Hell on Earth

by bobdat

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Sad, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Romance
Length: 19556

Romantic ponified story of the WWII European Bombing Campaign.

Avro wants to go to university to see the big city and meet new ponies. The only problem is, war breaks out between griffons and ponies, and as an eighteen-year-old, he has no choice but to join up. Before he does, he meets a beautiful mare named Mossy Landscape, but has no chance with her.
Joining the Royal Pegasus Force, Avro goes to war, dropping ordnance on griffon cities in the face of overwhelming danger. But what will become of him in the most dangerous theatre of war, and what will become of his love for Mossy Landscape?

This is based loosely (very loosely) on the European Bombing Campaign during WWII, told from the side of the Allies. As such, some of the themes can be quite sad or upsetting.

Published 2012-03-09 00:34:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-03-28 20:20:12 UTC

Chapter One

Hell on Earth
Chapter One

June

School was beginning to drag.
I was part of a strange generation. Normally, colts and fillies receive their cutie mark somewhere around the age of thirteen or fourteen, but I turned fourteen in February 1935, and my flank was still blank all those years later. The reason I'm starting here with this story is because strangely enough, I was not alone.
My class at school had thirty ponies exactly, and only three or four of them had their cutie marks by that June. There was one month and one day remaining of school, exactly, and then that was it. Out into the big, wide world, with nothing to do except get on with life.
I say that, but I had been accepted to Manechester University for the next academic year, just a hundred miles or so to the north. So I had something to do after the summer, but my, what a summer it was turning out to be.
Summer 1939 is a summer I will never forget, although the truly best weather came in July and August. The reason I chose June for my first entry was for what happened when I got home that day.

As usual, I put my saddlebags down and grabbed a couple of apples from the sack. I went out into the back garden to soak up some of the sun and relax, then I saw something that changed my life forever.
Most ponies think of the day they got their cutie mark as the day that their life changed, but I can clearly remember this day changing my life, much more than when I got my cutie mark. By the time my cutie mark appeared, I knew what I was doing.
What I saw was a huge black pegasus hurtling through the sky at high speed. Now, don't get me wrong, I've seen hundreds of high speed pegasi before. But this one was something quite remarkable. He had a huge wingspan, bigger than anything I'd ever seen before, including my own (which, might I say, was impressive to say the least). Plus, his coat was as black as the night sky, which I had never seen before.

He buzzed the house at low altitude before disappearing over the nearby wood. I was, well, inspired. I could fly, but with nothing like the grace and beauty he had. His wings had been as level as a pond all the way, outstretched in all of their magnificence.
I found out that evening what he'd been doing.
“Diplomats in Griffonry are voicing their concerns at the aggressive foreign policy being pursued by the Grand Griffon, Grelowny. However, griffons throughout Griffonry and the Unified Queendoms are praising his actions.
The Prime Pony of the Unified Queendoms, Level Head, has reluctantly admitted that, in response to these aggressive moves, the UQ has been forced to step up its military practices.”

That radio broadcast was strange. It was so significant to so many ponies, but yet it seemed so distant... some griffons had visited our school a few years ago, but they'd sounded strange and had only been there a few weeks.
That evening, to try and shake the feeling of foreboding that had managed to permeate my entire being, I went for a flight, following the path I'd seen that magnificent pegasus follow just earlier, as the red sun set. It was one of the longest days of the year, and so I stayed out late, enjoying the fresh air and freedom it afforded me. Despite the two connected events I'd seen that day, the beauty of the country reassured me. Surely nothing could harm this?

July

School finally finished with a sort of sigh, rather than a cheer. The weather was stunningly good, but also very tiring, and I don't think anyone had the motivation to throw a big party or anything. Instead, I just walked home that day, thinking back over all I'd done at school over the years, and looking to the future. The big city living promised by Manechester appealed to me, and everything suddenly seemed new and exciting.

At home, mum and dad were ready to congratulate me on finally finishing school, complete with a slice of cake, which was delicious. As an only child, I suspected they were already feeling a few twinges of sadness at my leaving, despite the fact that it was a couple of months yet until I finally had to go. The problem was, staying on the family barley farm didn't appeal to my adventurous nature. Studying and learning may sound boring, but it was the best route into an exciting life that I could get. It was strange, thinking about it, that adventure actually found me, rather than the other way around. I could have stayed at home and it would have made no difference.

I spent the remains of July going swimming in the local pony and just enjoying the weather. My friends from school were around less and less, and before long it became obvious that despite our promises, we weren't really going to keep in touch. But I didn't mind. It was like beginning a fresh chapter in my life, without the hanging tentacles of what had gone before to drag me back. I could be whoever I wanted to be. That feeling of the freedom of youth never left me, even after what happened later. It was the best feeling. Well, perhaps the second best.

October

August and September were, of course, the harvest months, so I spent almost all of my time helping my parents bring in the crops from the fields. Hard, hot work, but worth it eventually.
The first day of October was the important one for me. It was the day I left home, clutching a suitcase and trying not to let my emotions get the better of me as I hugged my mother, then shook my father's hoof. And that was it. No longer a colt, now a stallion.

The journey to Manechester was uneventful, to say the least. The weather was beginning to turn, and I could feel a few drops of cold rain hitting me as I glided towards the lights of the city, catching sight of the striking spires of the university as soon as I got close enough. I had a small map, so I didn't really have any trouble finding the building my room was in. The only problem was, I was in room fifteen. The numbers went straight from fourteen to sixteen. Apparently, there was no fifteen.

Feeling a little sheepish, but determined not to look like an idiot on my first day, I tapped a young mare on the shoulder.
“Oh, erm, hi, do you know where room fifteen is?” I asked, more nervously than I like to remember.
“You're new here too? Well, it looks like it's on the far side, just there. Even numbers are always on opposite sides to the odd numbers.” She pointed with her moss green hoof.
“Thank you.” I hurried away without waiting for a reply, and without really looking at her. It was so obvious, now that I thought about it. But in the countryside, all the houses had been spread out, so it hadn't mattered. I burned red, thankful she couldn't see me.

The room was nice. It was smaller than I was used to, but comfortable, and with a few touches, could be quite a nice place to live. The view looked out over the city, which was at least quite good. For now, though, I simply dropped my suitcase off and headed straight for the dining hall. Anything to get some food, the journey had really made me hungry.
Dinner was a grand affair, with everypony dressed their best, old and new arrivals alike. At the head of the tables sat elderly ponies, clearly high-ups within the university. As a first-year, I took a seat right down at the opposite end, quite pleased that I didn't have to converse with anyone so sophisticated. The walls were covered in huge portraits of important ponies, mainly stallions, wearing top hats and waistcoats. This kind of thing didn't particularly appeal to me, all this grandeur, but it was a change, and that was nice.

Looking around at all of my fellow students, I noticed a serious shortage of cutie marks. A large number of ponies going into university usually have cutie marks relating to their chosen subject, but for some reason, there were very few among students.
I spotted the moss green mare sat a few tables across. She didn't have her cutie mark either, but she did have a striking mane and tail. They were wavy, yes not as long as I was used to, a very metropolitan style.

My thoughts were interrupted by somepony sitting down beside me. I decided I had better make friends since I was here, so I turned to say hello, only to be interrupted by a bright smiling face appearing inches from my nose.
“Hi! You're new too? I just got here, and I'm really hungry.” He said as quickly as seemed possible.
“Oh, well yes, I am.” I replied, rather more slowly.
“I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Barrel Chest.” The yellow stallion said, grabbing my hoof and shaking it.
“I'm Avro.”
“Only one name?”
“Yes, just one.”
“Well, it's great to meet you, Avro.” He kept shaking my hoof until I gently pulled it away from him.

Food was served shortly afterwards, and Barrel continued yapping away about every little thing he could think of. He ranged from the quality of the accommodation to international politics without even waiting for a reply from me, which I didn't mind too much, because it left me free to concentrate on my food.
“Do you follow the news, Avro?” He finally said, pausing to eat a giant spoonful of salad.
“Oh, yes usually, but I've been busy packing lately.”
“I take it you know about Griffonry? Seems like something might happen there.”
“Yes, I suppose.”

Seems strange that when things happen, they happen in a big rush. Just after arriving at university and leaving home, the radio once again changed my life forever. But I suspect that this time, it changed everyone's lives.
“Hush everypony, hush!”
The hall fell deadly silent.
“I must express my utmost regret for this, but the United Queendoms are left with no other choice. As a response to the aggressive expansionist policies of Griffonry, we have no option but to declare war on their country until these policies are halted, willingly or not.” The tired voice of Level Head stuck fear into me.
“I am henceforth announcing my resignation as Prime Pony, to allow for a war leader to take over. This leader has been chosen as Cigar. Once again, I must express my utmost regret that it has come to this.”

The radio broadcast continued, but it was switched off by someone at the far end of the table. Before everypony could burst into discussion, the president of the university stood up.
“Everypony, clearly this announcement, which we have been expecting for a while, has serious repercussions on this university. If conscription is introduced, I would like to make it clear that every pony who desires to serve his or her country is free to do so, and will be free to return as soon as this terrible crisis is over.”

December

Following the announcement, about half of the students at the university left to join the armed forces, despite the government's assurances that students were not required to be conscripted. The choice to remain played heavily on my mind. As an eighteen year old, I could join any of the branches of the military, yet I was afraid of what might happen. The Griffons seemed scared by our declaration of war, and fell quiet, but nobody believed that they had given up. They had designs on taking over the United Queendoms, that was for sure. And they weren't going to stop. But what could I have done?

I continued my studies in a quiet university, spending most of my time with Barrel. We shared a few classes, and he only lived next door but one.

Because of the sudden quiet regarding the war – there hadn't even been any battles – I didn't think about it too much. But something else caught my eye, or might I say, somepony else.
She really did look beautiful, that moss green mare. I admired her from afar whenever I saw her, which wasn't very often. She must have chosen to remain studying as well, or else she would have disappeared. Her mane was a green colour too, but it was emerald green and looked amazingly nice. I wanted to get to know her, but all of the mares seemed so sophisticated and distant. I was surprised she even helped me find my room on the first day.

I knew all about the popular ponies. There had been some at my old school. They only ever spoke to each other and looked down on everypony else. The mare I watched was clearly one of the popular ones. She had a group of friends of her own, and never looked my way. Even speaking to her was but a pipe dream, so I tried to forget about it and concentrate on what was coming up. I was returning home for Hearth's Warming Eve, right through until Winter Wrap Up, then it was exam time once again.

Once again, fate twisted just a week before I was going to leave. The university was holding its traditional formal ball before Hearth's Warming Eve, which meant that everypony attending had to dance. And not just the kind of dance I did at home when there was a great song on the radio, real dancing. Ballroom dancing.

I had no idea how to ballroom dance, and neither did Barrel, so we signed up for the extra classes. It was better to learn early on and then be able to go to all the dances we liked, than putting it off just because we weren't going to the first one.
So, that's how I found myself trudging through the snow on a December morning, heading for a large gymnasium for my first dancing lesson. Who knew, it could have turned out to be my super special talent.

The mare instructing us was very old and very angry. She never spoke, only shouted or screamed, but she did play the most beautiful music, which seemed totally wrong for her to be doing. Her personality didn't match it at all.
There was a major problem that I hadn't foreseen. In order to ballroom dance, you had to have a partner. A partner who was a mare. And there were more mares than stallions there, so I definitely had to have a mare partner. This was terrible. I had no idea how to dance, and now I had to look like an idiot in front of a mare.

“Okay ponies, please go and find a partner. You will be sticking with this partner all through the week's lessons, so pick wisely!”
My heart had turned to ice, and my hooves were actually shaking. I was going to be the worst dancer and look really stupid... I couldn't move.

Thankfully, neither could any of the other stallions, so the mares came to us. A few of them already had friends, so they paired off immediately. Then more and more pairs linked up and I rapidly found myself faced with a scrawny mare with only half of her teeth. Panicking, I looked around for an escape, anything at all, but there was nothing.

Resigned to my fate, I took a step forward towards my new partner.
“Excuse me?” A hoof tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned and found myself staring straight into the most beautiful pair of green eyes I had ever seen. They had a special kind of quality to them, something about their shape that melted my heart in an instant. Her eyes were open wide, and she blinked with her long eyelashes, still staring back.
“Do you have a partner yet? Only I don't, and I was wondering if you'd like to pair up.” Her voice wasn't a cliché, it wasn't syrupy or like honey, perhaps as I had imagined it would be. In my haste when I had first met her, I didn't know what she sounded like. But now I knew, and it was just as beautiful as her eyes, which I was still staring into.

She had a kind of grounded accent that suggested she wasn't too posh, and yet she was so well spoken.
“Well?” Now she was a little impatient.
“Oh... well, okay then.”
Okay then? A beautiful mare offered to be my dance partner, and yet all I could say was 'okay then'? I felt like a fool. We moved into an open area of the hall, and then I couldn't look at her as I waited for the first set of instructions. My cheeks were burning again.

“Now everypony has a partner, we will begin with a Waltz. Take your partner with your forelegs. Stallions, right hoof on her waist. Hold her right hoof with your left, then mares, your left hoof on his right shoulder.”
I did as instructed, and found myself staring straight at her again, her eyes catching the light perfectly. She didn't seem interested, though, and stared into space, probably having already written me off as an idiot.
“Now, watch my hooves. One two three, one two three, one two three, now you try.”
It seemed simple, so I did as instructed.
“Ready?” I asked her, managing to get the word out without choking on it.
“Yes.” Now she was looking at me again, with a warm smile.

We began dancing. I'd like to say it was magical, and everypony else disappeared until it was just us, but it was basically the opposite. I was as terrible as I had imagined. But the best part was that she was even worse than me. I had to guide her for almost every step, and she kept getting confused. At first I was so nervous that she might get upset and think it was my fault, but before long we were laughing about it.
“Oh, which is it? Left or right?”
“Left, I think.”
“Wait, no that's right, oops.”
Occasionally she'd look up from her hooves and catch me looking at her, but she just smiled and went back to her feet.

Dancing was tiring, and before long the class was over.
“You may go. Be back here, same time tomorrow. Next time we do the Cha Cha Cha.” The instructor bawled.
The mare hurried away as soon as she heard those words, and I found myself stood by myself suddenly. Even Barrel had disappeared. I made my way back to my room, no further plans for the day. All I could think about was the green mare and our dancing...

It took until the last day of lessons for me to finally get up the courage to ask her a question. We'd finished going through all of the dances and everypony was tired from all of the vigorous movement.
She was about to turn and go when I tapped her shoulder, scared that I even did it.
“Yes?”
All of my senses were begging me to just run away as her eyes caught mine again.
“Oh, um, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe... go and get a drink, or something, whatever you want... maybe.” I tailed off and just stared at the floor.

“That would be nice, I'd love to.”

March

I turned nineteen at home, since it was before winter wrap up. I didn't even have a party, just my parents giving me a nice new suitcase. My thoughts during the holidays had been dominated by the beautiful green mare. It turned out that her name was Mossy Landscape, which struck me as an unusual yet flowing name, but she liked to just be called Mossy, which was fine by me.
I didn't dream about her or anything stupid like that, but I did think about her a lot. She was my first love, I suppose, so it wasn't surprising.

Our date – I called it a date, I think she probably just thought it was going out with a friend – had gone okay. Just okay, not great, but not bad. I spent the whole time babbling like an idiot while she sat and listened. I tried asking questions to get her to talk, but she just gave a short answers and went back to asking me about my life. By the time we'd finished our coffee, she knew everything there was to know about me, and she was still a mysterious mare.

Returning to university, I was struck by just how quiet things were. The griffons were still eerily quiet, which was a little unnerving, but I didn't mind. It seemed that another few hundred of young stallions and mares had disappeared into various war roles, and there were barely any of us left, mainly first years. I saw Mossy again briefly, but she seemed busy and never had time to stop and talk, so I went back to watching.

Final exams were announced for the end of June, and suddenly it seemed very close. A lot of work had to be done, so by the time March rumbled to a rather wet close, with April showers and winds threatening, I was snowed under with assignments and papers. Inevitably, maybe, Mossy disappeared to the back of my mind.

June

Ah, June. After a washout in April, and a reasonable May, the weather ponies pulled out all of the stops in June. Sunshine every day with blue skies above – perfect weather for flying. I often flew out of the city, to get away from the dirt and the busy ponies, into the countryside for the day. The grass and flowers reminded me of home and of being younger, a somewhat happier time.

It was on my return from one of these excursions that the worst happened. I divebombed back towards my room, landing a little more heavily than I might have liked, before going straight in to get something to eat. The sun was streaming in through the windows, illuminating the city landscape in a rather nice-looking way. But that was what I stared at as I heard the radio announcement. It was a shame, really, that all bad news came through the radio.

“News has reached us that the griffons are pushing through our lines on the continent. Their aggression is clearly aimed at conquering our proud country, and their lines are heading straight for the sea. Unless we can stop them, we will not be safe for long. Action began at midday today...”

That's where my university career ended, not that I knew it at the time. I always had half a mind to return and finish up where I left off on that sunny June day, just a few days before the examinations began.

Of course, with the griffons attacking us directly, and ponies on the frontline seeing action, there was no reason for me to delay. I was of fighting age, and that was what I had to do. So I went straight back out of my room and headed for the recruitment office of the Royal Pegasus Force.

Perhaps I should make an aside here and explain what the RPF is. The Royal Pegasus Force is the airborne wing of the Armed Forces of the United Queendoms, and consists only of pegasi, plus a few technical boffins who were mainly unicorns, and some engineer earth ponies. The RPF generally did reconnaissance work for the army, flying over enemy positions and that kind of thing. Recently through, there had been murmurs about griffons using their flight skills to do other things, like knocking pegasi out of the sky. Anyway, it was the most exciting branch of the armed forces, by far, especially for pegasi.

The recruitment office was bathed in orange sunshine when I got there, and it looked as if they weren't far from closing. Nopony was inside, except for a bored-looking official who was supposed to supervise.
“Aha! Are you here to sign up?” He asked, shouting in his excitement.
“Erm, yes please.”
“You missed the rush earlier, thanks to this announcement about the griffons attacking. We're pleased to have you on board!” And with that, I was a member of the Royal Pegasus Force. It was exciting.

Well, I actually became a member of the RPF at the induction ceremony a week later. I'd passed the medical and mental exams and packed all of my things, so the induction ceremony was the last thing to do before training camp. I'd said goodbye to my parents, who seemed sad but proud, which was the only way they seemed to be lately. Most importantly, I'd desperately wanted to say goodbye to Mossy, since I'd probably never see her again, but she wasn't in when I knocked on her door. I asked the very few remaining ponies, but none of them knew where she was. So I left the university without seeing her, and from there, I replaced her with a new love.

July

The beginning of July was still very warm and sunny, but it passed in a little bit of a blur. Basic training took a week, a boring muddy week it turned out. It was easy to pass though, so I was quickly sent away to a camp in the middle of nowhere to learn to fly.

I know this sounds strange. I learnt to fly when I was just a tiny pony, little more than a foal actually. But combat flying was totally different to just getting from A to B. And I had to learn this in a few action-packed days. Most of my time was spent flying between posts and turning in tight circles in mid-air. More detailed combat techniques, they said, would be taught at our final training bases. It was supposed to be secret from the new recruits, but everyone knew a simply fact.

There were two arms of the RPF. One was established – fighter ponies. The fastest, most agile ponies were trained to knock griffons cleanly out of the sky using their talents. But there was a new, rumoured arm – bomber ponies. When I was told about it on the first night, I didn't really believe it. But everypony said it was true. An arm of the RPF was made up of the strongest, most resilient ponies who could fly very long distances. They were given high explosives and told to fly into griffon territory, drop the explosives on houses, factories, farms, before flying all the way back. Griffon territory was well over five hundred miles from our forward bases, so only the best were considered.

I tried to join the fighter ponies. At least I knew they existed. I turned and twisted and showed off my agility, then went for speed. I didn't think I did too badly, and they rewarded me. I received a posting to a fighter base in the south of the country, and I rode the train there the very next day.

Only problem was, I met the commander of the base. And he didn't like the look of me.
“What are you? You're no fighter pony.”
“Sorry, sir, they sent me here.”
“No, no, this won't do! You're built like... a truck. We need a sports car. You're nothing like that.”
“I apologise, sir.”
“Why must they keep cursing me with this!”

Now that made me feel bad.
“Oh, it's not you.” He said, laughing a little. “It's those people back at training camp. They need to manage their recruits better. Right, now what to do with you...”
An assistant, or a secretary or something, hurried up beside the commander.
“Okay. You need to get the train to Whinney. There's an airbase there. By the time you arrive, we'll have it sorted.”

So I got another train, this time overnight. I woke up in Whinney and found the airbase. A lot of ponies were suspicious when I asked for directions, like I was a griffon spy, but when I turned up at the entrance, I was welcomed in.
“Welcome... you are Avro?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent! Welcome. You'll fit in perfectly.”
Quite the contrast to the other base.

I found out why I fitted in when I arrive in my bunkhouse. Instead of a group of athletic stallions, with mares billeted somewhere else, I found myself receiving a warm welcome from a group of very large, burly stallions.
“It's always nice to see a new face.”
“I hope you enjoy your time here at Whinney Bomber Base.”

“Wait, bombers?”
“Yes, we're bomber ponies. Didn't you get told at the training camp?”
“No, there was a mix-up...”
“Oh, well we're the bomber ponies. Biggest and best!”
They weren't wrong. I had always been among the largest stallions, but among these ponies, I was only average. They had wingspans big enough to sit two ponies on, and they all looked as tough as nails.

Before I was allowed to do any combat flying, I had to do two things, my new roommates told me. Firstly, I had to learn what I was doing as a bomber pony. And secondly, I had to beef up.

August

On my first night at the base, my stomach churned. I thought that my first combat flight was almost imminent. I was really wrong – it was over a month before I finally flew in anger. I spent two weeks eating raw carrots and exercising, building up my muscles. It didn't take long for me to blend in with the other huge, muscled stallions in the base. There were even a few new arrivals, who were much like I was, and I must have looked impressive to them.

Exercising all day every day in the hot sun was hard work. I did press-ups, crunches, sit ups... anything that would build up muscle. I could lift more and more weight as the days passed.
Once I could hold my own in a hoof wrestle with the more experienced fliers, I began training flights. Apparently the actual missions were easy – carry the explosive, drop it when you're overhead, fly home. And this was what I practiced, lots of dropping dummy bombs on targets thousands of feet below me. I got a little better than my initial terrible aim, but everyone in the bunkhouse told me that nopony was much good at it.

The only problem was, this didn't settle my nerves about combat. Every night when it wasn't too cloudy, ten to fifteen pegasi took off, holding the bright yellow bombs. When they came back, often one of two of them weren't with them. Nopony said a word about it, except occasionally to mourn their passing.

As it turned out, the lead pony on the base who actually flew anywhere was named Starry Night. Now, I'd seen Starry Night before, flying over my parents' house. He was easily the biggest pegasus on base, and he'd already flown twenty five missions. He was the ultimate veteran.
It was him that managed to calm my nerves, in the end.

On the night of my first mission, I was scared. I'd like to say I was brave, and ready to fight for my country, but I was just scared. I picked up my bomb and clutched it tightly to my chest, eyes wide and staring at the sky.
“Hey... Avro?”
I turned, and saw Starry Night standing behind me.
“Oh, good evening sir.” My voice betrayed me as it trembled.
“There's no need to be scared. Simply stay with the formation, and if you get in trouble, come straight back to base. Good pegasi are harder to find than good explosives.”
“Okay... thank you, sir.”
“Good luck, Avro.”

I don't know how he knew my name, but it did the trick. We took off in a huge group, fifteen of us this time, and quickly formed a V-formation, with Starry Night at the head. One of the key things about bombing was that it took place at night, instead of during the day like normal battles. August nights were short, but long enough to still make missions possible, so we were taking off in the dusk.
I was at the back of the V, on the left side. I'd heard horror stories, whispered by other stallions, about rookies (ponies on their first combat flight) being killed within five minutes. Being at the back meant I was responsible for protecting the rear of the formation, and it was a big responsibility.

Normally, griffon attack groups would ambush the formation on the way to the target, which that night was a large industrial city on the outskirts of Griffonry. Thankfully, though, there were no ambushes that night, which kept me safe all the way there.
As we approached the target, which was nothing more than a tiny dark spot on the horizon, I noticed two things.

Firstly, there were a lot more than fifteen of us. I counted ten formations, plus many more following us from behind. There were easily three hundred members of the RPF in the air as we came towards the final approach. Secondly, the griffons on the ground had guns. Big ones, all of which were aimed right at us.

They used extremely bright searchlights to try and pick out the dark outlines of us in the night sky, then shoot at us with fiery bullets. It wasn't until I saw the first few pegasi releasing their bombs that I got my first shock.
As the bombs exploded on the ground, destroying some helpless building, one of the flying white bullets hit a leading pegasus' wing. He burst into flame almost immediately and spiralled towards the ground.

His streaking fire outline struck fear back into my heart. The ponies who hadn't returned to base weren't just missing, they were painfully dead, killed by griffons. Fire or impact would be the cause of death, and neither was pleasant.

As our formation approached the city, it was already burning in the industrial sector. I dropped my bomb, breathing fast and feeling scared, into the heart of the inferno, then picked up speed and followed my formation out. They circled to the right and I followed, relieved that none of the fire had hit me as we'd gone over. The strange thing was, due to the deafening explosions and gunfire, when a pegasus did fall out of the sky like a comet, it was silent.

The way back was uneventful until we reached the coast, where we were jumped by a couple of griffons that had followed us. Starry Night was more than a match as he rolled and pitched, sending them into deep spirals, before pulling away. At least once or twice I thought he'd overdone it, but he always resurfaced and had soon lost them. His brave actions meant that the rest of the formation escaped unharmed, which didn't happen very often.

Landing wasn't particularly interesting. A few tired pegasi got it wrong and damaged their hooves or wings, but they were mainly okay by the next morning. I was okay, if a little shaken by the experience, and once I got into bed, I fell asleep instantly, despite the sun's first rays creeping into the room.

Chapter Two

Hell on Earth
Chapter Two

August

The three weeks following my first flight were the worst they could be. It rained, drizzled, thunderstormed and just generally was cloudy, but all of these weather conditions meant that there was no point flying. Every pegasus knew that lightning could kill just as easily as the griffons, and so could ditching into the sea miles from land.

I was one of the luckier pegasi on base, since I could swim. Most of them couldn't, and after hearing story after story of pegasi disappearing over the sea, you began to dread the fate of having to ditch. Floating in icy-cold waters, your wings burnt or sliced away, waiting and hoping that a ship would pass before you ran out of energy.
On runs to griffonry, the others suggested you had three or four hours before you sank. On more northerly runs, protecting our shipping, it could be as little as five minutes.

The weather ponies forecast another solid week of poor weather, so those of us with outstanding leave took it. I couldn't fly in the poor conditions, so I sat on another long, uninteresting train back to my parents house in the country. It was already halfway through August, and the wet weather meant that they would need all the help they could get with the harvest.

“Hi son!” My dad said, as I walked up to him, working in the field wearing a thick raincoat. “If you'd like to wait inside, we're nearly finished out here.”

I dried off with a towel I found in the bathroom, then made hot drinks for everypony. True to his word, my dad and mum appeared before too long, and drank their beverages gratefully.
As they sipped away and asked questions like 'how are you?' and 'what's the base like?', I felt a little sad. My mum looked cheerful, her cheeks tinged red from effort, but my dad was beginning to show his age. His coat was wearing a little thin in places, and I could see his teeth loosening.

“So, how was the mission?” My mum asked, sounding a little cautious. I wasn't allowed to talk about the specifics of missions to anypony off base, but I was pretty sure that my parents weren't griffon spies.
“Oh, it was quite scary really. It's boring all the way in and out, like waiting for news or something. You're constantly expecting a griffon attack, but they never seem to come. The scary part is the bombing run. It's like hell – blazing fires on the ground, bright searchlights that trap you, and then firey guns trying to shoot you down. But it's a job, and I expect it's no worse than for the earth ponies on the ground.”

“Well, I expect you'll know all about the withdrawal. We've now got no soldiers on the continent.” My dad said, pointing to the newspaper with his hoof.
“Yeah. We're actually expecting the griffons to begin retaliating with their own bombing offensive once the long nights return this winter.”
“Do you think they'll succeed?” My mum again.
“Yes. The bomber pony always gets through, but we've got huge numbers of fighter ponies ready to shoot them down when they try to.”
“Ah, but fighter ponies can't fly at night?” Clearly my dad was following the newspapers much more closely than I had expected.

“You're right. But griffons can't see in the night properly. We have highly trained fighter ponies who can see enough at night-time to defend, plus the main part of the griffon assault will come during the day. Only a third of our forces can fly, but all of theirs can. We're saving our trained bomber ponies for the safer night-time.”
My dad nodded. “That makes sense. Do you think we should be concerned? I've already built one of those bomb shelter things.”
“No, please don't worry. They're not interested in destroying the countryside, only our cities. Just go to the shelter if the siren sounds.”

After that first day, we barely discussed the war, except occasional nuggets of news. My mum didn't like the idea of me flying in such dangerous conditions, so my father and I did our best to keep the conversation away from it.
Mainly, we just worked hard on bringing in the harvest and drying it out. Wet grain would just rot, so once it had been cut down from the fields, we had to lay it all out in a barn and wait for the overworked local dragon to come round and dry it out for us.

It was a nice break, but my leave ran out after a fortnight and I was needed back at base. Most ponies had to build up their muscle again on their return, but all the heavy lifting and carrying meant that I had, if anything, got stronger during my leave. The forecast was for a sunny September, which to most ponies was a relief, but of course it meant more missions for me.

I waved goodbye to my parents and made the train journey back to the base, dreading the upcoming attacks. It was going to be intense – any spell of good weather meant attacks nightly, no exceptions. The horror stories I'd heard in my bunk room were beginning to make me lose my nerve, and the stress of attacking constantly would catch up with me with a vengeance, as I had seen it do to others.

September

In the end, it wasn't our bombing offensive during September that made headlines, despite the fact that it was the heaviest of the war so far. It was the fierce fighter pony battles taking place, with our brave pegasi trying to shoot down the griffons attempting to bomb our cities. The newspapers reported a moderate success for our side, which really meant it was fifty-fifty. My parents sent me a letter in the middle of September, saying that they'd heard news of one of our neighbours in the village losing a son in the battles. I'd never really spoken to him, but it was still horribly close.

September began brightly with the weather clearing, and the first Saturday was beautifully sunny. We all slept in to keep our energy up for the flight later that evening, which was guaranteed.
The sun set as we were setting off. My second mission actually made me more nervous than the first, because I knew what was waiting for me in the evil skies. In the end though, the only thing that made it notable was the fact that we finally had to deal with a proper night griffon ambush.

It was on the way in, which was to be expected. Starry Night pulled a few of them off, but many more began skimming in between our formation. Without any weapons to fight back, we were told to simply fly straight unless one was targeting us. Of course, one did – a horrible looking black griffon that melted away into the dark sky as soon as they were far enough away. They reappeared right on my tail and flew straight at me, claws outstretched.

I rolled to the right and broke formation, before diving towards the ground as fast as I could. The theory was that pegasi were faster than griffons, but I was a huge, heavy pegasus and my attacker was small and agile. I tried to roll left but it took ages for my huge wings to finally begin to go, and it ended up as a near miss. The griffon spiralled away, overshooting and losing any chance to turn and make another attack.

Breathing heavily, I rejoined the formation slowly, my nerves on fire. I still had my bomb, and there was a small orange glow on the horizon that was probably the attack area. We were towards the rear of the pegasus stream that night, which explained why the griffons had attacked us so readily.

As we went on the bombing run, the light from the burning city below illuminated our formation just enough to pick out vague shapes. Starry Night was still leading us, but a quick count showed that we'd lost somepony near the front, and somepony near the back. The way the formations worked was that experienced ponies moved up, and the rookies were at the back. With somepony missing from the front, we'd lost somepony experienced, and that meant I'd be moving up tomorrow night. The pony from the back was probably a rookie on his first flight.

Of course, I tried to steady my nerves with the thought that they'd probably just dropped their bombs and turned home during the attack, but there was always a lingering suspicion.
But the worst was yet to come. We passed over the target and I let go of the bomb, watching it fall down towards the target for a few seconds before pulling away to the left. As we did so, a searchlight caught the pony directly in front of me.

The way the tactic worked, if a searchlight got a pony, all the others would aim at it too, and so would all of the guns. The only way to evade was to dive or roll, which is exactly what the pony did. His name was Machine Part, and he was from the new bunkhouse across from mine. I could see his cutie mark – a heavy-set cog – just in front of me. He rolled right, away from the formation, and suddenly hundreds of firey shots began exploding in the air around us. Their shockwaves rocked us like waves in the sea, but Starry Night managed to lead the formation safely away. Everypony's eyes were on Machine Part, but our hoping was in vain. He dived severely, one wing caught fire, then he went into a spin and disappeared rapidly into the city below.

To my relief, the journey back was uneventful. We landed safely at base an hour before sunrise, and as we clocked off, the commander counted us. Starry Night was talking to the experienced flier who had disappeared during the griffon attack – he'd been injured but managed to get away. Once everypony was back, we were only missing Machine Part and the rookie, who I didn't know.

I should really try to introduce everypony I knew on the base. After a week's missions, it was almost like a family atmosphere.
First up was, of course, the Commander. We called him Commander, but I think his real name was Shield Wall. He'd flown twenty five missions early in the war, mainly against griffon troops and ships. Pegasi were only required to fly twenty five missions before they could retire from military service or take up a post in the administration. Unfortunately, a team of fifteen pegasi usually lost one a mission, meaning that your chances of reaching retirement were low.

The Commander looked after us, making sure we had everything we needed (within reason). Complaints, of which there were few, also went to him.
Commander's right hand man was Starry Night. Starry had flown twenty five missions exactly when I'd gone on my first flight, but he was an adventurer. He'd volunteered to go again for another twenty five. He spent most of the time he wasn't practicing or sleeping talking to the Commander, discussing tactics or the upcoming mission.

Starry Night was an amazingly good flier, and as a result he often took a lot of heat for the rest of the formation, at great risk to himself. Most ponies found it nearly impossible to shake one or two griffons, but he managed to regularly escape three or four. He was tall with a huge wingspan, and his coat was jet black, same as his mane. Only a few white stars on his flank made up his cutie mark.

Everypony, except the Commander, slept in bunk houses, each of which fitted four ponies. There were four bunkhouses, making up a total team of sixteen ponies, but there was almost always somepony injured or absent on leave, so the most that ever flew was fifteen, and that was pretty rare.
My bunk house included me, Avro, along with three experienced pegasi, all of whom were on their seventh or eighth mission. They were Brick Dust, Heavy Weight and Iron Girder, but we all called one another by our first names. None of us had our cutie marks, which was a nice thing to have in common. I was the smallest of our group, but only by an inch or so. We actually all had surprisingly similar tastes in music, food, drink and mares, and we looked quite similar. My coat was the lightest, a shade of grey while all of theirs were much closer to black.

I knew a few of the others on base, but you didn't speak too much to them, except at dinner. Your bunk house were like your brothers, and you shared everything – from banter about the mares in the local village to your darkest fears about flying.

Once or twice a week, when there wasn't a mission that night, you'd go down to the local pub and have a few drinks and try and pick up mares. I wasn't actually very interested in the mares. I wasn't entirely over my fear of flying, and being eighteen years old, I was more awkward than the others, who were in their early twenties. When they were trading stories about mares, I sometimes thought a little about Mossy Landscape. She was more like a pin-up than a realistic chance. She'd probably found somepony else anyway. I had no idea what she was doing or even where she was.

October

The air campaign against the griffon bombers hotted up throughout the autumn, and losses were getting heavier. They were still nothing like as heavy as ours, but we didn't say anything. The fighter ponies were glamorous and exciting, bravely defending the United Queendoms from the evil griffon attacks, while the bomber ponies were unappealing, muscled and uncouth, doing a dirty but necessary job.

I had leave scheduled for the first two weeks in November, after the Commander stopped me going away for Nightmare Night. We were facing a shortage that night anyway, so he allowed me to have an extra week if I agreed to go the next day. Of course, I said yes.
I completed my sixth mission during the first week in October. My bunk house were already past ten and feeling confident, but I'd got the hang of the missions now and I could keep up with their talk about more advanced tactics for shaking griffon fighters.

Over the missions, we'd lost two more pegasi. This meant that I was now flying twelfth in our formation, depending on who was available on a particular night. The less experienced ponies behind me were covering the rear, and Starry Night always had the front covered, so I was responsible for the left side. I began to get quite good at keeping the look out, scattering accordingly when griffons attacked, and re-forming when they were gone. Starry Night was a great mentor. He would go out for a practice flight at any time of the day or night, when missions weren't on, to help you polish up anything you liked. His theory was, the more you flew, the better you got, so he was always flying.

The seventh mission was considered unlucky on base. Unlucky seven and unlucky thirteen. Once you'd done those two, everypony said, you were much safer. The atmosphere in our bunk house on the morning of my seventh mission was terrible. Brick was on his thirteenth that night, and I had my seventh, and we all feared it could be our last.

The day was sunny but cold. I stayed indoors, like most ponies, and just ran the mission details over and over in my head. It was a long one, deep into griffonry, which meant we'd be going well before sunset. Starry Night said there could easily be two, three or four griffon attacks on the journey, which played on my mind. Being over the target was really scary, but it was nothing like the silent threat of a griffon tailing you and then coming in for the kill. You always dropped out of formation, so your death was private and a mystery.

This made it easier for everypony else at the base. When pegasi like Machine Part met their makers, it was horrific. You could see them burning on the way down, and all you could think about was the last joke they told, or that time they bought a round in the pub. But when somepony just slipped out of formation and you never saw them again... you had something else to think about.

Death, and the fear of it, hung like a curtain everywhere, whether you were on your own or with others. It was almost as if there was a skeletal, black-cloaked pony sat in the corner, looking out across at you all, picking its next target. There was no way of avoiding it. When Death came for you, there was no escape. You simply hoped it was swift.

Iron swore that the only pony that could defeat Death was the pony we called Lady Luck. Iron was openly superstitious – he always put on his clothes in the same order, and drank the same thing all the time. The rest of us weren't so open about it, but you were superstitious. Both Brick and Heavy had some kind of lucky charm that they carried. I didn't have anything. It was only lucky if it meant something to you, like a gift from a mare, or something you spotted in the grass. I was waiting for something.

Brick was playing with his lucky bit, passing it from hoof to hoof nervously. He and I were the only ponies on the base on their seventh or thirteenth missions, so everypony else simply looked at us and did their best to be cheerful. Brick was almost stunned, he just sat in a chair and stared at the wall. I spent what could have been my last few hours enjoying everything I could, like quiet conversation, and the sound of the wind whistling past the roof. When you overthought it, you could quite easily get into the state of mind where everything was an omen. I tried not to think. I thought about my parents and about Mossy Landscape, and about school and my parents house.

By the time we were stood on the runway, ready to take off, both Brick and I had calmed down a little. You always had the worst nerves before the mission, but once you were ready to go, it was just a job.

The sun set just as we left the United Queendoms and began flying over the sea. The only problem was, whoever planned these bombing missions had planned wrong. The griffons were ready and waiting for us.

The first, small attack hit before we ever reached the coast of griffonry. Nopony was hurt, but in trying to evade, one of the less experienced ponies had ditched his bomb and had to turn around and go home. We'd only set off with fourteen, and we were down to thirteen after just minutes of action. Smaller formations meant a lower chance of survival for everypony remaining.

As the first wave relented, a second wave arrived almost immediately. This one was vicious – we were over their territory and they were hell-bent on stopping us from getting through. Nine or ten griffons circled before picking their targets and swooping down. Once again, Starry Night drew them again, but two of them picked me and tailed me as I rolled and dived.

I did everything I could to throw them, but they didn't seem to want to come in for the kill. I was losing altitude at a worrying rate, and I had a couple of frights when I thought I saw a hill in the darkness rushing towards me. Still they followed, probably waiting for the perfect moment to close in and finish me off. I twitched, feinted, flew upside down and went into screaming dives, but they followed my every move. The small part of my brain not working overtime on manoeuvres was irritatingly reminding me that this was my seventh mission, and luck wasn't on my side. Maybe this was it.

I hated the idea of going down without a proper fight, so I pulled back towards the formation, hoping to get them to close in before I managed to gain altitude again. They did as I predicted, both of them attacking simultaneously at high speed. I dipped under their attack and rolled left, but they hung on in a tight turn and made a head-on grab. I felt their slipstream ruffle my mane, but that was all. They disappeared into the blackness, and I pulled back into the formation, relieved.

“Good job.” Starry Night said to me as I passed him. I slipped back into my place and waited with bated breath for the next time.
It wasn't long in coming, but this time they didn't aim for me. Another nine or ten attacked, and seven pegasi from the formation disappeared, including Brick. Seeing him fall into the blackness, suddenly pursued, sent a wave of ice through my stomach. I had no idea if he'd return out of the inky darkness. If he didn't...

We flew on, and Starry Night reappeared before long. There were no sign of anypony else for the longest time. It seemed like hours, but it must have just been a few short minutes. To my relief, Brick reappeared, flying on one and a half wings. The griffons had managed to rip plenty of feathers out, so he quickly was granted permission to return home by Starry Night. He swung around and disappeared. Injured pegasi were an easy target for griffon fighters, so he wasn't home yet, but it was unlikely that any would be hanging around.

After that, we reached the target. It wasn't my night, let's put it that way. As soon as we made our approach, I experienced for the first time what I'd heard others describe as a 'burning blindness'. The searchlights got me. At first, it was a bit like waking up in a sunny room, but as more and more lights hooked onto me, it burned my eyes intensely, even though I'd screwed them up in pain.

The shockwaves began and I knew they were firing at me. All those hundreds of anti-pegasus guns were aimed at me. Trying to escape the searchlights wasn't something you thought about, it was instinctive. I rolled and dived, hoping that my rapid movement would shake them. I knew from experience looking at others that once they'd got you, if you couldn't escape in ten seconds then you were finished.

The shockwaves were throwing my body around like a toy, sending me left, right, down, up, in every direction, each movement as violent as the next. Then, I felt a wave of heat and I was thrown horribly to the left, my neck cracking as I rolled through the air, totally out of control. As I did so, the searchlights lost their grip, and I beat my wings furiously to gain altitude and stop them getting me again. The heat scared me – I thought my wing must be on fire, but I couldn't feel any pain. Opening my eyes, I couldn't see anything except the searchlights scanning the sky and the red glow of the target. I couldn't see any other pegasi or make out any details, since my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness.

I turned for home, and found a formation of pegasi. Their leader said that Starry Night's formation was a little way ahead. Normally, I would just have attached myself to the back of any old formation, but I was anxious that the others in my formation didn't worry. Anyway, we'd already lost two pegasi. It was getting more and more dangerous for them.

Speeding ahead allowed me to skim past other formations. I had to keep my eyes peeled to pick out the dark shapes beating their wings. I finally found my formation after almost flying past them, and I slid back into formation. Horribly, my scanning count showed only ten – somepony else must have disappeared when I did.

The griffons seemed to have exhausted themselves on their attacks on the way in, and while they did attack us twice more, both times they simply aimed for Starry Night, and both times he escaped easily. The sun was peeping over the horizon when we finally landed, my tired hooves skidding a little on the runway, but I landed okay in the end. It really had been an ordeal, but most importantly, I was safe. Mission seven was out of the way, and I was clear for a few more.

As I headed over to the hut to clock out, I must admit I was a little annoyed that Brick hadn't been there to greet us. I was one of the last to land, due to my tiredness, but he could've waited up. Unless his injury was worse than I'd thought, and he was still in the hospital. Anyway, I clocked out, almost in a daze, and headed for the bunk house. Brick wasn't there – he was clearly still injured. Iron was there, but he was simply staring at an empty bunk. The bunk was expertly made – blankets tucked in, no rough edges – which meant that the orderlies had been in and sorted it out. There were no personal items around, and while we'd both heard about what it meant, we'd never seen it. Heavy Weight hadn't returned from the mission, and his bed had been cleaned out before we'd even realised.

When ponies disappeared, either they'd been killed, or they'd had to ditch. If they ditched, sometimes they survived and returned to the base a few days later, to everyone's relief. But somehow, both Iron and I knew that we would never see Heavy again. His deep guffaw and endless tales of life in the city he'd grew up in were gone forever, along with his irritating messiness and, perhaps, part of my heart.

November

By the time November finally ticked round, I was desperate for the leave. Heavy's death had left a shadow over our bunk house. Brick had returned from the hospital as good as new, but taken the loss of Heavy hard. He was talking about skipping a mission and claiming his wing hurt, but we talked him out of it. Skipping missions, however upset you were, was a big no. If the Commander found out, you'd be kicked off base and have to work for the rest of the war in a prison somewhere.

There were three more missions in October after my seventh and Heavy's last. That took me to my tenth – we had a drink in the pub on Nightmare Night, toasting my successful tenth mission, and of course, Heavy's memory.
Losing Heavy had torn our bunk house apart. Probability had always suggested that it wasn't long until one of the four of us didn't return, and we'd done well to go six missions without a loss. What made things worse was that, three days after Heavy went, they replaced him with some scrap of a pony named Fiddlesticks. He was always twitching and shaking, even when he was tired. He was also chronically lazy.

We told him he needed the stamina and muscles to make it to griffonry and back, but he preferred to sit around and play cards in the dinner hall. When his first mission came up, he was tired before we even got halfway there, and Starry Night got snappy with him for complaining. He got fed up and turned for home, ditching his bomb into the countryside. Once we returned from the mission, he was nowhere to be found. The Commander had just quietly and sensibly kicked him out.

Heavy's bed remained empty after that. The Commander said he'd be sending someone, but they hadn't materialised. I just assumed they'd arrive while I was taking my leave.

I went, once again, to my parents' house. November isn't exactly a busy time for crop farmers, but I didn't have anywhere else to go, really. Plus, I enjoyed seeing my parents.
Once again, my father and I had a conversation about how the war was going. Being on base, you didn't actually hear much apart from the stuff relating to the Royal Pegasus Force. Apparently, the griffon bombing raids had been quite intense, and despite heavy losses for the griffons, more and more of them kept coming. At this point, my mother went to make tea. She didn't like to hear about it.

My parents hadn't been attacked, but they'd had to go into the shelter a couple of times when bomber griffons passed overhead. One of them had dropped a rogue bomb into a field about two miles away, which they'd helped to fill back in with earth. But that was all of the excitement. While my mother was making the tea, which seemed to be taking forever, I explained what had been happening on base, and about Heavy. I left out the parts about me being attacked, because I thought it was better to spare them the worry.

“Here's the tea, dear.” My mum said when she returned, placing a tray of tea down on the table. I helped her pour it.
“So... have you met any mares you like yet?” This was typical of my mum. She always had a mischievous side, which as she had got older, turned into a healthy enjoyment of others' mischief.
“No mum, I haven't.”
“Sure? I hear those mares who work near the base are quite nice, there's always stories in the paper about fighter ponies getting together with them.”
“Mum, half of the fighter ponies are mares anyway.”
“Well, whatever.”

I spent the rest of the first week relaxing. It did help to get away from the base, and waking up knowing that you can go to bed that night, and not have to spend all night flying somewhere dangerous and worrying about not coming back. My parents didn't really have much to do with themselves. My dad had volunteered to teach at a local school over the winter, since some of the teachers had gone off to join the army, and my mum just knitted a lot. She offered me a scarf, but I turned it down. It was better that somepony on a freezing cold ship had it, since I'd probably never wear it.

Actually, by the end of the week I was considering going and buying some books to read. I was getting a bit bored rattling around the house with nothing to do, and it was too cold to do anything outside. Snow was forecast, so that would give me some time off missions, but once it was finished snowing, it'd be back to business as usual. Strangely though, once again the fates conspired to ensure that I didn't get bored.

I was up early on the Monday, getting ready to go into the village and buy those books, when I heard the radio news.
“In the biggest night of griffon attacks of the war, three cities have been hit. Two appear to be diversionary raids, and the third has completely devastated the centre of Manechester. Casualties are reported to be high as the dust settles this morning...”
I had stopped listening by that point.
“Mum? Dad?”
My mum was still asleep, but my Dad was up and making breakfast.
“Hi Avro. Want something?”
“The griffons have hit Manechester, according to the radio.”
“Oh, my. Is the university okay?”
“Probably not. I think it's best, since I'm free for the next week, if I head up there and see if they need help. I know the place, so I can probably be of assistance.”

And with that, I found myself speeding through the crisp air towards Manechester. As I approached, smoke was still hanging in the air above it. I suddenly got a feeling of dread during my descent, and I landed in a damaged courtyard, surrounded by smoking and rubble-covered buildings.

The university, which was a little way from the city centre, hadn't taken too much damage, although the casualties contained more than a few students. I was quickly recruited by the fire service to fly over the city, looking for trapped civilians or blocked roads. Admittedly, I'd hoped for something a little more interesting, but anything that could help was good. The only problem was, I didn't really see anything in all of my time flying, apart from the smoke and ruined buildings.

Despite flying over the blackened corpse of a lively city I had lived in until recently, the only emotion I felt was a strange one of guilt. When I flew into the hell that was Griffonry every night, was this what I left behind? Were there dazed griffons wandering the streets, trying to help put out fires and dig up the remains of civilians crushed under falling masonry? Did they look up at the slate grey sky and hope with all of their heart that the destructive hurricane called the Royal Pegasus Force didn't return that night?

By the time night fell and the rescue efforts were beginning to be called off until first light, I was feeling thoroughly miserable. Yes, the griffons were trying to kill ponies, but I was actively trying to kill griffon civilians in return. Were they really that bad? I mean, when I let go of that big yellow load and flew away in relief, it was crashing to earth and killing unarmed and unaware women and children... wasn't it wrong?

With nowhere to stay, I ended up finding a church hall that housed refugees and secured a bed. I planned to get up at first light and assist again, but I was tired and I didn't really know what I wanted any more.

But then, my life changed again. I saw two things that made me think otherwise.

The first was a green poster hanging on the wall. I'd seen hundreds of propaganda posters, posted by the government, advising ponies about everything from food shortages to air raids. But this was one I'd never seen before. It was intended to build up spirit rather than inform, and it had exactly the right effect. Normally I'd consider propaganda a little beneath me, but in this case, it was patriotism of the strongest kind that caught me.

The poster was an elaborate landscape, a picturesque painting of the rolling farmlands and gentle hills that were unique to the farmlands where I'd grown up. Ponies always came to visit during the summer, due to the natural beauty of the area. Underneath the picture were the words 'Do you want griffons here?'
I felt rage building up inside me as I thought about griffons seeing the beauty that I'd grown up in. There was no way they could possible be allowed to win as long as I was defending that. I pounded my hoof on the blankets silently, my eyes burning with determination.

But then I saw something that I would go to my death for, even more so than the beauty of the United Queendoms. And her name was Mossy Landscape.

“Hi, um, Mossy?”
“Oh, hi... no don't tell me, I'll remember. You're... it's one word, right?” She smiled, clearly embarrassed.
I was a little put out that she didn't remember, but it was only natural. I must be one of many in a long line of stallions she'd met.
“I'm Avro. We did dancing lessons together.”
“Of course you are! I'm kicking myself for forgetting that, I knew it! It was on the tip of my tongue, I assure you.”
“How have you been?” It was such a non-question. We were in a ruined city and our lives had been turned upside down since I'd left for the RPF. Nothing could really describe it adequately.
She blushed a little as she helped a couple of fillies get into bed. “Not too bad. I stayed on after you left, but since the university has been ruined, I suppose it's better that I start helping the war effort.”
“So that's why you're here?”
“I volunteered to help out at this shelter after the bombing last night. It was pretty awful, so I hope that I can at least help a few ponies in this nightmare.”
I nodded. I didn't want to tell her about being a bomber pony – she might have resentment for anyone who was willing to inflict wanton destruction on towns and cities.

“I hear you're in the RPF now.”
I was busted. “Um, yeah, I've been in it for fourteen weeks or so.”
“With your build, there's no way you're a fighter pony. Not with all that muscle. What's it like? Being a bomber pony?” A slight twinkle in her eye and a trace of a smile suggested that she was teasing me a little.
“Tough, and dangerous.”
“Oh, listen to the hero talk. Excuse me while I bask in awe.”
“I didn't mean it like that...” My turn to blush.
“I know you didn't. Anyway, I think I'm finished. Do you want to go and sit outside? It's a little cold, but better than being stuck in the stuffiness here.”

We ended up sat on a chunk of chimney stack that had collapsed from a nearby warehouse and was yet to be dragged away. A chill breeze was whistling down the remains of the street, so she sat close.
“You didn't say goodbye.” She didn't look at me, just stared at the blackened brickwork ahead of us.
“I tried to find you, really. But I had to go, you know how it was.”
“I suppose. I considered joining one of the pony land armies, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for farming.” Her laugh was divine; it was more of an amused breath, but it flowed like silk.
I stamped my hooves a little to keep them from going numb. “I'm sure you'd be great. Better than risking your life here.”
“You're right. I hate to disappoint you, but I think I'll actually go into nursing.”

My heart ached at this suggestion. Nurse ponies were renowned throughout the armed forces for being the most beautiful, caring ponies, and the idea of Mossy becoming one tore me in two. Part of me desperately wanted to see her take on the air of professionalism and grace that made nurses so attractive, but another part didn't want her to be constantly chased by other stallions.
“I think that's a great idea. You'll make a brilliant nurse.”
“Thank you, Avro, you're very sweet.” She leant over and rested her head on my shoulder. “Why did university have to end like this?”

I didn't really have an answer, so I changed the subject. “We should really keep in touch. I mean, if you'd like to.”
“I'd love to.”
“What's your address? I mean, I'll write whenever I can. I write to my parents at least once a week, but they're boring, and sometimes it's boring on base and I want someone to write to, and...” I tailed off, staring at the floor to try and hide my embarrassment over rambling.
“My accommodation was destroyed, so I don't have anywhere to stay at the moment. My parents' address is Nineteen, Sycamore Close, Trottingham. They'll be able to forward it to me, wherever I'm staying.”
Silently, I memorised the address. A lot of ponies on base wrote to their wives or girlfriends as much as twice a day during heavy periods, so I was secretly very pleased to have someone to write to.

“What about you?”
“Oh, I'll include it in the first letter. Saves you having to remember.”
We both fell silent and just stared at the night sky. It was cloudless, which meant that we weren't staring at a reflected red glow from the few fires still burning throughout the city. But it also meant something rather more sinister. In the same instant I processed the implications, a siren began screaming somewhere behind us.

“Air raid.” Mossy said, leaping up and setting off at a brisk canter towards a doorway marked 'PUBLIC SHELTER'. “Come on.”
I followed her as my ears picked up the terrible beating of hundreds of wings in the distance, my heart in my mouth and the sudden smell of panic flooding the air. The griffons were back for round two, and I was smack in the middle of my worst nightmare. Flying through hell was terrible, but being on the ground was even worse.

Chapter Three

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.