"Do you think we'll find anything today?" Private Pan-Pacific, a small grey pigeon with a slightly darker grey head, wondered aloud. She had been hopping around downtown Canterlot with the rest of her wing surreptitiously pecking the ground for food for the last fifteen hours. Or was it fifteen minutes? Pigeons were never very good at telling time and Pan was even worse than most.
Pan's commanding officer, First Private Pecksley, shot Pan a dirty look. "Shh! Do you want to give our position away to the enemy, Private?" Pecksley was slightly older than Pan, which put him in charge, regardless of experience or competence.
The wing's third and final member, Captain Fluffler, rolled his eyes. "Oh stuff it, Pecksley," he scoffed. "It's not like any of these filthy pony scum can understand our highly sophisticated and advanced speech-encoding equipment." As if to prove Fluffler's point an oblivious unicorn stomped through the trio, his ears barely registering the high-pitched coos and tweets issuing from the birds' beaks.
Pecksley fluffed his chest-feathers out in a display of dominance meant to intimidate an opponent by making himself look bigger. It didn't quite work since Fluffler was roughly twenty percent bigger than Pecksley normally. "That was out of line, Captain," he said. "I am your commanding officer and if I say quiet, then we shall be quiet!"
Private Pan-Pacific, who had watched the exchange with wide, terror-filled eyes, suddenly realized something. That unicorn that barged past a moment ago was familiar to her! She recognized his face from the dozens of wanted posters tacked up around Pigeon Central Command. "Hey guys!" she interrupted the argument just before it dissolved into fisticuffs.
"What is it?" Pecksley snapped, redirecting his ire onto Pan.
Pan quailed under her superior's baleful look. "That pony that just walked by," she said timidly, "I think that was Pigeon-Enemy Number One!"
All animosity between Pecksley and Fluffler was forgotten. "Really?" Fluffler asked excitedly, "Are you sure?"
"Of course she's sure!" Pecksley blustered. Pan squeaked when Pecksley wrapped a comforting wing across her back. "If she wasn't sure she wouldn't have dared to interrupt our little spat!"
For her part, Pan could only nod timidly. "Look what I tell you!" Pecksley said, clapping Pan on the back just a little too hard to be friendly. "Now act natural while I radio base with my observations." Pan was all too happy to escape the attention of her superior officer.
"Hold it," Fluffler said right as Pecksley pulled out his radio. An outside observer might state the radio looked like it was made of pebbles and wishful thinking. An outside observer wouldn't be wrong. "What do you mean 'your' observations? Pan's the one who recognized Pigeon-Enemy Number One, she should get the credit."
A high pitched squeak called Pecksley and Fluffler's attentions over to Pan. The timid pigeon was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide behind her own shadow. After a moment of silence Pecksley said, "I'll tell them it was all of us."
"Fine."
Pan looked immensely relieved when the two older pigeons' attentions shifted off of her. "I wonder what Pigeon-Enemy Number One's doing out in this part of Canterlot?" she mused to herself.
~~~
"Sir, the fifth wing is reporting in!" a young pigeon wearing standard pigeon-military fatigues, a green pith helmet and a purple wingband, reported. The stars on his wingband denoted the rank of lieutenant, not that ranks really mattered in a military comprised of pigeons. "They have vital information on the whereabouts of Pigeon-Enemy Number One!"
With much struggling and a half-flap of his wings the lieutenant maneuvered his way through the crowded command center. Pigeon Central Command was a hectic place devoted to the pigeon's secret ongoing war against ponykind. The war was so secret, in fact, that the ponies didn't even realize they were at war. Or that they were winning.
Dozens of unpaid interns piloted expensive unmanned surveillance drones from top-notch computers made of down feathers and bits of twigs with no fewer than three highly-paid executives rushing about trying to make themselves look busy. Not a single intermediary position existed to bridge the gap between intern and executive, leading to chaotic miscommunications between the two groups if they ever interacted. A wingfull of flashing strobe lights coupled with a two-bit smoke machine added an important "ambiance" to the scene. Distant explosions could be heard in the distance.
The interns and executives were backed up by a team of equinologists. Geniuses by pigeon standards, -which made them morons by pony standards,- the job of the equinologists was to study pony society in order to devise the best ways to disrupt it. Mr. Dr. Sir Chickadoodle V, Esquire of the Enlightened Feather, the greatest mind Pigeon-kind had ever seen was at the head of the equinologist team, and it was his tactics the pigeon-military used for the majority of their missions. According to this brilliant mastermind, the military's job was to, and I quote; "crap on everything."
General Grizzledbeak, an elderly bird wizened by years of dedicated service to the pigeon-military, smiled as the younger bird approached him. With deft wing movements he plucked the comically over sized pony-cigar out of his beak and twirled it around his feathers for a moment before flicking the unlit cigar into a corner. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. After a brief glance at his subordinate's wingband to determine rank Grizzledbeak continued, "Lieutenant, remind me to award wing five a commendation for excellent service later."
The plucky young lieutenant, whose name was Phil by the way, tentatively held the clipboard containing wing five's report out for the General to peruse. "But sir," Phil protested, "don't you want to read the report before awardi-"
There are horror stories told to recruits of the peristeronic army about the General's glare. Some say he can make a pigeon's head explode at a hundred meters. Some say his glare is so fierce, it once caused an entire herd of ponies to look at him in mild irritation! No matter what the stories say, the General's gaze was enough to make poor Phil faint from terror.
Grizzledbeak chuckled heartily at the generally timid nature of his underlings in recent times. With slow, purposeful strides he walked the few meters remaining to Phil's unconscious form. Like a rock in the middle of the sea, he parted the tides of the room around him as he moved, executive and intern alike rushing to move out of his way. With a powerful wing, the General plucked the report from the ground near Phil.
"Hmm," he hummed, a fresh pony cigar materializing in the corner of his mouth. "What's Pigeon-Enemy Number One doing in that part of Canterlot? Doesn't he usually stick to the hoity-toity district?"
~~~
Prince Blueblood walked the streets of Canterlot with a purpose. Unbeknownst to the pompous unicorn dubbed, "Pigeon-Enemy Number One", he was being followed. Several stealth-bombers, pigeons decked out in the brilliant urban camouflage known as "literally just being a pigeon in a city," floated on thermals a good distance behind him.
"Ugh, what is she doing out in this district?" the Prince wondered to himself. The lower half of Canterlot was not a place he liked to visit. Too much rabble around for his tastes. But one of the Prince's many shady contacts had informed him that his target was visiting some shop or other down in this part of town.
Delicately maneuvering around a small puddle on the sidewalk, Blueblood checked the address. His target was supposed to be near the corner of Muffin and Mane. "It should be around here somewhere," he muttered. He looked up at the street corner sign. It read Shale and Lombard. Blueblood's minimal knowledge of the lower city's layout told him he was nowhere near his destination.
"Hmm," Prince Blueblood muttered, tapping his chin in a regal way. The Prince looked around to get his bearings in a very princely way. "Ah!" he exclaimed softly, for he saw that Muffin Lane was only one block down.
~~~
Up on a nearby roof Private Pan-Pacific, First Private Pecksley, and Captain Fluffler trained their eyes on Prince Blooblood's every move. While the other two members of wing five stood watch, Pecksley made a call with his radio. "Pigeon Central Command, come in! This is wing five. We have an urgent situation here! Pigeon-Enemy Number One has managed to completely shake all three stealth bombers off of his trail!"
"What?" General Grizzledbeak's gruff voice could be heard crackling out of the radio. "How in the blazes did he manage that?"
Pecksley motioned to Pan, who peered over the other edge of the building behind them. "It looks like an old pony started feeding them bits of bread!" she squeaked.
"Blast! Those bombers are getting demotions for this!" The sound of Grizzledbeak's unlit cigar being thrown accross the room was clearly audible to the pigeons of wing five. "Keep on Pigeon-Enemy Number One's tail, wing five! Take advantage of any opportunity that you see and by the love of all that is soft and feathery, if you lose track of him I will personally make sure you are plucked and roasted over a fire!"
Pecksley gulped hard. The General was not one to give idle threats. "Duly noted sir!" he said into the radio. He motioned to Pan-Pacific that she could stop watching the deserters and turned to Fluffler. "What's the status on Pigeon-Enemy Number One?" he asked.
Without taking his eyes off the street below Fluffler immediately replied, "I've lost track of him, sir!"
Pecksley spent the next thirty seconds furiously shouting all the obscenities he could muster at the top of his little pigeon-y lungs. "How did you lose track of him?" he raged once he had finally managed to calm down enough for rational shouting. Without giving Fluffler time to respond Pecksley shouted, "Never mind! Do you know which way he went?"
"He reached the end of the block and turned down Muffin Lane," Fluffler said with a feathery salute.
"Well what are we waiting for?" Pecksley exclaimed, "After him!"
The three pigeons flapped towards Muffin Lane as if their fluffy little lives depended on it. Since their lives did, in fact, depend on their success, it was lucky that the three pigeons noticed Prince Blueblood enter into one of the buildings at the far end of the block.
Pecksley lead wing five onto the roof of the building across the street. With a nervous sweat Pecksley spoke into his radio, "Target has entered a building, please advise!" All three of them nervously scanned the building for some sort of entrance they could use, an open window perhaps. While one entire wall of the building was made of glass allowing the pigeons full view of their target, who was talking to a unicorn mare, there was no way for the birds to get in. "I can see our target inside, but I don't see any way in!"
First Private Pecksley could faintly hear one of the many pigeons in Pigeon Central Command exclaim in horror, "Oh no! What do we do?" This exclamation was followed by several solid thwacking sounds and a few pained groans before General Grizzledbeak's voice crackled out of the radio.
Despite being the most level-headed pigeon to ever be born, even the legendary General Grizzledbeak reached a point where he blathered about with no sense of reason. "I don't know! Try throwing yourself at the windows! See if that works!"
Pecksley, who had reached the point of reason-less blathering several minutes ago exclaimed, "Brilliant! Private Pan-Pacific! As your superior officer I order you to hurl yourself bodily at that window!"
Captain Fluffler opened his beak to protest First Private Pecksley's rather abusive order but, in an exceedingly rare moment of clarity, he realized that challenging Pecksley's order was more likely to only cause the task to shift over to Fluffler. "Um, ok," Pan-Pacific said timidly. While she was scared of the potential injury she was even more terrified of drawing Pecksley's wrath.
Not without a small amount of hesitation Private Pan-Pacific took wing. As she neared the window, she idly noticed that the Target's conversation with the unicorn mare appeared to have turned into some sort of argument.
~~~
Inside the building -which happened to be a small donut and coffee shop, in case you were curious- Prince Blueblood was not having a very good time. The conversation that pigeon wing five had noticed was not going as he had wished it to. In fact, the conversation had gone rather horribly and Blueblood now had to deal with a rather irate miss Rarity of Ponyville.
"Now see here-" the Prince began to say.
"No, I will not 'see here!'" Rarity cut him off sharply. Blueblood's ears folded back onto his head and he took a step back as Rarity took a step forward. "I will not agree to 'formally apologize for my slights against you' in front of everypony who's anypony in Canterlot! Not for at the Gala, nor for any of the other times you've just so 'happened' to be at the same social event as me." Rarity advanced another step and Blueblood retreated up against the counter of the shop. "In fact, it should be you apologizing to me for the absolutely dreadful way you behave every time we have the misfortune of meeting!"
Rarity took one more menacing step towards Blueblood. The Prince shrank back against the wood of the counter as much as he could. Nervously Blueblood stammered, "Perhaps you would agree to just an informal apology right now then?" as a sort of compromise.
To Blueblood's surprise and fear, his new recommendation elicited a scream of fury from the mare and a hoof raised as if to strike him. He cringed away from the impending blow and closed his eyes.
At that moment, a loud "Thunk!" could be heard from the window. Everypony froze. Blueblood was cowering up against the counter with Rarity poised to slap him silly. The shop's proprietor was behind the counter, frozen in the act of trying -and failing- to clean a dirty coffee mug with a half-eaten donut. The three other patrons who had been watching the conversation with interest all jumped and rushed to make it appear as if they hadn't been eavesdropping. All at once, everypony turned to look at the source of the noise.
A fat grey pigeon had smacked into the window. For some reason, Prince Blueblood felt a faint amount of malice coming from the bird. With a high pitched squeaking sound the fat grey pigeon slowly slid down the window until it was out of sight.
Prince Blueblood was quick to capitalize on the awkward silence that ensued. "Let's say we agree this never happened and I beat a hasty retreat before you slap me."
Rarity took a deep breath, lowered her hoof, and took a step back. "Yes, I believe that would be for the best."
The Prince took his cue to exit the building.
~~~
Mr. Dr. Sir Chickadoodle V, Esquire of the Enlightened Feather beat General Grizzledbeak over the head with a clipboard. "You idiot!" Chickadoodle screeched. "How could you forget the number one pigeon attack plan?"
General Grizzledbeak cowered away from the blows. "I'm sorry!" he blubbered, "I forgot we're supposed to crap on everything!" The General ran to the radio and swiftly called up wing five. "Wing five! Come in wing five, this is the General!" he barked.
"This is wing five," a voice that the General vaguely recognized as belonging to one of his underlings crackled through the radio, "your last plan didn't work and the target has just exited the building! What do we do!" Chickadoodle covered his face in his wing when he realized that wing five had been dumb enough to follow the General's order to fly into the windows.
The General adopted his serious voice; the voice he used when things got serious. "I need you to execute the number one pigeon attack plan," General Grizzledbeak said seriously.
"The number one pigeon attack plan?" the wing five pigeon asked.
"Yes, the number one pigeon attack plan!" the General roared. Several ponies in Pigeon Central Command flinched back from the volume of his voice.
A moment of slightly awkward radio silence occurred. "No, um," the wing five pony sounded unsure, "what's the number one pigeon attack plan?"
The sheer loudness of the General's shout clearly portrayed how important it was in the pigeon military that the pigeon who could yell the loudest was given the fanciest rank. "Crap on everything!"
"You can count on us!"
~~~
Almost before the words had finished exiting Pecksley's beak Fluffler was saying, "I'd like to volunteer for this mission, First Private Pecksley, sir!"
Taken off guard Pecksley jumped with surprise before stammering out a reply. "Sure, sure, Fluffler!"
Fluffler smiled internally because he had successfully grabbed the credit for completing the mission. "You can count on me!" Fluffler said with a cocky grin on his beak. Without missing a beat he flew straight and true, right over Blueblood's head and released his load.
~~~
Rarity quietly steamed as she watched that Boor, Prince Blueblood, retreat from the building. A small, vindictive part of her wished she actually had struck him a moment ago, instead of letting him walk away scott free.
She sat down at the counter with a small huff and took a deep breath to calm down. She fixed her gaze on the shaken shopkeep, who had to force his eyes away from the space where Blueblood had previously been cowering. "One small cup of-" Rarity started to order.
Her order was cut off by a very un-manly shriek from just outside the shop. When Rarity looked outside to see what had caused the noise, she couldn't quite keep herself from letting out a small chuckle.
~~~
There was a most glorious splat.
~~~
Pan-Pacific jumped for joy as Fluffler fluttered back over to wing five's rooftop. Pecksley breathed out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding in. All three pigeons were feeling very accomplished as Pecksley radioed Pigeon Central Command with the news.
"It's over, General, we've got him!"
~~~
The entirety of Pigeon Central Command exploded into cheers. Executives were high-fiving interns who were whooping with glee. Somepigeon had procured streamers which they were throwing everywhere and a couple interns were wheeling a keg out of the closet. One of the executives suddenly flicked a switch on a wall and a set of turntables and a disco ball slid out from nowhere. In the span of just under seven seconds Pigeon Central Command kicked a party into high gear.
A jubilant General Grizzledbeak gave a hard clap on Mr. Dr. Sir Chickadoodle V, Esquire of the Enlightened Feather's feathery shoulder and picked up the radio. "Mission accomplished, wing five, come on home!"
Author's Note
Thoughts?
