An Aircraft Astray

Hatch was always a calm individual. Not very talkative, but a very calm one. During Basic, when he ran into the Drill Sergeant on accident, he kept a calm face and didn't freak out. Mentally or physically. He sat there and let the Drill Sergeant blast him, and when it was all over? He wen't right back to what he was doing and forgot the whole thing. He never really panicked much. An admirable trait.

But right here? Not even calmest demeanor would prevail. His aircraft was shot. His aircraft was on fire. He was going down. And the ground was fast approaching. His breathing was fast and erratic, and all the while he was pulling the throttle back, trying to crash land, instead of crash. But it wasn't working, neither the throttle or eject button. Of course, in his panicked mind, he started smashing the button once more. Trying to bail out. After all, no one wants to die in a plane crash, or in his case, a jet crash. Surviving it is sometimes even worse.

*CLICK* *CLICK* *CLICK*

His hand continued to hit the button, and nothing would respond. The only thing that occupied the noise barrier was the sound of his jet falling towards the hard, hard ground.

"Come on! Come on! Eject already!" He yelled. "Dammit all!"

Moments passed as he tried both to perform a crash landing, and eject. But no results came from the work he put into it. Every second the ground, and his death, came closer. But he would not allow this, not if he had a say so. And at this moment, he still does have this say so.

*CLICK* *CLICK*

He continued to hit the button, but no cigar.

*CLICK*

And in an instant, his seat was launched upwards, the cockpits glass flew up. And out he went, away from the aircraft and into the sky. But only for a short distance, as his seat began to fall once again back to the Earth. His parachute deployed, and he was yanked back a couple more feet in the air, before beginning to slowly float back down. He muttered a thank you.

"Thank you, God." He muttered, exhaling with relief. He sat there, watching his aircraft, which he realized was now a ball of fire, sail towards the Earth. Nothing stopping. Nothing.

And then it hit the ground hard, turning from a ball of fire and oxygen into a ball of metal shards, glass, electrics, fire, and death. It absorbed everything in its path. Not only did it explode, but the skeleton of it was sliding through grass and trees. Cutting its way through everything. Not even a big oak was enough to stop it, as the force it had was too powerful. It began to slow, and slow, and slow. Until it came to a stop. Dead trees, fire, metal, and a dirt ravine marking where it had hit, and where it had gone.

In an instant, it was over.

Hatch took a second to compose himself as the seat drifted downwards, slowly meeting with the ground. He inhaled deep and slow, and exhaled all the same.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

His fear was not over, however. As he drifted, he began to notice what he had not earlier, the change in scenery. the arid rocks and sand of the Afghan desert change into grass, dirt and trees. An odd sight to see in the Middle East.

His seat hit the ground, a little too hard. And Hatch felt the force that rippled through his body, causing him to inhale heavily a second after landing. But it was all OK. He was alive. The parachute, luckily, landed behind him. And the only thing stopping him from getting up was the straps on his seat. But a quick unbuckle and he was free. He reached up and flipped open his oxygen mask, which the flight helmet had provided earlier. He took a nice inhale, smiling. But that smile quickly turned into a frown as he looked around. Unholstering his pistol, all he saw was trees. Grass. The remnants of his jet. Grunting in annoyance, he stepped towards the wreck. That step turned into a walk, and that in to a run.

As he ran towards the jet, his flight suit not hindering him in any way, he noticed the sun in the sky was setting. Darkness would soon be upon him. He stopped as he arrived at a broken off wing from the jet that lay halfway between his seat and said jet.

"Aw fuck!" He yelled in anger.

He moved to kick the wing, but something behind him caught his attention. He heard something moving in the grass behind him. Slowly, as if cautious. As if knowing that what ahead of itself could be dangerous. Hatch, despite his inferior combat training compared to his infantry brothers, was ready. He made a one hundred eighty azimuth and took aim at whatever was behind him.

He wasn't ready, however, for what it was. Ahead of him, frozen in fear, was a unicorn. It was half his height, and had a sorta greenish blue color scheme. It was staring up at him, unsure of what to do next. Hatch, on the other hand, lowered his pistol. Albeit uneasy of the fact its a unicorn. He kept his own distance from the thing. He watched it for a bit, studying it. And it him. Minutes passed as he looked it up and down, noting its golden/yellow eyes. He found the thing, while frightened and fragile looking, could be capable of taking his kneecaps out. Or able to cause other physical harm.

He began to ponder exactly where he was as the existence of a unicorn is an odd thing. In fact, its unbelievable. North Korea, The Netherlands, and Scotland were a few countries that made up this thoughts. Of course, he was in awe as well. This was an incredible moment, if he told others then they would not believe him. Probably even with photographic evidence. Hatch cursed his luck, since he doesn't have a camera.

"What..." It spoke. "What are you?" It said, its tone showing that it doesn't expect an answer. It also betrayed a female voice.

Hatch looked at for a second. Then chuckled.

"Did you.. did you just talk?" He replied. Then it shared his look of both fascination and wary. She squeaked in reply. "No way. You didn't speak." He added.

It just stared.

"Right." He said, turning back towards the jet. "Run along, horsey. Run along." He stared at the flaming skeleton of what remained of his baby.

"You can talk?" It asked. "No...freaking...way!" It said, as excited.

"Yeah, feelings mutual. Bugger off." He murmured. But he doubts she heard it. He sorta wished she had, though as she began to annoy him with the same question she had once asked.

"What are you?!" She asked once again, excitement filling her voice. She could not contain it, as it was a near impossibility. "Please, tellmetellmetellme!"

"Alright! Calm down!" He replied, raising his voice as he turned around. But regretted it soon after and swiftly corrected it. Trying to maintain his natural calm demeanor. "Sorry, eheh... My name Captain Grant Hatch, United States Marine Corps. Happy?" He gave in.

"Oh!" She sounded. "Well, my names Lyra! Lyra Heartstrings!" She said, quickly taking his hand and giving a good shake. But Hatch retracted it as fast as it happened. "But, please! Captain Grant Hatch United States Marine Corps, tell me wh-"

"No no no.. Its just.... Just call me Hatch."

"Hatch. Please, tell me what you are." She asked, a huge grin on her face.

Hatch deadpanned at her.

"What are you?" He riposted. Her face went from excited to confused. She obviously thought the knowledge was common, but Hatch still didn't look impressed.

"What... I'm.. I'm a pony.." She said. "You don't know this?"

"No." Hatch countered immediately, feeling stupefied at the word. He had only ever heard the word once. A long time ago. When he was a child. "Pony?"

"Pony, yeah!" She said, smiling. But her smile faded when she looked over to the destroyed aircraft. Flames marked where it had originally crashed. "Whats.... that?" She asked, pointing with one of her forehooves. Hatch turned and looked at what had sparked her query. It pained him to even think about how to answer. How could anyone explain that in just a few words? But he had questions. Many questions.

'This... pony... may be able to answer them.' He thought.

His eyes fixed on the flaming carcass, and some anger surged through his mind.

And all that occupied the sound barrier were birds chirping, and flames crackling. No gunfire. No aircraft overhead.

Just calmness.

~~~TO BE CONTINUED~~~

Author's Note

Look at that shit, bruh! Written in a day. IT FEELS GOOD!

I still haven't forgotten, Thunder. Consider this a late birthday gift.