Hell on Earth

Hell on Earth
Chapter Three

The public shelter was stifling. I thought I felt a few flies buzzing past my face, but before I could swat at them, or even hear them, I was overwhelmed by the intense din. The shelter was full of hundreds of ponies, from the tiniest foals cowering in their mother's hooves to tired looking stallions, somehow sleeping curled up near the walls.
Conditions were appalling, which was my abiding memory. Ponies were crammed into every square inch of space, pressed up against the brick walls while the waft of smoke occasionally overpowered that of unwashed bodied sweating, partly through the heat and partly through fear.

The wardens said that the air conditioning shafts were open, but would be closed once the griffons were overhead. Then the heat really would become unbearable. I followed Mossy carefully, stepping over sleeping ponies and trying not to muddy their blankets. She eventually settled in a spot next to the wall, which was only really large enough for a single pony. By sitting close together, we squeezed in and waited for it to begin.

Waiting was not unlike being in a queue for something. Ponies complained and jostled, with the occasional round of laughter surfacing from the other side of the shelter. I thought momentarily that if this went on for much longer, like in a mock raid, I was going to go insane in the darkness. Only a gloomy light coming from the door and shafts actually allowed me to pick up greyed silhouettes moving around.
Thankfully, this was short-lived. The sirens cut out abruptly, and in the same instant everypony fell silent. The shafts clanged shut and the door closed, and we were suddenly in pitch darkness. I couldn't see anything, not even my hoof in front of my face, or Mossy's beautiful mane falling across my shoulder.

I didn't start panicking, however, until the first bangs and shudders came along. When I was being chased by a griffon interceptor who was bent on tailing me until they could kill me, it felt like a test of nerve, of skill, an engagement. Those ponies who lost simply weren't good enough on that occasion. Cowering in a dark space surrounded by fearful ponies was something rather more sinister, though, and the wave of pure fear hit me like a punch. I hadn't felt anything like it since before takeoff on my first mission. It was like one of the wind-swept waves on the beach suddenly hitting me in the face and causing my head to spin.

Mossy gripped my hoof tightly and seemed calm, so I didn't move a muscle. It was only inside that I had lost my grip. Dying under a pile of rubble seemed so tame, so pointless. And yet I had no choice. I was doomed to suffer alongside the masses while the griffons ruthlessly rained fire on us. The explosions they caused meant that the shelter swayed and shook with every near-miss, and a few foals had begun crying. I felt an overpowering urge to escape, to flee and head for the exit, along with the fresh air and openness that came with it. But I was frozen to the spot, thankfully. Outside must have been an inferno of explosions and fire, and searing heat.

Like some kind of sneaking disease, newspaper reports I'd read while on base came to mind. Stories of hundreds of casualties when a shelter took a direct hit. Despite reassurances from the authorities that seemed almost daily, nothing stopped a direct hit. When that griffon, gliding through the darkness and looking down into the red and yellow glow that was Manechester, decided to drop their bomb and gratefully swing around and turn for their beloved home, a split second meant the difference between a crater in the road and a shelter full of bodies. This was a perspective that I hadn't considered before, and one I was in a unique place to think about.

When I was doing the gliding and dropping, that split second was up to me. The bombs I'd dropped so far might have done nothing but wreck factories and infrastructure, like they were supposed to. But they might equally have plunged into the roof of a griffon shelter and... a particularly loud blast that must have happened less than fifty feet from the shelter stopped my train of thought dead. The blind panic overtook me again and I wanted to cry out, but I was still frozen in the ordeal, my mind screaming for relief as the unfathomable idea of my own mortality struck.

Within a few minutes the onslaught had ceased, and sirens sounded the all-clear. As Mossy and I left, I noticed quite a few ponies, especially families, remaining in the shelter. Clearly they didn't trust the sirens and simply preferred to sleep in the shelter to keep themselves safe.
Outside was nothing but a red glow filled with choking dust from destroyed masonry. Firefighting ponies, who had clearly been working throughout the raid, were spraying water on the red-hot bricks of a nearby building, the exertion clear on their faces.

Anxious to do something, I approached someone who looked like they were in charge.
“Sorry, there's nothing you can do to help. Skies aren't safe.” With that, I was snubbed and sent on my way.
Mossy explained. “The griffons leave a few of their most deadly fighters to fly over the cities following a raid. This way they can gather information about the extent of the damage, and kill anypony who takes to the air to try and help put the fires out. A few weeks ago, scores of firefighting pegasi were killed, and since then flying has been forbidden following a raid.”

I'd never heard of this tactic, and I wondered whether it was something that we should start using against the griffons. But then again, hanging around in the air was never a good idea if you wanted to live very long, and we needed our best fighters to protect our own airspace, not sit around watching their cities burn.
Once we got back to the church shelter, I fell asleep almost instantly. My mind seemed too full of thoughts to allow it, but I slipped into the welcoming arms of tiredness without a moment of protest.

December

I'm pleased to say that in the flurry of missions that came along with the longer nights, I skipped through my thirteenth mission without any hitches. It was probably the calmest mission I've ever been on, and everyone came home safely. Somehow we avoided the carnage that night, and I was grateful.

On takeoff for my sixteenth mission, I noticed something. I was lining up sixth overall, something of an improvement than before. I had a number of rookies – well, they were actually becoming experinced fliers now – following me, and I was close enough to see the rippling darkness of Starry's tail as he dipped and bobbed through the night sky. Brick and Iron, who had exchanged friendly banter with me in the queue before takeoff, were still flying ahead of me and never let me forget it.

Our bunkhouse had remained empty during my absence, but as soon as I got back a new pony arrived. He introduced himself as Stylish, but we all called him Blondie instantly. We got on like a house on fire. He was a few months younger than me, and I could tell he was every bit as scared as I had been. Plus, we both had brightly-coloured manes – mine firey red, his blond of course. I often hung out with him while he was weight training, half encouraging him and half making fun.

Blondie was flying last. He'd been full of bragging and macho power up until the night before, when the nerves had bitten and he'd gone abruptly quiet. I hoped for his sake that we were attacked on the way in, allowing Starry to deal with the threat, rather than on the way out where it would be Blondie's responsibility. I wasn't sure what I'd do if he was killed on the first night out.

It was a busy night, in the end. We were attacked twice on the way in, without any casualties, but we lost two ponies during a vicious attack on the way back. Blondie wasn't among them, but when we landed he was pretty shaken up. The sight of a griffon arcing towards you, intent on your destruction was pretty nerve-wracking, and it didn't look as if he'd held up too well. I helped him back to the bunk house where he fell asleep with a few murmurs. It would be the end of December before we could fly again, and I knew that Blondie would be killing himself every night we weren't in the air. Bad weather was really the curse of the bomber ponies.

Just before my seventeenth mission, on the last day of the year, I finally received a letter from Mossy. She'd said she would write first, because of her having to move around so much for nursing training. I was so relieved when I saw the envelope. In my absence, anything could have happened to her, from air raids to an accident... Enthusiastically, I tore it open and began to read.

Dear Avro,
I hope that everything is okay with you, and that your missions are going well. We don't hear much about them because they're very secret, but when I see about another successful raid in the newspapers I smile a little to myself.

Nursing isn't actually that hard, but it is very tiring. I'm supposed to be learning about combat injuries and things like that, but there's a shortage here and I spend most of my time assisting the real doctors. Mainly, it's fighter ponies who have suffered burns. A lot of them recover quickly and go back to the front line, but some of them have burned faces and wings that will never really heal. It's quite upsetting, but it's my job and I just get on with it. Just promise me you won't be burnt!

I'm quite tired, so I think I'll end the letter here. Please write back about everything that's been happening at your base – I'm sure with all of you strong pegasi together, it must be quite interesting! Most of all, I miss seeing you, and I worry every night.

Mossy Landscape

I could see that the others were a little jealous that a mare was writing to me, and despite me telling them that she was only a friend, they seemed intent on making jokes about us being a couple. Mainly, it was to keep nerves at bay. The mission that night played on everyone's mind.

My seventeenth mission, the last one of the year, was uneventful. We weren't allowed a party afterwards because of security and stuff like that, so the only thing we did to mark the new year was a formation barrel roll, led by Starry, at exactly midnight. We were only attacked once, on the way in, and it was repelled without any losses.

The problem came over the target, where the anti-pegasi guns were in full voice and the searchlights seemed particularly accurate. As usual, Starry calmly led us to the target area where we released our bombs, but on the turn for home Brick was captured by the searchlights. He floated away in the opposite direction, his teeth gritted as he dived. My stomach flipped as he left my sight, and I spent the hours flying back wondering if I'd see him again.

In the end, he didn't come back. Blondie took it hardest, since he lost his bunkmate on just the second mission he'd flown. While Brick's death hurt me, I envied him in a strange way. His serene glide towards the ground, wings outstretched and slight smirk on his face... if I had to die doing this terrible job, then that's how I wanted to go. Fate, on the other hand, was rarely so kind, and my fear of griffon attacks and a firey demise still haunted me.

January

Clear weather came with the near year and by the end of the first week, I was taking off on my twentieth mission. It was a milestone, but it didn't really interest me. I was too tired, too much of a veteran to care for the number. I was one closer to safety and that's what interested me, not the number itself. Nothing was important until my hooves touched the ground at the end of number twenty-five.

This mission had a twist, however. Reconnaissance of our attacks suggested that while we were doing widespread damage, inaccurate aiming and dropping meant that a lot of factories were surviving, despite being the targets. The main reason for this was the first waves of bomber ponies, who couldn't really see anything to drop on, and more inexperienced formations dropping early to get out of the storm of hostile fire. And who could blame them, when the bombing run in itself still chilled me to the bone, despite it being my twentieth time.

Starry, who was nearly at the end of his second tour of duty, had two solutions, one of which was his own, and the other had come from above via Commander.
Commander said that there were new formations being set up, mainly of incredibly agile and fast bomber ponies, who would fly as fast as possible to the target, swoop low and drop accurate flares. This meant that the flares would be the aiming point, and should be a lot closer. Our formation's number two was called upon to join one of these formations, promoting me to fourth in the line. Starry turned down the offer, saying he wanted to try something.

This something turned out to be quite a bold plan. Instead of the current system, in which the formation lead gave the order to drop and everypony followed on, he proposed an alternative, which had had permission to try with our formation and a whole load more. To stop short drops, Starry would remain over the target, circling. When he spotted the next formation incoming, he'd fly over and guide them to the exact dropping point, before giving the order himself. It took pressure off formation leaders, and meant that we could be even more accurate.

Of course, it also meant that on the way back, we'd be totally without Starry and as a result, far more vulnerable to attack. He would have to stay behind at the target. I would fly third – first pegasus on the right – all the way home. Iron was on my left wing though, which reassured me.

Somehow, the combination of accurate flares and Starry doing a great job guiding us in, before breaking formation and circling, meant that not only was the griffon city burning nicely, but the entire trip was relatively uneventful. Only partial attacks from griffons disturbed us, and we shrugged those off. The bad news came when we got back. Initially, we'd been quite pleased that everypony was back at base. We'd gone to our bunks confident that Starry would be back in a couple of hours, and that it had been a really successful mission.

Turns out, Starry's plan worked a treat and our formations had achieved the best accuracy of anypony. The flip side of this was that somehow the invincible Starry Night had been trapped by searchlights and hadn't returned from the mission. Commander was outwards optimistic about him returning having ditched, but we all knew that nobody ditched over the target.

Mission twenty-one was scheduled for two nights later. We had a small get-together of everypony on base in memory of Starry, who had saved everypony at least once, without exception, including Commander. His brave and selfless actions pulling griffon fighters away from the formation had certainly kept our losses to a bare minimum. Flying without him would be a much more dangerous task.

My permanent promotion to third was interrupted by a meeting with Commander, in his office. I'd never been in his office before – ponies only went there to get forms signed or if they were in trouble. I didn't think I'd done anything, but I still felt nervous as I was waved in by his cheery hoof.
“Avro, take a seat please.”
I did so, hoping I looked sufficiently smart.
Commander looked at me, a strange frown creasing his forehead.
“Avro, I'm here to talk about you being promoted.”
“Oh, I already know about being third, sir. I had some practice on the way back after the last mission.”
“No, it's not that.”

“Before Starry failed to return, you know he was working on this plan to circle the target. He called the role 'master bomber'. Now, the excellent results from the last mission mean that the top authorities want it implemented throughout the bomber pony force.”
“Well, I'm glad they listened.”
“Yes, but Starry's demise means that we're in a tight spot. They want us to do another test run, just to show it wasn't a fluke because of those flares. We need a master bomber, a pony willing to spend a couple of hours circling. That's why I'm asking you Avro.”
“Me, sir? Why not Iron or somepony like him?”
“Let me explain. Sabre, who is currently number one, flew second almost as long as Starry flew first. Master bomber could be nearly suicidal, and we cannot afford to lose Sabre. He's the only thing preventing a brisk griffon attack from turning into six or seven losses from the formation.”
“Iron then.”
“Before you got here, he had serious problems with nerves. He's over them now, of course, but he had to turn back twice on missions because he couldn't get a grip. I'm afraid that the pressure of being over the target for so long will trigger it for him. And of course, this will be his final mission if he doesn't stay on.”

When Commander put it like that, I didn't have much choice. Brick had been flying his twenty-fifth and final mission when he failed to return, and I was willing to run a suicide mission if it spared Iron from the same fate.
“Well, I'll do it.”
“Before you agree for sure, I must impress this upon you, Avro. We have no idea how dangerous it is, since I didn't get to ask Starry. It could be that Starry just had a freak accident, but it could be that he stood no chance of coming back alive. If you agree, you agree to the consequences, which could be death.”
“No, I'll do it. For definite.” Those words sounded like a bell tolling for me, as if I had sealed my doom just by uttering them.
“You'll get a pay rise, then. I'll see you tonight for your briefing.”

I didn't tell Iron or Blondie much about the meeting, apart from that I was selected as the next master bomber. When Iron enquired why he hadn't been selected, I claimed that Starry wanted me to try next, since I was a little more agile. He seemed to buy it and stopped asking.
My special briefing was simply a flight plan that showed which times the formations I was guiding were expected to arrive. My job was simple – find the correct flare, then lead four other formations to the drop point. Sabre would do the hard part with our formation and tell them when to drop, while I gained altitude and began to circle. All in all, I had to make five bombing runs.

My stomach was churning constantly all the way to the target. Thankfully, the griffon attack was ineffective, but as I saw the flares being dropped I didn't feel any better. We were dropping on green, and I could see it in the darkness below. We were approaching rapidly.
Sabre gave the signal and we dropped, our bomb bursts appearing clustered around the flare. I then climbed, to get out of range of the guns and await the formation. My heart ached as my formation turned for home, and I hoped they'd get there safely. My ordeal was only just beginning.

Within ten minutes, the city was orange with fires. I led an inexperienced formation who had already lost two or three ponies, and managed to get reasonable accuracy in the orange glow. While I thought that being a master bomber was just terrifying, I noticed as I closed in on my second formation that a lot of them were looking at me with a kind of respect, mixed with fear for what they were doing. Being such a veteran that I was expected to lead their formation in clearly impressed them. I did my best to do them proud, and it worked. Their bombs fell perfectly and they turned away without any losses.

My fourth run seemed to coincide with a quiet period, and so there wasn't much danger. The only problem was, it was getting late. I hadn't been over a target this late since my first few missions, and I realised why it was so bad. With fewer pegasi in the sky, there was less for the griffons to shoot at. Within seconds of the drop, I was caught by the searchlights, and once again I found myself blinded and terrified. The shockwaves began blasting at me, and I could feel my coat singeing a couple of times, before I was finally blasted clear at half of my original altitude.

Breathing heavily, I forced myself to climb and led the final formation in. They dropped excellently and turned with me. I could simply follow them back until I saw familiar landmarks near base. A searchlight did manage to catch me again, but I swerved left and they instantly lost me again. After that, my coat damp with sweat, we headed back, hoping that the griffon attacks would be quiet.

They weren't. We were attacked three times, although I managed to avoid attention. At least two pegasi from the formation had disappeared, and I felt a little sad for them as I left for my own base. I knew that Blondie and Iron would be sat in the bunkhouse, probably wide awake, waiting for me to return safely. I'd proved that being a master bomber wasn't a suicide mission, but it wasn't far off. Eventually, the odds would count against you.

I was quickly debriefed by Commander, who sent off my report about master bombing as soon as I'd finished telling him. I gave it my endorsement. I knew for a fact that a number of master bombers would die in the role, but it was worth it for the accuracy I knew I'd achieved.
Back at the bunk house, Blondie had dozed off, but Iron was waiting, his eyes ringed with tiredness.
“Hi Avro... I'm so glad you're back.”
“How was the return?”
“Really quiet, thankfully.”
“Congratulations on finishing. Are you going to go round again?”
“No, sorry Avro. I've got my parents to think about. They've already lost my brother in the fighters, so I don't think I could risk it.”
“Fair enough.”

We watched the sun rise. I thought that we might talk about the future, but my future was full of imminent danger, so we talked about the past, mainly Brick and Heavy. Iron was physically tired, but also seemed emotionally tired. He'd come from the city and the constant draining missions had taken it out of him. His impressive muscled frame betrayed what he did every night, and he was full of regrets, mainly for all of the comrades he'd lost. He'd been promoted from sixteenth to second, and so must have seen fourteen ponies go.

He left base the next day, without any ceremony. I gave him a couple of books of mine that I'd never read as a present, and that was that. I was overwhelmingly glad that he'd survived. As he flew away, skimming the treetops, I saw him not as a bomber pony, but as what he normally did – a baker, or post pony, or whatever. He could go back to his parents and get on with life, leaving the horror of the night behind him.

Blondie and I now had two spare bunks in our bunkhouse, but neither of us were bothered about them being filled. New arrivals were nice, but often they didn't last long and simply brought sadness with them.
As master bomber, I had a suspicion in the back of my mind that it might not be long until my bunk was empty too. Four missions remained, all of which looked like the most dangerous I'd done.

Twenty-two settled my nerves a lot. I escaped the searchlights twice, but there were a few other master bombers circling, and I didn't see any of them get hurt. By the time I had landed on base, other ponies were congratulating me on a job well done. Commander reminded me that I had four weeks of leave saved up, and I took them all immediately. While I felt much better about doing it, I couldn't shake the idea of my time being nearly up.

My final mission before I left for Manechester, where I'd agreed to meet Mossy, was twenty-three. We were attacked by griffons as soon as we reached their airspace, and I ended up ditching my bomb into the sea to try and get away from a pack of them. While I was successful, I had to return to base. I couldn't be an effective master bomber because I was so late, and I had no way of working out the schedule again. I was frustrated especially because if you returned without bombing, it didn't count towards your missions.

The way it turned out, my leave ended on Hearts and Hooves Day. I spend one of the weeks with my parents when Mossy had to go to a nursing course, but the remaining three weeks I spent exclusively with her. A little romance was exactly what I needed to rejuvenate my tired body, and while I had set off with no intention of anything except meeting her as a friend, it became obvious to both of us that something could happen.

We went to plenty of dances. I was improving rapidly under her guidance, and before long I was almost outclassing her on the dancefloor, much to her annoyance. We also took long walks in the countryside, which had always inspired me. My new role, which I told her about in detail one night, gave me one thing. By guiding the bombs accurately, I was minimising the amount of bombs that would be killing griffons in their homes and shelters, and keeping them on the factories and shipyards. Mossy seemed pleased by this.

One evening, after a dance and a delicious dinner, we stopped on a park bench and sat close together for warmth. I don't know what caused it, but I simply sat and talked to her until the sun glowed pink over the horizon. Mainly, I spoke about my fears whilst in the air. Being cut down by a griffon attack was my worst fear, but I hated the idea of being caught by searchlights and shot down, despite the fact that I diced with it on every mission. Mossy sat and listened and held me tightly, her beautiful eyes simply staring into mine.

In return, Mossy told me about nursing. About how she felt terrible for the ponies who had lost a hoof or a wing, and had no chance of returning to a normal life. Worst of all, she said, were the mutilations.
“At least if the pony passes away, they've gone to a better place. The ones who are cut up and... well, they have to live with it forever.”
As the sun rose, I renewed my promise from the letter. I promised her that I would try not to get burnt by the firey shots over the target. I could see the fear in her eyes.

The next day, we had dinner again and I asked her to be my girlfriend. She agreed, graciously, and we spent the rest of the evening dancing until we were exhausted.

February

Hearts and Hooves day was bittersweet. We spent the night together, and I'll say no more. But then I had to catch the midday train back, and she accompanied me to the station.
“Please be careful.” Her voice was quiet and clearly upset.
“I will be Mossy.”
“Come home safely.”
I couldn't promise that, so I simply kissed her gently and stepped onto the train.
“Wait, take this.”
She handed me her necklace. It was just a silver chain with a small stone set into it, but it meant a lot. It was a favour, which would keep me safe.

“I'll see you soon, Mossy.”
“I'll think of you every night, and will you onwards.”
“Me too.”
I blew her a kiss as the train pulled away, and watched her tears roll down her cheeks.

My second attempt at mission twenty three was the most professional performance I'd ever put in. Something about my time away had settled me, and I did seven bombing runs without fault. One of them was covering for another master bomber who had been shot down, but it was perfect nonetheless. On the flight home, I even drew griffons away from some rookies and managed to shake them, returning to the formation to looks of utmost gratitude. It occurred to me that perhaps my natural aptitude to unshakeable temperament and precision meant that I was naturally very good as being a master bomber.

This was confirmed when I landed. We had two new bunkmates, but they were both asleep. It was Blondie who looked at me with wonder.
“Congratulations.”
“What for? Surviving?” I had a wry smile.
“No, your cutie mark.”
I looked around at my flank, and saw that he was right. I had gotten my cutie mark, after all of these years. It was beautiful, too. A yellow bomb, pointing straight downwards, contrasting perfectly with my dark coat.
“Wow, it's amazing.” Blondie said, grinning.
“Thanks.” I slumped into bed and felt a lot happier. Perhaps being a master bomber suiting me was no coincidence.

I wrote letters daily to Mossy. My twenty-fourth was scheduled for three days' time, a Monday. Her letters came quickly when she wasn't nursing, and I loved reading them, smelling her on the paper and seeing her handwriting. We never said we loved each other – it was too soon for that. But then again, as Monday approached, I decided it was time to rewrite my final letters.

Everypony in the bomber force has final letters. You leave them with your bunk before you go on a flight, and most ponies have one for their parents, and one for their wife or girlfriend if they have one. I didn't change the one for my parents, which simply thanked them for such a nice time growing up and not to worry about me, but I changed the end of Mossy's, which required a full re-write.
… I'm so glad I got to spend so much time with you before I had to go. You really mean a lot to me. I can say with perfect honesty, Mossy, that you are the only mare I have ever loved.

With all of my love for ever and ever,

Avro

I wasn't sure I really did love her, but I knew enough that if I did die, she would be the one who I thought about meeting in heaven.

We took off shortly after sunset. I had five bombing runs this time, so I took up my position in second with some confidence. My new cutie mark was gleaming in the moonlight, and I felt proud to have it with me as we flapped our giant wings and set off to rain terror on more griffons.

I didn't actually know it, but over a thousand bomber ponies were setting off that night. It was dry and had a light wind, which was the perfect conditions for bombing. The griffons seemed to know something was going on when they attacked us, because it was half-hearted and Sabre and I easily managed to evade them. We approached the target, which was in darkness but for that night's blue flare, with a full formation.

Sabre led everypony onto the bombing run as the anti-pegasi fire began. Because of the huge number of pegasi attacking, they had picked a target that was easy to get to, and therefore very well defended. At least thirty searchlights scanned for us without any luck, but I knew that I would probably be caught before the night was over. I dropped my bomb and began circling, waiting for three minute to pass before I could see the second formation.

They dropped perfectly, but the third formation had discipline problems. The experienced veterans all dropped on my signal, but half of the rookies just ditched them bombs early, spooked by the heavy defences. I was angry that they'd just dropped indiscriminately, but there was nothing I could do. They'd still damaged something, at least.
Formation four, the penultimate, were once again perfect. Now was the tricky part. Formation five, following four after fifteen minutes, were actually dropping on the green flare. Because of the conditions, they wanted to spread the bombing around a little more, hoping to do extra damage.

I picked out the green flare with an experienced eye and circled, waiting for the formation. As I did, I saw a master bomber near me get caught by the searchlights. He managed to escape though. I thankfully hadn't been trapped, yet. Formation spotted, I flew over and began to lead them. They were all rookies, but none of them dropped early. They were perfect, and the green flare was ringed by explosions and that tell-tale orange glow of fires raging out of control.

Now the moon came out from between some clouds, and suddenly I could see all of the other pegasi in the sky. This was bad news. Moonlight meant we could see one another, but the searchlights could easily pick us out. Panicking, the final remaining rookie formations dropped early and scrambled for home. I circled again, putting myself on a heading to go home, when the searchlights trapped me with a last gasp effort. Now that I was the only thing in the sky, all of the guns aimed at me.

I was blinded again by the bright lights, but felt like I could escape. The shockwaves started, but I knew I had ten seconds to escape, which were rapidly slipping by. I dropped altitude and swerved violently. Still not free, I tried corkscrewing and then flying upwards again, but they still had me. With no options left, I went into a screaming dive, feeling the wind ripping through my mane. The slight deviations in the intensity of the light burning through my eyelids showed that a few lights had lost me, but they soon got back on track.

I flapped my huge wings as hard as I could to gain altitude for more manoeuvres. I needed to somehow shake them. The shockwaves were throwing me around like a rowing boat on the high seas, and I could feel the heat of some of the shots actually burning me very slightly.
Diving again, I prayed with every part of my being that this would do it. I also banked to the right, to try and confuse the lights. They kept me in their evil light though, and I cursed my stupidity for hanging around so long.

And that's when I felt it. The only feeling I could remember being like it was when I trapped my wing in the door once when I was just a colt. It pulled out three or four feathers and hurt like hell. This was a thousands times worse. Instants later, the lights left me and I found myself blinking in the darkness, waiting for my eyes to readjust. I was pleased I'd escaped, and hoped that my wing had just sustained a little damage.

My eyes didn't seem to adjust properly as I continued to bank to the right, unable to move my right wing because of the pain. Then I realised that it wasn't properly dark. Something was still light. My heart turned to ice as I turned my head and saw red flamed dancing on my wingtip, rapidly heading up my wing and increasing the pain.

In that moment, I knew that I was finished. Nobody survived wing fires, and I didn't have enough altitude to try diving and putting it out. I didn't want to admit it though, so I simply continued banking left as my mind slipped into overdrive. I realised fleetingly that the searchlights had left me because they knew I was finished, and that nobody was shooting at me anymore. They'd taken pity on the brave pegasus who'd stayed until the end to ensure everything was perfect.

I thought about how annoying it was to finally lose when I was so close to my twenty fifth mission. Absurdly, I hoped that the twenty-fifth would be an easy one, to round my career out in style. I thought about perhaps staying on as a master bomber. Jerking back to reality, I looked again and saw my entire right wing engulfed by fire. I was losing altitude and I didn't know whether the pain would make me pass out before I hit the ground. The lack of orange below me showed that I'd glided into the countryside, but I was still turning right gently.

The flames licking my body snapped me into thinking about something meaningful. I thought about my parents, and how upset they'd be when they got my letter. I thought it was thorough enough, though. They wouldn't be too broken hearted.
I thought about the war. I wasn't entirely sure about the griffons. Killing children was never right, but yet they'd done some pretty nasty things to us ponies. I was convinced that bombing them back was totally just as I spotted some treetops about three hundred feet below me.

I thought about how I simply wasn't good enough to escape the searchlights. They'd finally got me good after five or six attempts. I thought about how pleased I was that I hadn't been slashed up by a griffon in the darkness, a victim of their superior flying skills. Nobody could fault me for finally falling to searchlights and anti-pegasi guns.

But, most of all, I thought about Mossy. I didn't think about how much I loved her, nor did I think about her beautiful voice, or her mane. I didn't think about the future we could have had or the past that we did. I didn't even think about the letter I would shortly be sending her. I didn't think about her beautiful necklace around my neck. I simply thought about her beautiful eyes, staring into mine with a mix of affection and worry. Her eyes really were beautiful, not in an earthly way, but in a way which allowed them to guide me through my final moments as my long red mane streaked through the night, now alight and giving me the appearance of a comet. Those eyes stared directly into mine and saw my soul as I felt the first branches tickle my flank, and the yellow bomb that I knew was there.

Avro received the Royal Pegasus Force Heart with Double Bar, awarded for intense bravery, after he was listed missing in action in February. Griffon sympathisers who had seen his plight in the sky found his body and secretly informed the government of his death. News reached his parents in early March, at the same time as Blondie informed Mossy via a letter. He was buried in a war cemetery in Griffonry not far from where he crashed, but locks of his tail were repatriated and sent to Mossy when she received the news.