Fallout Equestria: Airborne

Prologue: Air Superiority

For bladder-loosening dread, the explosive whoosh of decompression following a lucky artillery blast ranks right up there with the wail of the barracks' air raid siren, the silence before post-battle roll call, and the bark of a backed-up toilet. A second ago, I figured myself unlucky having experienced only the latter three. Glass continued rolling beneath my hooves and I found myself having a hard time keeping my teeth on the control yoke. The cold air was fogging up my helmet display, damnit. Some days I feel cursed.

But hey, even cursed ponies have to make do in wartime. I survived boot camp, flight training, and Vertibuck school. I sure as hell wasn't going to let a stupid zebra shell through the cockpit window ground me now, despite what all the red blinky warning lights and spinning altitude gauges were trying to say.

Wow, those are spinning really fast.

I woke up under bright white lights. Let me feel real quick... yep, these are hospital sheets. Time to count: one, two, three... four! All limbs present and accounted for, rudimentary counting skills as strong as ever. Wiggle this one, wiggle that one, we have movement. And with a painful heave, we are now in the upright and locked position. This is your captain speaking, you may return to whatever lovely painkillers we have coursing through our veins at this time.

I moseyed on over to the foot of the gurney and read the charts. Looked like a few cracked ribs, sprained right hind leg, almost broke my neck this time. Shame it didn't kill me. I should head over to the CO's office, but I was sure I lost the Vertibuck and I didn't quite feel up to the task of getting chewed out for it. Again.

"COLLATERAL!!"

Fuck. That's me.

As the yellow mare stormed up to my bed, I zoned out, wondering for the millionth time what the hell was going through my parents' heads when they decided to name me Collateral Damage. I get it, the war was just starting out and that's all anybody could think about. They wanted a son who'd grow up to be a hero. Turns out they had a daughter: me. And of all the war names they could think of, they came up with Collateral Damage. If fate or destiny or any of that bullshit is real, that's like naming your child Unnamed Soldier #5. I should've been dead before the first act with my name misspelled in the credits.

Of course, they had the good graces to die while I was too young to question them, leaving me with almost nothing. Fuck, I couldn’t even get dad’s wings or mom’s horn. Apparently a Pegasus and a Unicorn can bear an utterly useless Earth pony and then saddle her with a worthless name. Despite my best efforts, though, I’m still walking, talking, and crashing Vertibucks. Cursed to live through damn near everything.

A two-hooved shove to my chest knocked me out of my reverie. As I fell on my rump (it turns out my sprained leg can’t take much weight), Spitfire towered over me, eyes burning. I could see a little spittle on the side of her lips and an eyebrow twitching.

“What the HELL were you thinking up there?!” she screamed. “Twice now. Twice we’ve had to drag your fucking carcass from a Vertibuck wreckage. You know we have very few Verts to go around and you were flying an eyes-only mission. Why the fuck were you engaging hostiles?!”

I could feel the other patients’ eyes on my back as my hackles rose. "I didn't-" I started.

"There's a reason no one will fly with you, Colly," she continued, gritting her teeth. "You're too much of a fucking danger to yourself and your partner. Silver Streak is still recovering from the last time you went down, and she put in a transfer request to Miramare to get away from you. If you weren't one of the best pilots we have left, and if we hadn't recovered most of the Vert you just trashed, your ass would be court-martialled and locked up so fast you'd be lucky to fly even a fucking paper airplane again."

I stumbled back to my feet as she turned on her heel and marched off, muttering, "I don't care who her parents were, if the ground doesn't kill her soon enough, I will." I felt my face growing hot as I limped back to my bed, daring anyone to match my gaze. Ponies left and right turned back to their magazines, TV shows, and hospital dinners.

Looks like my Pipbuck and helmet survived the crash, thank Celestia for small miracles. I knew Spitfire would personally see to turning my ass into glue if I ruined one of our only working prototypes. I've heard rumors I was outfitted with the Pipbuck and HUD helmet because I was the only Earth pony pilot and I needed every advantage available to keep up with all the Pegasi, but it's bullshit. Spitfire knows it's bullshit. I'm as good as any of those bird-brained fucks and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

With a satisfying snap, the Pipbuck clasped shut onto my left foreleg. I packed my helmet, the tattered remains of my flight suit, and my dog tags into my saddlebags and swung them over my back, grunting from the pain. I needed a new suit, a hot shower, and a stiff drink, and not in that order.

As I hobbled along to the base bar, I passed a team of repair ponies who all gave me dirty looks. If I read their faces correctly, they were a bit heated about the lump of metal they were tasked with fixing, the one that last night looked and acted like a Vertibuck. Can't say I blame them, but that's what they're paid for. I break it, they fix it.

I don't have too many friends here in the base, and that's the way I like it.

The bar door stuck more than usual, causing a brief spasm of pain through my ribs as I wedged it open. Dark, smoky air greeted me like an old lover, mixed with a hint of stale sweat and sharp alcohol. The heavy wooden bar had seen its fair share of service - dark scars stood out against the wood grain, silent guardians of stories long past. The stools stood empty, so I stole a spot by the corner. The bartender returned my nod, sliding over a tumbler of Wild Pegasus. It wasn't anywhere near my favorite, but it'll get the job done.

"Keep 'em coming, Rivers," I rasped as the whiskey hit my throat. "It's been a long one."

Whisky Rivers started cleaning dirty glasses and grunted. As the burning reached my stomach, I gingerly stretched out my sprained hoof. It wasn't too bad. Nothing a night of drinking couldn't cure. I threw back my second drink and watched the sun set through the grimy, dust covered windows. Spitfire was pissed, but she'd be fine in the morning. Despite the alcohol, I worried over the Vertibuck and whether they'd still give me another chance to fly. I hated being grounded. Absolutely fucking hated it. I tapped the bar for my third and threw down some bits to cover my tab.

With alcohol in hoof, I made my way to a booth by the jukebox. An old Sweetie Belle standby warbled through the decrepit speakers, and I tried to hum along as I slid my rump onto the vinyl-covered seat. Looked like I had the bar to myself so far, early as it was.

My hoofs started shaking as my voice ran dry; the whiskey wasn't calming me like I'd hoped. I felt the old anger creeping back up as a lump rose in my throat. Anger at needing a Vertibuck to get off the ground. Anger at the snide remarks shot behind my back by passing Pegasus pilots. Anger at knowing that despite my Celestia-given talents, I was a second-class pony here at Adams Apple Air Force Base: a flying pony with no wings. As Sweetie Belle sang, I lost myself to the fire and prayed that next time I wouldn't walk away from the wreckage.

The pounding in my head shouldn’t have been enough to wake me up, and it wasn’t. The base sirens were screaming. I could feel more than hear the klaxon wail of the base siren over my headache and it sent shivers through my stomach. The Pegasi had already left, leaving me alone in the barracks. Most of the beds lay unmade, and that shocked me more than the siren, considering the constant drilling we received on cleanliness protocols. I had to focus to hear the loudspeaker announcement over the sirens:

"ALL PILOTS REPORT TO THEIR STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT. ALL PILOTS REPORT TO THEIR STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Oh boy. I packed my saddlebags quickly and clasped my helmet to the bag strap as the announcement repeated. It took me a second before I remembered my flight suit was still ruined from my last adventure, so I steeled myself for the chewing out I'd get for arriving sans uniform and headed out the barracks door.

The halls were a flurry of activity. Ponies galloping left and right, and no one seemed to notice my hobbled trot as I made my way to the hangars. What threw me, however, was the focused, anxious look on a lot of faces I passed. Should I be worried? A small sliver of fear again started gnawing at my gut, but I swallowed it down and carried on. If today a big battle erupted, then maybe I’d be flying again. I could live with that.

I arrived at the hangars and immediately noticed that every pilot was in some state of undress, throwing on part after metal part of some new armor I'd never seen before. The Pegasi close to fully dressed looked like flying scorpions. I caught a glimpse of a rainbow-maned mare talking to several pilots before I was pulled aside by Spitfire.

"These new power armor models just came today, and thank Celestia they arrived when they did," she said. "Rainbow Dash informed me there is an imminent threat of major Zebra movement on Canterlot and we need to be on red alert. We're going to have all pilots in the air to continually monitor the skies until we're given the all-clear."

She threw me a lighter metal and cloth suit, one that looked very different from the other pilots. "Those new armors are Pegasi only. We need you up in the air today too, though, so Rainbow Dash brought a... different suit along for you."

She looked askance at the other pilots and lowered her voice as she went on. "This suit's created from stolen Zebra technology. It's fortified with enough healing potions to last you longer than you'll ever need, and comes equipped with a mild restorative talisman. Dash said she doesn't know just how much it'll help you in battle, but it should at least start mending your sprains and broken bones." She met my eyes again. "I can't begin to tell you how valuable this suit is, but Dash gave me the okay to give it to you."

I ran my hooves over the suit, and immediately they started to fade from vision. I gave a quizzical look to Spitfire. "If this suit is so valuable, why am I using it? I didn't ask for this. I'll be just fine in a regular jumpsuit, damnit.”

"You're the only earth pony pilot we have," she said. "There aren't any wing holes in this type of suit and Dash says we need immediate testing before she can okay the full line being built. We’re running out of time. The stealth capabilities aren't fully calibrated yet and we need live data results. You don't have a choice here."

As she went on about the suit, I watched my hooves fade to near invisibility and then flicker back into vision. Yeah, I thought, not even close to fully calibrated.

She leaned in close. "Look, I know I've been giving you a hard time, but we need you up there with us today. You are one of our best pilots and when you're on, you're as dangerous as any other pilot up there. I want all my flyers fully protected in the air, but there aren't enough power armors available for earth ponies, and the only available ones are too heavy for Vertibuck use. This suit is fully compatible with the Vertibuck's computers and will also mesh with your Pipbuck interface."

"I need you to stay safe today," she said. "Not just for the suit, but for our team and for yourself. I've never seen Dash this worried before. We're the best pilots Equestria has, and we can't afford to lose any of us." She grasped my shoulder. "Get dressed. We're in the air in twenty."

Well, shit. This was real.

I hurriedly shucked out of my saddlebags and stepped into the stealth suit. As I pulled the top over my head, I felt a sharp stab in my thigh and stifled a cry. It was followed closely by a similar sting in my foreleg. Medicine started coursing through my veins: I felt the throbbing in my head ebb, I didn’t have to favor my bad leg anymore and my breathing eased. Maybe this suit wouldn’t be a terrible idea after all.

With my helmet secured, I saw a few new icons in my HUD. First, I had a stealth meter that would flicker every few seconds like a record skipping. I'll figure out how to use that later. Second, I saw numbers of condensed healing potions, RadAway CCs, and Med-X capsules (large numbers). Last, I had an unlabeled percentage marker that I guessed stood for either the suit's condition or the talisman's condition.

I watched the percentage meter dip into the 60s before it started slowly crawling back up, coinciding with the last vestiges of pain leaving my head, chest, and leg. Must be the talisman. If it took almost a third of its power just to heal a couple fractured ribs and a sprained ankle, well, I better be careful.

"Pilots, fall in!" Spitfire shouted. I galloped over, standing at attention at the end of the line.

"At ease, flyers," said a new voice, razor-sharp in its delivery, slightly hoarse from overuse. I glanced over as Rainbow Dash started walking the line. "We've received intel that Zebra forces are moving en masse. Today may be a major offensive and we need all eyes up in the air. We are going to deploy across Equestria in single and double coverage. Radios are hot once you take off, so keep your communication channels open."

She pulled out a list and started calling out pilots and coverage areas. She came to my name last: "Collateral, you are going to be in single coverage to the mid southwest. You will be covering Splendid Valley, Ponyville, and the eastern edge of the Everfree Forest."

"Flyers, I can't stress enough how dangerous today could be," she said, turning back to the line. "We are all counting on you to be our first warning for whatever the Zebra military is planning. We’ve set up manned fueling stations within each of your surveillance areas, marked on your Vert computers. Fuel up only when you need to and then get back into the skies."

Her eyes started down the line, meeting every pilot for a second before moving on. "You've all been given a supply of Buck, Dash, and Mint-als in case of emergency. All your suits are equipped with healing potions, Med-X, and RadAways. I pray you won't need any of these, but you are our best Vertibuck pilots. You all are irreplaceable. Use anything and everything to ensure you arrive back in one piece."

I was startled to see her lip tremble for the barest second. I wasn't sure anypony else saw it. Her eyes had heavy bags under them, and she looked like she had aged years since her last visit to our base.

"Please, stay safe. Equestria is counting on you."

She raised her hoof to her forehead in salute as we mirrored her, and then she walked out the hangar doors.

I double and triple checked my suit, Pipbuck, and helmet, made sure I had my saddlebags stored away for later, tucked my dog tags under the thick neck protector of the suit, pointed a hoof up to the sky in reverence, and climbed into my Vertibuck. I owed the repair ponies a beer when I came back; everything looked exactly like it had pre-crash. My teeth still lined up perfectly with the divots I had made on the control yoke, and my hooves sunk neatly into the shallow traction impressions: hind legs into deeper static holds and forehooves cradling the throttle and brake braces. I buckled my hooves into place. A sweeping calm enveloped me as I connected my Pipbuck to the Vertibuck computer. I was back in the saddle.

Vertibucks all around me fired up while I flipped the ignition switch. The engine roared to life with an explosive thrum, vibrations rolling up and down the cabin as the propellers gained speed. The indicator panel lit up and ran through diagnostics before giving me the all-clear and adding a targeting sight and airspeed indicator to my HUD. I could smell the fuel burning, hear the whirr of the propellers churning over the engine, and feel the brakes stress, begging to be released. An intermittent crackle in my helmet told me when the other pilots connected in. My breaths came slow, shaking with need. I lived for nothing but the moment when the wheels left the runway.

I watched the other pilots maneuver out of the hangar with precision and followed them out to the tarmac, easing the throttle gently forward. We lined up on the runway, waiting for the all-clear from the buck with the marshalling beacon in his mouth. I tensed my jaw and steeled my hooves, ready for the powerful acceleration that played gateway to the sky. The marshaller held his beacon high and started backing away, clearing the runway for our takeoffs.

The beacon dropped and Vertibuck engines started screaming, sending chills down my neck. I watched the first pilots fire off like drag racers, knowing I too would soon be screaming into the morning air. And then it was all clear. I pushed the throttle brace forward, gently at first, with increasing pressure as the Vert picked up speed. The engines roared around me as I leaned into the acceleration. Sparse utility buildings flew by as I ate up yard after yard of tarmac, willing my Vert faster and faster. I hit full throttle and held the brace to the floor, literally chomping at the bit until I hit the right speed. The needle on the speedometer passed the required numbers as I pulled back on the yoke, feeling the wheels leave gravity behind.

I heaved out a whoop of joy as I angled the Vert up, gaining altitude and lining off towards Splendid Valley. My headset crackled one more time.

"Good luck up there, flyers. Eyes open."

Hours passed with little break from the monotony. I'd already refueled once and my eyes were starting to kill me from constantly scanning the ground and air. Staring at the same passing pastures and forests got old within the first hour, so I spent time practicing my aileron rolls and loops. I had mini-battles in my mind, attacking and dodging around clouds, pretending I was shooting down Zebra forces. I flew low across treetops, accidentally frightened a cow I blew over, and tried to see just how high I could fly before the Vert started stalling (turns out I could fly pretty damn high, Icarus be damned).

The sun touched the horizon as my headset speaker popped to life once more. "Teams 1 through 3, hit the ground and catch a 3 hour break," Spitfire said. "Teams 4 through 6, wait for group 1 to finish their break and then follow immediately. Teams 7 through 10, follow group 2. If we can make it through tomorrow without incident, we will start pulling teams home."

A chorus of Rogers followed her announcement, and several ponies radioed in for landing clearance. My eyes were starting to droop, but I had 6 more hours left on my shift till my break. Damnit.

Time crawled by slowly, and I found myself watching the clock as often as the ground and air. The Vert was starting to run low on fuel again, but I'd make it easily to the checkdown time. My stomach rumbled; I was running low on fuel too. I rubbed my eyes as I stretched out of the traction impressions, allowing the auto-pilot to carry me in a lazy circle over Splendid Valley.

I saw the Maripony facilities phase in and out of vision as the Vert rotated. I felt bad for the ponies stuck at work in their office and factory buildings. Even at its worst, I would take flying all hour every hour over working a desk job. Up here in the clouds, I was as free as I wanted to be. Being a Vertibuck pilot was the only way I'd leave the chains of gravity behind, and near every day I'd say I silent prayer of thanks to Celestia that, even if I couldn't have wings or magic, I still had one last outlet.

I watched the stars out the window and admired the rising moon as night fell. It was kind of funny to think that, scant decades after trying to take over Equestria by forcing endless night upon all its inhabitants, Princess Luna ended up actually becoming the ruler of Equestria. Ironic, right? We all grew up hearing the stories about how, before they became a part of Equestria's governing body, the heads of the Ministries managed to save Luna from her tortured alter-ego Nightmare Moon, reuniting her with her sister, Princess Celestia. The story of redemption was one of my favorite bed time stories when I was younger, but once I lost my parents I had to leave most of my books and stories behind. Kind of tough to keep too many personal belongings at the orphanage without them getting "lost" (stolen), "borrowed" (stolen), or stolen (you get the point).

I had promised myself I'd go back one day to the house I grew up in to get back my belongings, but before I was even old enough to attend flight school the house was razed for factory space. Another casualty of the war. My whole life had revolved around this damn war.

Before I knew it, my timer was sounding, reminding me to find the empty field by the refueling station to take a rest. I radioed in for landing clearance, received an affirmative, and touched down within minutes by the fuel barrels. Ponies charged out of the night, chocking my wheels and hooking up the ladder so I could climb out of the cockpit. I hadn't realized how cramped my legs were until I nearly tumbled off the ladder (and wouldn't that have been embarrassing). Two bucks brought over the fuel hose and started feeding my Vert's near-empty tank.

One of the mares handed me a survival pack and walked me over to a secured location beneath a pair of sparse trees, the little walk stretching out my sore muscles. I thanked her and started into my ration pack, forcing down the tasteless sludge with a generous gulp of water from the canteen. Mmmm, calories.

I found a thin sleeping bag at the bottom of the pack after I finished eating, and rolled it out among the smooth grass and tree roots. The night weather was thankfully mild, so the sleeping bag would be adequate for a simple nap. I unbuckled my helmet but decided against removing the suit. After spending all day in it, I found myself pleasantly surprised at how comfortable it was. It felt damn near like a second skin and weighed little. I kept my Pipbuck on too (I wasn't particularly good about waking up on my own, and the Pipbuck had a built-in alarm system).

As I squirmed into the sleeping bag, my hoof hit a tiny glass object. Puzzled, I fished out a small, unopened bottle of Buck Daniels that someone had hidden in the bottom of my bag. A smile crept over my lips. Spitfire, damnit, for all her yelling and pushing and raising hell, was a damn good pony. I chugged it in one go and felt the warmth spread down my throat to my arms and legs as my heavy eyelids finally slid shut.

Three hours is a really fucking short amount of time.

My mouth felt gummy as I rubbed crust out of my eyes. I'm happy there weren't any mirrors anywhere near my campsite, since I was sure I looked a hair short of full-blown hell. I clumsily rolled out of my sleeping bag and stumbled over to a small bush to take care of some morning business.

Bladder all cleared, I packed up the bag again and handed it off to the same mare from earlier, trying my best to not breathe on her (which I'm sure she appreciated). I wisely left the Buck Daniels bottle in the bush. It was still dark out, but my Pipbuck told me sunrise would be within the next couple hours.

I galloped a quick couple laps around the Vertibuck to get the blood flowing before I climbed the ladder back into the cockpit. Helmet secured, I ran through the starting routine once more and soon found myself back in the skies.

My mane did not sit straight today; I had to keep pushing the blood-red and cream strands out of my eyes. I would have to reseat my helmet to clear up my vision, but removing my helmet in midflight was a surefire way to another Spitfire lecture, so I let the hair stay where it was.

As the sun started peeking through the morning haze, something felt off. My mane prickled, portions along my neck standing up straight as I tried to shake off the unexplained anxiety I felt. I couldn't tell if it was the lack of sleep or the lack of action, but I felt paranoid as hell as I started my turn over the southern edge of Splendid Valley towards Whitetail Woods and the Everfree Forest.

"Get your damn head out of the clouds and get your eyes back onto the ground, Collateral," I growled at myself. "Do your job and worry about your worries later. Nothing has happened yet and nothing's gonna happen."

My headset radio sparked to life. "AA, I have a radar visual on a small target heading towards Cloudsdale," said one of the pilots. "It's moving at near-sonic speeds and I can't get a visual lock for intercep-"

A huge screech of feedback shot through my headset, causing me to drop several feet in altitude as I accidentally jumped forward on the control yoke.

"-ayday, mayday!! Cloudsdale-"

The rest of the message was broken up by a long, sweeping wail of feedback before the radio fell silent. After a pregnant pause, anxious pilots hopped on, frantically reaching out to base to find out what the hell was going on. The strained message from Spitfire that followed shot electricity through my whole body:

"Pilots, return to base immediately. Cloudsdale has been hit by a massive explosion. We do not know the full extent of the damage but we've lost all communication within the city." I heard Spitfire stifle a sob. "I repeat, return to base immediately."

Oh, Celestia. Dear, sweet Celestia. I could see where Cloudsdale should have been on the horizon. All that was left was a slowly rising mushroom cloud of green flames. I lost all feeling in my legs as I felt my stomach drop.

A bleep sounded from my radar.

No.

No no no no no no.

I desperately flipped on the afterburners and shoved the acceleration brace to the floor, watching a small, fast object race onto my radar screen. Maripony flew beneath me as I fought for every mile, beads of sweat dripping down my face as the control yoke shook in my teeth. The constant beep on the radar showed the small target racing a few miles behind me as I made a beeline for the forest.

Everything went blindingly white as the dot disappeared. I had a split second to recover before a massive shockwave hit my Vertibuck, a wall of heat and noise washing over the cockpit. Alarms started screaming at me as I lost power to the engines, the Vertibuck stuttering in the air. I fired the ignition over and over, begging the engines to fire again as I started losing altitude, nose dropping towards the forest. If I came down in those trees, I'd never survive.

Up ahead, too far ahead, I saw a clearing, a hill covered by acid-blue flowers. The engines coughed, sputtered, and turned over for a second, giving the Vert one final push upwards before dying for good. I gained enough altitude to feel a riotous surge of hope, and I pulled all my weight back as I fought the control yoke, frantically trying to gain enough height to clear the final trees for a touchdown on the hill.

I missed by feet. The underside of the Vert hit the last trees, forcing me nose-down into the hill. I felt a sickening crunch as I flew head first into the ceiling of the cockpit, hoof buckles breaking clean off as I flew through the glass and out into the air. I landed hard into the flowers, rolling over dirt and rocks for an eternity. I heard as much as felt my bones break and my skin tear.

I finished on my stomach, bleeding from Celestia knows how many gashes. I could barely move my forelegs and my hind legs stuck out at abnormal angles. From my ribcage down I was numb. I could feel blood dripping out of my broken muzzle.

I still had my helmet on, and I watched as the talisman percentage plunged. Warnings flashed across my field of vision, but I didn't feel any pain. I should be feeling pain. I rolled my eyes to the side and saw fragments of my Vertibuck splashed about. The trees I hit were on fire. No, change that, what was left of the Vertibuck was on fire, and the trees just happened to be along for the ride. We don't need no water, let the Vertibucker burn.

I felt an insane giggle creep into my throat, but I swallowed it down, trying to keep from losing my sanity. I couldn't think straight. I used what little strength I had left to curl in my working legs and turn my eyes up to the sky. I was just up there.

I lay there, feeling little and thinking less, the flowers around me slowly staining red. I watched more missiles streak overhead. My brain’s gears kept slipping.

As a couple more explosions rumbled nearby, I gave up. I had had enough. I was going to die, and at that moment I wanted nothing else. My last thought before my mind completely shattered: at least it's finally over.

Author's Note

Just in case anybody is re-reading this chapter, I had to change Neighless AFB to Adams Apple AFB (Adams AFB in Fallout 3) since I completely got my Fallout 3 and Fallout NV air force bases flipped. Whoops!

This change will be reflected in all current and future releases.

Love,
The DeciMayhem