I had to hold back tears once I stepped into the main barn of Sweet Apple Acres. No fighter pilot should see their plane, their baby, in such a wrecked state. As I walked slowly around the entire frame, the entire experience could be likened to that of driving past a car wreck: you know you shouldn't look, but you just can't help it.

"If you were wondering, the weapons and ammunition that were still attached were moved to another place under guard." I didn't respond to Twilight's statement as I kept studying my aircraft, taking in every little detail of damage: the right main landing gear had snapped off shortly after impact, a snapped right wingtip, the entire underbelly had multiple small tears and holes from the various rocks that marred the ground where I landed and the nose cone was crushed after hitting the dirt when the gear snapped. Then there was the damage from the dogfight beforehand; shredded left stabiliser fin, halfway-snapped left elevator, shredded engine exhausts, missing aileron and flaps from the left wing, and various holes along the centre of the fuselage and left wing root from cannon fire and missile fragments.

To be perfectly honest, it was a miracle I didn't blow up over November City. This amount of damage would have surely caused some kind of fuel leak which, when combined with the severed electrical system sparking like fireworks or a fuse, would have resulted in a catastrophic explosion...

"Chopper? Are you alright?"

I wanted to say I was alright, but I wasn't completely sure of it myself. Hard to lie when you don't believe in the lie yourself.

"I... don't know, Twilight. I'm still coming to grips with how lucky I really am right now..." I tore my gaze from my jet and started walking over to the barn doors where Twilight stood. I could clearly tell from the look on her face that she was worried for me. "I don't understand how exactly I survived as long as I did back home... that kind of damage would normally destroy a jet mid-flight. Yet, I was able to keep it flying for another five or so minutes before I came here." I sighed and walked through the door, and started the small trek to the field where I landed. The large trench that my jet had dug when it landed was still there, being tended by one of the farm's workers. "Nor did it explode when I landed here. Instead, I was able to get out and away safely. I just don't understand it."

Twilight trotted up to my side and sat down, both of us just looking at the trench.

"Maybe that's just it. You were lucky." I laugh a little at her statement, shaking my head in disbelief. It isn't until I see the downtrodden expression on her face that I stop and look at her with a level face.

"Twilight, fighter pilot training basically instils you with knowledge and reason behind everything and anything that can happen in your jet. Sure, things may happen that could be considered a fluke, but there is always a reasoning behind it. For example, a mercenary pilot lost his right wing in a dogfight back before the Belkan War of '95. Leaking fuel and with half of his controls missing, he managed to fly it back and land it safely. The reason: he flew fast enough to turn the body of his jet into a wing and maintain lift. Some called him lucky, but us pilots considered him smart for doing that."

"I don't understand..." Twilight looked at me with a lost expression.

"As pilots, it's our responsibility to know what our aircraft are capable of and to know how to control them in every possible circumstance. During flight training, our instructors made it very clear that 'luck' never existed anywhere near an aircraft. Sure, there were times where pilots and aircrew had near-misses or came extremely close to severe injury, but they could be explained away soundly and logically. 'Luck' was an excuse to say 'I don't know what happened and I don't care'."

"That's a very... pessimistic thing to say. Of course luck exists. It can be compared to chaotic magic in a way; it's unpredictable and is known to circumvent or break any and every possible law that ponykind has ever conceived." Twilight approached the front of the aircraft, and pointed out a string of holes where enemy cannon fire had impacted along the front engine intake. "Now, you said that these aircraft guns can fire at a rate of a thousand rounds per minute, right?"

"If I remember correctly, it was a Eurofighter that landed the hit... it uses thirty-mil rounds... yeah, the cannon that hit me fires at a rate of one-thousand-and-three hundred rounds per minute."

"Right... with that rate of fire, I'll assume that pilots generally fire second-long bursts when in combat." Twilight looked at me and I nodded to indicate that she was correct. "Now, that means that in that second, you had up to twenty one bullets flying towards you. Ten of those landed along your aircraft here, but stopped just before they reached the cockpit." I approached the area she was talking about and saw that the string of fire did actually proceed along the intake and stop short just before the end of where the canopy sat. "Now... a number of things could have prevented the remaining shots from hitting and killing you instantly: the pilot could have missed with the first half or second half of his shots, the gun might have ran out of ammunition in the middle of the burst, some of those rounds could have penetrated in the same place... all of those things were out of your direct control. There was no real way you could predict or anticipate what could have happened. Sure, you might be trained to act on any and every contingency... but training can only go so far. Sometimes all it comes down to is luck."

I sighed and thought about Twilight's remark, and the more I thought about it the more I realised that she was right. I had been extremely lucky to not have been killed mid-flight; though, I would have died anyway if I hadn't transported across worlds like I did. Even with previous missions, our squadron had been lucky. We were out of range for the first burst missile attack that levelled two of our carriers at once; we had the Arkbird back us up when the Scinfaxi attacked Sand Island; and I was lucky to be on the ground when we were attacked before the war began...

"Has there ever been a time where you're wrong, Twilight?"

We spent the new few hours on the farm going through my wreckage, removing critical components and identifying the parts that needed to be fabricated and repaired. After seeing the reinforced plexiglass canopy completely replaced with a mixture of magic and machining, I was confident that we could get my jet in flying order. I was thankful that only one engine was completely destroyed; we could just use the remaining engine for a reference for parts and placement. The only issues I could see being a problem would be fuel and avionics; to my knowledge, neither JP-8 nor Jet-A1 existed in Equestria. No fuel meant no flight, and no flight meant no return to the skies where I wanted to be. Sure, there would be nothing particular for me to do while up there, but at least it would mean I could fly. As for the flight computers, well... I had no solution for that at the moment.

"So, this is what all the fuss is about." The brash voice pulled Twilight and I from our work, and we looked over to find a group of four pegasai (evident by the folded wings behind their backs) dressed in flight suits. Only, the thing that caught my attention were the flight suits that they were wearing; almost skin-tight and coloured a vibrant blue with a yellow lightning bolt design running across the torso and the legs. I stood in confusion as the lead Pegasus, a yellow-coated mare with aviator sunglasses perched on top of her head, started walking up towards us with her eyes fixed solely on the wreckage. She stopped in front of the dismantled and crushed nosecone, then looked at me. "Damn, I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it... you are one lucky flyer."

I chuckled in agreement and approached her with my hand extended. "You've got that right... Lieutenant Colonel Alvin Davenport, 108th Tactical Fighter Squadron, Osean Air Defence Force." To my surprise, she reached forward and gripped it firmly but professionaly.

"Lieutenant Colonel Spitfire, Wonderbolt Flight Display Team." She introduced herself with a genuine smile, her eyes flicking over my attire. I was wearing my own flight suit; graciously repaired and cleaned by Twilight's friend Rarity and was even affixed with my new rank insignia.

"Pleased to meet you, and just call me Chopper." I said, noticing how the other members of her team spoke amongst themselves while casting glances at the wreckage. I took the moment to study the rest of her team. Among the three other members that came with her, I could see another mare and two stallions. The mare had an aqua coat, and ice-white hair that sat in a wind-blown style, while the first stallion had a sky-blue coat and dark blue hair that sat spiked up. I recognised the last member of the team, the same stallion that I had seen as I was leaving the castle at Canterlot; Sky Twister. I masked my surprise at seeing him, and turned my attention back to Spitfire. "So, I guess my arrival here made you curious?"

"Well, we were in a show up in Cloudsdale when we caught news of what happened; this is the first chance we've gotten to come down after returning back to base at Canterlot." She looked over the wreckage once more and then back to me. "So, what exactly is it?"

"That, Lieutenant Colonel, is an Osean-built Lockheed Martin F-15C Eagle; an air superiority fighter aircraft. Self propelled and designed for fighting in the skies." I explained, gesturing towards what was left of my jet.

"Impressive... how does it move? From here it looks like the wings don't flap up or down."

"They don't; we use jet combustion turbine engines and focus the exhaust to push the aircraft through the air. The air flows over the wings much like yours, though in a more lateral fashion. There are small flaps on the wingtips that help me roll from side to side, and the smaller horizontal fins twist up and down to control pitch."

Spitfire focused on the corresponding parts of the aircraft as I explained, and from what I could gather she was visualising how the ailerons and elevators worked in her mind. "I guess that makes sense. What about its speed?"

"Well... at high altitude it can go past Mach 2.5, however it's around Mach 1.2 when you get lower..." I noticed how her eyes widened at the measure of speed; it must be a similar unit of measurement then. "Though, it sucks up a lot of fuel to keep it at that speed, so it's generally saved for combat or other urgent circumstances."

"Impressive... much faster than any of us can go... what's your G limit?" She was clearly interested in the aircraft, and I could tell she was waiting to find an area that she could possibly win. I hate to be the one to disappoint, but she wanted to know.

"The airframe's designed to take nine G's maximum, but my body can only take around six or seven sustained G's." Her brows furrowed, thinking of another question. "And before you ask: I can climb as high as sixty-five thousand feet at fifty thousand feet a minute; fly as far as three thousand four-hundred-and-fifty miles one-way with a full fuel load, but my combat range varies depending on payload and mission type."

Spitfire looked back over at the wreckage and let out a slow impressed whistle. "Damn, that's... that's something. How do you fight in it though?"

"A mixture of self-guiding explosive rockets and an automatic cannon with a high rate of fire..." Chopper answered, satisfied with his simplified description of the AMRAAM and Sidewinder missiles and the M61 Vulcan gatling gun, "as well as technology that allows me to 'see' the enemy before I actually see them. If you're smart, the only time you'll see your target is when it explodes." Spitfire's mouth formed an understanding 'oh' before glancing back at her fellow flyers. She nodded at them and they all started walking around my jet, occasionally talking amongst themselves.

"You know, us ponies are a fairly peaceful race. It's been a while since there's been a major active conflict that our military has had to get involved in. For your world to have developed something like this, it must be quite tough to live on a daily basis. Though, from what you've told me about this 'fighter jet', you don't seem to use much magic."

I scratched my head at this observation, and silently wondered if she was going to have a meltdown much like Twilight did when I broke the news to her. "That's because there is no magic where I'm from. Everything is engineered by hand with tools and technology, and it grows more advanced as the years pass. Before these jet-driven F-15s we had propeller-driven aircraft made of sheet metal and steel frames, which replaced the fabric and wooden framed aircraft before them. The human race has only been flying for just over one hundred years now; which, when you consider that civilised humanity has been around for well over three millennia , is only a very small section of time. I mean, some of the stuff that we can do these days would be considered magic to some people, but not like the magic here in Equestria."

"I see... still, my other point still stands. Your home must be dangerous if your people felt the need to create stuff like that." Spitfire crossed her arms over her chest, and I shook my head.

"Jets like these serve has a handy tool in the bigger picture of world stability and politics. Its basically the concept of 'having a bigger stick than your opponent', but with the added fact that combat aircraft can serve as a deterrent and defence as well as an offensive weapon. I mean, yes, there are aircraft that are designed for the sole purpose of attacking, but just having that in your arsenal can be enough." I mirrored her stance and fixed her with a firm expression. "If you knew that your enemy was equipped with things that could bring about your demise without you being able to counter that threat, would you still consider fighting them?" Her lasting silence was all that I needed to hear. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try and work out how much of my jet will be able to be rebuilt."

"Right... Soarin', Fleet, Twister; let's get back to the base and leave this guy to do his work." I watched as they walked out and sighed to myself once they were gone. The tone I had taken with Spitfire when I was making my point to her had caught me off guard. Yes, my argument made sense but then I'm also not a typical member of the military. I grew up during the Belkan War and the Second Usean Rebellion, and saw on TV the kind of horrors that war produced. But I also saw the effectiveness of having a deterrent in place against conflict had in warfare. The nuclear bombings in ninety-five and the hyper-lethal Mobius Squadron were enough to bring wars to an end and force negotiations to take place.

"You could have been a little less harsh with her, you know. It's not her fault that we aren't a race born and raised in conflict." Twilight's remark drew me from my thoughts, and I shook my head to clear it.

"I know... it's just she didn't seem all that approving of it, even if she was impressed by my jet. And I can see why she thinks that; I really do. But she seemed to assume that we 'shoot first and ask questions never' instead of opting for the peaceful route like your leadership does."

"Give her some time; perhaps if the two of you interacted more, she'd be able to see how similar your ways of thought are in regards to diplomacy and the like."

"Maybe... come on, let's get to work."

Author's Note

Sorry for the long wait guys, just been caught up with a lot of stuff since the last update.

I hope to have the next update out with less of a delay.