Fall From The Sky

by Reaper-Of-Harmony

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad
Length: 2949

A fighter pilot veteran from the ancient Chaos War takes his old plane out for a fly, remembering his final mission as a member of the Equestrian Special Operations group known as the Wonderbolts.

A fighter pilot veteran from the ancient Chaos War takes his old plane out for a fly, remembering his final mission as a member of the Equestrian Special Operations group known as the Wonderbolts. Their last mission before they turned into a show group for the entertainment of the masses.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-14 02:40:13 UTC

I Fly

...

The rain fell from the black sky. The moon did not shine tonight. Only storm clouds and their everlasting downpour that saturated the ground.

...

The celestial water pattered on a stretch of asphalt, the straight black line drawing a long mark across the rolling foothills. A small metal building lay connected to the pavement, its rounded roof and walls made of corrugated steel. A large white door faced the dark straightaway, several small windows embedded in its wooden surface.

...

A yellow line ran across the pavement, curving into the green building. The rain’s constant drumming echoed inside, the bang bang bang  of water hitting steel rebounding off the thin walls and creating a large ruckus. But what was inside didn’t need to hear anything, didn’t need to sleep. It lay covered by a huge brown tarp, giving it a mysterious, amorphous quality. Two long, rounded pieces jutted off the main body, and a strange, cross-shaped structure adorned the front of the unknown object.

...

The large wooden door was opened, the rumbling of two unseen mechanisms pushing apart the two halves of the great gate. A large, buff, pony-like being stood in the rain as the entrance grew larger, until the opening was large enough to fit the mysterious object inside through. The pony’s brown cloak was soaked with rain, but it didn’t seem to mind. Maybe it was because underneath the fuzzy chocolate outer layer there was an azure bottom layer, completely weatherproof, with a yellow lightning bolt sewn into the fabric. It was an old flight jacket, turned inside-out, so the comfortable cotton layer was exposed to the downpour and the waterproof blue layer was pressed firmly against the pony’s large body.

...

The stallion walked inside the small building, and reached along the wall. His hoof hit a small white lever, and with a sigh he flicked it up, bathing the interior of the structure in an electric yellow glow. The twelve bulbs flickered on one by one, as the electrical current passed through each of their filaments and started the ignition. The pony stared up at the line of lights, his blue eyes partially obscured by his hood and face mask. The bygone product of a forgotten age. Electricity had been all but abandoned in the world he lived in, and candles were the main means of illumination. The Princess had even been so kind as to ban all electronic sources of light once her rule was back in place. She thought the tech was a relic of a past age that lead to chaos. The stallion liked breaking laws.

...

The strange object in the middle of the room was even more illegal than the lights that lit it. The stallion walked towards the tarp-covered thing, and grabbed a corner with both front hooves. The rough canvas of the blanket was covered with dust, but the pony didn’t seem to mind. He was wearing a dripping wet jacket, anyway. Besides, the drill sergeants at flight school were a thousand times worse than a soaked vest and a dirty tarp. he then proceeded to pull the blanket off whatever it was covering, a cloud of dust coming off with it.

He smiled at the shining steel plane for a second, the light of the bulbs flashing off its polished steel exterior. He ran his hooves over the long silver wings, felt the holes in the barrels of the machine guns, gently touched the huge red propeller, and rested his head against the emblem on the tail.

The yellow lightning bolt matched the one sewn onto his jacket, flanked by two pairs of wings. A white circle surrounded the entire symbol, shielding the bolt and wings from the reflective silver steel around it.

The pony climbed down from the rear elevators, his hooves hitting the concrete floor with a loud bang!. Slowly, he walked over to the back wall, where a few hangers jutted off the corrugated steel. He carefully removed his flight jacket, water and all, and revealed his dark blue coat and skin. His short mane was a pure jet black, and extremely curly. It hung from the back of his head in a short ponytail, but he quickly removed the red rubber band that held it there. His tail was as short as his mane, with a few red stripes cutting in between the dark black. His cutie mark was excessively disfigured, a round red scar covering it on the left side, and a huge slash wound contorted it on the right. From other’s perspectives, it looked like a roaring flame, but the pony didn’t care. He had lost his feelings for his mark long ago. What really mattered was the two nubs on his back, and the missing wings that should have adorned the old pegasus’ back. He ran his hoof over the wrinkles on his face, and felt the small scar over his left eye.

He walked back to his plane, free of any clothing. Quickly, the old stallion jumped onto the flyer’s left wing, then walked over to and opened the glass canopy that covered the cockpit. He slid himself into the pilot’s seat, laying on a comfy mattress in a natural flying position. His two forehooves gripped the steering column and the throttle, and his rear hoof reached under the comforter and threw up a pair of keys, which he caught with his mouth. He inserted the larger brass key into the slot at the center of the control panel, and the smaller one into a smaller slot that was colored red. He only turned the larger key, keeping the plane’s dual machine guns on safety mode. The bird’s massive 12-cylinder engine roared to life, and a small exhaust pipe belched out a burst of black smoke. Before the cloud could reach the cockpit, though, the stallion pulled the canopy shut, the glass overhang hitting the latch with a loud bang!.

The propeller at the front of the streamlined plane began to rotate at alarming speeds, the buzz of its spin echoing through the entire hanger. The thin metal walls shook as the plane propelled itself outside into the rain, water instantly smacking against the polished steel of the body. The massive machine taxied out onto the asphalt runway, the propeller whirring, the metal gleaming, the windshield wipers running.

He held the mighty vehicle at the middle of the runway for a minute, doing his pre-flight check. The plane roared hungrily, as if its source of sustenance awaited it in the clouds above. The stallion touched an old black and white picture of a mare and stallion that lay taped to the side of the cockpit, shedding a single tear before returning his attention to the controls.

He pressed the throttle all the way forward, releasing the wheel brakes as he did so. The plane lurched forward, the wheels skidding on the wet pavement. It slowly gathered speed, and as it reached the end of the runway, the stallion flicked the flaps to “up” and pulled back on the steering column. The plane’s nose rose into the air, the rest of the body and the tail following the propeller as it gained altitude,

Three weather ponies were busy calculating the amount of rain left in a cloud. They failed to notice the metallic flying object incoming on them until it whizzed past, smashing straight up through the cloud layer and bonking a pegasus on the head with a wing. The propeller fight flew around the pegasi for a minute while the pilot waved, his flight goggles on. He then did a few barrel rolls, a flip, and flew off into the night.

The pegasi didn’t even bother to give chase. The plane flew faster than a racing pegasus on steroids. No, faster than a griffon after he’s drunk a few gallons of coffee. And noisier too.

A stream of vapor ran behind the plane, trailing from its exhaust pipe. A few years back the stallion had traded the old V-18 gasoline engine on the black market for a vapor-condensing straight 12-cylinder. It used pressure from water vapor to push the pistons back and forth, and was quite good at its job. All it needed was a gallon of water every once in a while.

Flying in the starry sky, the pegasus touched the picture of the mare once more. The stallion held the mare tightly, in a friendly bear hug, although their eyes were anything but friendly. More like loving. The stallion in the picture looked a lot like the one who flew the plane, with the same black hair and blue coat, and lovely teal pupils. But had his wings, and his heart. The stallion who flew had neither. That stallion had died with his love, and this broken one had been born.

No wonder they decided to end the Wonderbolts in his name. The old pegasus had a name once. He had a love once too, and a family, and a child, and wings. Those things were gone with the wind. All he had left was his plane and this picture. The pink pegasus that he hugged was gone. Gone too early, gone before he could truly love her.

Cyclone Dash. That was his name. Leader of the Wonderbolts, back when they were a Special Operations Group. Now, a recluse, a mysterious old stallion who lived in a hut deep in the Everfree Forest, and who flew an illegal metal bird that scared the crap out of everypony which it flew by.

That last mission... the last time he had flown his flyer. And when she had fallen...

As he drifted into memory, the wind washed over a small black crack on the plane’s body, the remains of a welding job gone badly.

“Come on, Hurricane! We have to move!” shouted the dark blue pegasus, blood leaking from both his wings.

“Cyclone...I...” said the pink mare, holding a hoof to her chest. Blood stained her blue flight jacket red, the yellow Wonderbolts logo covered with red liquid. “I-”

She lifted her hoof off the wound, revealing a mangled mess of flesh and bone, sending a river of body fluids into the open. She groaned as she tried to free herself from the wreckage of her plane, a long piece of steel pinning her down.

Cyclone Dash unleashed a long burst of fire from the SMG strapped to his side, the 9mm bullets flying into the huge clouds of dust around him. He heard a pony scream as bullets impacted him, the hollow point rounds doing their job quickly and effectively. He fired another burst before limping towards the downed birds, his own among them. They had crash in Canterlot, and the castle was right in front of them. But the entire garrison of eidolons had been summoned by Discord, and they surrounded the Wonderbolts’ position, their triple-6 mm rifles ripping holes in the pilots.

Jewel cried loudly as the steel dug into her skin, puncturing it and creating another wound. She could not free herself from the plane, and every move she made caused warm red blood to gush out of the fresh wound and onto the comforter. Cyclone ran to her, his own leg scratched, burnt, but still useable (if barely). He carefully lifted the heavy metal bar off his fellow Wonderbolt, the pink pegasus mare gingerly climbing out of the cockpit. He grabbed her SMG, lodged in its holster, and strapped to to his own back. Dual wielding 9mms, he took to fight to the enemy, sending long bursts of suppressive fire into the army of ponies around him. Nearby, several other Wonderbolts climbed out of their crashed planes, coughing blood or removing shrapnel. None were as fit as Cyclone, and even so the dark blue pony could barely manage a quick limp. Jewel stayed with her bird, holding her guts in as the Wonderbolts were mowed down around her.

Cyclone emptied his last clip, and lifted both his hooves into the air as Discord’s eidolons lifted their rifles at his head. They didn’t shoot, but one noticed the badly-wounded pink pegasus panting nearby. While the others watched, the eidolon walked over to her on ghostly legs and leveled his rifle to her head.

“NO!!” shouted Cyclone, disarming the gun from a nearby ghost and pointing it at the apparition. He aimed, but not well, and fired. The recoil of the powerful weapon knocked him back into the other eidolons, and threw the rifle out of his hands. The 6.66 mm bullet flew at sonic speed through the air, penetrating straight through the target ghost... and into Jewel’s heart.

“NOOO!!! NO!!! NO!!!!” he shouted as the other ghosts crowded around him, one of them smacking a rifle butt into his face.

Immediately, he went unconscious, his vision fading to black in an instant. The eidolons left him on the battlefield, another casualty of the war. The limp body lay there for days, the resolve of its soul utterly crushed by his actions. As time passed, it disappeared with the rest of the bodies, consumed by death. The pegasus was still alive, still living, but fractured and broken, complete demolished. Cyclone stared death in the face, challenging the dark god to take his petty existence away from him and let him apologize to his love in death. There was no reply from the Reaper. Only the swift flick of a hand that sent the half-dead pony back to life.

The shining palace of Canterlot lay only twelve steps away from where he resurfaced. A SMG lay on the ground next to him, its clip full. Slowly and painfully strapping the gun to his side, Cyclone staggered towards the castle, ignoring his multitude of injuries and bruises, the broken bones and the internal bleeding. The dead birds lay next to him, their rotting steel carcasses rusting in the high winds.

Discord. Discord was in that castle. And Cyclone would stop him.

He limped into the strange pink-checkered hall, the two eidolons at the door holding their ethereal hooves up. Cyclone responded with a burst of SMG fire. Purple ghost blood covered the Wonderbolt’s ragged uniform as he limped ahead, the gun blazing at his side. He didn’t notice the bullets that hit his body, nor the crunch of his bones as eidolons came at him from all sides. His legs were broken, his skull was cracked, blood flowed from holes in his chest, back, and flank. Yet he continued on, ignoring the excruciating pain and focusing only on where his bullets flew and how many shots were left in the mag.

Discord himself opened the golden doors to let Cyclone in. Panting, blood-soaked, and badly injured, the pegasus stumbled in, one wing completely shot off and the other damaged beyond repair. From his count, he had one bullet left. One 9mm tungsten-steel hollow-point round saved just for this draconic fellow. He took aim, lined his big ugly head in the sights, and fired, sending the projectile on its course. All the dragon had to do was flick his wrist, and the bullet collasped in mid-air, bouncing off his head like a BB.

The damaged pegasus, near-death, couldn’t believe his eyes as the dragon stood up, unharmed, and laughed. His great jolly giggles echoed through the distorted throne room as Cyclone stared, dumbfounded.

The Wonderbolt, no longer able to support his own weight, collapsed just as two alicorns, sister and sister, marched into the room. His empty SMG clattered to the floor, his red blood staining the checkered landscape around him. The last thing he heard before fading to black again was the dragon’s maniacal laughter, his expression of  glee at being able to kill two unarmed alicorns with a simple snap.

Of course, that wasn’t what happened. But the pilot was half-dead. Critically injured and utterly destroyed, the doctors were amazed when he opened his eyes.

They had to amputate his remaining wing.

They had to perform emergency brain surgery, causing him to forget his own name.

They had to completely refill him with blood. They confined him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but that stallion didn’t mind.

He got out of the chair the moment he was discharged and raced off to find his dead bird.

“Ready to fly, Cyclone?” said Bristol.

“Check check.” said the little black box in her hoof. “This is Cyclone, we are cruisin’. Let’s give ‘em a fly-by.”

The propeller plane flew between six other ponies, each wearing a matching blue and yellow uniform. The pegasi flanked the mighty plane, and together they soared over a massive crowd of ponies of every shape and size, color and disposition. The old pony at the controls steered the bird like it was nothing, flying in perfect formation with the other Wonderbolts as they released fireworks, danced figure eights around each other, and put on a great show for the thousands of fans below.

“And,” said a regal voice on the ground. “We welcome our honorary member of the Wonderbolts, the famous Cyclone Dash!”

Princess Celestia pointed at the propeller plane, a microphone floating in the air in front of her.

Cyclone saluted the princess from inside his flyer, then proceed to engage his guns. He pointed the nose of his bird straight up, and unleashed a hail of tracer fire towards the clouds. Each bullet exploded with a stunning blue bang!, and the crowd below oohed and ahhed as the ancient fighter pilot danced the routine with the other Wonderbolts.

He smiled his wide, toothless smile, and soared away with the pegasi.