Far Away

CHAPTER XXVIII

“War… war never changes…” – *Fallout franchise***

The first rays of sun broke over the sprawling metropolis of Manehattan, now a deserted city in the middle of a conflict that was to be resolved with blood and metal. Smouldering vehicles and craters littered the streets, providing small amounts of cover for the fighting soldiers. No guns have sounded today as of yet. A tense silence washed over the friendly troops, braced for whatever the enemy had in store. Long shadows were cast by objects that stood in the rising sun’s way, windows of skyscrapers reflecting the orange light onto the streets.

Soldiers clutched their rifles tightly, a look of fear in their eyes. They were outnumbered two to one according to what they had experienced the day before. The only thing that they could hear were the quiet songs of birds which were melancholy, as if they knew that a war was being waged at where they called home, and the sound of waves smashing into the shore in a constant unwavering rhythm.

Out of the blue came sudden sounds of high calibre guns being fired, the resonance of the lower frequency sound waves giving a clue about how big they were. The soldiers hunkered down behind sandbags placed in the streets or small trenches built into the roads. Soon came the whizzing of shells, as sure as day, signifying that they were close. The ground shook as the shells pounded down onto the allied lines, causing enormous explosions of hot colours, then evaporating into black smoke with deep smouldering craters marked the positions where the shells bombarded the lines. The fighting has commenced again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Captain!” shouted Fire Streak who busted though the double doors that led to the mess hall where Jack was having a peaceful conversation with Soarin. Daring and Rainbow Dash were sitting nearby, laughing merrily together. Spitfire was also at the table but not engaging in conversation, looking at a crack on the polished surface with a mug of strong black coffee.

Spitfire jumped ever so slightly, her muscles stiffening from their relaxed state. “Yes, Fire Streak?” she answered.

“The griffins are here,” he told here as he walked up to the table.

“Oh, right!” said Spitfire as she jumped out of her seat, following Fire Streak out of the mess hall.

“What… What? Griffins?” asked Jack curiously.

“Yeah, they formed an alliance with us a few decades back,” answered Soarin.

“I wonder what they are like in combat,” pondered Jack.

“Believe me, they are ferocious,” said Soarin with a wink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Greeting commander Spitfire, General Thunderclaws at your service,” he said proudly as he bowed.

“Good morning, general,” said Spitfire, “May I offer your army sustenance before we fight?”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” replied the general.

Soarin snickered at Spitfire’s formalities. He knew she was always uncomfortable with greeting other high ranking generals as she couldn’t use her more casual way of speaking with them, as she does with her fellow Wonderbolts. Soarin and Jack repositioned themselves, as they have finished breakfast, to another table, where they could see the conversation much more clearly.

The griffin general was large, and wearing a brown coat with his position in the army proudly displayed in the form of a badge on his right lapel. Five medals were worn on his coat, all of them glistening silver. He had a battle scar over his left eye which looked like the original wound was deep. Fortunately for him, it did not blind his eye.

Chefs scuttled with utensils and equipment out of the mess hall kitchen and moved through the reception, into a large crowd of four thousand. Everything would have to be rationed from now on, due to the large numbers of mouths to feed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dead comrades lay dead in the trenches or open ground, either in dark black pieces scorched and burned by the fires of war, or bleeding their crimson life away. How fragile life is, and taking that life away from innocent soldiers who you chose to fight against is wrong. War to solve political disputes, and dragging civilians enlisted in the army into the midst of political turmoil is also wrong. Those who lay dead on the ground, in heaven thinking they defended their country with their sacrifice were terribly mistaken, for they were just the puppets of the leaders of the country.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spitfire was sitting in her small study, with Thunderclaws to discuss strategy and tactics. A large map of Manehattan was laid on the table, with many marks and symbols scattered across it with many more being added by the second. It was a tiring business, to plan every move of a whole army, for the deity who was running the country had other things to worry about. There was an unprecedented knock at the door.

“Come in!” shouted Spitfire.

“Good morning commander,” greeted a light green pegasus, “We have received reports of heavy casualties, we need to send reinforcements now otherwise, it is a lost cause for Manehattan.”

“Ok, Radar. I’ll get right onto it, thanks for alerting me,” answered Spitfire. She looked at the griffin general who was already in deep thought.

“I’m going to send two thousand of my griffins to sector A and C. If I heard correctly, you want us to defend the Manehattan University?” he asked.

“That’s correct, general,” replied Spitfire, “Do you want a messenger to alert your army immediately?”

“No, I’ll do it myself,” said Thunderclaws, “I’ll see you later.”

The general walked out of her study, into the hallways. Spitfire sighed, another heavy weight being relived temporarily from her shoulders. “Back to paper work I guess,” said Spitfire to herself with a sigh in a depressing tone.

“Awww, come on commander, it’s not that bad,” said a low voice from outside the door. Iron pushed his way into the study and observed her carefully.

“What are you here for?” she asked, now feeling uncomfortable in his presence.

“Soarin told me of how you were working your ass off the last few days,” Iron started, “And he reckons that you should get some rest. In fact, he ordered me to make sure you get some rest because he is out in the training course. Since I am a lower ranking officer, I must obey his orders no matter how much I dislike what he said to do.”

Spitfire raised one eyebrow at what Iron had to say, looking up from her thick wad of papers stacked messily on her desk. “Well, I command you to walk out of my office and tell Soarin to get lost,” she said defiantly.

Iron looked smugly at her. “Did I mention he told me to do it no matter what you say?” Iron retorted, “I’m going to literally tow you out of your office and bind your fucking legs to your bed, understood?”

Spitfire looked up at him, who was towering over her. “Not without a fight you won’t,” she said she blasted out of her seat and attempted to fly out into the hallway.

“Nope,” said Iron as he stood in the way of Spitfire, like last time in Canterlot.

Spitfire crashed into him with great force but he didn’t give way. Instead, she found herself flailing in the air and crashing onto the floor.

“What in the fiery pits of hell is happening in there?” shouted a voice from behind Iron.

“Oh, hey Fire Streak, mind lending a hoof?” asked Iron, totally oblivious to the fact that Spitfire was trying to push him out of the way of the door.

“What are you doing?” Fire Streak asked.

“I’m actually acting on Commander Soarin’s commands and forcing Spitfire to get some rest,” Iron answered, “Please help me restrain her.”

“Alright cap,” said Fire Streak plainly and trotted over to Iron Skies.

“I’s sorry we have to do this to you Spits,” said Iron sternly, “but it is for your own good.”

“I’m going to fire you both!” she barked as the two pegasi lifted her easily and started walking down the long hall.

“Hey! What are you doing with Spitty?” asked Fleetfoot, who was heading in the opposite direction.

“Acting on Commander Soarin’s instructions so she could get some rest,” they both answered in unison.

“Oh, if it is that, I’m totally fine with it,” chuckled Fleetfoot.

“For god’s sake Fleetfoot! Help me!” shouted Spitfire.

“No can’t do cap,” replied Fleetfoot, “Well, you need it.”

Spitfire totally gave up now, she relaxed her muscles and stopped trying to writhe in the two Wonderbolt’s grips. They walked down the hall, soon finding her room, signified by her cutie mark be branded on the door with flaming orange paint.

“I think I can do it from now on,” said Iron as he hauled Spitfire onto his back, “Go back to your duties Fire Streak.”

“Yes sir,” he saluted and scuttled back down the hall.

Iron opened the door with a gentle push, hearing the creaks of the hinges. The room itself was nothing special, a bed, a bedside table with drawers, a lounge. It was fully encased with iron walls, gleaming silver in the light that had been switched on by Iron. He turned and closed the door behind him, and then set Spitfire on the bed. She refused to move a muscle.

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Iron asked with a sigh.

Spitfire did not respond, electing to stay silent and keeping her position.

“Idiot,” Iron muttered under his breath as he grasped Spitfire and unfolded the bedsheets. He lowered Spitfire into bed and forced her body to lay down, followed by tucking her into bed. “I really do feel like a father now,” Iron proclaimed as he shut the lights and sat on the sofa, making sure Spitfire did not escape.

“I hate you, Iron Skies,” she said from her bed, “I really do.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Iron replied in the dark.

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

“Love you too,” mumbled Iron as he stood up and walked towards the door, “The things I do…”

“Stay with me,” she commanded as she heard the turning of the handle, “Since I’m being forced to do this, you’ll have to endure it too,” she stated plainly.

“Yeah… ok…” he answered, “Bloody Spitfire logic.”

“I heard that!” she called.