Flight for Harmony

I fly a few thousand feet below the clouds, loads of aircraft carriers are spotted as far as the eye can see. Some are being attacked by enemy missiles. I would help but that’s not my mission for today. My mission is to scout for any enemy contacts. Search, find and destroy.

“Thunder, what is your Area of Operations?” I ask.

“We’re near the sinking ship, Angels 4.”

I look around to try to spot the said ship where probably hundreds of ponies lost their lives. I look to my 3 o’clock and spot the long lost boat, sinking into the deep endless ocean as well as some friendly jets falling into the sea in trails of fire.

“Copy that, heading to your position, E.T.A. 20 seconds.”

As I fly I hear the radio communication from a different squad. It is a female voice.

“This is squad Feline to tower, co-pilot Honey Rays has a bad case of Feather flu. Requesting permission to land.”

“This is Dash from squad Strike, it appears you have the wrong M-com typed in.”

There is a brief pause.

“Apologies Dash, M-coms are a bit buggy today, good luck on your mission,” says the female voice right before ending communication with our squad.

“Feather flu... If any ground troops claim that they have Feather flu I would suspect that they would be lying just to get out of the action,” says Thunder.

“You mean what you did 6 years ago with the hurricane incident?” I question.

“I… I… How do you remember that?!”

“It’s hard to forget.”

“It was Blossomforth who was sick, she infected me!”

“Blossom?” I ask.

“Yes?” says Blossom.

“It was her! It was her! I swear it was her!” Thunder shouts loudly.

“Cloud Kicker, do me a favour and cut communication with Thunder temporarily,” I order.

“Yes ma’am.”

I hear a few buttons clicking and suddenly I can no longer hear the raging voice of my wingpony.

“So Blossom, it was you?”

“Yeeeah... sorry about that.”

“Nah don’t worry about it. How’s Thunder holding up back there?”

“Well he’s kind of screaming at me in the cockpit so not too well.”

I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

“Cloud Kicker, regain communication with Thunder,” I command my co-pilot.

“Roger that.”

I hear the radio buzz then brace for the shouts that I am about to hear.

“Tell her it was you! Tell her!” Thunderlane screams with all his energy. My head starts to hurt.

“Sweet Celestia Thunder calm down,” I say while holding one hoof on my helmet.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It was 6 years ago, does it really matter? And plus, she already told me just in case you wanted to know.”

“He he… right. Let’s never speak about this again.”

In that moment my aircraft flies past the sinking ship and then I spot Thunder on my four o’clock, about 35 degrees behind me. We have a good patrol formation. Both of our aircrafts tilt our noses just below 90 degrees heading towards the clouds.

“Passing through cloud layer. Prepare for minor turbulence,” I warn.

Once above the clouds we have no visual of the terrain below us. Just the whiteness of the never ending heavens that once brought clean and clear skies to both sides of Equestria. But now, only fighter pilots get to enjoy the brief moments of relief that there is still light somewhere in the world.

I can hear the deep breathing that comes out of the masks we are wearing. The air-condition turns off in my helmet then the heating turns on warming my mane.

There is a buzzing in the radio.

“This is tower to Strike squad, we have confirmation of enemy migs closing in your position approximately 700 miles away, how copy?”

“This is Strike 2-5 solid copy, any confirmation on variant specification?” I ask.

“Unsure jet specification, current suspicion of three MiG-29’s. Over.”

“Copy that.”

I end communication with base.

“Kicker, keep an eye on the radar for any Surface to Air Missiles, I don’t feel like getting blown to bits today,” I command.

“Dash, the Equestrian Infantry were scheduled to make their way above and around Mount Raven. At this point they might have already secured this area,” Kicker replies.

“Just do it. I got a message from the Equestrian Infantry in which they address that there were having troubles with the I.G.D. gloves. They said that they would send me the

coordinates to the unsafe areas a few days ago but the information never arrived. I just don’t want to take any chances.”

“Roger that.”

I hear Cloud Kicker press buttons as well as turning some knobs.

“Hey Dash, what sort of trouble?” Kicker asks me.

“Most of it is classified but, what I can say is that a certain green unicorn was involved.”

“Oh.”

We keep flying for a couple of minutes until I decide to move.

“Let’s bank left Thunder, we’ll have a better view of the enemies when we cross,” I order.

Both of our jets tilt to the left then start to move to the direction without turning completely.

After a few minutes of suspense we finally hear something coming from base.

“This is base we have conformation of four hostile Mikoyan MiG-35 aircrafts closing in on your position, approximately 300 miles away. How copy.”

Thunder speaks up.

“Say again, MiG-35?”

“Affirmative, we have an unknown armament info. Sending reinforcements to your position now.”

Base radio ends temporarily while they contact reinforcements. I suspect something. MiG-35? I never heard those type of aircrafts before.

“This is Dash to Strike 2-7, have you heard of these MiG-35 aircrafts before, Thunder?”

“Negative Dash.”

I am panicking mentally. I don’t even know if we actually should engage these jets. Yes we are the Equestrian Air Force but shouldn’t they be sending the Wonderbolt Task Force? I am concerned and I can’t get it of my mind. It’s like that one time when I was worried about performing in the young flyers competition but this time, instead of worrying about losing my reputation, I am worried about losing my life. I then hear Blossom’s voice buzz through the radio.

“MiG-35 fighter jets were supposed to be in development, it’s a multi-role fighter. It was supposed to replace the MiG-29 and only two are known to exist.”

“Make that four,” Thunder intervenes.

“And how did I not find this in the Equestrian Air Force site?” I ask.

“They added the page a day ago. I’m not sure if you had time to look at it yesterday?”

I remember what I was busy with yesterday. After trying to contact my little sister for hours I barely had enough energy to keep my eyes open. I didn’t have time to do my daily check of the Air Force site. I still have no idea where she is, I don’t even know if she’s even alive but at the moment I just have to wait and hope that I’ll cross paths with her.

I release an annoyed sigh. “No.”

There’s silence for just a few moments.

“But how in the hay did hostiles get the technology to finish development this soon?” I question.

“Remember, they are the ones who in-“

Blossomforth is cut off by an incoming radar call coming from an allied jet.

“This is Officer Cadet Rosewing requesting clearance to assist with mission,” a female voice asks.

I am annoyed that the newbie didn’t announce what squad she was from. But despite that, I can’t say no to this request, we need all the help we can get. Before I say yes I decide to check something.

“Hold on,” I reply.

I spend about a minute looking at the list of Cadets, I then spot her name. Officer Cadet Rosewing, call sign Petals from Thorns squad. Current jet, Thorns 8-7. After confirming she is indeed in the Air Force I say with excitement.

“Sure! Our location is”- Thunder interrupts me.

“Negative Rosewing we do not have the authority to bring an inexperienced allied jet to a mission. Please proceed with your tasks.”

“Roger that. Good luck,” She ends the radio call.

Even though I have a feeling why Thunder needed to decline I still want to know for sure.

“Why did you do that? We need all the help we can get. There’s no problem bringing a rookie with us.”

“Do you want one of her first missions to be one of the hardest in the military?”

I think a bit then remember the first missions I was assigned. They were to accompany a few commercial jets. The tasks were boring but they were the best for a newcomer.

Despite Thunder’s good point, I still wanted more help with this mission.

“Understood,” I say.

“I remember my first mission. Man, I swear I could have passed out of boredom,” says Thunder

“Really? What was your task?” I curiously ask.

“I really didn’t do anything, it took place just above-“ Cloud Kicker suddenly interrupts Thunderlane.

“Dash we got four enemy aircrafts closing in on our position. They’re closing in fast.”

I feel my heart pounding faster. I look at the back of my palm and I see on the screen a big 130. I never trained for this! Where are those reinforcements?

“This is Dash to base, we’re going to need those reinforcements right about now.”

“This is base, B-1 pilots are on their way, call sign Lynx 1-5 and Lynx 1-6, just relay the coordinates to them and they will get the job done.”

“Copy that.”

Never in my career had I been engaging more advanced enemy jets. Usually we get the enemy’s jets info thanks to our spies and we speed the building process up with the Alicorn magic provided by the princesses but somehow they were able to keep the information safe. This time I need to concentrate more than usual. I just need to get closer to the enemy aircrafts and relay the coordinates to the B-1’s. No mistakes.

I hear a male voice in my headset.

“This is Lynx 1-5 to Snipe squad, requesting enemy coordinates, over.”

“This is Strike 2-7, approaching enemy aircrafts, please stand by,” Thunder replies.

Everything will be alright, these pilots are specially trained to receive enemy coordinates and fire when ready. But in that brief instance I hear the radio coming from the B-1 pilots.

“We’re being locked! Agh! We’re hit, we’re hit, we’re going down!” The radio then buzzes.

I am in complete shock! How did they detect the B-1’s? I look at Kicker and she looks at me, I can tell she has the same confused look as I do behind that mask. B-1 jets don’t have ejection seats due to their design. Those pilots, who minutes before had no idea that they would fail their mission, lost their lives.

Base tries to contact us but the interference prevents us from hearing clearly.

“This is base (inaudible) B-1 pilots retreat! Strike squad head to (inaudible), those (inaudible) aircrafts, (inaudible) your mission, how copy?”

I try to contact base.

“Hard copy, say again.”

No answer.

I am now officially confused.

Thunder tries to contact base also.

“This is Thunderlane, call sign Thunder, squad Strike. We received a hard copy from base, say again, over.”

No answer.

“This is Dash, if you can hear us we will be retreating back to base, I repeat we will be retreating back to base, over.”

We both tilt right then turn 180 degrees.

“Thunder, are you thinking what I am thinking?” I ask.

“That they’re jamming us? Yes.”

That is exactly what I am thinking. Jamming our radar communication requires the most advancement in technology as well as some raw materials or ores to power the system. But this brings up another question in my head. A question that is nagging me.

“Do you think... they already have fifth generation aircrafts?” I hesitate in asking.

There are a few seconds pause. I can only hear the deep breathing coming from me and my co-pilot.

“I don’t know,” Thunderlane finally answers.

After the obvious answer that Thunderlane gave me I begin to suspect something.

“Hey, shouldn’t the earth ponies down there be using their Surface to Air Missiles to help us out? We are above friendly territory here.”

“Didn’t you say they were having problems with the I.G.D. gloves?” Thunder asks me.

“Anyway they can still engage the enemies from a different distance with SAM’s, even though they’re far away.”

“Contact them later.”

“Roger that.”

At this point I am hoping that there would actually be a later. But the hoping needs to wait, in that moment I hear a high pitch sound in my headset. It’s the alert of a missile lock.

“Missile lock at 6 o’clock!” Cloud Kicker shouts.

“Have they fired?” Thunder asks my co-pilot.

“Negative, they just lo –“ we suddenly here multiple high pitched beeps at the same time. “We have a missile heading our direction! 6 o’clock.”

I see a big red “lock” flashing on the top left of my visor.

“Copy that, diving,” I say.

I roll then dive down suddenly greeted with dark skies and rain drops as I drop beneath the cloud layer. After I reach a certain altitude I pull the nose up flying the direction the missile is coming from. I can see hundreds of pony vehicles below me. I see tanks, Humvees and all kinds of different transport vehicles. I struggle to see the infantry since it is extremely stormy and my plane only remained tilted for a few seconds before I straighten the aircraft.

“Dash, it’s a medium range missile. It might be already breaking the sound barrier,” Kicker warns.

I start to calculate in my head. If the aircraft is advanced they probably have advanced missiles, surely AIM-120D missiles. They go at a speed of Mach 4 which is 4000 kilometres per hour. I calculate the kilometres per minute by dividing 4000 by 60. Which is about 66 kilometres per minute. I need a 20 second window to cross the missile and dump flares. 66 divided per 2 is 33 kilometres per 30 seconds. I divide 33 by 3 which gives us 11 kilometres per 10 seconds, I multiply that by 2 and gives us the final result of 22 kilometres per 20 seconds. The missile needs to be 22 kilometres away so I could begin the dodging manoeuvre.

“Its medium range yes, we have time. Warn me when it’s at 22 kilometres away. When we cross its path, dump the flares on my mark. Thunder, follow me, screw the protocol, we’re fighting.”

“Against four advanced enemy jets? Are you crazy?!” Thunder replies.

“It’s our only hope, if we don’t -“ Cloud Kicker cuts my sentence with an agitated voice.

“Pull up! Pull up! 18 kilometres away!”

I pull the joystick towards me with all my force until I reach a 90 degree angle towards the sky. I look down and see the red square of the missile through my HMD Visor heading towards me.

“Dump the flares!” I shout.

I hear the mechanical sounds of Cloud Kicker’s gloves pressing on the button and a light “beep” and I look behind me. The pool of yellow flares scatter behind the rear of the jet. I look up and still see the missile through my visor as well as its trail of smoke but this time it’s not heading towards us. I set the position of the jet to 0 degrees then spot four small black dots into the distance. I look back at the radar then figured out that those dots are our targets.

“Strike 2-7 is on our five o’clock, 55 degrees a little low, over,” Cloud Kicker informs me.

“Enemy aircrafts are within visual range 10 miles away on our 12 o’clock above us, Angels 4. Kicker, lock on the one second to the last, 10 o’clock. Thunder, engage bogies on left side, left side!” I order.

Having my wingpony leave my rear is a risky manoeuvre but having four advanced enemy jets engaging us in a group is even riskier. Thunder knows this as well as the two co-pilots but this is the best chance we got.

“Roger that, engaging bogies on left side,” Thunder replies.

Jet Strike 2-7 leaves my 4 o’clock then passes below me and flies towards the enemy migs to the left. As we get closer I see the menacing dark dots grow bigger and bigger, closing in on our position. After the hostile reaches a visual range in which I can barely see the sharp black wings of the enemy aircrafts, I hear a rapid “lock” beep however, it is a higher tone than before. After a few beeps the infinite dead-line beep is heard.

“We have a clear lock Dash!” Says Kicker.

“Roger that, shooting,” I put the metallic fingers at work then I pull the trigger.

But I don’t see the missile launch instead, I hear a weird sound just a few moments after squeezing the trigger, like a sound of a big metallic thump. After double checking the equipped ammo I confirm that everything is in order. I squeeze the trigger again but the missile doesn’t respond with the command. I buy ourselves some time by slowing down. I then alert Kicker of the problem.

“Umm Kicker? It’s not working.”

“Oh? Let me double check the wiring system.”

I see the four tiny dots get larger as well as Thunder engaging two of them. The two enemies on the left suddenly turn to my 9 o’clock chasing Thunder at top speed. I see the two jets break from their formation although there are still a couple of hostile enemy aircrafts yet to be dealt with. I feel my heart beating faster but I don’t bother to look at my heart rate since I know it’s not critical.

Kicker begins to speak. “Oh crap, missile number 3 is jammed, some sort of wiring failure within the fluid system of the U.P.E. and the missile. We might have enough time to switch projectile although we first need to diagnose the issue to avoid any further problems.”

“No, don’t diagnose. It will disable lock and make us vulnerable. Keep him locked on.”

The enemies keep flying to our direction, all of them seem to be keeping their formation. We continue hearing the ever-lasting deadline beep of our missile lock.

“Umm Rainbow, we’re getting awfully close to the enemy,” Kicker says with concern in her voice.

“Hold on.”

I see the locked on jet move a bit, he’s agitated. He suddenly breaks left and leaves his Leader behind.

“Leader is vulnerable, going after him!” I inform. “Kicker, switch missile, label missile number 3 as disabled.”

“Should I begin the diagnosis?”

“No, we don’t have time, choose one of the other missiles. I don’t care which one just choose!”

I gave a dangerous order. Choosing a missile without knowing the problem that occurred to the other one could lead to death but a choice is better than none. The lone enemy leader banks to our right trying to get around us. I turn a hard 190 degrees left and we catch up to him on his six. This time I have a visual range of the jet’s design. It is an average size more or less like our jet but the wings aren’t sweep wings. The colour design is also different in which the jet is painted with black and with a few red lines covering the wings.

“Kicker… I hope you have that missile chosen!”

“I-I don’t know which one to choose!”

“Just choose whatever!”

“B-but what if I am the cause of your death!”

I get what Kicker is feeling, if she chooses the wrong missile she wouldn’t only kill herself, she would kill me as well. Even though she would be dead before she regretted it.

As I tail the enemy aircraft and try to remain on his rear, this newly developed hostile jet is too agile for me to handle. No matter how good I am, I begin to suspect that I might lose him any second.

“Quit your complai-“ I stop myself, knowing that this certain way with words isn’t the best option at the moment. “Listen, Kicker, if you don’t choose we might die right now.” I say trying to be calm while flying at top speeds.

“Why don’t you choose one?” She asks me.

“I… I can’t.”

“Why not?!” She exclaims.

“I can’t hold your hoof all the way through our career. You got to learn.”

After flying for less than 30 seconds, I start to think that Kicker didn’t choose one. But luckily that thought takes a backseat once I hear Kicker’s voice.

“Ma-am we have a-a cle-ear lock!” Kicker says nervously.

As I place my metallic finger just around the joystick I pray that this is the right missile. After I pull the trigger the projectile detaches from the right wing successfully, then it heads towards the enemy mig.

“Fox two sent!” I shout in delight.

One of my flight teachers taught me that the colour of the flames coming from the rear of the missile is the main colour of the cutie mark or magic of the unicorn that powered it. This projectile has the colour of blue flames spitting out the rear of it. I always thank that unicorn that provided that missile for me. From what I heard, missile fuelling is never easy for a unicorn.

The enemy breaks a hard left but unfortunately for him, he didn’t have time to dump flairs or chaffs. The missile hits.

“Splash four!” I yell.

I observe as the plane lose one wing then spins towards the ground. Flames burst out in both of his engines. Not long after that, the other wing rips apart. The enemy pilot ejects out of a patch of grey smoke. Moments later, I see the parachute deploy and the chair detach revealing the enemy. He has a dark suit covered in different shades of grey. That pilot will be able to fight another day.

“Good job Kicker! How did you know which missile to choose?”

“I double checked the missile wiring system then figured out that the U.P.E.’s fluid had leaked. Knowing so, to increase probability of successful missile departure, I placed the U.P.E to conductive position. Then I chose the missile furthest from missile 3 which was missile 6 knowing that one had the highest probability of safe and clean U.P.E. fluids.”

I try to comprehend what Kicker just said. I know some of this stuff but since Kicker is my co-pilot, she spends extra hours at the end of the day studying and checking all the plane’s systems.

“Awesome. Start the diagnosis, will ya?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I can hear all of Blossom’s and Thunder’s dialogue through my headset.

“Blossom lock on to him!”

Strike 2-7’s jet tilts left then right, trying to follow the agile enemy mig. Strike 2-7 banks to the right and suddenly points its nose up.

“I am trying! He’s moving too fast!” Blossom screams.

I spot an enemy mig on my friendly 6 o’clock.

“Strike 2-7 you have an enemy mig on your tail!” Kicker warns.

I head towards the aid of my wingpony.

“Heading towards your position. Hang on,” I inform. “Kicker, how’s the diagnosis going?”

“It’s 56% complete. It will be done once we get there.”

“Copy that.”

I fly towards my wingpony but after I catch a glimpse of them, they disappeared from my sight. I look high, low, left, right, but I spotted them too late. They are at my eleven o’clock and closing in on my position at an extreme speed.

“We’re crossing your path Dash, careful!” says Thunder.

I try to avoid the jets but any movement will run the great risk of us colliding with each other. The only thing I can do is lower my speed. As I decide what to do I pull the throttle back, decreasing speed.

“Rainbow! Increase velocity! Lack of speed might cause the plane to stall!” My co-pilot shouts intensely.

“I can do this!”

But my self-confidence gets the better of me. Strike 2-7 as well as the two enemy migs cross my path just metres away from me. The turbulence caused by all the jets crossing paths as well as my lack of speed forces my aircraft to shake violently and lose control.

“We flew right through a jet wash!” says Kicker seconds later.

“Major turbulence! Hang on!” I order.

The jet tilts slightly right then quickly tilts to the left. I try to regain control for a few seconds but I froze at the sight of a mountain dead ahead. If we eject now we wouldn’t last long in enemy territory. I try to regain control of the jet. But the aircraft is losing altitude every second we fly.

Shit, shit, shit!