The Sky Whispers

by Plaidface

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Adventure, Tragedy
Length: 7311

steam punk, WW2,

Why are there hardly any earth ponies among the royal guards? Blessed with neither wing nor magic, earth ponies seem to play a somewhat marginalized role in modern Equestrian society. Though some rise to prominence as pop culture icons, most find themselves in agricultural or menial blue collar positions.

Yet 1,000 years before FiM, in a time before Princess Celestia or Luna, earth ponies were the preeminent power of Equestria. Their vast armies reigned supreme on land, and their mighty airship fleets dominated the skies. After six years of bloody war, earth ponies were on the brink of total victory against the unicorn and pegasi.

This story chronicles the fall of the ancient earth pony civilizations, seen from the eyes of a fighter pilot caught in the middle of Equestria’s final war.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-13 18:21:42 UTC

Prologue

It is one thousand years before the events of Friendship is Magic in a time before Princess Celestia or Princess Luna. Distrust and hatred mark the relationship between the three equine races: the earth pony, pegasus, and unicorn. Their animosity eventually escalates into an all-consuming battle royal known as the Great Equestrian War.

Though the result is inconclusive, earth ponies grow stronger than their winged or magical brethren in the ensuing decades.  A new golden age of industrialization dawns as earth pony scientists and engineers push the limits of technology. Earth pony cities rapidly expand into colossal architectural marvels, teeming with ponies in numbers once thought unattainable. Eventually, earth ponies match the magical machinations of the unicorn, and even challenging the pegasus’s dominance of the skies.

Fearing for their very survival, the unicorns and pegasi forge an uneasy alliance, and preemptively attack the earth ponies before their technological advances become insurmountable. So begins the 2nd Equestrian War; it is a bloodbath that consumes over a fifth of Equestria’s population. Though the unicorn and pegasus make significant gains in the early years, it is eventually the earth pony's sheer industrial might that turns the tide. Their great factories produce weapons and munitions in titanic magnitude, supplying a seemingly inexhaustible army that floods across Equestria.

Now in the war’s sixth year, the once great empires of the unicorn and pegasus are mere shadows of their former glory. Much of their territory is lost to the earth ponies, and only isolated pockets of their empires remain. With the outcome of the war now certain, age old rivalries among the earth pony nations begin to resurface. The Weimare Republic, the Rolling Hills Federation, and the Dahlia Protectorate, all vie for dominance in post war Equestria.

The final months of the 2nd Equestrian War degenerates into a mad land grab for whatever bit of resources the earth pony nations can secure before the inevitable civil war.

Chapter 1: Last Days of Summer

"Don't do this Nimbus," a meek voice pleaded.

"You know I don't have a choice."

"Everypony will never look at you the same. Mom, Dad, Icarus. He'll be devastated to hear his big brother betraye - "

"God dammit you think I don't know that!" Nimbus screamed in her face. Two eyes of glistening blue stared back at him. His rage melted away. "I, I'm sorry. Just promise me. Promise me you won't tell them the truth. They'll sooner kill themselves than be the chains that bind me."

She nodded softly. They stood there for a moment, frozen in time.

"Don't forget me Nimbus," she said suddenly looking down.

"Of course. I always...." but his voice failed him. "I'll always remember where I came from."

Nimbus turned around and trotted off into the night. He was glad it was raining.

Nimbus caught himself daydreaming out the window. It was hard to imagine he was flying almost 400 mph. In the backdrop of the blue summer sky, his Peregrine fighter seemed as if suspended in mid-air.  Nimbus looked down at his gauges: 381 mph at 15,000 ft. Only the rumble of the 2200 hp engine behind the cockpit reminded him he was tearing through the sky.

Nimbus closed his eyes, and leaned deeply into his seat, feeling the vibration of the engine through his spine. He felt the cylinders pump rhythmically through his veins, and let his mane be massaged by the soothing hum of the propellers. Yet something was amiss. His breath felt…..uneven. Nimbus listened intently, working his way through the tubing and gears. “Ah, the number two valve spring,” he said to himself. It was beginning to wear out, and was causing a slight buildup of exhaust in the cylinder. Nimbus knew it only affected performance by a generous 2.3 hp but it bothered him that his Peregrine was at 99.896% efficiency. He'd have to do a thorough overhaul himself after he returned to the fleet. He wasn’t about to let some green mechanic touch his machine.

His irritation was interrupted by a nervous voice over the radio.

“Bomber Leader to Obsidian 1. Sir, I just wanted to say it’s always an honor flying with the great ‘Black Void’ himself.  I think I speak for all of us bomber crew when I say we feel much safer with you and the Obsidian Squadron above us.”

The ‘Black Void’. Nimbus sounded the words to himself, and felt his tongue recoil in disgust.  It was his nickname, known throughout Equestria as the greatest fighter pilot in history with 622 confirmed kills. The name was bestowed on him by the pegasi after repeatedly losing entire squadrons during the initial phase of the 2rd Equestrian War. Each time before a squadron was wiped out, pegasi headquarters got desperate distress calls about a Peregrine flown by a black earth pony. Radio communications were flooded with screams of agony and sheer panic before the line went dead within minutes, leaving only the eerie drone of static.  Or at least this is what the Weimare Republic’s newsreels claim. Nimbus himself stopped keeping track of his kills after reaching the 200 mark over three years ago.  He wasn’t even sure what the pegasi or even the unicorns called him, having never spoken to their flyers before. ‘Son of a Bitch’ or ‘Piece of Shit’ came to mind.

“Maintain radio silence Bomber Leader. We’re less than 15 minutes from the target area,” Nimbus replied coldly.

“My apologies sir. Best of luck and long live the Weimar Republic.”

Nimbus looked down to his portside, eying the lead bomber in the formation below. There were seven flying Vs comprised of eight Manticore light bombers each. For a plane named after such a hodgepodge creature they were rather conventional in appearance. Two engines with front mounted propellers flanked a fuselage slung below the wing. The fuselage was slightly larger than the Peregrine’s, and tapered off at the end in a twin-tail configuration, affording good visibility to the rear gunner and his twin 50-caliber (12.7mm) machineguns.  The plane’s simplicity belied its ruggedness, however, with the gunner and pilot cocooned in thick armor plating. Nimbus was always impressed with the sheer amount of battle damage Manticores could take, and it certainly made escorting more manageable when they continued flying on one engine or with a quarter of their wing shot off.  His own Peregrine could take some beating as well but he couldn’t afford to get careless; no amount of armor was going to help against a direct hit from unicorn anti aircraft fire, and that’s just what Nimbus was going up against.

Pillars of black smoke appeared in the horizon, and soon Nimbus’s cockpit was engulfed in the familiar stench of burnt flesh and cordite.  He took a deep breath through his nostrils, and let the rancid smell shudder him awake after a long and uneventful flight to the mission area. He glanced at the other seven Peregrines in his squadron, and saw some of the pilots pull their scarves over their noses. “You foals got more to worry about than odor if you want to live,” he thought.

Already, anti-aircraft fire came streaking up to greet them. Pink bolts of energy flashed across his windscreen. The black smoke provided a degree of cover in the otherwise clear sky, but it won’t take long before the unicorn gunners adjusted their aim. Nimbus quickly hailed the commander of the Republic ground forces below.

“This is Obsidian 1 to General Von Manestein. We are ready to render air-support on your command.”

“What took you so bloody long!” came an indignant shrill. “My stallions are getting killed out here, and you decide to have a nice lunch before leaving your damn flying hotels? You Air Fleet ponies make me sick. My stallions will begin designating targets. I trust you are competent enough to figure out the rest!”

The line went dead with a violent click. Nimbus rolled his eyes. Interservice rivalry between the Army and the Air Fleet was something he could never understand.  He flipped the channel on the radio.

“Manticores, begin your attack run. We’ll provide top cover. Rough Riders, I want those anti aircraft guns suppre –”

“Hell no! Ricky's Rough Riders ain’t got ammo to waste strafing unics so you can pad your kill count.”

Just hearing that voice made Nimbus’s blood boil. It was Ricky Dynamo, leader of another squadron of Peregrines watching over the bombers. He was also the third highest scoring ace in the fleet. “Everyone’s so damn friendly today,” Nimbus muttered. But before he could retort, a bright flash caught his attention.  He knew what it was almost instantly, and cursed himself for wasting time on this roid-raging buffoon. A Manticore was hit right in its bomb bay, and was hurtling towards the ground in a giant ball of flame.

“Obsidians lets go.”  With that, Nimbus nosed his plane into a steep dive towards earth.

The battlefield below was a mess of tracers and explosions crisscrossing down a large ridgeline. The ridge consisted of three large hills roughly 1000 ft. high, which dominated the surrounding landscape. Nimbus was well acquainted with the area, having flown dozens of sorties softening up the target before the assault now underway. The once dense forest which covered the hills was reduced to patchworks of greenery, occasionally interspersed with grey piles of rubble from leveled hamlets.  Yet the myriad of craters from artillery bombardments and air strikes seemed to have had little effect, given the volume of fire being poured down by the unicorn defenders.  The hills were transformed into a veritable fortress, with intricate tunnel systems and hardened bunkers far stronger than intel suggested.

Following the streams of pink energy bolts with his eyes, Nimbus throttles towards the nearest anti-aircraft battery in his flight path. He centered the large guns in his reflector sights, and pulled the trigger. His Peregrine reverberated with the thundering chug of his four nose mounted 20mm cannons. The high explosive rounds made quick work of the battery’s volatile crystal power generator, which exploded into a magnificent light show of pink lighting. As he pulled up, he saw similar explosions all over the hills.

“Fan out and keep at it. I don’t want more than two fighters on a single battery. Stay low and don’t get predictable.”

With his command, the Obsidian Squadron skimmed across the hills at tree top height in all directions. He could feel the panic set in among the unicorn gunners below as their fire became increasingly rapid and haphazardous. Their anti aircraft guns were respectable, and in some ways superior to comparable earth pony weapons. The gunners could adjust the charge put into each shot depending on the altitude, ranging from 8 rounds a minute at 30,000 ft to 200 rounds a minute for point defense. This eliminated the need for specialized weapons like the earth ponies, which relied on a combination of flak guns and auto-cannons. The energy bolts were also more powerful shot-for-shot than conventional ammunition.

Unfortunately for the unicorns, they might as well be shooting at flies. Nimbus’s squadron was flying far too low and fast for them to turn their guns in time. The unicorn’s favored energy weapons also came with a cost; they had a bad habit of announcing their position with those bright lights.

Nimbus spotted another gun as he came screaming around a hill.  He was flying so low now he could see several unicorns fleeing the battery in panic.  Several ponies were caught in the violent explosion as his cannons lit up the gun before all of them could escape. He swore he saw one of them (….or was it pieces of them) hurl past his canopy but he shoved it in the back of his mind, and peeled away from the blast.

He continued ducking and weaving though the hills, destroying several more guns. The hills now bloomed with macabre flowers of pink blasts as well as orange fireballs from the Manticores’ 1000 lbs bombs. Hailed by green signal flares from the infantry, the bombers were diving in with deadly precision. Numerous hidden bunkers lay exposed and gutted with rebars contorted into mangled vines. Thousands of soldiers followed up the bombing runs, finishing off the bunkers with flamethrowers and hoof grenades.  For every one earth pony the unicorns killed, it was as if three more sprang up to take his place as Republic troops charged in with robotic efficiency. Already, signals flares were appearing more than half way up the hills.

A few bombs were also exploding a good distance away from the ridge, supporting a large column of tanks making a flanking maneuver. The tanks were driving well past the hills and beginning to cut across, threatening to encircle the unicorn position. Nimbus could see very little resistance from that area. An occasional pink light was instantly smothered by several dozen flashes from Republic tanks as they steamrolled through the light defenses.  It appeared the unicorns concentrated what forces they could muster on the hills. They were digging in to die.

“Sir, unic fighters inbound from the north,” the bomber leader reported.

Nimbus jerked his head up in the direction and made out a melee of silhouettes a mile and a half away. He yanked back on his stick and shoved the throttle all the way forward. He was plastered to his seat as he climbed almost vertically.

“Get altitude now Obsidians!” Nimbus shouted.

A familiar voice interjected. “Fuck that, you ain’t touching my kills. Ricky is too much stallion for these unics.”

Ricky wasn’t all talk though. As Nimbus got closer to the dogfight he could see a few Ganymede heavy fighters already going down. They were truly bizarre dragonfly-like aircrafts. The front was similar to the Manticore except the fuselage abruptly ended at the wings.  A long narrow tail slightly curving downwards connected a bubble turret, which housed a single energy machinegun.

The real threat wasn’t the plane itself, however, but the three boomerang shaped drones carried underneath the slender tail. They were extremely nimble, and telekinetically controlled by a magister seated behind the pilot.  In the hands of a gifted magister they were extremely dangerous, though ponies like that were exceedingly rare after six years of war.

“Remember, don’t bother turning with the drones. They’ll get behind you within two revolutions. You’re faster than them. Use hit’n run.”

Nimbus leveled off a few hundred feet above the dogfight, and let two of his Peregrines swoop down at a straggling Ganymede.  Their combined cannon fire shredded the heavy fighter, severing it in half before the rear gunner could even react. Two drones chased after the Peregrines but Nimbus and two more Obsidians immediately dove in to intercept. They easily closed the distance, and turned the drones into smoldering wrecks with short bursts.

Nimbus quickly scanned his six for enemies as he continued his decent. Seeing nothing but sky he eased up on the throttle, and turned himself towards another Ganymede below, firing a stream of bullets directly in its path. The Ganymede tried banking hard in vein. Its left wing was torn to pieces as it flew right though the bullets, and spewed flames like a slit jugular.

“You piece of shit!”

Ricky's Peregrine came roaring right behind the mortally wounded plane, guns blazing. Nimbus winced as he slammed on his air brakes, and turned just in time to avoid a collision. Ricky came so close to his canopy, Nimbus clearly made out a raunchy mare clutching her breasts with her hooves, painted prominently on the side of his plane.

“You’re fucking welcome asshole you kill-stealing bitch!” Ricky continued ranting but Nimbus ignored it.

He throttled up again, and quickly gained airspeed to shake off any potential pursuers. As he turned back for another pass, Nimbus could see tombstones of black streaks emanated from the falling Ganymedes. Several parachutes dotted the skies but not everypony was so lucky. A rear gunner was desperately trying to get his hatch open as his plane tailspinned out of control. Flames were clawing at the bubble turret, and the machinegun barrel was already melted.  Nimbus turned away before he saw the conclusion.

“This is a good old fashioned turkey shoot ain’t it Lieutenant,” peeped a squadron mate.

“Don’t get careless. If we didn’t outnumber them this would be a whole different story,” Nimbus replied sternly.

Suddenly a shriek tore through his eardrums. “Pe, pegasi!”

It came from the Manticores, and Nimbus looked just in time to see several explosions from their area.  He immediately looped his plane around as he screamed for the Peregrines to head back to the bombers. Nimbus ran his hoof across a row of toggle switches, and punched a red button at the end, enabling WEP (war emergency power). The speedometer instantly jumped past 450 mph, and climbed towards 500 mph. Like a wild beast in pain, the engine groaned loudly as the water-ethanol injection pushed it past its normal limit. “Hang in there girl, just give me five minutes,” Nimbus muttered.

In a stroke of luck the Manticores were already in their wedge formations, and just getting ready to leave. Their rear gunners made the best of it, throwing up a deadly pincushion of tracers. A few Peregrines that stayed with the bombers also added to the mayhem. Though judging from the flood of distress calls, the pegasi were nevertheless pressing home their attacks.   Nimbus led the Obsidians below the formation, and sent the rest of the squadrons above.

“You know the drill. Their Legionnaires are just as fast as our Peregrines if not more so, and a hell of a lot more maneuverable,” he told his squadron. “If they’re leaving behind a trail of color you’re looking at a Centurion. You can bet they have at least a 100 mph advantage. Stick with your wingpony. Trust in your armor and firepower.”

Nimbus saw around forty pegasi. Including his own, there were a total of four Peregrine squadrons on this mission, for a grand total of thirty two fighters. Even worse, he saw several color trails streaking through the formation.

Several pegasi were shooting at the bellies of the Manticores below the rear gunners’ line of sight, but immediate broke off their attack and scattered upon seeing the Peregrines approaching.  Nimbus picked out a Legionnaire, and opened fire. As if threading a needle, the Legionnaire weaved through the bullets, and turned sharply to the right.  Knowing he couldn't turn with him, Nimbus responded with a rightwards climb. The Legionnaire hastily spiraled upwards to get behind him, seeing Nimbus enticingly floating above. It was a trap though; forcing the pegasus to climb gave Nimbus just enough time to complete his turn, and force a head-on engagement.

A single 50-caliber (12.7mm) machine gun on the back was the upper limit of what a pegasus could practically fly with; not a good proposition when facing down four 20mm cannons. Yet by the time he realized his mistake it was far too late. Designed only to resist shrapnel, the giant bullets tore through the Legionnaire’s carapace armor, and instantly shredded him into hamburger.

“I got bogies on me! I can’t. I can’t shake him!” came a panicked cry.

A Peregrine flew past him with two Legionnaires hot on his hooves. The Peregrine made erratic evasive maneuvers but to no avail. The fighter was trailing smoke and pieces of debris.

“Obsidian 5, straighten out now!” Nimbus shouted.

“What! That’s suicide!"

“I said straighten out!"

“Negative Sir!”

“You can take the hits. Your plane is protected against 50-cals in vital areas.”

That seemed to calm him down, and he leveled off his wounded plane. It was just the opportunity Nimbus needed to get a clear shot at the pegasi.

These ponies weren’t as green however, and upon seeing their prey suddenly stop turning, they broke off in opposite directions. Nimbus immediately adjusted his aim, and fired a hopeful burst before his plane overshot past them. A 20mm shell managed to catch one just in time, blowing off a hind leg below the knee. The pegasus fought through the pain, and did his best to stay airborne. But by the time Nimbus looked back, another Peregrine left nothing of him except red mist.

Nimbus scanned for the second Legionnaire, and saw him turning towards his plane from the 8 o’clock.  But before Nimbus could react, a deafening sound filled his cockpit as though he was sitting inside a metal shed in heavy rain.  Another pegasus was peppering him with 50-cal bullets from above. Nimbus instinctively bellied up and dove straight down full throttle, hoping the weight of his fighter would give him enough speed to escape.

The ground rushed towards him as the needle blew past 550mph. Even with the tracers wizing past him Nimbus couldn’t help himself from grinning. The stick was bouncing around in his hooves as his wings began oscillated under the intense speed. Pieces of metal were flying off his plane, and he wasn’t even sure if he could recover from the dive. He loved it.

The tracers didn’t let up though, and Nimbus was running out of sky. His eyes darted around his flight path looked for something, anything……..a Manticore. He fought the ailerons to point himself directly at the burning carcass, and fired his cannons at point blank range. He braced for impact as the bomber disintegrated into a wall of flaming debris. A piece of metal tore a long gash on the left wind as he flew through the aerial grenade. Nimbus knew that an air frame of flesh and blood will have it even worse.

He cut off his engine, and pulled back on the stick with all his might. The Peregrine pitched violently but started to pull up. Like a minotaur sitting on top of him, gravity pancaked Nimbus into his seat as blood rushed to his hooves. He started blacking out but managed to regained control just in time to see a Legionnaire tumble past him, impaled by a piece of the Manticore.

Nimbus scanned for the second pegasus, but did a double take upon looking back at the explosion of the Manticore. An orange trail crisscrossed the debris at near perpendicular angles. He followed the trail with his eyes, and spotted his second assailant coming in from above.  Nimbus was too low to dive away, and any other maneuver could easily be cut off by the Centurion’s superior aerial position. He was trapped.

But at the last second the Centurion pulled up from his attack, leaving only an orange right angle right next to his canopy.

“They’re disengaging. The pegasi are pulling out.” The bomber leader could hardly contain his relief.

The orange pegasus along with several ponies were racing away towards the horizon. Nimbus quickly saw why. Approaching from the opposite direction was a swarm of Manticores, and their Peregrine escorts.  It was the second attack wave.

“Hey what’s going on guys,” came a sedated voice. “Heard you all sceamin and hollerin over the radio.”

“Nice of you to join us Barley Brew. We got jumped by at least forty pegasi. Three of them were Centurions.”  Nimbus pulled his goggles over his forehead, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “Your Peregrines came just in time."

“Yeah well, now the parties all over...... woulda been fun ya know. Haven't seen that many pegis in awhile". Barley Brew sounded legitimately disappointed. "Guess I won’t be puking all over my cockpit today”. Nimbus could swear he heard the rattle of a hip flask being opened.

Suddenly a bright flash filled his vision. Squinting, Nimbus turned to see an orange ring rippling through the sky. It was followed seconds later by a thunderclap that pounded his chest.  The radio went wild with confused shouts and expletives.

“The fuck is that!” he heard Ricky say.

Nimbus grimaced. “It’s called a sonic boom.”

Chapter 2: The Battleship Hrimfaxi

A familiar archipelago of steel appeared in the horizon, and Nimbus finally felt himself relax a little. He popped his neck, and flipped on the radio.

“Obisdian 1 to Hrimfaxi. Requesting permission to land.”

“Roger Obsidian 1, you are clear to land. Proceed to Dock 2. Welcome home sir.”

The collection of silhouettes drew closer into an impressive armada of airships. High above the clouds were nine aircraft carriers flanked by dozens of smaller cruisers and destroyers. The planes began separating from their battle formation, returning to their respective airships. Nimbus lead his Obsidians to a markedly larger vessel at the heart of the fleet: The Battleship Hrimfaxi.

Bristling with guns and propellers, the Hrimfaxi is a massive construct of Earth Pony over-engineering, stretching some 900ft in length, and reaching almost twenty stories at its highest point. It combines four separate airship hulls in a diamond configuration to bear the enormous weight of its primary armament of nine 406mm guns in triple turrets. It is by far the largest and most powerful battleship ever constructed, and consequently in gross violation of the pre-war Hoofington Airship Treaty. The treaty imposed size and quantity limitations in order to prevent an arms race among the three Earth Pony nations. Apparently the Weimare Republic agreed with the treaty whole heartedly…

Nimbus maneuvered his Peregrine behind the Hrimfaxi’s belly. The ship passed overhead for an absurdly long time before he reached the hanger bay located towards the bow. A signal pony with bright neon flags was waiving him in as he approached. Nimbus hardly needed such instructions normally, but battle damages made hovering his plane in the right spot difficult. After some fidgeting the signal pony finally gave the all-clear. Mechanical claws latched onto his wings and tail, and hoisted him up to the hanger above.

The hanger was separated by catwalks into three lanes, now crammed with the clamor of maintenance crews. Fuel tanks, ammo boxes, and repair tools lay everywhere in organized chaos as they rushed to service the returning planes. A ladder was quickly extended to the cockpit, and Nimbus slid open his canopy.

Considering the size of the Hrimfaxi, the hanger was quite small, only able to house three squadrons of Peregrines. She was never designed to operate aircrafts, and the hanger was simply an ammunition bay hastily converted to extend the ship’s utility. For despite the Hrimfaxi’s awesome firepower, battleships were no longer relevant to Earth Pony fleet doctrine as aircrafts could deliver more firepower, more accurately, and at greater ranges. Aircraft carriers were also far cheaper to build and service.

In fact, the Hrimfaxi was the last operational battleship of any Earth Pony fleet, the rest being either lost or scrapped.  Unfortunately for the Republic, the ship took so much public funds to construct, and was so trumped up by its propaganda machines, that it was politically impossible to get rid of. For better or for worse, it was the pride of the Weimare fleet, and symbol of Earth Pony ingenuity (so ingenious that firing more than three of its main guns at once would capsize the vessel).

Nimbus ripped off his aviator cap as he stepped onto the catwalk, and marveled at his bullet ridden Peregrine. Entire sections of the fuselage looked like the surface of the moon, and black paint was chipping off everywhere. The wings especially had taken quite a beating with shredded panels revealing the machinery underneath. “You did great out there girl,” he whispered as he placed a gentle hoof on the Peregrine.

“Sir Admiral Corsica wishes to see you in her quarters.”

Nimbus’s private moment was broken by a maintenance officer. He returned an annoyed glare.

“I know sir. Repair everything but leave the engine to you,” she stammered.

Nimbus said nothing, and was about to walk away when something terrible caught his eye.

“Hey! Get away from there!” he shouted.

A maintenance crew was standing over the engine.

“But sir, it’s on fire,” he whimpered back.

Nimbus stepped towards him, and peeked into the engine. Sure enough there was a small red glow behind the mesh of valves. The maintenance crew was clutching a fire extinguisher.

“Carry on then,” he said trying his best to maintain his cool. Nimbus briskly walked off before anypony could see his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

The Admiral’s quarter was a spacious and well furnished room, located high atop the ship’s superstructure. The back wall was almost entirely a window, offering a spectacular vista of the skies.  Admiral Corsica was sitting behind an ornate desk, arguing over the phone. A muffled voice on the other end was clearly audible, and sounded less than pleased. Corsica looked up upon hearing Nimbus come in, and motioned for him to sit down.

“Look General, I’m not going to send in my entire fleet into areas not scouted for anti aircraft defense.” The admiral lifted her free hoof to her temple, pretending to blow her brains out.

Nimbus plopped himself in one of her cushy chairs, helping himself to a cup of coffee and a muffin from a tray on her desk. Corsica scowled as he reached out for another muffin. Nimbus met her gaze and paused, pretending to sit back. He took two more as soon as she turned away.

“Now what will my battleship or cruisers accomplish that my bombers cannot?” she continued. “You said it yourself. Your mighty stallions took the hill without even needing my third wave. Besides, my Manticores are much more surgical than the big guns.”

Finishing off the muffins, Nimbus now reached for the box of her imported Zebran cigars. But Corsica was prepared this time, stomping shut the box without even looking. She wagged an admonishing hoof at him, and tossed Nimbus a pack of cheap cigarettes instead.

“Trust me, you want close air support instead of artillery shells flying in willy-nilly from 30 miles out. We don’t want to be blowing up random orphanages or, friendly firing your little soldiers now do we?” Nimbus recognized that sarcastic tone, and shook his head smiling. Corsica winked, and pressed further.

“Oh pardon me General. Clearly I was mistaken. ‘Honor’ and ‘Valor’ meant lining up my ships in neat little rows bow to stern, flying right up to a fortress, and slugging it out like gentlecolts.” Corsica was clearly enjoying herself.  “Oh the glory we would’ve won for the Weimare Republic. Surely my sailors’ mothers would have applauded their completely asinine deaths.”

“Au contraire my dear General. I don’t think my ‘hunks of metal’ are less expendable than ponies.  However, if by ‘hunks of metal’ you are referring to my toaster then yes, perhaps it is less expendable than your infinite wisdom.”

The Admiral pulled the phone away from her ear with a devious chuckle, spewing coffee all over her immaculate navy colored uniform. The General’s uncontrolled fury now filled the entire room.

“I’ve had just about enough of your snide remarks Admiral.! I am Maximilian Von Manestein, Baron of the noble House Von Manestein, the oldest and most honored family in the entire Republic! Though I’m sure the ‘Butcher of Stalliongrad’ knows not what honor even means. Know your place mare!”

The rant hardly phased Corsica who was preoccupied with more important matters. “Damn, just had this thing dry cleaned,” she grumbled looking down at her soiled uniform.

She lifted the phone to her ear again, ready to deliver the final blow. “Yes yes it’s been a pleasure too. You take care now General,” but the line went dead with a violent click before she could finish.

“He tends to do that,” Nimbus offered.

“That stubborn bastard.  He’s stuck in the past in some romanticized chivalry bullshit. Someday it’s going to get himself and a lot of ponies killed.” Corsica chugged down the rest of her coffee, and poured herself another cup. “It’s not like I can do anything about it either. High Command won’t let me jeopardize any of my larger ships, what with this Earth Pony civil war on the horizon.”

Nimbus knew her frustration well. The three earth pony nations, the Weimare Republic, the Rolling Hills Federation, and the Dahlia Protectorate, were all driving towards the unicorn’s capital city of Unicornia, and the vast crystal mines which lay beneath. Though the earth ponies were within bombing range of Unicornia, neither side attacked the city proper or its factories, lest they unwittingly help their “allies” reach it first.

Corsica pulled off her wet uniform and undid her scarf, revealing the light blue pony underneath. She looked somewhat frail, and her age showed more without the golden epaulettes and smart creases of her uniform.

“Now, on to more important business.” Her jocular tone was replaced with a serious voice befitting her rank. “I got the initial report already: 21 Manticores and 9 Peregrines lost, 24 aircrafts damaged……we haven’t taken losses like that in a while. And am I reading this right? One of the Centurion was traveling faster than sound?”

“Something like that,” Nimbus replied nonchalantly. He stared intently out the large window behind the desk, sucking greedily on his cigarette.

Corsica raised an eye brow. “This is the first confirmed report of a pegasus breaking the sound barrier; a speed believed by out scientists to be unattainable, and you act about as shocked as me telling you what I had for lunch.”

Nimbus casually blew smoke rings. “And what did you have for lunch?”

Corsica shook her head, knowing she won’t get anything further out of him. “Well, I suppose panicking isn’t going to convince this Centurion to hold still in front of our flak guns. I’ll get back to you once we find their Citadel.”

Now it was Nimbus’s turn to raise an eye brow.  A Citadel was both home and fortress to the pegasi; an enormous mobile city of cloud housing Legionnaires and their families, though this distinction was hardly useful. The pegasi were a warrior race through and through, and everypony was first and foremost a Legionnaire.

“What makes you think there’s a Citadel in the area,” Nimbus asked.  “The pegasi only have a handful of them left after Stalliongrad.  Why would they risk the last of their cities defending the unicorns?”

Indeed, High Command even thought that the pegasi abandoned their alliance with the unicorns after their decisive defeat at the Battle of Stalliongrad.  In one fell swoop, the pegasi lost a majority of their Legionnaires along with virtually all their veteran Centurions in the battle. With most of their warriors dead, the earth pony fleets all but mopped up their undefended Citadels. The pegasi hardly deployed after that, and it was believed that the remaining Citadels retreated into the remote corners of the Equestrian sky.

“Just a hunch.” Corsica lit herself a Zebran cigar with an elegant strike of a match. The rich aroma quickly overpowered Nimbus’s cigarette, rendering it flavorless.

“The pegasi will fight to the last pony, you know that,” she explained. “It’s been nearly two years since Stalliongrad. I think they've scrounged together enough ponies to make a last stand, and bring honor to their ancestors or some stupid shit like that.”

“What, you think it’s Pegasopolis?” Nimbus asked.

“Not sure, but if you want a glorious funeral pyre then your capital city is the place to do it. Besides, if they’re deploying 40 Legionnaires at a time, there’s got to be a Citadel supporting them.”

Corsica took an overtly satisfying drag of the cigar as if to taunt him, and signal that she would answer no further questions. She gave him a wily smile, and blew smoke rings in his direction.  Nimbus jealously put out his cigarette. He was far from convinced but he took the hint.

“Anyhow, I’m glad you’re ok Nimbus. How’s your squadron doing?”

“I didn’t lose any of my Peregrines. Obsidian 5 took some secondary fragmentation in the flank but he’ll live.”

Corsica sighed. “Still haven’t bothered learning the names of your squadron mates huh.”

“Not much point,” he said sharply. “I can’t really relate to the younger generation. Besides, even if I could you’ll reassign them to another squadron after a few months. You turned my squadron into a damn day care.”

“Oh come on, High Command has my hooves tied. We gotta churn out as many pilots with combat experience as possible before this civil war hits, and what better way than to assign recruits to the best damn ace in Equestria.  I’m just following orders here Nimbus.”

Nimbus looked away in disgust. “Yeah I know. You’re real good at following orders Admiral.”

Corsica bit her lips. “I suppose I am,” she muttered.  A hint of despair flashed across her face but she quickly masked it behind a coffee cup.

“Hey I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s alright,” she assured as she pushed her graying auburn mane from her eyes. “We’ve all had a long day. Get some sleep and food while you can. I’m doubling air patrols, and I want you back out there tonight. Dismissed Lieutenant.”

Nimbus gave her a concerned look but Corsica already had her nose in the mission report again. He reluctantly got up and headed for the door, but stopped at the threshold. “Admiral,” he called back. Nimbus waived a Zebran cigar in front of his grinning face.

Corsica looked up, momentarily puzzled to see her cigar in his hoof. She quickly turned to her cigar box only to find it hanging open.  Her playful smirk rushed back. “Oh you thieving piece of shit.”

But Nimbus was already running out the door.

“I’m enlisting in the Air Fleet.”

Nimbus’s father didn’t look up from the chessboard as he considered his next move. “But this city doesn’t have an Air Fleet.”

“I meant the Weimare Republic Air Fleet. I already signed the papers so don’t try to talk me out of it,” Nimbus said resolutely.

He now had his father’s full attention. “What?”

“I said I joined the Republic Air Fleet. I ship out tonight. My saddlebags are already packed.”

“Nimbus, if this is a joke it’s not funny,” his mother warned. An awkward silence filled the living room as his parents stared intently at him, looking (hoping) for any hint of a prank.

Nimbus tried to force a laugh. “Hey it’s no big deal. I’ll be out in a few years.” His parents’ expression only grew heavier.

He tried again. “Come on, you know I don’t really belong here. I think it’ll be a good experience being with my own kind for a bit. Maybe see Equestria outside the walls of Coltstantinople too”.

“No……” his mother whimpered. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to tremble. Nimbus tried to comfort her but she pulled away.  Suddenly he was tackled, and pinned against the wall. His father stood over him like a demon, his wings in full extension.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” he roared. “I took you in, raised you as my own son, and this is how you betray me!” He punched Nimbus hard in the stomach. “I tried to protect you from the horrors of war. Your mother and I worked tirelessly to shield you from the horrid things ponies do to each other, and you eagerly run towards it like a naïve little fanpony!” He stomped hard on Nimbus who was now doubled over on the floor.

Blood gushed from his mouth as he coughed violently, but his father didn’t let up. “Do you even know what happens when a bomb goes off? Have you ever heard the screams of a pony with their guts hanging open? Do you even know the cries of a pony on fire?” Nimbus was stomped on after every question.

His father was panting heavily now, and stopped to pick him up by the neck. He bashed Nimbus hard against the wall, and brought him up to his face. “Have you forgotten,” he whispered sinisterly, “how I got my old scars?”

Nimbus tried to focus his blurring vision at his father’s left wing. Half of it was badly burnt, and no feathers grew from the grotesque mangle of flesh. Nimbus said nothing.

“You’re no son of mine.” His father released him, and Nimbus fell to the floor with a dull thud. “Get out my house, and never come back dirt pony.” With that he stormed off.

Nimbus stumbled to his feet, coughing up more blood. He turned towards his mother who was now sobbing uncontrollably. He stood there for a moment, wanting to see her one last time, but she kept her face hidden behind her wings.

As he headed for the door a small voice stopped him. “Nimbus, what’s going on? Did Dad catch you drinking again?” He turned to see a small orange colt peeking his head from upstairs.

“Yeah I thought he might not notice if I filled the vodka back up with water.” Nimbus forced himself to grin. “So much for that huh.”

“Is everything ok? There was lots of shouting and stuff,” the colt asked unconvinced.

“Yeah they just need some time to cool off,” he replied hiding his bruised flank. “Hey Icarus, I’m going for a little walk. I’ll be stopping at the convenient store so you want anything?”

Icarus’s eyes widened. “But you’re already in trouble.”

“Exactly,” Nimbus replied coolly. Icarus smiled from ear to ear.

“I’ll buy you a bottle of your favorite Polka Cola ok. But you gotta be a good little colt, and go back to bed now. Promise me you’ll go to sleep, and I’ll sneak you the goods into your toy chest by tomorrow morning.”

“Not those pussy ass diet Polka Colas ok,” Icarus replied.

Nimbus gave a genuine chuckle. “That’s my bro.”

Icarus beamed as he bounced back up the stairs. “Good night Nimbus,” he said over his shoulder.

“Good night Icarus.”

Nimbus put on his saddlebags, and left into the rainy night.

“Fucking hell!” Nimbus woke up with a start. He was drenched in sweat from head to hoof.  It was 8:00PM, and his alarm clock was doing its darnedest to let him know. Nimbus had four more hours till his night patrol. He grabbed his flight jacket and aviator cap off the floor, and headed to the hanger bay.

The hanger bay was less crowded now with only two dozen or so maintenance ponies making final repairs. His Peregrine was completely reborn with almost no sign of damage from the battle earlier. Nimbus wasn’t about to give the maintenance ponies too much credit though. Earth pony planes used modular armor plating that could easily be switched out when damaged.

Several ponies were standing atop his plane, giving it a fresh coat of paint. All Air Fleet aircrafts were normally green with blue-white underbellies, but Obsidian planes sported a distinct all black color scheme with matching emblems: a white arrowhead with a skull in the middle. It was mandated from High Command to take advantage of the ‘Black Void’ mythos. Apparently it instilled fear in the enemy while inspiring allied pilots. Nimbus thought it just marked him as a target. Besides, he missed the days when he could freely draw on his own plane.

Nimbus found the engine block already removed from his Peregrine, and hauled to his private work station.  Nimbus winced at the condition it was in, as if he was seeing his own child black and blued by a schoolhouse bully. Pulling on headphones, he played his favorite Judas Pony record, and set to work

Nimbus meticulously took apart the contraption, inspecting each piece like a diamond cutter.  He grudgingly replaced irreparably damaged parts while cleaning the rest. He lovingly polished each valve and tubing, lubricating and rubbing them gently…..he was lost in the pulsating vocals of Judas Pony and the smell of oil.

By the time he was finished, his squadron mates were assembled in the hanger waiting for him. They stood at attention, and saluted him with uncanny precision. Nimbus realized he was short one pony.

“Where’s Obsidian 5?” he demanded.

“Still in the infirmary sir,” one of them piped.

Nimbus nodded thoughtfully. “Alright let’s get this over with.”

He hated night patrols.