Slipstream

Spitfire gestured a hoof to a small chair in front of her desk. I paused, re-adjusting the tie of my uniform in an attempt to regain a little composure before sitting down. I was shaking from the unexpected flight I’d just been subjected to and the adrenaline was still flowing, causing my muscles to twitch involuntarily.

Her office was painted a deeper blue than the corridor had been. Horizontal blinds were half-drawn down large arched windows, offering a generous view of the airfield outside. A light breeze currently flowed through the window that was still open, cooling the thin layer of sweat that had accumulated on my brow. There was a model of a pegasus pony wearing one of the blue flight suits and a pair of aviator goggles on her desk, alongside an official looking plaque bearing a lightning bolt between a set of wings. It was the same emblem that featured in the many photographs of flight suit clad pegasi adorning the walls.

Spitfire herself looked oddly calm and businesslike, a stark contrast to the fierce mare I’d first met out on the tarmac. She currently sported a white shirt and black tie beneath a navy bomber jacket, which was decorated with various medals and other military insignia. I’d never imagined a pony would wear such formal attire. Her dark amber eyes were barely visible behind a set of designer shades, and her shortly cropped, two-toned orange mane was radically styled—a fitting tribute to her fiery personality.

Settling myself in front of her desk, I glared at her. “Damn right, we need to talk,” I panted, still trying to catch my breath from all the inaudible curses I’d been throwing at Fleetfoot. “I won’t be one of your whores. Ever!” I shot the last word at her as though I intended it to cause her intense physical pain.

She hardly gave any reaction at all. Instead, she responded with only three words: “Yes, you will.”

The fuck? I gritted my teeth in defiance. “Did you not hear me-”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. You have a dick, am I correct?” She waited for me to contradict her. I kept my silence, too angry to say anything at this point. “The Wonderbolt Academy is full of mares—all of them a lot stronger than you are. With the severe lack of stallions, one of them is bound to take an interest in you at some point. You might as well learn how to deal with it when it happens.” She listed off her reasoning in a matter-of-factly fashion, clearly implying I’d be rather foolish to consider any other course of action.

Something severely bugged me about what she had said, but I was more focused on the fact that she’d just insulted me. I didn’t take kindly to anyone insinuating that I was weak, and this overly-chatty flying horse was about to learn that the hard way. I lunged over the desk, aiming a fist at her muzzle in a blind rage.

Predictably—though not for me at the time—she dodged out of the way with almost effortless ease. A flurry of flapping wings temporarily clouded my vision before I was unceremoniously thrown backwards by a strong set of forehooves.

Had she let me fall back and smack my head off the floor, It probably would have been a very bad day for me. Thankfully, though, she darted forwards—grabbing my shirt with her teeth at the last second and using her wings to slow my fall.

We came to rest on the floor of her office. I was expecting her to jump up in disgust right away, but instead she let her hind legs straddle my waist, whilst pressing a fuzzy yellow forehoof to my chest. It was alarming how heavy she felt—the increased gravity ensured that I was well and truly pinned.

“You see—it’s that easy. Luckily for you though, it’s not my time of the month,” she said, with an air of coolness that reminded me of Fleetfoot.

I cleared my throat, desperately trying not to let fear betray my voice—and even more desperately trying to ignore a certain something else. “Fine. You’ve made your point, but I’ve got a better idea. How about you just let me and my crew go?”

She rose up, stepping aside and offering a hoof to me. Begrudgingly, I took it, pulling myself to my feet. “You’re useful, or rather—your ship is.”

“Then fucking keep it,” I spat at her. If she wanted the jet in exchange for our freedom, then that was a deal I was willing to make. It’s not like it was going to be of any use to us now.

She seemed completely unfazed by my anger, trotting back around to her chair and sitting down again. “I intend to. The thing is—you’re the only one who can fly it,” she pointed out. I drew in a breath, slowly reclaiming my seat in front of her desk. I didn’t like where this was going. “Plus—I’d lose favour amongst my soldiers if I let two young, relief giving males slip away.”

I suddenly realised what had been bugging me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait—Jason’s into guys! You can't expect him to… that would just be...wrong!”

Spitfire tilted her head to the side in light of this new information. “Hmm… I suppose you have a point. I’ll see to it that he is left alone.”

I blinked, caught off guard for a second. Well, shit—that was easy. I decided to try my luck. “Me too—I-I’m gay as well,” I quickly said, nodding my head enthusiastically.

At this—the pegasus smiled. “Oh, really? Then why did you get hard for me?”

Fuck. I’d really hoped she hadn’t noticed that. The fact that she’d went and brought it up made it a whole lot more difficult to deal with. I had indeed felt the first stirrings of an erection with her straddling my waist like that. Something about the intensity of her eyes, the way her wings had momentarily fanned out from her body and the weight of her tail against my thighs incited a biological reaction that I was definitely not proud of.

I shivered in disgust, concluding that my stupid penis just couldn’t tell the difference. A warm female crotch pressing against my junk was nice, but ultimately it was up to my brain to make the final verdict. It was definitely still a very resounding hell no.

A few tense moments passed. Spitfire didn’t press me for an answer, she just observed me for a while as though I was a mildly interesting television programme.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by an extremely loud explosion, causing the whole office to shake. My ears were instantly thrust into tinnitus hell, ringing as though I’d been to a Motorhead concert all day. Instinctively, I glanced out of the window.

What I saw shocked me almost as much as the giant star bears had. The airbus was still sitting safely on the runway, but there was a large ring of blinding blue and white light expanding across the sky directly above it. I dived for cover beneath the desk, fearing the worst.

I waited for the catastrophic shockwave, but… it never came. I then realised I was an idiot. If that had in fact been a nuclear detonation then I’d have been vapourised, along with the whole damned base.

Spitfire rolled her chair backwards, its castors squeaking a little as she glanced down at me with a bemused look. I returned her gaze. My face burned with mortification as I quickly realised that from this angle—I could see her...everything.

Two sparsely furred mounds with large teats on them sat nestled between her hind legs, eventually giving way to a patch of thick, bushy yellow fur beneath which a thin, faintly pink slit was barely visible between a thick pair of lips. I stared at that thin slit with nary an ounce of shame. It intrigued me a hell of a lot more than I’d ever care to admit. It was like seeing a car wreck—you know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t take your fucking eyes off the thing.

“Why don’t you take a photo? It’ll last longer.”

Her sarcastic remark pulled me from my mindless ogling. I hastily rolled myself out from under the table and jumped to my feet, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Apparently, the pegasus didn’t seem too bothered that I’d just been staring at her goods—evidenced by the fact that she got up to look out of the window.

I watched her scan the airfield, forcing myself not to look at her swishing tail. It was disgusting—the thought of what she wanted me to do. I was still very much adamant at that point that I wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort, despite what had just happened. As far as I was concerned, it had been a matter of simple human curiosity. Nothing else.

I sat back down in front of her desk yet again and cleared my throat. “So, you mind explaining what the hell that huge ass explosion was?”

“Fleetfoot,” the pegasus answered, finally turning away from the window.

I gave her a skeptical look. “Did she set off a bomb or something?”

Spitfire chuckled. “No. She’s just a showoff.” I waited for her to elaborate, but she changed topics instead. “So, will you fly with us?”

I thought about it, and the more I did—the more ridiculously farfetched and overly optimistic her little plan sounded. The jet required highly specified, regular maintenance, administered by trained professionals, not to mention it was pretty dangerous to fly without the proper guidance systems in place. I was pretty sure Equestria didn’t have a functioning ILS—this base certainly didn’t, at least. There was also the minor setback of engine one needing a complete overhaul, and the fact that the tanks had barely any fuel left.

I nervously glanced at Spitfire. She was still patiently awaiting an answer. I didn’t particularly want to deny her considering what she might do to me, but I couldn’t really see any other option.

“Look, Spitfire…”

Her observant expression never faltered as I explained to her why her plan wouldn’t work, nervously fiddling with my tie and silently hoping she wouldn’t overreact. By the time I’d finished, my palms were sweating and I was doing my best to avoid her gaze.

A few moments of silence passed before she spoke again. “Follow me.”

She strode past me, exiting her office into a sky blue corridor not unlike the one I’d visited with Warmfront earlier that day. I followed, unsure of where she was taking me. My mind immediately assumed the worst. What if she was going to lock me up? Perhaps with nothing but an estrogen crazed mare for company? I shuddered at the idea. If I thought I had any chance of escaping then I’d have probably made a run for it right there, but thinking back to how easily Fleetfoot had scooped me up as if I were nothing more than a helpless field mouse kept me in place.

Fleetfoot. There was something infuriating about that mare. It wasn’t just the fact that she’d made me squeal like a blonde in a horror movie, either. It almost seemed like she enjoyed tormenting me, and that weird little chuckle of hers just added insult to injury…

We rounded a corner into what appeared to be a lobby of some sort. A couple of ponies behind a long receptionist desk shamelessly stared at me as though I were the main attraction at a circus freak show, until they noticed Spitfire, of course.

“Ma'am,” they chirped in unison, hastily saluting the pegasus as she trotted by. Spitfire ignored them, the dynamic of her hoofsteps becoming more pronounced as she passed through the double doors of the carpeted lobby and out onto the heat shimmering tarmac of the airfield.

The sun was high in the sky, the climate resembling that of Los Angeles in summertime. I didn’t mind the heat per se, but I often found it a lot easier to deal with in small doses.

I glanced at the Airbus. Several ponies were milling around it. Some were even walking along the wings. A large blue cover had been placed over engine one, the sight of which caused an unexpected surge of emotion in me. The shock of meeting these sapient creatures had worn off enough for me to fully realise the implications of what had happened.

Someone… somepony had lost their life. Other ponies would mourn. Some would blame me, and if I was honest—they wouldn’t be completely wrong in doing so.

I could feel it already. The urge. The itch that demanded to be scratched. The dreaded shakes… It was manageable, for now. But if I didn’t satisfy that urge in a timely manner then life was about to become very unpleasant, as it always did during any prolonged period of abstinence.

We continued on in silence toward a very large cloud at the edge of the mountain top. Two pegasi were waiting for us there, one of which I recognised as the mourning pony that had accosted me upon first landing here. Her eyes were so full of hatred that I actually slowed my approach, even stepping a little closer to Spitfire. It was pathetic, I know—but this pony looked about ready to kill me.

Her ice blue and white tail flicked in a clear display of agitation, and it was easy to see that she was only holding her tongue—and possibly her wrath—due to the presence of her leader. Spitfire gave her a look, and the seething pony calmed down somewhat. It wasn’t really much of a comfort if I was honest…

The other pony—whilst a lot more cheery—looked only a little less formidable due to the presence of one of those huge miniguns on her back. She had a yellow coat with a slightly windswept mane and tail the colour of teal, and there was a picture of three water droplets on her flanks. Come to think of it, all of these ponies seemed to have pictures on their flanks.

I took the opportunity to study the oversized firearm on her back. It had six long barrels, supported by four guidance rings, and it was constructed of what appeared to be some sort of strengthened alloy. I couldn’t see any sort of motor, but it did have large glowing sapphire embedded into its base.

It was mounted onto a saddle on her back that was rather cleverly designed to allow unobstructed movement of her wings. A large box was attached to the saddle at her underbelly, from which an ammunition belt connected to the base of the gun. This was certainly a pony that it would be extremely unwise to fuck with...

Thankfully though—she smiled at me, her bright blue eyes shining with warmth. I would have smiled back—she did seem pretty friendly, after all—but the lilac-coated pony beside her looked furious, pointedly glaring between the two of us.

“Crack it open,” Spitfire ordered. The tension instantly abated with her command, the two ponies launching themselves into the air to carry out her bidding. I observed with mild enthusiasm, curious as to what that bidding entailed. They moved in almost perfect synchronized symmetry, darting from side to side in rapid succession. Part of the large cloud was eventually abolished by their efforts, offering a clear view of… Holy shit...

This cloud wasn’t a cloud at all, at least by any conventional definition of the word. It resembled what I could only describe as an aircraft hangar, complete with some of the weirdest machinery I’d ever laid eyes on. Large scaffold-like metal structures rose high up above several bizarre looking vessels that looked like aircraft, but had no wings. If anything, they looked a lot like an odd cross between a Concorde fuselage and an oversized missile.

There were six of them, all lined up parallel to one another. All of them boasted several side doors, each with its own mounted minigun. They didn’t even take up half the area of the hangar though. It was immense.

Spitfire smiled at my astonishment. “Impressed?” she asked, stepping closer to the edge of the mountaintop.

“Wow.”

The pegasus chuckled, before casually uttering four words I never would have expected her to say: “Climb on my back.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I coughed, momentarily covering my mouth with a fist. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you said ‘climb on my back’.”

She raised both of her eyebrows. “Well, I wouldn’t advise trying to walk in there yourself, not unless you have a death wish, of course.”

I considered it—for all of about three seconds that is. “Nah, I’m good here, thanks.”

She grinned. “Really, Jack? You’re a pilot afraid of heights?”

I snapped my gaze to her. “How do you know my name?”

She didn’t bother to answer me. She did however, dart behind me and unceremoniously headbutt her way between my knees. Before I knew it, I was straddling her back. My immediate reaction was to try and roll off, but the devious pegasus flared her wings and hopped forward onto the cloud-floor of the hangar.

“Spitfire—damn it!” I cursed, slipping to the side as my left foot instinctively stretched down, searching for a solid surface. As expected, it sailed straight past her planted hooves and into the cloud with absolutely no resistance at all. I yelped, latching my arms around her neck and pleading with her to take me back to solid land.

“This seriously isn’t cool, Spitfire! Take me back and put me down, damn it!”

“Were not done yet,” she simply said, casually trotting toward the friendly pony that had greeted us on the mountaintop. The one who hated my guts seemed to have disappeared somewhere, for which I was grateful.

After a fair amount of panicked struggling—to which Spitfire seemed fucking oblivious—I eventually managed to pull myself upright. I didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to hold onto. Her mane seemed like the obvious choice but I was a little worried to touch it in fear of it being impolite. Although, at this point, she’d rendered me a hell of a lot less prone to manners by forcing me onto her back. Fuck it. I grabbed a handful of her fiery strands, just above the base of her neck.

“Raindrops—go get a sample of-Holy Celestia—”

Spitfire span her head and levelled me with an incredulous look mid-sentence. Her maw was slightly open, her ears were flat, and her wings gave a rather noticeable twitch beneath my thighs.

“You ever heard of boundaries?”

“Wait—what? Me! But, I—you…” I spluttered, my cheeks burning with utter mortification as I released her mane and tried to balance myself on her back with my arms. I would have been furious at her hypocrisy if it weren’t for the fact that I was terrified at the prospect of falling to my death.

Evidently, she noticed my discomfort and slowly smiled. “If you’re really that interested then come see me in a month or two. I have to warn you though, I like to play rough.” With that, she promptly turned back to the gun-toting pegasus. “Go get a sample of sky iron.”

I didn’t know where to put my face. It felt as though it was going to melt off from the sheer heat of my embarrassment. I was about to argue with her—claiming I wouldn’t be up for her little proposition at all—but I decided that it was probably a foolish idea considering the circumstances.

The pegasus aptly named “Raindrops” hesitated for a second, her maw hanging open in shock. She eventually cleared her throat. “Umm… sure thing, boss.”

I watched as she disappeared behind one of the strange looking aircraft. An awkward silence ensued, during which I sat on Spitfires back—pointedly glaring down at the top of her head and cursing her with my thoughts. Fuckin’ sarcastic horse makin’ me look like an idiot...

Her ears swivelled. She turned back towards the airfield just in time to see two pegasi landing. I instantly recognised one of them as Fleetfoot. Fucking great.

She was wearing a ponified version of a blue tracksuit with white stripes running down the legs, and her mane was tied back into a… ponytail, of all things. Quite frankly, I found the image bizarre. There was just something about her. I fucking hated the fact that I didn’t hate her. It was just weird—normally I didn’t have a problem hating anyone.

The other pony was a stallion. He was a little larger than Fleetfoot, and his coat was a slightly lighter shade of blue, creating a sharp contrast to his navy mane and tail. His green eyes regarded me with mild curiosity rather than the insolence I’d come to expect.

“Jack, meet Wing Commander Soarin. You’ll be answering to him in regards to your new comforting duties.” Spitfire declared, giving the stallion a nod. She then motioned to the pony beside him. “I believe you’ve already met General Fleetfoot.”

Fleetfoot's big lilac eyes flitted between me and Spitfire. She gave a particularly lazy grin. “You’ve got a little something on your back…” she trailed off, feigning concern. I glared at her, trying to summon my loathing. I failed… Fuck this shit.

Spitfire merely rolled her eyes, turning to face the rear of the hanger where Raindrops was now busy clamping a thin sheet of metal to one of the scaffold towers. After giving it a good kick to make sure it was secure, she fluttered back over to us.

“Stand back,” she said, as her left wing clipped against the gun on her back. A small, curved bar flew out from the mounting mechanism with a satisfying metallic ‘clunk,’ stopping just in front of her muzzle. The gun barrel began to spin with an odd, somewhat ethereal whirr. Spitfire, Fleetfoot and Soarin took a few steps back as Raindrops’ wings flared and she bit down on the bar in front of her muzzle.

An ungodly roar of rapid fire spewed from the oversized firearm. It was so loud that I snapped my palms to my ears, lost my balance and actually fell off Spitfires back. I would have fallen straight through the cloud if Fleetfoot hadn’t intervened. I didn’t even see her fucking move, but she was crouched underneath me in a split second, her wings spread. Instinctively, I latched my arms around her neck, trying to deal with the ridiculous amount of adrenaline flowing through my veins as she got to her hooves.
“F-Fleetfoot...take me back to the mountain. I don’t fucking like this…” I stuttered, clinging to her back in a rather undignified manner. I was pretty much lying on top of her—my stomach to her back, my head right next to hers. I could smell her earthy, distinctly feminine scent, as well as hear the air rushing in and out of her muzzle with crystalline clarity. Her mane brushed against my neck, surprising me with its softness as my arms remained clamped around her neck.

Of course—the only response I got from her was that stupid little chuckle. God damn it...

Spitfire gave a skeptical look. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at me, or the still snickering pony I was clinging to. Either way, I returned a scowl. “Okay, can we get to the point please?” I shot at her, carefully pushing myself up to a sitting position on Fleetfoot’s back.

Spitfire gave another nod to Raindrops. I tightened my grip on Fleetfoot—half expecting the yellow pegasus to start firing again—but instead, she flew over to retrieve the thin sheet of metal.

“This is the armour we use for our ships. In order for your ship to be useful, it will need to be fitted with sky iron,” she said, retrieving the piece of metal from Raindrops.

“What!?” I snorted. “Okay, first of all—you try armour plating a three-eighty, and that thing’ll drop faster than a drunk girl in stilettos. Secondly—you want me to fly a superjumbo through a fuckin’ war zone. Are you serious?”

Raindrops gave a shocked expression, nervously glancing between me and her boss. Spitfire blinked, pausing for a second before speaking. “Catch.”

She threw the piece of metal at me. I caught it with ease, instantly noting it was a hell of of a lot lighter than I thought it was going to be. Like, featherweight light. Several large dents were visible on its surface, but not one single bullet hole.

“That gattling gun fires fifty calibre rounds at five thousand rounds per minute. As you can see, the sky iron is pretty effective. The griffons don’t have anything anywhere near as good as this, but they make up for it in numbers,” she explained, gazing out of the hangar at the jet. “As for flying through a warzone—no, that would be ridiculous. What you would be doing is flying nearby, with your ship readily available for pegasi to rest.”

I looked at her, idly turning the metal over in my fingers. The terms she’d just described sounded more reasonable, now that I thought about it. Still, I couldn’t see why it had to be the Airbus. “But, you already have plenty of ships,” I pointed out, glancing at the odd looking aircraft in the hangar.

“True, but those require pagasi magic to run. My soldiers can’t rest aboard them, for their power is constantly being sapped to keep the vessel airborne.”

Fleetfoot suddenly tilted her head back to look up at me, and… sniffed my fingers… the fuck? “You have griffon hooves,” she said, as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

I frowned. I literally had no idea how to respond to that statement, so I turned my attention back to Spitfire. “You guys have magic?”

“Not in the same way as unicorns, but to an extent—yes.”

Another problem that I’d mentioned to her earlier occurred to me. “You plan on using some of it to power the engines then? ‘Cause that thing don’t run on hopes and dreams…”

Spitfire lowered her eyelids, and I immediately got the impression that I was pushing my luck with the snide remarks. “We can get fuel. Earth ponies are particularly good at harvesting it,” she began. “We can also have one of our unicorn technicians take a look at the damaged engine. It’ll take a while before it’ll be ready to fly, but I’ll ask you this now-” She gave me a piercing look, “are you in?”

I glanced back down to the piece of metal in my hands, somewhat surprised to find Fleetfoot still gazing up at me with those big, almost hypnotic eyes of hers. I don’t know if it was a trick of the light—but it almost looked like she was pouting.

“Fine. I’m in, but I have one condition.”

“Name it,” Spitfire said.

“My crew flies with me.”