Dustoff

by totallynotabrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Lightning Dust, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Other
Length: 3164

At this point, I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m being deployed to the war. Don’t worry about me. I don't.

At this point, I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m being deployed to the war. Don’t worry about me. I don't.

Information from Arya Stark
Editing by metallusionsismagic

Published 2014-11-02 11:00:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-11-02 11:00:04 UTC

Dustoff

At this point, I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m being deployed. The security officer is keeping things tight-lipped, but word gets around. I’m leaving soon.

Don’t worry about me. I just fly medical helicopters. Besides, what are the chances that I’d get in another crash? After what happened, the maintenance techs won’t be leaving anything to chance.

They said it was a million to one, something that nopony had ever seen before, something that was impossible to predict, the material defect that brought down our chopper. I’m sure Lightning Dust would like to know that it wasn’t her fault.

I’ve tried not to think about her, but as much as I try, I can’t help remembering. I don’t want to forget, but I don’t know if I can go on without her. Not thinking about it makes the hurt go away for a while but it’s always still there, just waiting to come out.

Like the other day, during my check flight with Major Shrike. We’d just taken off and I glanced up at the clouds. I remembered how Dust and I used to watch the sky as we lay together on the grass.

I must have zoned out for a second and Shrike yelled at me. I’d gotten loose with the controls and we were starting to go sideways.

I don’t think he knew that I was distracted. If he had, he might have grounded me. Nopony really knows how much I miss Dust.

I had known her ever since the first day of flight school. I’m sure somepony started to suspect we were more than friends, but we never went public with it. No way would that have worked out. We would have been sent to different squadrons to avoid conflict of interest.

Maybe later we could have made it official. I don’t think she and I could have hidden it forever, and I’m sure neither of us wanted to.
I try to think about other relationships, but I don’t have any hope of finding somepony like Dust. There’s no way I could find somepony better. Maybe time will change that. I try to keep an open mind, but it’s so hard. I can’t bring myself to want anypony else.

I try to have hope. I know that things can seem impossible if you’ve never done them before. I used to think there was no way I could ever be a helicopter pilot. It was Dust that helped me through flight school. She believed that I could make it, and applauded harder than anypony when my name was called at graduation. Somepony being happy that you’re happy is the most touching thing I can think of.

Dust herself was at the top of the class. Nopony was surprised. Even strapped into a chopper, she was more at home in the air than an earth pony on the ground. Any pegasus can fly, but simply flying made Dust happy. I loved seeing a smile on her face and gave up my spot in the helicopter to her when regulations and flight schedules allowed. Of course, I preferred to fly with her.

The military doesn’t sanction joyrides in expensive equipment, but being alone with Dust in the helicopter felt like a date. We got to fly together a lot. Nopony outright said it, but I think everypony else preferred to fly with pilots who didn’t make them look bad. Dust had a competitive streak a mile wide. She never made me work for her affection, though. I realized that she made an exception for me. I was her one and only, just like she was mine.

I couldn’t imagine going on a dangerous mission with anypony else. Dust and I were so in sync that oftentimes when working a difficult landing or troubleshooting a problem we actually talked less. A soft murmur over the intercom from her told me more than pages of an operation manual. A light touch on my shoulder from her wing indicated a direction or speed more accurately than any of the aircraft’s electronic systems.

It was unbelievable luck that the two of us were sent to the same unit after flight school. I think Dust asked for a favor to get put with me. A pilot like her didn’t typically go to a mundane medical squadron.

Flying the medevac choppers was all right. I certainly could have been put in a worse place. With Dust there, though, I could have been flying a desk and still would have been happy.

With the war on, we knew that we would have to go eventually. Neither of us talked about it. Just like we had been doing, as long as the two of us were together, nothing else mattered.

Sure, we did train for combat. Everypony constantly reviewed our gear and emergency procedures. Dust and I helped each other memorize the plans and practice the techniques.

Our unit wasn’t meant for fighting. The pilots and the medics that rode in the back trained to evacuate wounded soldiers from the battlefield. The markings on the choppers showed that they were for medevac only. We were there to help. Dedicated Unhesitating Service To Our Fighting Forces – DUSTOFF, right there in the name.

After joining an operational squadron, I thought my life couldn’t get better. An interesting job, a noble cause, and the love of Lightning Dust. I still remember the first time we used that word, love. It was just one syllable, four letters, but the first time I said it, it somehow made what the two of us had seem more real.

Dust and I were returning from a training flight. She’d executed a maneuver through the aerial traffic pattern that required incredible timing and skill, slotting the chopper between two other birds while not causing a safety incident. It put us at the front of the line for landing and saved us several minutes of waiting, getting us back on the ground faster so we could go home early.

We’d been talking earlier in the flight, making plans for dates and deepening our relationship. When Dust put us at the head of the landing order, I blurted, “I love you.”

For a moment, I wondered if I should have said it. I wondered how she would respond, joking, serious, or perhaps worse, hesitant? Instead, she glanced at me and smiled. “I love you too.”

After landing and finishing the debrief, she pulled me into a flight gear closet and kissed me hard enough that I saw stars. With her trademark confident smile, she left me there dazed, somewhat confused, but overwhelmingly happy.

Publically, we still attempted to keep the relationship a secret, but after that turning point there was no holding back in private. We went on longer and more elaborate dates. We started talking about future plans on the scale of months and years, instead of days and weeks. The sex was incredible. Dust didn’t do anything halfheartedly. Bedroom or otherwise, I did my best to give as good as I got. She deserved it. She was my one and only.

Dust seemed like the type who might be afraid of commitment. A few close friends had quietly asked me when I envisioned us getting married. Those plans were certainly in the cards, but perhaps not in the particular hand I was currently holding. Didn’t mean it wouldn’t come up soon, though.

I wondered how I would propose. I wondered if she was thinking about how to propose to me. Did that make it a race? I eventually decided that this was one contest where I would be faster than Dust.

Thoughts of engagement were on my mind the morning we got ready for a regular proficiency flight. Dust read the preflight checklist letter-perfect, although the two of us had been through it so many times on previous flights that it was starting to become automatic. I didn’t think I missed anything, but I had something else in my thoughts. We got airborne and headed out on the preplanned route.

I wondered where I should propose. Thinking about it, Dust might like it best right here in the helicopter. She loved flying and she loved me.

Dust had the controls, letting me work on other things. As much as I was thinking about tying the knot, I barely remember what happened next. Based on the mishap reconstruction the engineers did, a defect in the gearbox brought the main rotor to a sudden screeching halt, or it tried to. The momentum of the blades shattered the mechanism and dumped lube oil over everything, including the hot exhaust. In the next instant, the chopper pitched sideways as the torque came off the rotor and the entire drivetrain went up in flames.

We were upside down and tumbling before I could even make a move to correct. The controls moved under my touch, transmitting to me the feedback of Dust’s reaction. I knew she was making the right corrections, but the controls weren’t responding.

The helicopter slammed into the ground on Dust’s side, the freewheeling rotor tossing the fuselage into a full roll before stopping.
My ears were ringing from the impact and I felt as if the seatbelts had tried to dissect me like an apple slicer. My helmet felt heavy, and I struggled to move.

A moan made my hackles rise of their own accord and a shot of energy went through me. There was a layer of dirt on my visor from the turf kicked up in the crash, but by the sound of the voice I knew it was Dust and that she was in pain.

I ripped my seatbelt latch open and immediately fell from my seat into the other side of the upended chopper. Struggling to get my bearings, I heard Dust whisper my name from just inches away.

Fumbling desperately with my helmet, I pulled it off and threw it away. Vision finally clear, I saw Dust pinned in her seat by the crumpled door of the chopper, enveloping her with jagged metal.

Even just a few seconds after the crash, her flight suit was soaked in blood. I reached for her, trying to feel for her injuries in the darkened cockpit, pleading for her to tell me where she was hurt.

There was a faint whoosh and a sudden flare of light. “Fuel,” groaned Dust.

“We’ll get-”

She shoved my hoof, as much movement as she could muster. “Go.”

I could feel the heat of the fire. My retardant flight suit started to char. The floor window near Dust’s hooves had been ripped away in the crash and I went through the hole.

Crawling, I pulled myself across the cratered ground towards clear air. I was sobbing as I went, too weak to stand and not sure I wanted to anyway.

The rescue crew found me just minutes later, in the dirt with a faceful of mud, my body turned back towards the helicopter. Dust hadn’t cried out in her final moments. She didn’t want me to go back into the fire, although I tried anyway.

I didn’t want to go to the hospital. My only injuries were bruises and cracked ribs from the seatbelts and a small cut on my fetlock from a piece of metal I’d tried to pry away from Dust. She was the one who the medics needed to see, I insisted. But it was too late.

I already knew what had happened to her, but it was three hours later when I was bandaged and lying in bed that the news was delivered to me officially. Lightning Dust was dead.

By the time the information reached me, I was already out of tears. I’m still not sure whether it was preferable to have gone into a numb state. I wanted to feel horrible. I didn’t want to feel nothing about the fact that she was gone.

Over the next few days, while the accident report was still being written, I contemplated everything about the flight, trying to determine what had gone wrong. I came to the conclusion that it must be my fault.

A few of my personal effects were returned to me, but not the flight suit. When I asked a nurse, she told me that between the burns and the bloodstains it wasn’t fit for service and had been disposed of. I was grateful. Seeing dabs of Dust’s blood was the last thing I needed.

However, I couldn’t simply let her go. When I got out of the hospital, my first thought was something to remember her by. I went to her place.

I had her key and let myself in. I had never seen the place so quiet and dark. I hadn’t realized until then just how much I would miss Dust. The rooms where she had lived felt cold and empty without her, though I felt even worse.

After only a few minutes of looking around, I decided that I couldn’t bear going through the belongings she had left behind. Without her, it was all just junk.

I ended up sitting on her bed. Her scent was there, but now it just made me queasy. I’d never be able to think of it without remembering aviation fuel.

A feather or two had been left on the sheets. I was tempted to take one, but keeping a literal piece of Dust struck me as more than a little grotesque. I was still tempted, though. I ached to feel close to her.

I left without taking anything. I don’t know what happened to it all. Maybe her family collected it.

I saw a few of them at the funeral a few days later. We had never been introduced, though, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it now.

The service was to lay Dust to rest, although I had no illusions that it would put her to rest in my mind. The casket was closed. I didn’t know what was inside and didn’t wish to.

The military ceremony was moving. I tried to keep it off my face. A few times I had to stare into the distance and take a few deep breaths, ignoring the words, the salute, the music.

Dust would have liked the ceremony. It was a fitting tribute to her. She was an extraordinary mare and the world wouldn’t be the same without her.

My squadron mates took me to dinner afterwards. Somepony ordered for me and I ate without enthusiasm. They made sure I went home and got to bed. I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t been keeping watch.

A few times that night, I almost got out of bed again. It felt like I should do something. The ceremony was supposed to be tribute to Dust, but I felt like it wasn’t enough. She may have been at rest, but I didn’t feel at peace.

I began to realize that I already had a reminder of her to carry with me. I didn’t need anything to remember her by. I had the empty, longing feeling in my stomach that had replaced her presence in my life. That, and the scar on my fetlock.

I didn’t know how I was going to live that way.

The next few days I spent in a fog. Ponies from the squadron showed up, fed me, took me where I needed to go. I was back in military uniform quickly, although I wouldn’t be flying helicopters again until I passed a medical screening.

I didn’t know what the point was. I didn’t want to fly with anypony but Dust. But as the date for the medical evaluation approached, I knew that I would have to pass it. If I didn’t, then I would be out of a job. I didn’t know if I had the passion or talent to find work elsewhere. After all, it had been Dust who got me through flight school.

But more importantly, Dust wouldn’t want me to give up. She might have been better than me at most things, but she hated when I gave up and let her easily win.

And so, I went to the hospital and fed the psychiatrist a load of horseapples. I said that I didn’t feel guilty. I said that I wasn’t depressed. I said that I had never contemplated giving up on everything.

Restored to flight status, I was required to have check flights to make sure I could still pilot. I passed, although Major Shrike told me that I should pay more attention to what was going on in the present.

To celebrate my return to duty, the others took me to get plastered, their treat. I didn’t want to go drinking, but I wanted to go home and sit there alone even less.

I made sure to thank them. They’d done a lot to help me. I recognized that they deserved the appreciation, even if I felt that it wouldn’t matter much. I didn’t know how my life could ever get better. I wasn’t giving up, but just going through the motions felt like I was only prolonging the inevitable, whatever that might turn out to be.

It was good news to me that the squadron was going to be deployed. I wanted to focus on new operating environments and threat briefs and anything else that would take me away from thinking about normal life. Going on deployment would be less stressful for me than some, because there would be no one waiting at home.

But Dust would have been there with me. I would have been flying with her. After deployment, we can’t get married and build a life together. I have nothing to look forward to.

The scar on my feltlock is still ugly. It’s rather small and hard to see, but I got it when I tried and failed to pull Dust to safety, to keep her with me. There wasn’t time, the metal was too badly mangled, the fire was advancing, Dust was probably mortally wounded anyway. The scar is a reminder that there was nothing I could have done. There was not a single thing done differently that would have saved Dust’s life. I didn’t cause the crash. But that’s small comfort. Somepony I love is dead and it was inevitable. It makes me wonder what else is fated. Should I even bother trying?

Until now, I never knew what it meant to live without hope. At least now I know what it's like to live without fear. Having nothing left to loose is something I couldn't contemplate until I had to face it.

I leave for the war soon. I’m not counting the time until I deploy. I’m just taking things one day at a time. Thinking about the past hurts. Thinking about the future, now that Dust is gone, is even worse.

Don't worry about me. I don't.