire team four-story rectangular factory in an open area shot at the Marines, but a heavy reply from the Bushmasters killed them quickly. A two-story red brick building gave them a greater scare, being at a turn in the ride and at a poor firing angle for moving down the street, and as soon as the LAVs passed the previous building the infantry opened up with a withering, heavy barrage of automatic fire and rifle grenades. The angle meant that the LAV could only hit the building’s wall at a glance, fortunately the infantry team swung around through an alley and cleared the building with a liberal use of grenades before entering.

The LAVs had been lucky, an anti-tank shot at such close range would have been devastating, but the Changelings had none. The final point of resistance after the turn in the road was a collection of Changelings outside of a ruined metallurgy compound, looking more wounded and distressed, but still opting to fire on the Marines before a few brief bursts from the vehicle’s machine guns silenced them. The team arrived at the final line of buildings on the northern face of the compound, already occupied by the other half of the Marine forces after driving out the stragglers left there.

“Alright, that’s it right?” Chaffin sighed, relieving the stress.

“Fight’s not done yet Chaff,” Roycewicz answered.

“No, I mean the hard part’s done. Town’s ours man!”

“Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it!”

“Highlander, Alta Four Actual. Objective Lima secured!” Diego reported triumphantly.

“Good work Alta. Are you continuing with the mission plan?”

“Yes Sir, defend it from any hostile counter-attacks. You probably see some coming from over there huh?”

“Affirmative and it looks serious. Lots of infantry supported by IFVs. Don’t worry I’ll direct artillery and air against them, we’ll relieve you soon. Highlander out!”

“Alta Four-One, all Alta Victors find yourself a good firing position in cover and be ready to defend the town, out!”

Diego exited his vehicle again to confer with Trapper team’s leader again as the infantry and vehicles found defensive positions among the buildings.

“Hey, how are your guys looking? Any casualties?” he asked.

“No new ones since you bailed us out back there. Real low on ammo though. Could use some water too.”

“Your guys can scavenge whatever we’ve got lying around. You heard we got more bad guys on the way right?”

“Yeah not here yet though. They’re too chicken to face the green weenie,” the rifleman laughed. “We’re going to unload that extra shit you guys kept from Weapons Company too. Couple of my guys used to be in W.C. before getting transferred, they’ll know how to use it. We’ll stick with you guys in the buildings, no backing up into town. We need to hold the line here, I think.”

“Agreed, just keep on the comms in case something happens.”

The area to the north was similar to the rest around it, a long, low, dusty red flatland that ran below the complex before hitting a shallow, long rise in the distance. The Marines watched over this area for any movement, knowing the enemy was coming. Scattered harassment artillery fell randomly and sporadically far off.

“Alta, this is Moon. You still there, over?”

“Affirmative Moon, reading you.”

“We see a lot of bugs moving your way. Dust is getting kicked up too. We’re hitting them as we can out here but you can call us if you need.”

“We don’t have a FAC.”

“Just use visual reference; won’t be as accurate but it’ll help.”

“Contact, foot mobiles, coming over the slope ahead! At least twenty spread out!” Chaffin shouted.

“Gunner engage at will!”

“Firing!”

Fire from the LAVs picked away at the timidly advancing Changeling infantry, but as more came up they inched forward and the battle roared to life again. Marine infantry with a sniper rifle added their fire, the Hornets dropped some of their bombs at more clearly defined targets in the rear, smoke shells from the Changeling mortars again burst ahead of the marine line, followed by high-explosive rounds falling on top of it.

“Ah fuck! San we’re out of HE for the cannon! Almost dry on the coax too!”

“Use AP, don’t save it!” he ordered his harried gunner. “Moon, Alta! I see another group of infantry moving over the slope! Can you hit them, over!?”

“Alta we can’t make out a slope from up here, can you be more specific?”

“There’s not a lot of stuff out here for reference man it’s all flat!”

“Guesstimate the distance, we’ll eyeball it and make it work!”

“It’s about… fuck I can’t tell… around five-hundred meters away?”

“Copy that, Moons Three and Four set up some runs and hit that area!”

After a short break to set up a good bomb run, the two Hornets dove in and released their two iron bombs. Working with a targeting mix of an inaccurate guess on the ground and the natural inaccuracies of fast-moving in the air had predictable results. The bombs landed well ahead of the Changelings, killing only a couple, but badly rattling the rest and breaking up the attack for a moment.

“This is Check Three, I got a visual on what looks like a big mortar battery. Going to line up for a gun run,” another Hornet announced as the planes began to act of their own initiative.

The attack continued in this manner, with the F-18s attacking with dead reckoning aim, and some strikes being more effective than others. Flying as low and slow as they did drew a fair amount of ground fire, and two were hit by the small arms and cannons and had to retreat. It was still enough to take attention away from the Marine ground force as the attack gradually lost steam.

The battle stretched out. A couple of Changeling AFVs were hit by missiles from the infantry, three more stopped by the LAVs. Their infantry were cut down from lucky rounds and Marine snipers, the distance still closed slowly. One LAV was bracketed by mortars, without injury to the crew but with enough damage to disable it; another was disabled by a Changeling with an anti-tank rifle and a few rounds from a BMP.

The Changeling infantry moved in closer than the Marines liked, but not much beyond. The battle seemed to, uncharacteristically, come to a quick end. The Changelings began to turn around, seemingly at once, and retreated. The firing halted after another minute, and though the anxious Marines kept eyeing the horizon for targets, fingers gingerly lying on the triggers, nothing more came. The enemy hald called off their attack, and if it was for reorganization for a better planned one in the future, for whatever reason, it never came.

Command informed the Marines they had done well, and that a relief force was coming. Another two Marines had been killed in the defense, one rifleman, one of the LAV crew drivers; for the amount of enemy they faced it was a surprisingly low number. Later in the evening, as the sun set over the battlefield, Diego broke an uneasy silence among his crew as they drove away from the town and back towards Las Pegasus proper.

“That’s going to be it for us.”

“Huh?” Chaffin moaned through his exhaustion.

“I think we’re going to be getting on the boat in a few hours. I think we’re done here.”

“Ah man, go through all that just to leave and give up that ground to the bad guys… again.”

“We stay here then we’ll be fighting to hold our own graves,” Roycewicz mentioned.

“I know.”

“We’ll be back,” Diego said tiredly. “Once we get our shit together, we’ll be back.”

As the battle of the ground wore down, the time had come to evacuate the rest of the marine division before any other breakthroughs could occur. The hope was to complete most of it over the evening, through the night, and be ready to board the rearguard skirmishers by early morning. To accomplish this, the transport fleet and docks had to be totally undisturbed, and as such the Carrier Action Group covering them struck out to the east to extend the defense zone and distract them.

Already the Bloc bomber units were converging to pick away at CAG centered around the John C. Stennis, recently arrived to cover for the lost Carl Vinson, in hopes of hitting her or getting a lucky shot at the evacuation fleet. A large number of carriers from Pearl Harbor made a sortie far south, nothing more than a show to draw away attention. Still, one carrier group left to defend the fleet could barely be considered enough. It was still just one emergency of several across the theater, and as such the local forces in the region could only send what little was available to help, which was not much.

The 1st TFS sent a wing of its planes to help, led by their squadron commander. Cole, as an Air Force pilot, already had the experience of defending a Navy carrier from attack. Working with them, or under them in this case, would be nothing new. The F-15s were now set to help provide air cover for the main portion of the evacuation, arriving from the east to rendezvous with the carrier’s air wing.

“Eagle Flight, Lead. Feet wet and clear water below us. Jettison your external tanks at your leisure,” Cole ordered as the group approached the CAG. “Ok final check before battle. Sound off.”

“Two on your wing One,” Runner acknowledged.

“Alpha Flight Lead is good, Alpha Flight check in.”

“Two Good.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Java, how’re you settling in with the Alpha boys?” Cole asked the number Four in the flight.

“Good enough, I think. A little hard to keep up with how fast they go but I’ll be fine,” the newer member responded through a clean Dutch accent.

“Orion you keep an eye on Java, you got that? That’s why you’re number five,” Firebird reminded his subordinate.

“Good, you’re keeping an eye on your flight now Desser. Improvement,” Cole mentally congratulated the team lead.

“Yeah I know, I’ll keep his tail clear,” Orion promised. “No stargazing.”

“Sun King Two, Eagle, radio check. How copy, over?” Cole rambled as he attempted to contact the carrier’s AWACS.

“Sun King, good copy Eagle. We’ve got you on our scope. Thank you guys for flying over.”

“Yeah we heard you guys had your hands full. Long flight but we’ve got enough fuel for a couple hours of playtime. Can you give us a picture?”

“The CAG is trying to press out to the to the west to draw attention away from the evac fleet. Now we’ve got tons of hostiles sniping at us from all around. Carrier planes, long-range bombers, the works. Since we’re trying to cover the fleet we can only really focus on parrying off these attacks.”

“You want us to go hunt after some of those bandits while you guys get a strike package together?”

“Well that’s the problem, we’ve got an enemy SAG centered around a battleship with a cruiser and two destroyers bearing down on us fast. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem but they’ve got bomber units coming and we don’t have enough fighters to form a strike package. Our ship’s missile reserves are getting burnt up fast too.”

“Bad guys are pressing in hard huh?”

“You bet. We’re gathering one of our Hornet squadrons together to try and hit them, drive them back. But between that and the attacks and covering the transports we’re at a deficit of top cover. Right now I just need you guys to cover an outer sector from air attacks, from the coast down to Point Quake on your map; we’ve got a destroyer out there on picket to help. How copy?”

“Copy that Sun King. Tell us how you want us to spread out.”

“You know your boys better. Cover the area however you see fit.”

“Ok here’s how we’ll do it. Me and Runner will keep an eye on the low road, deal with anything up to around angels 5, maybe 8. Everything above that is in your court Alpha Flight.”

The flight of F-15s broke up, roaring out to their assigned areas. From the rolling tops of the waves, up fifty-thousand feet, the seven fighters were tasked with guarding everything in between and out for miles. Even for the F-15C, this was a tall order in a scenario with as many hostiles as this, and would be near impossible without the carrier’s AWACS to direct them.

“Eagle, Sun King, bandits, low and fast, they’re in the weeds at eighteen-hundred, may be Buckshots, can you intercept?”

“Buckshots?” Cole asked, having not heard that codename in some time.

“They’re like Il-40 Brawnys, heavily modified for carriers, they can carry torpedoes.”

“I can’t believe we have to deal with torpedo planes in 2006,” Runner complained.

“Eagle Lead, this is the U.S.S. Laboon , any that get into SM-2 range and we can pick those flies off like nothing.”

“Laboon that’s not good idea.”

“What? What do you mean? We can outrange them-”

“Those guys aren’t stupid they know that. From what I’ve seen the bad guys don’t run torpedo packets like this without some jammer craft with them to cover.”

“We’re not picking up any ECM from that group. They haven’t activated it yet?”

“Don’t want to draw attention yet.”

“Copy that, we’re just deploying with the rest of the CAG. Briefing didn’t seem to catch little tricks like that. Got any other advice to pass on?”

“Yeah, they do a pretty good job of coordinating their attacks from multiple angles. Missiles, torps, bombs, all from various approaches at the same time. Can overwhelm a single ship pretty badly. Usually the missiles they shoot are distractions; even if they don’t get lucky it serves to draw attention away and burn through your missile reserves. Torpedo and bomber planes move in either under cover of that, or when your cells are empty.”

“Yeah we caught wind of that part, thanks for the refresher. We’ll keep in contact Eagle, out.”

The two hunting Eagles closed on their targets, trying to pick them out below them against the Pacific waters. As they did so there was a static that began to fill their headsets, growing stronger as they moved in closer. It was the clear effect of a jamming aircraft imbedded in the formation.

“Buzzers!” Cole yelled as ECM began to flood the system. “Runner stick close we’re pressing in!”

“Getting- lot of music-”

“Runner! Eagle Two, chattermark!” Cole yelled, giving the order to switch frequencies. “Runner! You copy!? Damn it!”

Cole checked in his mirrors, his wingman was still behind him, watching his six at a distance, following him into a dive. He would stay glued to his lead regardless of the comm loss, good training and individual loyalty to his friend ensured that. Cole turned his focus back forward, scanning the churning waves. It was difficult to pick out the keys flying so low, but he did eventually hear his radar lock on to one of the targets from range.

“Fox three!”

Seconds after the missile launched, the concealment was broken. Several little dots below swerved up and around, many of them dropping countermeasures. The missile missed its target, distracted by chaff and exploding in the ocean, but it was enough to give him a sight.

“Tally ho! Bandits! Really far dispersion too! Anyone read!? Shit! Alright, find the jammer. Got to get close.”

Cole dove into the swirling mass while above, his subordinates were busy with their own mission. Smaller Bloc fighters were still taking pot shots at the CAG and burning up missile reserves. At this rate a saturation attack by the bombers would likely overwhelm the remaining defenses.

“Eagle Alpha, we’ve lost contact with Eagles One and Two, jamming interference with the radios,” Sun King reported.

“Nothing they haven’t dealt with. You got a target for us? We’re on station and our radar’s tracking a few contacts far out ahead of us,” Firebird asked.

“Small guys we can’t afford to worry about; ships can handle them. We’re looking for- shit speak of the Devil! Heavy group, angels twenty!”

“Declare! Declare!” Alpha’s lead interrupted.

“Ten contacts, bandits, angels twenty, bearing two-seven-seven, three-hundred-twenty mikes from you! Six are definitely bombers! Blinders! Rest are smaller, maybe escort! Eagle Alpha turn right to heading two-seven-seven and engage! Warning red, weapons free, no friendlies in the area!”

The first three Eagles of the flight pushed ahead, leaving the other two behind for security. There was still some distance between between the bombers and the maximum launch range for their missiles, but going supersonic could cover that distance fairly quickly. The pressure of time was always weighing on the pilots in these engagements.

“In range, hard lock on one of the bandits! Firebird, fox three!”

“Missiles inbound got radar warning!” Spark, his immediate wingman, yelled a second after his commander’s shot.

“Alpha defensive! Go defensive!”

All three dove, releasing countermeasure chaff together in a large cloud that was able to distract the two missiles from the bomber escorts. The AMRAAM closed in on one of the Blinders and exploded close in, damaging it enough to convince it to turn around. The three F-15s then turned back towards the bombers and climbed, each getting a lock and firing another missile a piece for two kills on the escorting fighters. The remaining three MiG-29s moved in to engage more closely to eat up time, with Firebird and Spark engaging them while the third, Parrot, was sent after the bombers.

“Should we go help?” Java asked as their flightmates fought far off.

“Not unless Desser says so. Don’t worry they can handle it,” Orion assured him. “We need to watch for anything else. Don’t want to let anything through. Navy has enough to worry about with the enemy SAG.”

“I don’t understand, can’t they just retreat away from the enemy ships?” Java asked as they watched their

“They can’t retreat, the whole point is to draw attention away from the transports. They fall back they’ll lead the Bugs right to them,” Orion reminded his wingman. “They’ve got to advance.”

“They’re trying to shove the Navy into a corner.”

“Eagles Six and Seven, Alpha? Orion you copy?” Sun King called in.

“Affirmative what’ve you got?”

“Leakers, two of them. Angels eight bearing three-three-zero, twenty miles from you, fast! I think they’re gunning for us! Intercept, how copy!?”

“Good copy and WILCO Sun King,” Orion confirmed. “You hear that Java? Reference bandits three-three-zero. Two-on-two, let’s take ‘em!”

The rest of Alpha Flight was seeing great success so far. Parrot had hit two of the other bombers, one of them a hard kill with his AMRAAM. The last escort had held back and attempted to engage him afterwards, but only succeeded in luring him away for a short time before the Eagle pilot tricked him into following up too high and stalling out, giving him a shot with his Sidewinder.

Firebird and Spark had a more difficult time, fighting a three-on-two engagement, having to remain defensive the entire time and attempting to watch each-other’s tails. Eventually they were able to form into an impromptu, long-range weave that gave Spark a snapshot with his Sidewinder on one MiG, sending it down in fire. They continued the stalemate with the remaining two, though as the bombers closed with them Firebird was able to take a precious few seconds of free time to lock and fire his last AMRAAM at one of them, hitting it in the fuselage and taking it apart.

The final Blinder was able to fire off its missiles and make its escape, with the remaining MiG escorts diving to disengage as well. The two ASMs closed quickly, but without any others at the time the escort ships were able to pick them out easily. Both were easily shot down with a missile a piece by the Laboon, though it left her with only eight SM-2s remaining. With the two leakers dealt with easily at BVR, Alpha Flight was now regrouping after their successful engagements, preparing to go over weapon and fuel states before one of them found another radar contact.

“Another heavy group on radar, to the south!” Spark announced.

“Weapons hold Eagles! Chicks transiting south back, weapons tight!” Sun King ordered. “Pirate, what luck?”

“May have gotten a couple of hits on the SAG flagship, one more on a cruiser. None of them lethal, but they’re turning back now. Give us a picture for the fleet, over.”

“CAG out of formation due to airborne fish and a possible submarine, but none hit. O’Kane and Chancellorsville shot down ASMs close abroad and got damaged but nothing major. Missiles stocks low but not exhausted.”

“Any chance we can get back on deck?” the lead of VFA-132 requested.

“Airspace is pretty cluttered right now, more than we thought it would be, recommend waiting until action has subsided Pirate.”

“Copy that Sun King, we still have plenty of fuel we’ll hold back for now.”

Down below, not far from the top of the waves, Cole was desperately trying to visually identify the bandits below him without getting too close. Not being in radio contact or having radar left him feeling vulnerable, but it was not anything that he had not dealt with before. Nor was he alone either; he checked the mirrors above him to check on Runner. He saw him chasing after another aircraft, farther back, another fighter by the looks of it.

“Good work man, nice work,” he thought to himself. “Shit I wouldn’t have seen him, Runner’s doing his job. Keep looking damn it! Pick him out! Which one doesn’t belong? Wait, what’s that? It’s not… is that a Fullback?”

Cole picked the odd one out and rolled into a comfortable position behind the enemy aircraft. He picked out one of his Sidewinders to kill the enemy, though the evasions and constant dropping of flares made this more difficult. Still he could maneuver better, and after getting a good lock at an excellent angle underneath after much turning, the Fullback took the AIM in the belly and went down.

“Runner! You hear me man!?”

“Yeah I hear you lead! Just took down a fighter that was gunning for you. You ok?”

“Yeah I saw, thanks for watching my back! I’m good, killed that damn buzzer! Form back up on me and let’s pick these guys off!”

Without the radar interference, or the fighter to cover them, the attacking Buckshots suddenly found themselves in a dire position. Cole was only a few miles behind but in a perfect position at their six to attack, and quickly began to lock up and fire his radar-guided missiles. One Buckshot went down, and then another as the formation scattered to the winds, abandoning their attack; Runner picked off another for a total of three down. One final unfortunate unwittingly fled in the direction the nearby U.S.S. Laboon, which could not resist an opportunity and splashed him with an SM-2.

“There… alright… Eagle Lead to Sun King.”

“Eagle, Sun King.”

“Bandits splashed, didn’t catch how many but the hostiles are breaking off. How’s the rest of my squadron, over?”

“They’re all up, low on ammunition but all good. They’re finishing up with their intercepts now. We’re going to reform you all at bullseye romeo.”

“Any more tasking for us?”

“Negative, picture clear in our area. Enemy attack looks like it’s backing off all over. I think we’re in the clear now.”

The squadron finally reformed, far out from the range of the Carrier group. The ships themselves had been badly scattered by the attack, with the formation broken by some miles now, but the mission had been successful. The ships themselves had taken minimal or no damage, and the evacuation fleet had been defended well against the brunt of the enemy’s naval forces.

“Eagles, all up?” Cole checked on his team. “I think we’ve done pretty good here, we’ll have to stop for gas or hit a tanker-”

“Warning all aircraft! All units in the area! We have a new contact!” Sun King yelled frantically. “Confirmed, ballistic missile incoming!”

The squadron’s discipline and order broke down into a panic.

“What!? From where!?”

“A ballistic missile! What’s it carrying!?”

“From where! Where’s it hitting!” Cole yelled back! “Where’s it going to impact! Answer me damn it!”

“Fifteen seconds get away, towards land!”

“Eagles, head north, buster, go! You hear me!? Firewall it go! Sun King where!? Where’s it going!?”

“Five.. Four… Three… Two… One… Impact!”

The pilots caught the view in their mirrors with a mesmerized horror. The sudden telltale flash of a nuclear explosion was absent, but there was a light. A wall of something, energy perhaps, pure power, murky, incapable of being seen through with bare eyes. It looked akin to the surface of some water covered in a thick slick of oil did. It seemed to rush towards them, as if it were chasing them.

Cole’s heart rushed, his afterburners were already going, burning through what fuel was left, there was nothing else in his mind now, only transfixed on the approaching horror. If the others were talking on the radio his mind blocked them out. Then, the wave stopped, and seemed to hover there as the planes flew on, before dissipating.

“What the fuck was that!?” Desser shouted.

“Sun King you still there!? It’s Eagle Lead, what happened!?”

“The carrier, she’s hit! She’s listing! Oh my God she’s tipping over!”

“They hit the carrier dead on with a ballistic missile?” Runner worried.

“N-no, they missed, it was a few miles off but… Stennis was the closest! Oh Jesus she’s turning over! Any allied vessels please respond we need SAR helicopters up now! We have men in the water, they’re spilling off the deck, we need help!”

“Laboon here, anyone still up respond! The carrier’s over- which destroyer is that!? Is that the Blackwell!? She’s lying on her side, something just knocked her over! O’Kane’s listing, helm put course to her we can right her if we get there in time!”

“This is Chancellorsville, we’re listing badly but not enough to sink, need to flood some compartments for balance but we’ll make it. Get your helicopters in the air for SAR, we’ve got… Christ there’s hundreds of men in the water!”

“Sun King to all surviving aircraft, our… homeplate is gone! Tally, looks like some aircraft from each squadron survived at least, all aircraft make for the Las Pegasus airport immediately! Get refueled and… don’t wait for orders, RTB to safer allied air base, Hell fly all the way to Hawaii if you have to!”

“I knew none of the countries in the Bloc have nuclear weapons… I mean the Chinese do,” Cole began to collect his thoughts. “That wasn’t a nuke, it couldn’t be.”

“Christ, is this what their magic can do? I didn’t know it was this powerful, we were told it wasn’t this powerful,” Orion spoke up finally.

“No, that… couldn’t be human made. Was that what magic was like back on their world? Has to be. I don’t think we can do anything else here guys, we’re low on fuel and weapons as is. We need to report this.”

“Back to our base, going back north? Yeah we need to warn everyone, real damn quick!” Runner acknowledged.

“Not what I meant; the brass will get word of this, the warnings will go out easy. We need to get back in touch with our pony friends, this is their stuff we’re dealing with. We’ll need to gas up first though but… shit, who’s got the most fuel? I need someone to fly ahead.”

Author's Note

Thanks again for reading. Sorry again that it takes so long. Just no time these days, but like I've said I'll never stop. It'll just take a while. Hope the long word count and action is enjoyable enough to make up for it. Take care until next time!

Bombing Raid on the Port City

June 18th, 2006
1034 Hours
Fifty miles Southeast of Baltimare

Source

“AWACS Black Wand to Rainbow, we’re on course to rendezvous with Belt. We should be on the same channel soon, over.”

“Ok, copy, we’ll be ready, Rainbow out,” the pegasus sighed in a painfully detached way.

To Dash, few of the things she said sounded like they were from her anymore, or at least what Rainbow Dash was, or used to be, what Rainbow thought she was supposed to be. It had been like that for years, ever since arriving on Earth. She had gotten better, she recognized it, her friends saw it as well, but things still felt different. In her own private moments she longed for the days before, to somehow revert, but that could not be counted on.

It was unnaturally quiet in the sky today, almost uncomfortably so for Rainbow and her team, having adapted to being at the front for so long. They were based much farther east now, but there was nothing but empty skies for the moment. It would not last forever, they were supposed to rendezvous with a bomber formation and escort them on a strike on occupied Baltimare. The city had recently been taken over by Bloc forces just days earlier after a sharp fight by the British expeditionary units in Equestria; largely left by the scurrying allies and eventually cut off, the British had managed to parry off the attacks and deal some painful losses to their enemy before the retreat, with most being evacuated by sea and some others breaking out. The British were in good standing and order, though they would need to be relocated, but the harbor facilities were left intact. Equestria's only Lancer unit was to attack the recently-occupied port to ensure the enemy navies could not easily utilize the port facilities; having a naval base so far east, so much closer to allied territory, it needed curtailment.

In the meantime the sky stretched on, a light, warm blue today, with few clouds, eventually merging with the dusty green and yellow of the ground at the horizon’s divider line. Nopony on her team was talking, there was no need to, just waiting until the meet up and beginning combat again. The firmament was vast and empty with a serenity that was both welcoming in its peace and frustrating in its testing of patience before the deadly event.

“Rainbow, this is Belt. We can see you now, coming up from the southwest at your eight o’clock,” Jetstream, the leader of the B-1b flight announced. “Can you see us from there?”

“Yeah, I can see you. Black Wand, Rainbow, we’ve met up with the bombers. We’re ready here.”

“Affirmative Rainbow. Rainbow, Belt, turn heading two-nine-zero towards the target,” the Equestrian AWACS ordered.

The formation complied, and as before the radio went silent. There was not much to go over at the time, and regardless of radio procedure nopony felt like chatting anyways. It was almost disturbing how routine combat like this had become for the Equestrians, a somewhat depressing realization that they would all come to eventually.

“Black Wand to Rainbow be advised, bogies, but… unlikely bandits, coming from two-five-zero, from allied territory. They’re flashing allied IFF.”

“We were told not to expect any other aircraft,” Lightning Dust reminded them.

“Yeah, but things are so crazy now we can’t expect everything at the briefing to be accurate,” Rainbow added.

“Wait one, we’ll confirm and get back with you, Black Wand out,” the AWACS stated, returning minutes later. “Uh, Rainbow, Belt, confirm allied fighters-, uh chicks. Two inbound F-15s, arriving to help with the escort. You should have a visual soon. They’re not here under any higher orders but, uh-”

“Good morning team Rainbow. This is Eagles One and Two at your service.”

Dash’s almost jumped from her seat, had she not been secured in it, responding once she collected her breath.

“Cole!?”

“Hey kid, how’s it hanging!”

“You’re alive… and ok! You are ok right? You’re really here!”

“Yeah I’m still going Rainbow, it’s great to see you too. I knew in the back of my head you were still going too. Bad guys couldn’t have killed the best flier in Equestria yet,” he proclaimed.

“Hah.. haha, yeah! They can’t touch me, I kind of knew they wouldn’t get you either. But why are you here? We weren’t told to expect anypony.”

“Well, we were overdue for a reunion. We saw on the strategic update that some Equestrian bombers were going to be hitting a target and that Rainbow team was escorting them. Since our own squadron was taking some time to rest and refit, and most of the stuff around the base was dealt with, me and Runner took some initiative and decided to fly over and offer some help.”

The ebullient radio chatter was tinged by an honest kind of solace, a connection between the members of the two teams. The war and its many reversals had layered brick after brick of stresses upon all of them one day after another. Deep down within all of them there was a painful personal fear for the fates of the closest friends both squadrons had made in the new world, especially between the two leads. Now, with a single meeting, that great fear evaporated like a mid-day’s Spring shower, and with it went all the other worries that pressed in on them.

“I’m so glad you’re ok, sometimes I was afraid we lost you all,” Rainbow admitted. “All of you are there though right? All of the guys in the squadron I mean, are they ok?”

“Almost all of them. We lost Bursa on the first day of the war, the guy from Alpha Flight.”

“Oh… I was hoping- I’m sorry.”

“It’s, well… it’s not ok. It’s just how things are. Come to think of it, we're pretty lucky, it’s more than just skill. So many squadrons have lost a lot of guys,” Cole remembered, going back to the men lost during the defense of the old airfield, and in the retreat. “What about you? How’s the Rainbow crowd doing?

“Not as… good. Two of mine, Lilypad and Nectar, they died on the first night of the bombing… and a few others since, but most of us are still here.”

“I guess we both know the feeling then. It’s hard knowing they’re gone, but you have to keep going. We’ve still got a lot of friends with us,” the American advised her. “For now, I’m just happy you’re here Rainbow. Having you on my wing again takes all the worries off my mind.”

“Black Wand here, hate to interrupt but we’re getting a lot of radio activity from the target. I think it’s safe to assume they’ll be ready for us. With any luck they won’t have moved many fighters into the area yet.”

“No problem, combat mission comes first, not the reunion,” Cole admitted. “Guess the chatter needs to slacken off.”

“Nopony’s gotten into their frequencies yet have they?” Jetstream asked.

“Negative, not that we’ve heard from back at base.”

“No eavesdropping today,” Runner commented.

The allies were interrupted by a new voice on the radio, unfamiliar to all but one of them.

“Attention Equestrian Air Force planes, can you hear this? We have you on radar.”

“Who’s broadcasting in the open?” Lightning Dust asked.

“Equestrian aircraft, this is the Boreal Fighter Squadron of the Griffonian Air Force. If it isn’t obvious we’re here to intercept you. Rainbow, we figured out you would be here.”

“Gilda!?”

“Turn around and leave Dash. Old friends or not, things have changed. We’ve got our own duty, and if I have to I’ll hunt you down until you crash. So save me the guilt and turn around.”

This was a scenario Rainbow had dreaded over her time. She had hoped the vast scale of the war would have kept the two of them apart since last time, but it seems Gilda had sought her out. Her childhood friend knew her better than she gave credit for.

“Broadcasting a surrender request in the open? I knew the crows run on their egos but this girl really takes the cake,” Cole noted.

“I… I don’t think… I can fight her,” Rainbow stuttered. “I can’t kill her, I don’t want her-”

“Gilda? That’s the one you told me about way back in Ponyville?

“Yes.”

“Hm, I understand. Rainbow, don’t worry, me and Runner will deal with them.”

“Huh!? No, I don’t… I-”

“Your mission is to take care of the bombers, we can deal with these gasbags.”

“You’re going to kill her?”

“It is war Dash, but looking at the odds, that’s not really in the cards for me right now. I think it’s best to just waste their time,” Cole affirmed, remarkably comfortable and confident even for his own sake compared to the previous months. “We’ll keep them tied up, you don’t have to do this.”

“Thank you, Cole,” the pegasus said earnestly.

“Boreal, thank you for the preemptive warning. It’s good to see someone in the Griffon Empire likes a good old honor-bound duel.”

“What-who is this?”

“Eagle Team, U.S. Air Force, First Tactical. I guess it’s bad manners not to follow up on the introductions you started,” Cole announced with a notable air of confidence. “Reputation may precede us though.”

“You!

“That’s right, you’re Dash’s oldest friend right? I’m her newest one, and she told me about you and your temper.”

“Get out of here you freak! I’m here to make sure Rainbow… understands what’s happening. You can annoy those crazy Night ponies or those other stupid humans you have a problem with, but you had better stay out of our way before we swat you down! Just let Dash run off and you won’t get killed for being stupid.”

“No you don’t, you’re not bullying her off today. Not while I’m here. The Eagles are going to be moving in on this dance. You ready to tango with us crow?”

The two F-15s dropped their altitude, gaining speed rapidly before leveling out roughly even with the four Fulcrums. Their AMRAAMS still had a minor range advantage over the MiG’s improved radar missiles, but with the high speed both were closing in at, it would not last long. This was not a concern for Cole, it was not his planned tactic to begin with. Ducking in and out and firing off his missiles at extreme range would be a good way to waste them all; he was looking for something more extreme, to completely break up and occupy the attention of the formation, enacting total chaos to tie them up and burn their fuel and possibly ammunition. Actual kills could wait for another day.

“I’m with you, lead!” Runner announced as his wingman engaged. “You’re going to get me killed one of these days Cole!”

“Maddog, Fox Three!”

Cole loosed off the first AMRAAM without waiting for a lock, diving lower towards the Earth without paying much attention to the shot as Runner went up higher, slower than his lead.

“Missile!” Gene yelled in warning. “Break away!”

“Who’s it locked to!?” Bright Hook asked.

The four planes broke and immediately dropped countermeasures. Between the floating metal and the MiG’s jammers, the missile’s tracker had no real chance of homing in. It briefly locked onto Gilda’s plane before being tricked again and veering off, crashing into some far-off hillside.

“Get back together now! Where is that little prick!?”

“Low! Low straight ahead of us! He’s coming up!” Hook warned suddenly.

The MiGs were caught off-guard by this maneuver. Usually an F-15 would either fight from long range or try and drag them up to very high altitudes, where their superior power and airframe gave them a decisive edge in any dogfight. They expected such a widely-discussed F-15 pilot would have mastered these rules to fight by, charging in at such a low altitude and high speed to attack from below was something very different, something that seemed outright stupid.

“Up again, Fox Three! Maddog!” Cole shouted, pitching up and turning to fire a quick snap-shot.

“There he is! Firing- wait, breaking again!”

Shiv, the fourth Griffon in Boreal Flight, barely had time to fire his own missile before breaking to avoid Cole’s. The sudden jink had broken the plane’s lock and the advanced Alamo derivative had been fired at a poor angle, meaning there was no real hope of a hit as it turned. The Eagle flew right past the wildly veering aggressor, heading right at the scrambling MiGs.

“Scatter! Break away!” Gilda ordered as the Eagle broke up their formation and blew through the altitude, close enough for her to get a glimpse of the livery while it rocketed past.

“He passed us!”

“He’s turning over, on his back, he’s coming around!” Hook warned.

“Breaking right, I can get him from here!” Gene jumped, heeling his Fulcrum around. “I think he’ll turn after you lead! I should be able to get behind him when-”

Rather than turn over and go after the most logical prey, the Eagle dove before pitching up again and passing Gene’s MiG at a similar altitude.

“Woah, what!? Boreal Three, break left! Dive! He’s firing again!”

“What? He’s barely got an angle on me!”

“Four, above you, dive!” Gilda warned as Runner hounded them from a higher altitude, forcing another Fulcrum

With all of the hard breaks the planes were doing, the energy of every plane was bled off at an alarming speed, and the fight became very sluggish as a result. The two F-15s kept their throttles high enough to counteract this somewhat, having to dump more power into the engines with the more sudden moves to prevent a stall. At times a Fulcrum would try to pull away from the battle to build it up again, only to be assailed by an enemy and dodge again, being dragged back in with nothing to show for it.

The Eagle’s countermeasure dispensers were set to automatic, constantly dropping chaff and flares every few seconds at an interval. It was a strange spectacle, with bright flares and clouds of metal strips being tossed about the sky, fuddling the already overworked sensors of the aircraft in the area, mixing with the occasional missile shot. It was keeping them alive for now, but the strategy was burning through their resources quickly trying to fight a bizarre battle in which the F-15 was not particularly built for.

“You two are acting like amateurs. You know you’re just wasting all your resources,” Shiv taunted. “We’ll wear you out and put you down. That’s how natural predators like us work!”

“Jesus, do you birds ever listen to yourself talk?” Runner asked.

“Fat chance birdie, you caught me on a good day! I can keep this fight up as long as I need to!” Cole retorted back.

Cole nudged his plane into a slight roll, as if to chase down Shiv’s banking Fulcrum. Both dived, building up energy as they went. Gene once again, by virtue of chance and his position, saw an opportunity and dived not long after, trying to tail the enemy Eagle. As Shiv turned, rather than bank with him, Cole used the energy and a burst of engine thrust to pull up again, seeing the Fulcrum starting to come after him, and giving a slight left turn as he did so. Gene’s MiG could not keep up and failed to get a good firing solution, though that did not stop him from shooting off a heat-seeker that failed to follow appropriately. He leveled himself to regain his energy as Cole harassed Boreal’s lead plane again.

“These are the guys who have been giving our side so much trouble? I didn’t expect them to fly like this! Boreal One!”

“We can’t try and predict in a fight like this! Surround and destroy!”

“I’m trying!” Hook yelled.

“Got you, don’t think you can run away crow!” Runner said, saddling behind the fourth Fulcrum as it tried to climb away as per the leader’s orders, and herding him back into the mess like stray cattle.

“The more you annoy us the worse it’s going to be for you I catch you!” warned Shiv.

“You two humans already made me angry enough, getting between me and Dash!” Gilda snarled as the other aircraft danced around her. “You want to keep being stupid huh? How long do you want to drag this out!? When do you want to give up! I’m going to enjoy beating you into the dirt you sniveling freak!”

“‘Till kingdom come if I need to,” Cole grunted, pulling into another high-g turn. “I was born for moments like this Gilda. You don’t get it but you can’t touch me! Not here, not now! Come on, try me!”

As the odd furball played out, the bombers were approaching their target, preparing to wreck the docks and shorefront as per their orders.

“Rainbow, Black Wand, bogies, three, fast over point lemon,” the AWACS warned, detecting the aircraft over Baltimare. “Likely bandits, if they are, they'll probably be hostile. At angels six and climbing fast, they’re turning, may be forming up. They’re a threat to the bombers, can you engage, over?”

“Yeah we’ll go after them!”

The F-16s broke away to go after the few scattered aircraft near the city to swat them away before they posed a threat. In the meantime, Belt Squadron was preparing for its run, stabilizing at a proper speed and altitude, making small corrections for a proper bombing run. However, the initial intelligence hope that the bombing raid would be executed before significant defenses could be moved in was another mistake. Long streams of anti-aircraft fire from every caliber of gun started to lash out, bracketing the low-flying bombers as they approached, becoming wilder and angry as they closed in. Warning alerts started to sound in the the crew’s headsets, and the bombers began letting out long, timed streams of flares and chaff, while their jamming operators worked with their controls to improve ECM and confuse any missile launches.

In the lead Lancer, Jetstream’s usual confidence was being shaken along with the plane by the anti-aircraft fire. The four B-1bs were flying in basic finger formation for the bombing, as one cell, rather than moving fast and individually. They were low, too, very low for the kind of bombing they were doing. The requirements of the mission meant they had to fly in this manner to deliver maximum destruction over an area while avoiding damage to the civilian areas; with the massively destructive power of a strategic bomber like the Lancer, the Equestrians were cagey about using it against their own city. Belt had to enact a proper area bombing

What this meant in turn was that the bombers were at a much higher, undue risk of fire from the ground. Anti-aircraft artillery began to burst, long streams of tracers curved out from autocannons, it seemed like even small arms were being fired but she could not tell. She was mesmerized by the spectacle of it all, so much so that she did not realize when the bombing had actually started.

All she could do now was fly her course, holding steady as best she could. That was not an issue, in fact she was virtually frozen in place, not turning her head, not hearing the calls from her crew, only her eyes darting around, to the ground, the mass of fire, the other bombers, the sky, the cockpit controls, then minor adjustments to keep on the line with the course. She was seizing up, there was nothing to do, and thus nothing she could do, her heart racing, muscles tense, as if some primal instinct of fear had taken over and she dare not think or move more than a few inches to fly the massive weapon.

When looking back at the bombers again she noticed a consistent light at the edge of her perception. It was not from the AA fire, it stayed in place. She forced her head over and saw one of the other bombers had been hit in the left side, between the wing and the engine. It was burning badly, but made no call, as if there was nothing wrong. Then it began descending, gliding almost peacefully, turning downwards more and more like a sinking ship, into a nose-down descent. Its crash finally shook the pegasus loose, and she could hear the crash of AA fire, the shouting of the crew, even the low rumble of the line of bombs, and she started to yell into the radio.

“Rainbow, Belt! Rainbow One! Bomber unit to Black Wand! We’ve suffered a major hit! Get us out of here now!”

The F-16s were in the process of chasing down the final enemy aircraft over the city, but there was very little they could do against ground fire. Rainbow formed up near the bombers, adding the Falcon’s countermeasures and jamming power to their formation. It was a minor uptick considering the massive amounts being put out by the bombers, but it was something. There was very little Rainbow could do against indirect ground fire other than draw the attention of some of it. The bombers still held their course, the bombs falling and exploding in long lines, the shells exploding around them, testing their luck in each burst that bracketed them.

While the port was being razed, the fight between the Americans and Griffons continued. The battle had devolved into this strange, unhinged, fumbling action, almost like a drunken brawl with every punch missing, with no real plan to follow. Every time the Griffons tried to get in position to fire at their aggressor, they would have to turn to keep up or turn to avoid another plane. Only an occasional, ambitious snapshot was made when one pilot would jump the gun and fire at the closest angle. The two Eagles weaving about were enough to keep the Fulcrums off-balance, though constantly pressing their luck like this would have dire consequences; it was not a strategy that could last for very long.

“How are you able to keep up this stupid game!? Aren’t you afraid to die!?” Hook questioned him.

“Not right now! You have to catch me before you can kill me!”

Gene tried to break away from the furball to gain some distance, only for Runner to follow immediately after and force him to break again before building up power while Gilda once again tried and failed to turn into the Eagle’s path as it rocketed away.

“Stop wasting our time you annoying fly!” she yelled angrily, putting on more Gs in a vain attempt to follow him again in a hard turn. “Just… stay… still!”

“Fox Two! Damn it, trashed! Lead, I’m running low on, Hell everything!” Runner warned him.

“Alright, be ready to bug out! Think we can pull off that Seesaw Thatch?”

“That’s your escape plan Cole?! Alright sure, no problem! We’d better pull it off!”

The two Eagles now made their sudden breaks to separate from the fight entirely, with one shooting up to gain altitude and the other diving, both on a rough vertical axis parallel on a heading of 100 degrees. The enterprising Griffons, seeing their opportunity with their blood running hot, immediately tried to charge after them. Gene latched onto Runner, who was climbing, and came close to getting a lock before his target suddenly pitched down and dived. Gene followed, thinking it just a basic maneuver at first, before suddenly receiving a call from his lead to break away and hearing a radar warning tone in his cockpit as Cole’s Eagle charged at him from above to cover his wingman.

Hook, who had followed Cole a bit later than Gene, saw this maneuver. His own lock was close, though still muffled by the Eagle’s few remaining flares and the jammer, but as Cole climbed he elected to break away himself and cover Gene. He had recognized the weaving defensive maneuver the Americans had developed, a simple and effective one, but usually used on a horizontal plane with the two defenders at roughly the same altitude. He had not seen it done this way before, and were it not for Cole’s lack of missiles, the MiG’s upgraded defensives, and the pilot’s good training and reaction, it could easily have led to Gene’s death.

“Boreal, reform now!” their leader sternly ordered them.

The Fulcrum flight gingerly eased back into formation. In a testament to the carelessness that seemed to pervade the American’s firing, none of their aircraft had been hit. At most some of them sported a bit of shrapnel damage from close detonations, all the wounds being superficial, nothing that could interfere with their operations. They tracked the two Eagles on their radar as they pulled away, still apart, and took in an update from their own control on the greater situation.

“Come on, let's get after them while we still can!” Shiv called. “They wasted all their ammunition, we can run them down until they’re out of fuel!”

“Update says the port’s already been bombed. Enemy forces are turning away,” Gilda bitterly reported.

“That was our mission right there,” Gene lamented before his mood changed. “I’m with Shiv, let's go get some revenge.”

“I don’t think that we should,” Hook suggested. “Captain, things don’t look as good as they seem. We have much more ammunition and fuel than those two Eagles, but we still used up a lot of it. There’s bound to be more escorts with the bombers and probably even more on the way to guide them home.”

“Hook, are you serious,” Shiv whined.

“Yes, if we follow them we can get dragged into a fight at a disadvantage. We could lose some of our own. For what? For no reason other than to catch some empty bombers. Captain, orders?”

“Come on Hook.”

“Boreal Squadron, retreat and return to base.”

“What!?”

“Rainbow, I know you can hear me even if we’re this far away. You and your scrawny friends,” Gilda called out over the open radio. “They’re good. I can see how they trained you to be such an excellent pilot. But they used up all their luck with us today. Next time I’ll be gunning for them, and they won’t get away. I’ll make sure of it, that’s a promise Dash. From one old wingpony to another.”

The last message sent another cold shock through Rainbow, but within a second was replaced with relief, as it meant her friends had survived. The F-15s joined into formation with the Falcons and surviving bombers as they slowly plodded for home. All said, it was a successful mission, in spite of the damage sustained, and for Rainbow it felt like overcoming a difficult time, like leaping over a large stormcloud front, and diving into a cresting horizon. She had her friend back, and she would not let him go again, for any reason.

“Cole, I just got you back today. You two better not die now,” Rainbow nagged him.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be pulling something like that anytime soon. Sorry to scare you.”

“Hah, scare me? I know you, you can’t scare the Rainbow Dash that easily.”

“Aha… yeah, yeah shame on me. Should’ve known better,” Cole agreed with a light cough, his exasperated voice giving away the exhaustion from the high-intensity fight.

“Belt, Rainbow. Were you able to hit the target?”

In the B-1’s cockpit, Jetstream was still thawing from her freeze-up. She was on autopilot, barely operating the plane, and only glanced at the dashboard and again out the window at the escorting fighters without answering, looking confused. Her copilot stared back at her, waiting for her to respond, before taking the comm himself.

“Rainbow, Eagle, this is Belt. Target destroyed, mission accomplished. We greatly appreciate your company!”

Author's Note

Well, here it is again, another anual-ish chapter. I've been looking forward to doing this one for a long time. Sorry again it always takes long to make these, I guess I'm in the grind part of life right now. Frankly I'm surprised I get time at all for this. Still, it's here now. I decided to skip over one of the planned chapters and come back to it another time, better to focus on the more important parts of the story for now. Maybe in the years to come I can fill in the story more with those additional chapters and vignettes.

But thank you for reading, if any of you do. It does still make me happy to come back to this site now and then, see all the creativity, feels good inside to write something, bring your imagination and story to real print. You all take care, do good with your lives.