The Tinder
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The Last Line

The Tinder

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Panamare Flight NE-1178 heading for

Panamare City, Panamare

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May 7th, 1003

0020 hours, local time

1350 hours, Canterlot

The old cargo plane was hardly something comfortable to ride in for any lengthy period of time. A C-117 “Hauler” , a predecessor to the now much more commonly seen C-125 “Super Hauler”, Panamare Flight NE-1178 had formerly been registered under the Equestrian Air Force for many years as a means of transporting equipment and personnel across long distances.

It was even responsible for being one of the first elements of Equestrian disaster relief when a series of damaging floods and hurricanes assaulted Panamare early in the year of 997. As a result, when Equestria began selling off and mothballing their 117s for 125s, NE-1178 had been sold for the symbolic price of one bit to the Panamare government for their own uses. After a refitting process, repainting the hull with appropriate markings, and a small political ceremony “Panamare Presidential 1” had taken to the skies.

“Coffee, Bold?”

The Panamaren president blinked, completely caught off-guard as he looked up from his book.

President Bold Front found himself looking at none other than his own Defense Minister, Iron Shield. The Unicorn mare had twin cups of coffee: one in hand, one of which she was held out to him wrapped in a magenta-colored magical aura. Gratefully setting his book down on the nearby table, he took the cup, and motioned for her to take a seat with him. With a tired grunt she did so and the two found themselves sitting side-by-side in a brief moment of silence. Outside of Equestria, much of the world didn’t benefit from the end-all-be-all presence of Alicorn rulers. and so politics could be much more

aggressive than the comparatively regimented noble courts of Canterlot.

In particular there had been a rather heavy shift in the political climate of Panamare in recent years. It was not more than seven years ago that Equestrian merchants flying the Panamaren flag had been a dominating sight in the waters of the infamous Canal between the Discorded and Crystal oceans. What’s more, Equestrian Navy and Marine personnel were common sources for tourism and economic input when their vessels made port in the Panamare Canal.

However Celestia had been recently supporting a political and economic campaign of international independence. While she and her sister would have undoubtedly loved every nation to benefit from such an apparent peace and stability, they understood that not every nation in the world wanted their peace and stability, but rather their own. Over the years this had meant a decreasing presence of the Equestrian military on foreign soils, most certainly not excluding a country so yearning for national independence as Panamare. Yet with that had come a problem.

As fractious and chaotic as they could be in the interim period between the newest High King or Queen, Griffonia was a nation that always seemed eager to dig their talons into some business or other. And when they weren’t so busy killing and plotting against themselves, they were dreadfully effective at doing that to others. This was something President Bold Front was painfully aware of. In the period of flux caused by an efficient withdrawal of local Equestrian military forces, President Bold Front had found himself virtually assailed with the new world of now entirely independent governing. He had to choose who he wanted to pursue connections with, economic trades, and other things. And in those later months he had been left to wonder: had he made the right choices?

With Griffonia, it seemed, he hadn’t.

A simple trade envoy had escalated rapidly. Soon Griffonian vessels were starting to use the Panamare Canal in increasingly greater numbers with time. Facilities were put under construction on both sides of the Canal Zone, at first manned by diligent staff to move the cargo through, but eventually advancing to near complete autonomy with such efficiency as to make Griffonian traffic through the Canal Zone seemingly non-stop as heavily laden vessels sailed in, deposited their cargo, received new loads, and passed through the Canal Zone with seemingly little bureaucratic process anymore -- something unheard of in virtually every other aspect of Griffonian politics and economy.

Now there was a Griffonian attack submarine sitting in port. Supposedly it was a military presence to aid local forces in security. Iron Shield had seen through it instantly and she had wasted no time in telling the President that in the event of Panamare trying to shut the Canal, that submarine would instantly be used to try strong-arming them into the Canal for Griffonian traffic. What was worse? She had laid on his desk the intelligence report that at least two more were reported to be underway in the coming days.

So the flight to Dorshall had been to tell the Griffonians, in no uncertain terms, that Panamare had only just gained full autonomy from Equestria, and they intended to keep it. That submarine in port would put herself underway at the first possible convenience and those two incoming could route themselves elsewhere. Of course it had all been done with formal language, in “polite” ways, but in the political language anypony could have been able to feel the tension in those meeting rooms over the course of the last week. It was tiring and frustrating, and Bold Front was only looking forward to going home now.

“So do you think they’ll listen to us?” Iron Will asked from over the rim of her raised cup.

Bold Front stared down into his mug, “We told them where we stood, Iron.”

He watched a brow raise, “That’s not what I asked, Bold.”

“I know.”

Bold Front had just set his coffee down when he suddenly felt himself shifting. He was starting to press back into his seat and he could watch the level of the coffee in the mug shifting. Iron Will noticed it too. Each exchanged a confused look with the other, but neither had time to voice their confusion before one of the suited members of their security detail came nearly running from the front of the plane.

“Mr. President, Madam Secretary, we’ve got --”

The pilot beat him to it, over the loudspeaker, beginning to stir those on the plane who had been getting some sleep in the brief downtime they had been given.

“We have incoming! Multiple locks inbound! Brace for manuevers!”

Iron Will had just barely levitated the magic aside before the plane’s already increasingly steep turn raised ten-fold. Bold Front was pressed completely back in his chair, Iron Will placed her hands against the edge of the secured table to avoid being tossed against it, and the agent had to brace himself against a nearby third chair. This turn lasted only a few moments before the plane quickly leveled out, though rather violently. The brief gravitational respite meant that the agent threw himself in to that third chair as everybody, Iron Will and Bold Front included, started securing their buckles.

“Brace! Bracebracebrace!” The pilot sounded like he was nearly screaming.

The thin aluminum hull of the refitted plane was like so much nothing to the missiles. By the nature of aerial combat, these missiles weren’t designed to explode on impact, but once they were within a distance of the target. The first exploded in the air and copper rods sailed out from within the expanding cloud.

They met with the plane where the top tail fin connected to the hull of the craft. It ripped away the nearly cone-like structure of the tail on impact and sent it spinning away, free of the plane superstructure now. The second hit at the underbelly near the tail, where the ramp had been prior to the refitting process, and the car-sized hole there depressurized the interior.

It was only by a pure chance that nobody had been in the aft of the plane, or the stronger superstructures that had been turned into shrapnel would have painted them across the walls, or the subsequent hole would have cause them to be sucked away and thrown out into open air. Within the first second of impact Bold Front, Iron Will, and everypony on the plane suspected something was wrong with the way the plane lurched. Now there was no doubt. It was going to come down.

The plane lurched downwards in a nose-dive, sending every single unsecured item sailing forward, colliding against ponies, furniture, and the walls before hitting against the front bulkhead. Those who hadn’t been able to secure themselves in time were able to save themselves with firm hand-holds on the nearest bolted down items. Everypony felt the plane shift up again, as if the pilot might perform some miracle that let them keep level again.

But in the end, aerodynamics, and gravity won out.

It lurched again, now with the tail pointed downward, and those who had been relying on handholds alone found they weren’t enough. The crew and passengers were screaming as bodies went sailing past, bouncing off seats and tables, and falling for the aft section. Many were “fortunate” enough to land with bone-breaking force against the superstructure. Several were not so lucky and fell through the newly blasted hole to plummet towards the ocean in the cold night sky.

Centrifugal force and violent shifting were playing havoc on this who were still conscious, which Bold Front and Iron Will both were. The nearby agent had already passed out, throwing up over the front of his suit, and Iron Will did the same only moments later.

Bold Front heard somebody screaming right next to him, and some part of his mind was telling him that he was the source. Just as this realization hit, his belt snapped free, and he found himself flung from his seat against the roof as the plane once against pitched nose-first.

The force of the impact completely knocked him out as he was tossed about against the walls.

A shower of bodies, cargo, and debris trailed through the sky in the middle of a thick black smoke that lead down into a growing cloud of aircraft fuel from the exposed and severed lines. It caught fire and made a hellish display in the night sky over Panamaren waters. The plane shifted and rolled in its final moments as the few conscious members of the crew in the cockpit tried futilely to regain control. Flight NE-1178 was gone and nopony could save it now.

At ten thousand feet, air was thick enough to be breathable again. The return to consciousness was slow and as he slowly opened his eyes there was some part of Bold Front that tried to convince him it had all been a dream. Yet the cold of the wall at his back and the scene of Iron Will, one of the closest friends he had ever had, hanging limply in her chair were reminders that it tragically wasn't.

It was nearing five hundred feet when he felt the urge to start screaming again bubbling up his throat.

He didn’t have time.