Out of the Blue

Chapters

Prologue: Into the Wild Blue Yonder
Look to the Sky
Brown Cottage
Update (sorry for the long wait)

Prologue: Into the Wild Blue Yonder

March 15th, 2015. Under pressure from years of bad economic conditions and dicey diplomatic relations, The Russian Federation has slipped back into Cold War era communism, and has become the New Soviet Socialist Federation. With a leader hell-bent on projecting the power and dominance of his new State, Russian forces have taken all of Eastern Europe, and has begun a mass push into Western Europe, including Germany, Austria, Sweden and Denmark. A U.S. naval fleet is assisting in operations in the North Sea to prevent the NSSF from controlling this strategic waterway. Among the fleet is the U.S.S. Nimitz, a super-carrier with an entire class of ships under its very own name. The U.S. fleet has launched an invasion to retake Copenhagen, Denmark, which is currently occupied by Soviet forces. If the United States takes Copenhagen and the area around the city, the Soviets will be denied entrance to the North Sea, thereby cutting off any invasion of Western Europe from northern waters. U.S. Marines and Navy S.E.A.L.s slipped into the various ports under the cover of night and have engaged the enemy. Navy fighter squadrons are deployed to assist the ground forces in the early morning as the fighting turns bloody.

Out of the Blue

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

March 15th, 2015

0700 hours

North Sea

U.S.S. Nimitz

First Lieutenant Stanley Owens, USN, call sign: “Pegasus Three-Niner”

Stanley Owens stood on the edge of the Nimitz’s flight deck with his flight helmet cradled under his right arm, facing the ocean. It was a cold March morning as the sun slowly began to rise over the North Sea. The new sunlight danced and played on the low-rolling waves, whose crests glistened like liquid gold from the light. What few morning clouds there were that hung in the sky reflected the sun’s rays, giving off a bright shine around the edge of the white clumps of condensed vapor as though they were the halos of angels. A stiff, slightly salty breeze began to come off of the water, bringing with it more of the chilling morning air. Navy ships could be seen in all directions, faintly shining in the distance as the sun rose rose ever so slowly into the sky. The calm sounds of the ocean were drowned out by the sound of howling engines as various Navy planes soared through the sky. Even more noticeable, however, was the sounds coming from the deck of the very carrier he stood on.Stretching out at over one-thousand feet long, the USS Nimitz was less of a naval vessel as it was a floating portable air field, and a traveling symbol of American naval power. What space that wasn’t used for taking off or landing was lined by dozens of aircraft, ready to be fueled, loaded, and sent off into the sky for their own sorties.

“Hey, Owens! Earth to Owens!”

Owens turned his head to left, looking for the one person who had the nerve to break his peaceful trance.

“Oh, hey Bulkley.”

Captain Sarah Bulkley, the Pegasus squadron leader, was standing directly to the left of Owens. Standing at barely five feet, three inches tall, she was almost a head shorter than Owens. Despite her height, Bulkey projected her leadership strongly, and nobody doubted her position. She had all the good elements of a leader: a firm and assertive voice, good charisma, a true caring for those under her command.

“Watcha’ doin’ Owens?”

“Nothin’ much, just lookin’,” he replied in a flat tone.

“Looking at what?”

“The sunrise, I guess.”

“I can see why. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Cold as hell, but beautiful.”

“Yea."

“You've never really been much of a talker, have you?” Bulkley commented with a jokingly exasperated tone.

He replied with a slight chuckle, “I guess not.”

Owens felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He slowly turned around to face one of the flight deck crew members, a tall, skinny Caucasian male with a prominent southern accent.

“When y’all are done chit-chattin’, the plane’s loaded up n’ ready t' go.”

Owens began to walk toward his aircraft, an F/A-18E Super Hornet. He reach into one of the pockets in his flight vest and produced a small wrinkled piece of paper. Scribbled on it were Owens’s orders. He and Bulkley were to fly out to downtown Copenhagen and assist Marine forces trying to seize control of the Russian-occupied city with on-call fire missions. The primary objective was to target and eliminate any ground threats facing the Marines.The secondary was to keep the skies clean and clear of any enemy aircraft looking to take a pick at the Marines or his own fellow pilots. Owens checked the ordnance for the particular sortie, which consisted of:

One three-hundred gallon external fuel tank, directly under the fuselage
Two AIM-120 AMRAAM radar-guided air-to-air missiles,
Two AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground missiles
Four LJDAM five-hundred pound laser-guided bombs
Two AIM-9X Sidewinder infrared-homing missiles

Along with the outside weapons, the aircraft housed a twenty-millimeter Vulcan rotary cannon and several flare and chaff countermeasures. Owens gave each hanging armament a firm tug, checking to make sure everything was properly secured. Satisfied, he stepped back to take one last look-over of the aircraft. Among the many standard official military markings and warning labels, two details offered at least some level of the pilot’s personal connection to his F-18. The first was his name stenciled on the left side of the cockpit, which read, “LT Owens.” The second was the logo of his squadron, an alabaster pegasus with wings in full spread, adorning the left vertical stabilizer. Beautiful creature, Owens thought. Too bad they don’t exist.

The crew member grew more irritated and impatient by the second as the pilot silently inspected what he had spent half an hour loading and meticulously checking with his fellow crew members. Finally, he snapped.

“Well any fuckin’ time, sweetheart!”

Owens simply shrugged off the man’s short-fused temper and walked toward the ladder leaning against his plane. Impatient one, isn’t he? Owens knew the crew member had every right to be, though. The carrier had a tight schedule for the morning, due to the operation in Copenhagen. Any delay or change would slow down the flight deck operations, screwing up the whole shebang. Naturally, everyone was in a rush to get the planes flying as soon as possible without causing an accident. Tempers were running short.

Owens climbed the ladder, his helmet still clutched in his right arm. Reaching the top, he slid himself into the cockpit, put on his head gear, and strapped in. The cockpit’s multitude of touch screens, gauges, and switches lit up green as the flight systems were turned on. He hit the controls to lower the canopy. The clear, bubble-shaped cover slowly came down to meet itself with the cockpit, muffling the outside sound from within. Owens checked with the crew to clear the back of his jet.

“Starting engines. Clear back. Clear back.”

“Roger, clear from back.”

Owens began the start-up. The twin F414-GE-400 turbofan engines slowly roared to life, one after the other. Once the engines were in full spin, Owens slowly inched the throttle forward and taxied his aircraft toward the catapult, where crew members were already waiting. Bulkley, now Pegasus Three-One, was already at the catapult to his left, running pre-flight checks. Owens carefully brought his own plane into position and stopped, where the catapult crew began fixing the gear to the launch system. The catapult officer contacted Owens.

“Alright, tree-niner, begin pre-flight checks.”

“Roger,” Owens responded. He ran through his mental list while checking each element. He observed the wings and empennage as the flaps, stabs, ailerons, and elevators moved back and forth, up and down, in their respective directions. He moved on to the weapon systems and countermeasures. Each came back green and responding as normal. Owens felt the cockpit give a slight shake as his flight lead was launched to the left. On his own side, the Jet Blast Deflector was raised behind the plane, and Owens pushed the engines to full throttle.

Satisfied, Owens gave the thumbs-up to the Catapult officer. He reached for the handle sitting atop the right side of the control panel and held on, waiting for the launch. A thick, white mist rose from the deck as the steam-powered catapult was readied.

The officer gave the catapult operator the signal to launch. Owens was firmly pressed against the back of his seat as the plane lurched forward with powerful acceleration. As soon as the landing gear left the deck, he pulled the nose up and toward the sky, gaining altitude as gravity made a futile effort to bring the plane back down. Slowly, he eased back the throttle and waited as Pegasus Three-One circled around to join him.

“Pegasus tree-niner, this is Pegasus tree-one, coming up on your wing, starboard side.”

“Roger, starboard side clear.”

Pegasus Three-One slowly made her way to Owens’s jet and positioned her own on the left side, wings no more than a few yards apart.

“Tree-one to tree-niner, heading south at one-six-fife, angels seven, how copy?”

“Solid copy, tree-one.”

With that, both planes banked right in almost perfect unison and turned toward their destination. The two then gradually increased altitude, and flew off into the wild blue yonder.

**************************************************************************************

The flight wasn’t exactly long.

Pegasus Three-Niner and Three-One had been launched in the waters near the very tip of Denmark and were flying south to Copenhagen, roughly two-hundred miles away. At cruising speed, the pair was estimated to reach Copenhagen in no more than twenty minutes. Not exactly a whole lot of time for deep thought.

Owens and his flight lead were already ten minutes in. Both had their heads snapped out of the early morning conversation and into straight-forward, no-emotion combat mode. The pilots spent all their time checking their radar, checking and rechecking weapon systems, checking the radio for incoming calls from the boys on the ground. The endless drone of the jet engines were all that occupied Owens’ ears for the entire time. Radio silence seemed only to amplify the volume of the white noise. Finally, something came in.

“Pegasus three-niner, this is Charlie Company, requesting air support, over.”

Owens snapped into focus and made the reply.

“This is Pegasus tree-niner. ETA ten minutes. What do you need, Charlie?”

“Copy, we got enemy ma..ine ..un positi.., ...ed ..DA..s...”

The radio communication quickly began to grow unclear and filled with static.

“Charlie, you’re breaking up. Repeat, over.”

“......................................................”

Owens tried tweaking the radio, making sure the frequency was right. It was. He glanced to his radar. The screen had become as fuzzed and unfocused as the the comms unit, which broad-casted nothing but an incessant buzz. It was filled with random series of dots and blotting shapes, blocking out even the signal from Three-One, still hanging a few yards off his right wing. Somethin’s off, he thought. This better not be jamming. The evidence, however, seemed quite clear. He needed some confirmation.

Owens re-tuned the radio, finding the backup frequency reserved only for times that the rest were either malfunctioning or jammed. Fixing the number right on the dot, he checked to see if Bulkley had done the same.

“Tree-one, this is tree-niner. Respond if receiving, over.”

Owens was relieved to hear the familiar voice.

“This is tree-one. You getting buzzed?”

“Affirmative.”

“Same here. I think we’re getting jammed, possibly aerial. Keep you’re eyes peeled.”

“Roger that, tree-one. Looking for bogeys.”

Owens slowly swept his eyes across the horizon line, looking for anything else in the air. His plane was hovering almost a thousand feet above the cloud layer, which had begun to grow thicker since the take-off. The sun had since risen fully and sat itself just above the level of the clouds, bathing the white puffs in yellow-white light. Owens didn’t see anything. Gradually, though, He began to make out two tiny black specks barely poking out amongst the blue sky.

“Tree-one, I got bogeys. Tally two, coming in eleven o’clock, over.”

“Roger, tree-niner, I got two coming at one, sending I.F.F. tone, wait.” ….............
“Response sour. We got trouble. Get ready, tree-niner.”

Owens wrapped his fingers a little tighter on the joystick, waiting to see who would make the first move. Suddenly, the white noise of the cockpit drowned out by a loud WUP-WUP-WUP of a radar lock.

“Shit, I’m being targeted. Breaking left!”

Owens sharply rolled his jet to the left and pulled back hard on the joystick, putting the plane into a hard turn. He felt the all-familiar G-force crush his body into the flight seat as his plane narrowly evaded a head-on missile from the enemy. Owens looked back briefly to see a long, gray-white trail following the missile as it streaked through the sky, looking for it’s lost target. Just then, the two enemy planes roared past. They were two SU-27 Flankers, painted in full black and bearing the Soviet Red Star. Owens chased after them, trying to line up a shot of his own.

“Tree-one, group splitting up. I’m engaging!”

“Copy, tree-niner, engaging over here. Where the hell did they come from!?”

“Hell if I know, but we got a fight on our hands!”

Owens clicked off the safety switch and armed his Sidewinders. He punched the throttle and came up to within a hundred yards of one of the Flankers. He maneuvered his jet this way and that, trying to get a lock on the bandit. The lock-on changed from a series of rapid beats to a solid tone. Lock.

He fired.

The missile detached from the right wingtip, and the rocket engine engaged. The infrared-homing missile went screaming towards the enemy, leaving a white smoke trail in its wake. It soared gracefully through the air, if only for the shortest time, before the missile found its final resting place: the Flanker’s left engine.

The SU-27 erupted into a massive ball of fire and shrapnel, sending bits of burning metal raining back down to Earth.

“Hooyah! Splash one!” Owens yelled over the radio, ecstatic from getting the first kill of the day, and surprisingly early on in the dogfight.

The radar of Owen’s jet suddenly cleared, as if a massive green dirt stain had been wiped off of it. All of the aircraft in the sky were now clearly visible. He had taken care of the jamming aircraft. He decided to make a move on the other Flanker, dropping out as it pulled a hard Spilt-S turn downwards. Owens inverted his plane and dived after it. Out of nowhere, he heard Bulkley shouting into her radio in a panic.

“Tree-niner, I’m trailing one bandit but I got another on my tail. I can’t shake ‘em! I could use some help over here!”

“Roger, tree-one. Moving to assist.”

Owens pulled away from his path behind the lone Flanker and quickly engaged his afterburner, trying to catch up to his flight lead. He spotted the formation half a mile away, five-hundred feet higher in altitude to where he was. Bulkley had indeed become sandwiched between the two Russian planes. The one behind her had grown dangerously close. Owens raced toward the trailing SU-27, trying to line up the shot. He watched his HUD as the cursor ever so slowly fixed itself onto the enemy.

His targeting was stopped abruptly by a similar but more menacing tone. The jet he had disengaged from had come back for revenge. Four-hundred yards behind, the Russian fired. Owens quickly dumped his flares. A small shower of white-hot magnesium and Teflon rained down from the back of the F-18 as Owens pulled to the right. The missile was drawn away from the aircraft and flew out into empty air.

After leveling the plane, Owens snapped his head to the left, frantically checking to see what was happening to Bulkley. He didn’t feel any calmer to find out. While he had evaded, the Flanker had centered itself directly on Three-One’s six o’clock. Owens spotted a smoke trail running up to her aircraft.

“Tree-one! Fox two! Fox two!”

Owens saw Bulkley trying to fire her own flares and evade, but her attempt, however, proved fruitless. He could only witness in horror as the missile homed in straight on target. Bulkley’s aircraft was ripped to pieces as the rocket-propelled projectile slammed into the engines and ignited the fuel within. Not a single part remained intact. No person could survive such an explosion. Tree-One was officially K.I.A.

“Tree-one, tree-one, come in! Come in! FUCK!”

Owens sighted the enemy that had killed his wingman, and dove in to take his vengeance.

“Oh, I got you now, you Communist piece of SHIT!”

He locked on and fired.

The enemy aircraft quickly shot out a set of flares, evading the Sidewinder missile.

“You’re not gettin’ away that easily,” Owens said in a menacing tone to himself as he armed his twenty-millimeter Vulcan nose-mounted cannon.

He lined up the targeting reticule just ahead of the Soviet, making sure to lead his shots. And he opened fire.

A mass of twenty-millimeter rounds ripped into the plane.The engines and wings of the enemy burst into flames as the aircraft fell into a steep death-dive toward the ground several thousand feet below. Splash two.

Owens moved to deal with the plane Bulkley had tried to bring down just a minute ago. At the very same time, Owen’s own trailer tried to get on his six and finish the job. Owens found himself in the same position Three-One had fell into earlier. He sent his jet into series of tight barrel-rolls and side-to-side moves trying to keep the bandit from acquiring a lock as he maneuvered to get behind the aircraft ahead. Getting right onto its six, Owens switched to his AMRAAMs and waited for the lock-on tone to sound off.

All of a sudden, the Flanker’s nose shot up sharply into the air as the plane appeared to stop dead, a textbookPugachev’s Cobra. Owens raced ahead of the nearly motionless jet, caught in a state of bewilderment at what had just happened. The Russian had bled speed and now Owens had two on his tail. This just isn’t my day, Owens thought in frustration. This problem was only escalated by the horrible monotone beeping of being locked-on from behind. He frantically jerked his head left and right, trying to see how close they had truly come. They were virtually on top of him.

Owens desperately shot out his flares and pulled the plane in a high-G right turn, trying to throw off the incoming missiles. One missed.

But the other found its prey.

Owens’s plane shook violently as the missile’s blast-fragmentation warhead dug into the region between the back of his left wing and empennage, ripping the wing clean off. Owens felt like he almost flew out of his seat as the plane descended into a stomach-lurching dive. As Owens tried pulling back pointlessly on the joystick, he could vaguely make out a strange and peculiar cloud just below him. It seemed to ripple and spark with small bursts of multi-colored lightning. And he was headed straight into it.

The F-18 continued its head-spinning descent straight toward the aerial anomaly. The nose made contact. In a sudden bright white flash, the jet vanished into thin air.

Look to the Sky

Look to the Sky

A white flash lit up the sky.

Six thousand feet.

The doomed jet continued its downward spiral. Owens yanked forcefully on the joystick, trying desperately to pull out of the dive and slow his descent. The controls were virtually non-responsive. The once green dashboard now flashed a bright, horrid red while sounding out the alarm: “Systems Failure”. Nearly the entire tail had been engulfed in flames as the volatile kerosene fuel continued to leak from the left engine, leaving a thick black smoke trail behind.

Five thousand feet.

The altimeter spun like the blades of a helicopter. Owens’ altitude was dropping at an alarming rate. Electrical systems shorted out and began to burn, setting nearly the entire flight controls on fire. The fuel tank ruptured from the incredible heat and leaked fuel that made its way into the cockpit. Some of the flammable puddles grew dangerously closer and closer to the various electrical fires. The air inside hung thick as some of vaporized fuel condensed on the cold glass of the inside of the canopy, clouding the already blurred view. Owens frantically threw his head around, trying to look for his savior. Ejection handle! Need to find the ejection handle!

Four thousand feet.

The fuel met the fires and ignited. Most of the cockpit’s floor became covered in a yellow-hot blaze. Owens’ legs swung alarmingly close, threatening to become engulfed as the flames licked at him hungrily. The oxygen tank failed. His mask became filled with the same noxious vapors hanging inside the rest of the cockpit. The vapor was nearing its ignition point. The plane grew closer and closer to it’s inevitable demise. Owens was quickly running out of time. He finally found the thick yellow handle sitting by the right side of his side. He promptly shot his right hand down and grabbed it.

Three thousand feet.

The handle didn’t move. “SHIT!” he yelled in a mix of frustration and pure terror. The fires found Owens, catching his left pant leg on fire. He felt his leg grow incredibly hot, but paid little attention to the sensation. His mind was already entirely preoccupied with the fear of not being able to eject. Owens fiercely pulled on the handle, trying to dislodge it from its hidden snag. Ejection handles are NOT supposed to jam! He choked from the burning in his chest and throat as oxygen began to be pushed out by the volatile fuel vapor. The lack of the life-giving gas caused Owens’ head to become fuzzy and his eyes blurry, multiplying the effect from the aircraft’s dizzying vertical spin.

Two thousand feet.

Owens threw every last ounce of his weight and energy into pulling the handle. Yet even that proved worthless. Visibility was nearing zero. His mind fell into a darker and darker haze. He could barely see the sight that he wished he couldn’t: the ground rushing up at a break-neck pace to meet him. Owens could only close his eyes and wait for his aircraft to become a forty-seven-thousand-pound aluminum-composite tomb. At least I had a good run.

One thousand feet. Almost over.

A large, rainbow-hued blur rushed by, slamming the cockpit with a mighty gust of wind, as though by the hand of God himself. A loud snap resounded, barely audible over the other blaring noises in the cockpit. The ejection handle was freed. Owens pulled as hard as was physically possible. The toxic fuel vapors inside were rapidly dispersed as the canopy was fired away from the cockpit. The alarm was drowned out by a deafening howl of wind as the internal blaze was extinguished. A second later, Owens felt his body being crushed with twelve times the force of gravity as the ACES II ejection seat hurled him from the burning jet. Owens already had so little oxygen left in his brain, and with the added G-force, he watched as his vision disappeared down a long dark tunnel. All of his world instantly faded to black.

*****************************************************************

“Just three more bites, Angel?” Fluttershy said, a slight tone of pleading in her voice.

The pure white rabbit just turned up his nose at the half-eaten carrot.

“Just two more bites?”

Once again, getting no response other than a look of smug defiance.

“One more bite? Please?” Fluttershy held the carrot right up to Angel’s mouth. The rabbit replied by grabbing the carrot and forcefully removing it from the hooves of the surprised pegasus, and chucked it at her. The somewhat pointed end barely missed her eye and instead bounced off of her nose with a dull thud, followed by a quiet “eep!” from Fluttershy. Angel simply turned around and bounced away.

Fluttershy just decided to give up with a sigh. She wished she could just be a little more assertive, but looking into that cute little bunny’s eyes made her lose any sort of anger or resentment towards him, even if he could be a bit mean on certain occasions.

Fluttershy slowly made her way over to her couch, lying down as softly as can be. She had finished all the chores that needed to be done. The day had grown late, and Celestia’s sun had begun to set behind the mountains, casting a bright orange glow through the window of the cottage. Some of the light shined itself in Fluttershy’s fatigued eyes, causing her to moan in discomfort as she rolled over, trying to avoid the light. Sleep was the only thing left to do. Then she considered other options.

Maybe I could go talk to some of my friends! No, I don’t want to bother them. When was the last time she and Rarity had gone on one their little get-togethers? No, Rarity said she was busy working on a custom dress for a new client. I wouldn’t want to disrupt her work. What about Twilight? She’s probably studying. All she ever does is study, Fluttershy thought, while letting out a little chuckle. Oh I know! Maybe I could borrow a book. I haven’t read anything good in a while. Fluttershy shot a glance over at the bookshelf. She had read all of those books over and over. It would be pointless to keep reading over them again.

Her chain of thought was brought to a halt as the silence of the cottage was broken by a sound in the distance. It was some of... howling? Roaring? Fluttershy had never heard such a strange sound before. It was like the winds on a stormy night, a night that would have Fluttershy curled up in bed, her hooves glued over her ears. The weather pegasi in Cloudsdale hadn’t planned a major storm, had they? No, the sound definitely was not the wind. Like the sound was coming from a single source. And it drew slowly closer, and closer still. Could some sort of animal be making that noise? No, that can’t be. I’ve never heard a creature make such a sound...

As Fluttershy’s thought trailed off, Angel Bunny suddenly bounded into the room, his facial expression having shifted from one of insolence to that of fear and awe. He tugged at the foreleg of the now shocked pegasus, attempting to move her over to a window in another room that overlooked a distant field. The strange noise also seemed to be coming from that general direction. Angel stuck his paw toward the window, silently demanding Fluttershy to look out. Taking the cue, she looked to the sky. What met her sight was unbelievable.The anomaly that had been producing the sound was a massive grey object streaking down from the sky, trails of fire and smoke marking its rapid downward spin.

The doomed F/A-18E Super Hornet finally met its fate.

The ground shook as the object slammed into the ground. The wreck erupted into a tremendous ball of flames and smoke blacker than Luna’s night. The mushroom-like black cloud rose into the air as the fires continued to spew the horrifying blackness from the ground. Fluttershy could only stand there entranced, stunned by awe and horror. Except for the distant sound of raging fires, the air sat stagnant and still in a ghostly silence.

The silence was quickly shattered. The air was now filled with a cacophony of squawks, shrieks, and various other calls as the animals of Fluttershy’s cottage ran amok, scattering to and fro in reaction to the incident. Some of the animals ran, and flew, into the Everfree Forest.

Fluttershy panicked. That forest was dangerous! If they got lost in there, something really bad could happen, things Fluttershy cringed even thinking about. “Wait! Come back!” She yelled, with her typical low volume voice, still held tight by fear. She flew straight into the forest, going as fast as her feeble wings could possibly carry her.

Owens’ ever-so-slowly regained consciousness. His head was still swimming as if it were composed entirely of water, sloshing around inside his cranium. His vision was still blurred and unfocused. His hearing was still ringing from the alarms and rushing wind during the ejection. His nose failed to pick up any sort of smells, apart from the jet fuel he had inhaled so heavily; his nostrils burned. And speaking of burning, his lungs. They burned, oh God, they burned! With each labored breath, a fresh wave of pain seized Owens’ chest, like someone had poured molten lava down his throat. Exhaling was followed by a series of heavy coughing as his lungs tried in vain to remove the toxic substance within. And his lungs weren’t the only thing trying to purge the toxin. Owens felt his stomach begin to churn as it prepared itself to convulse. He quickly, yet weakly, reached his arm up to his helmet and disconnected the oxygen mask, its tube now dangling loosely after having disconnected from the aircraft itself. He couldn’t have done it too soon. He felt his gut tighten as a hot stream of vomit surged out of his mouth and onto the ground... far below.

It was then that Owens realized that he wasn’t even on the ground. Looking up, he realized that his parachute had been snagged on the branches of a tall tree. A very tall tree. Looking down, Owens could see just how tall. He decided to weigh his limited options. Either:

A) I disconnect myself from the parachute and fall, and possibly suffer serious injury.
B) Stay up here and slowly rot to death.

This just isn’t my day, is it? Owens thought with a painful sigh of frustration. Option A sounded a little better to him. But before executing his choice, he gave himself one last look-over to check for any injuries he already had. Owens wiggled, bent, and twisted this way and that, seeing if any bone was fractured or muscle torn. Thankfully, he felt very little pain. He did feel that the skin on his left leg was loosely sticking to the inside of the flight suit pant leg. Trying to shake it loose resulted in a sharp wave of pain from the outside of his leg, suggesting that the skin might have been burned. Owens slowly lifted his left leg, trying to get a better view of the area. The pant leg had been almost entirely scorched by the fire inside the cockpit from only a few minutes earlier. The skin had merely taken damage from the indirect heat. Thank God for fire-retardant flight suits. Well, no more screwin’ around. It’s getting dark. Wait, dark!? Squinting through the tree’s foliage, Owens noticed that the sun was setting. But... it was just morning. How...? He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Just... focus.

Owens reached for the parachute release cord and prepared to pull. Just before doing so, he looked toward the ground one last time, down at the dizzying drop. He drew in a long, slow breath, ignoring the pain that came with the fresh air. Releasing the breath, he wrapped his fingers around the cord’s handle and gave it a forceful yank.

Owens felt his body start to drop like a stone. Choosing not to look at the ground rushing up below, he curled himself into a fetal position, involuntarily using his right arm as a potential brace.

Crack.

Fluttershy continued to fly through the forest. As her wings began to grow tired, though, she returned all four hooves to the ground and slowed to a brisk trot. Looking up to the right, the smoke from... that thing... still rose into the darkening air. The animals had scattered in all directions, some too fast for the pegasus to catch. Oh, if only I had Dash to help me out right now, she wished. She slowed her pace down further, coming to a halt in the middle of the forest.

The Everfree Forest was scary enough during the daytime. But with daylight disappearing, the air hung heavy with a dark and foreboding atmosphere. Everything was still and silent. Looking around, she tried to figure out just where in the hay she was. The pillar of smoke and fire seemed to provide the only sign pointing to the way out, since she had gone far off the beaten path.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the motionless air. Even having worked with animals for so much of her life, Fluttershy still could not recognize what creature had produced the sound. The tone, however, was unmistakable. It was one of pain and anguish.

The pegasus snapped her head towards the direction of the scream. Digging her hooves hard into the ground, she broke into a gallop towards the unknown victim. Her caretaker instincts drove her on. Her path was reassured by the sound of another yell of pain, though shorter and filled with random obscenities. Fluttershy could tell she was drawing closer, as she slowed once again to a trot. Scanning her eyes across the forest floor, she finally saw what she came for.

Briefly picking her pace back up to a trot to get closer, she got a better idea as to what had produced the screaming. Like the mysterious object from earlier, what laid before her eyes was unbelievable. Though it had been saying words only a few seconds before, it was definitely not a pony. The creature clutched its foreleg on the ground, an expression of pain plastered upon its fleshy face.

Wait, no, the creature’s body structure suggested that it was two-legged, similar to Spike. What struck Fluttershy the most was that the creature was almost entirely clothed from neck to... hoof? No, paws? Definitely not. She couldn’t tell, as it was wearing some sort of strange covering around its... its... feet. That’s it! Feet!

This thing must be some sort of ape, she thought, excited to have possibly discovered a new species, possibly even an intelligent being! Her racing thoughts were cut short as the creature turned its head toward her, Its expression partially replaced by one of confusion and amazement.

…................. The fuck!? was the only thought that broke through the thick fog in Owens’ mind. Before him stood something he certainly had not counted on seeing today. It was a creature very much like a pony, only somewhat smaller in stature. Not to mention... other differences. The pony thing had an extremely unusual color scheme for that kind of animal. Its coat was a creamy yellow with a soft pink mane that fell down both sides of its head, not unlike human hair. What really stuck out were its wings. Wings? The pony possessed a pair of small wings that had been folded across its back. Craning his neck slightly, Owens noticed a strange set of markings on its... flank... right? The markings resembled a triad of butterflies.

Damn. That jet fuel’s really messin’ up my head right now. That, or Denmark has some weird animals. Either way, I gotta find a way out of... wait, there’s no major forests where I was. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I was over one of the harbors when I was... Owens’ train of thought was broken as the pony started to speak. Speak!?

“Um... are you alright? Can you understand me?” Fluttershy asked the creature, falling into her typically timid tone.

It just talked. Yep, I’m hallucinating. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Ignoring the pony-hallucination’s words, Owens slowly tried to get back on his feet. His entire body was seized with an aching pain, a testimony to the fall. This pain revived the agonizing sensation in his right arm, which had been broken as his entire body weight had been focused on it during the impact. Owens again cradled his right arm with his left as the look of agony returned to his face.

As the creature ignored her concerns and tried to stand upright on its legs, it suddenly grabbed its arm with an expression of pain, indicating a possible bone fracture. Once again, her caretaker instincts kicked in. Rushing over to the injured creature, Fluttershy took hold of both its unaffected arm and helped it stand up. It was then that she noticed a strange smell hanging on the clothing of the creature. It smelled bitter, noxious, and very, very foreign. She had never smelled anything like it before, unlike any sort of odor an animal could naturally produce. The smell bit at her nostrils and made her want to sneeze. Ignoring this, Fluttershy flapped her wings, trying to generate the necessary lift to fully hoist the creature up to a standing position on its two hind legs.

The pony suddenly darted behind Owens and helped him to his feet. He could feel the soft rushing of air and quiet beating of wings as the pony flapped behind him, using the lift to pull him up. Alright, that didn’t exactly seem like a hallucination, he pondered, still trying to sum up what had just happened. Before his mind could form a clear explanation, the pony came back around to face his front. At five feet, nine inches, Owens wasn’t exactly tall for a man of his age. He was a fighter pilot; it didn’t matter. Yet now, standing at full height, he realized just how small the pony was. Its head seemed to barely rise above his lower chest. Once again it spoke, this time in a voice slightly tinged with amazement, its body trembling.

“Um... you look hurt. You really sh-should come back with me, if... if that’s alright w-with you.”

Some subconscious part of Owens’ mind compelled him to reply this time. “Where to?” he asked the timid pony.

“Back to my, um, m-my cottage. It’s a bit of a walk from here. I-it’s getting pretty dark; we really should get going, if... um... if that’s okay... with you.”

Let’s see here. I’ve got a small, talking, winged pony telling me to go back towards a cottage out of these woods, which probably won’t be anywhere near where I came down, while I have a broken arm and somewhat severe jet fuel poisoning. I could follow it and possibly find out where the hell I am and how to get back to friendly forces, or, I could stay out here and probably get attacked by hungry wildlife smelling the fuel on me and looking for an exotic new taste. You know what? Let’s go with the former.

“Alright then,” Owens said to the pony, “show me the way.”

“Um, okay,” it replied.

As the pony quickly flapped its wings and took flight, though hardly leaving the ground by more than a few yards, she made her way back the way she probably had come from before. Owens followed behind on foot.

As the two made their way back to the pony’s cottage, Owens broke the silence by asking, “If you don’t mind me asking, do you have a name?”

The winged pony slowed its flight and replied, “Oh yes, um, sorry to be rude. My name is Fluttershy. What’s your name? That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“My name is Stanley, Stanley Owens, of the United States Navy. Nice to meet you,” he replied, transitioning into a short and ragged coughing fit as his lungs were reminded of their jet fuel contents. The pony, Fluttershy, didn’t take long to notice this.

“Oh my, are you alright, Stanley? You don’t sound very good,” she stated with an expression of concern.

Owens merely replied, “Long story.”

As man and pony continued along their path, they finally came to the edge of the forest, less than half a mile away from the cottage. Suddenly, Owens stopped. It was clear why, seeing what lay in front of him. His eyes met the massive wreckage of his former aircraft, now twisted up beyond belief and still burning ferociously, as somehow the fuel supply hadn’t quite used itself up yet.

Now almost completely dark, the fires shone like a beacon in the night air. The scene looked like a moving still picture from Hell itself. He could only stand there, completely mesmerized, less than a hundred yards away. Gradually, however, he came to his senses as he recalled the ordnance that had been on board.

Owens hadn’t jettisoned them away from the aircraft, and what was left of his plane was somewhat intact, suggesting that the bombs and missiles had not yet detonated. Then he heard something over the sound of the raging flames. It was a faint whistling noise. And it was coming directly from the direction of the aircraft. Shooting a quick glance towards Fluttershy, then back towards the crash site, the reality of what was about to occur hit Owens like a train. Ohhhhh shit...!

“GET DOWN!” He cried out as he grabbed Fluttershy forcefully and forced them both to the ground, Owens covering the shocked pegasus. As soon as he did, several hundred pounds of unstable high explosives finally cooked off.

A ground-shattering blast ripped through the air. Tons upon tons of dirt were torn from the ground and cast into the night sky. Massive shards of the former jet went flying in every direction, each piece threatening to tear down anything in its path. One of these pieces went straight at Owens’ direction. The human felt a sharp gust of wind as the debris zipped mere inches over his head. As the masses of debris met their final resting place, scattered around what had been the crash site, the thick cloud of dust and dirt slowly began to blow away on a light breeze and settle back on the ground.

Owens felt a sickening wave of pain wash over him once again as he realized that he had landed on his right arm. However, he forced the nauseating sensation to the back of his head when he realized he still had poor Fluttershy pinned to the ground, who was now faintly whimpering in terror. As he asked her if she was alright, Owens’ eyes met Fluttershy’s. Right then, he knew he wasn’t looking at some fragment of his distorted imagination, or any sort of colorful animal. He saw a fellow sentient being. And in those eyes, he saw genuine fear. But he also saw something different within those deep cyan-blue eyes. What he saw was a memory. A memory of his sister, back at home.

********************************************************************************************************

The Atlanta International Airport was busy. Very busy. Due to the recently declared war, thousands and thousands of American troops were being deployed to fight the emerging Communist threat. The wide halls were packed nearly shoulder to shoulder as soldiers went to and fro, trying to catch their plane headed for their designated deployment base.

Stanley Owens stood with his brother Michael at their gate, B-17. The brothers couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking about the famous B-17 Flying Fortress of World War II. And there they were now, finally being deployed to fight in what many have dubbed World War III. These Neo-Soviets of Russia were now doing what the United Nations had feared would happen all throughout the twentieth century: spread communism through full-scale war.

Beside the two brothers stood their father, Joseph, along with their younger sister Sarah, who had just barely begun her high school career. The attendant at the desk announced for the passengers to board the plane. Just before the two brothers joined the other servicemen and women in the line to board, it was time for a little family good-bye. Brother and brother gave father and sister each a warm embrace, knowing very well that they may not come back. As Stanley slowly released the embrace from Sarah, his sister pulled him back in again, beginning to cry into his shoulder. She had for a long time known that this day would come, that her favorite brother, practically her guardian, would be sent over-seas, thousands of miles away. The war had already proven itself to be brutal to the countries already involved. And the casualty numbers just kept climbing.

Through the muffled sobs, Stanley could just make out the words, “Please don’t go, Stan. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to die.” She collapsed back into tears and incomprehensible mumbles. As Stanley slowly lifted her head off his shoulder, he held her face straight in front of him. As he stared into her eyes, those eyes as deep and blue as the ocean itself, he said to her, “Don’t worry, Sarah. Me and Michael are gonna be fine. Nothing will ever happen to us. I promise.”

“I promise.”

*****************************************************************************************************

As Owens approached the cottage with Fluttershy, he couldn’t but notice the sweet aroma of flowers that managed to make its way through his nostrils past the pungent fuel stench still plaguing his sense of smell. The inside of the cottage was warm, and hung with the odor of all kinds of animals. She’s probably a vet or something... or maybe just really into animals. The interior was simple, nothing too fancy or extravagant. Works for me, he thought. Fluttershy flipped a switch, and the dark room they were standing in was lit up. He looked around the room, looking for the light source. There was none. Like the room had been lit up by... magic? No no no no no, that’s physically impossible. Well, then again, he had encountered a winged pony that could talk. Come to think of it, she kind of resembled the Pegasus that had once adorned his now annihilated aircraft. A pegasus. A real life pegasus. This day just keeps getting more and more weird.

“It’s pretty late. You can use my bed, um, if you like Stanley,” Fluttershy told him.

“Oh sure, thanks.”

“First we need to fix up your arm, if that’s okay.”

Owens replied as simply as ever, “Whatever you can do.”

Brown Cottage

Brown Cottage

Fluttershy simply stared in reply. During the events of the last several minutes, she had not been given a chance to gain a full view of this new creature and his baffling apparel. He was covered from nearly head to toe in bulky, dark green clothing. Or is his body just bulky? she pondered as a side note. His feet were concealed inside a thick, black casing, which seemed to be somewhat form-fitted. His claws, no wait, are they claws? They seem pretty stubby... were wrapped in a material similar to the color and design of the rest of the clothing. Strapped to Stanley’s chest was a hefty, dark-tan vest. The vest was lined with a multitude of pockets, and Fluttershy could only make wild guesses at what they contained. Included were a mess of blue straps and metal buckles and fasteners slung around his lower abdomen and shoulders, continuing behind his back.

Why would he wear so much? Fluttershy wondered. Is the rest of his body devoid of hair just like his face? It doesn’t seem to be meant for fashion. What is the purpose of wearing the clothing? Warmth? No, it’s late summer right now. Wouldn’t it be too hot? Is that why there’s so little hair on his head...? Alright, I guess I should just tell him to get all of this off first...

Stanley must have read Fluttershy’s thoughts, because he broke the motionless silence with, “I guess I should get this gear off first, huh?”

She slipped out of her trance and responded. “Um... yes, that would probably help, if... if you don’t mind.”

Stanley wordlessly obliged, beginning to loosen and remove his vest. As soon as he tried to lift off the vest with his right arm, he flinched and grabbed his arm in pain.

Fluttershy quietly scolded herself as she moved to help Stanley. Fluttershy, you are so stupid! Why did you expect him to use his arm? It’s clearly broken!

She took hold of the bottom of the vest with her hooves, helping Stanley get the vest off, along with several of the confusing straps. As Fluttershy expected, there was the same clothing underneath the vest as everywhere else covering Stanley. She could see now that the clothing was all a single piece, excluding the “claw” and feet coverings. Removing both of these, Stanley then moved to unzip the one-piece using his left arm. He then proceeded to step out of the wrappings as Fluttershy cradled his right arm, making sure to prevent him from using it again.

To Fluttershy’s surprise, Stanley had yet another layer of clothing underneath! Wow. He’s wearing a lot more than I thought, she noted. This new layer was almost an identical green to the outer layer. This layer appeared to be a one-piece as well, albeit much smoother. Repeating the process, Fluttershy held on to Stanley’s right arm as he unzipped the layer and stepped out. And of course, there was another layer. Although, this layer seemed to be much thinner than the last two, this time a light grey color and a little better conforming to his anatomy. Maybe this is the last one, Fluttershy thought.

As Stanley stepped out of this final layer, his body was fully revealed. The only exception was a small covering around what she assumed was his midsection. Fluttershy decided to let Stanley leave that part on, since the article was probably there for privacy reasons. Her attention, however, was seized back by the rest of his body. Without the multiple layers of clothing, the creature was far less bulky than anticipated. As Fluttershy expected, his body had very little fur across his body, leaving the pale white skin exposed to the elements. No wonder he wears so much. His body is just so exposed. With so little fur, Stanley’s muscle definition was on full display. Even though she had never seen such a creature like him before, she took a fleeting guess that Stanley was decently built and in good athletic shape.

His “claws” were clearly not claws as she predicted, but stubbed and covered in skin. On the front side near the top of the stubs were a small, hard, and somewhat shiny material, appearing to be a natural part of the stubs. The structure was quite similar to Spike’s claws. Fluttershy recalled how the small purple-and-green dragon used his claws to hold objects like quills. Stanley’s feet also were developed, not too different than Spike’s. Just like Stanley’s (not) claws, his feet were wrapped in near-hairless skin like the rest of his body, with the same hard shiny material adorning the top of the stubs lining the front of his feet. Stanley’s leg structure was far longer and more complex than Spike’s. Fluttershy recalled his slow, stretched-out stride as he walked. She took note of the large but fairly minor burn on his lower left leg.

Checking for further injuries, Fluttershy brought her eyes up to Stanley’s abdomen. She immediately was transfixed on a massive scar. The scar consisted of a quadruplet of upward curving lines running from the top right of his chest all the way to the bottom of his ribcage on the other side. Having treated the injuries of wild forest creatures for years, she recognized it as a strike from the paw of a bear, and one that had apparently been extremely aggressive. However, the scar appeared to be very old, how old? “Oh my, what happened to you?” she asked, pointing at his chest with one of her front hooves.

Looking at his own form then back at her, he answered, “attacked by a bear. Long story.”

Fluttershy slowly walked around Stanley, stopping as she was directly facing his back. What she saw left her equally amazed and terrified. Adorning the middle of his back was a pegasus, wings fully spread and in a shallow dive. But not like an average pegasus such as herself. This one appeared much larger in stature, a body more like that of Celestia without a horn. Unlike Celestia, this pegasus had no mane, or coat for that matter. In fact, the pegasus consisted of literally nothing but bone— a winged skeleton. From where the eyes would have been sat a ball of fire in the socket, trailing flames and smoke as if having been blown back by the wind. The bones of the wings were wrapped in the same flames, trailing its own cloud of smoke. In the background sat a distant object surrounded by what seemed like dark blue water. This dark grey object was completely flat and lined with even smaller objects on the top. Sticking out through the flatness was a small rectangular structure, top with grey branches not unlike that of a tree devoid of leaves in winter. Below the flat side, the object curved inwardly into the water, as if the water was being sliced like butter. Cresting the top of the design was a strange phrase, a language Fluttershy could not recognize, curving across his shoulder blades. It read,

“IGNEM EX CAELUM”

Fluttershy’s mind seemed to be frozen in time, unable to do anything but observe this mesmerizing design decorating Stanley’s back. It was clearly not a natural part of his body. It was some sort of... body art, like someone had used his back as a canvas. Fluttershy’s conscience urged her to gain more information from Stanley about this, but her mouth would not respond to her brain’s demands to move. Her muzzle was stuck, gawking at his back. Her legs lightly quivered underneath her delicate frame, unsure whether or not to be deathly afraid. Once more, it took Stanley’s voice to break Fluttershy’s trance.

“Anything wrong back there?” he asked, as he craned his neck to see what she was doing. Stanley must have seen her motionless gawking, because he added, “Fluttershy? You okay?” He seemed to have figured out what she was staring at as well. “Also a long story. Don’t worry about it for now.”

The pegasus shook her head back and forth rapidly, trying to give her mind a chance to regain full functional ability. Remembering her current responsibility, she continued her examination of Stanley’s back. Besides the odd design, she found no abnormalities, not that she truly knew anything about his anatomy. The only issues evident to Fluttershy were the leg burn and broken arm. Oh, and don’t forget his violent coughing. I wonder if he has a cold or something. She made the decision to treat it like a lung infection, seeing the way he clutched his chest whenever he coughed.

“Um, Stanley, can you stay here please? I’m going to go and find some medical supplies,” Fluttershy told Stanley, falling into her usual shy tone.

“Oh, sure,” Owens replied, as the yellow pegasus trotted out of the room. He decided to spend this short time alone by surveying the room in a little more detail. He realized he was standing on a dark red rug, doing little to cover the unusual green wood floor. A large grey fireplace lining one wall called the most attention, even with no fire burning. Surrounding the mantle was a network of miniature staircases leading to and fro around the earthy brown walls of the room, and even into pathways along the ceiling. A few minor pieces of furniture sat in the room, including a small bookshelf, a green dresser, a green chair, and a brown and green couch. Not to mention the small table in between the two seats and tiny pet bed in one corner. Seems to be a fair emphasis on green. Well, this pony-pegasus thing Fluttershy does seem to be the nature-loving type, Owens thought, observing the color scheme. The seats looked like they would be far too short for him; they looked as if they were made for a kindergarten classroom. Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to sit there. With that, Owens carefully lowered his body to the ground, using his non-fractured arm for support. Taking mental note of the burn on his leg, Owens sat with his right leg sticking out and brought his left closer to his chest. He leaned back lightly on his left arm, letting his right arm dangle freely.

While he was still looking around, Fluttershy came back in, now with two packs on her sides stuffed full of what he presumed to medical supplies. She was the first to speak.

“Oh, I’m really sorry I took so long,” the pony said, her voice holding a slight bit of anxiety.

“It’s fine,” Owens replied in a calm, welcoming tone. Glancing once more around the room, he added, “Nice place you have here.”

“Oh... um, thanks.” Fluttershy seemed to have been taken aback by the statement. “I don’t get visitors very often. I really need to tidy up a bit.” She let her eyes drift across the room, taking in the visuals much like Owens had seconds before. Looking back at him, she said, “Alright, let’s get you taken care of,” as she walked toward the center of the room where he was sitting. He watched as Fluttershy reached her muzzle back and grabbed the strap between the bags with her teeth, then she brought the bags forward and set them down on the floor. Owens noticed that there was a design on the side of the bags, which seemed to partially match her coat color. The design resembled the butterflies on the pony’s flanks. Once again using her muzzle, Fluttershy opened up the tops of the bags, revealing a collection of wrapping and tape. She removed this along with a small scalpel. Why does she have a scalpel? he thought with uncertainty. Glancing at her, Owens mentally slapped himself in the face. Oh yeah, duh, she doesn’t have hands. She’s probably just going to hold it in her mouth while cutting the tape. That makes sense... his thought trailed off as he felt Fluttershy’s hooves holding his broken arm. For such a hard surface, she had a surprisingly soft and gentle grip, probably owed to experience in animal care.

“I’m going to try to find exactly where the bone is broken, okay?” Fluttershy said as she looked straight into his eyes. Owens realized now just how... big... her eyes really were. In fact, they seemed to take up nearly her entire face. And those eyes... those deep blue eyes seemed to see straight through him like a window, reading his every emotion. He couldn’t help but be entranced. Her eyes seemed to project pure kindness and caring, like she was born a caretaker. Owens was ripped out of this trance, however, by an all-too-familiar pain shooting through his arm as Fluttershy’s hooves found the point of the fracture. He let out a short grunt of pain. She picked up on this instantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I guess I pressed down to hard.” The pony moved to grab the wrapping. Holding the end of the rolled-up strip, she held onto the roll with her hooves as she wrapped the white strip around Owens’ upper right arm, acting as a makeshift cast. After having swaddled his arm snugly enough to keep the damaged bone within from shifting out of place, she cut off an end with the scalpel, holding it in her teeth as he had predicted. After taping down the loose end of the cast, Fluttershy proceeded to make a sling out of the rest of the wrapping, securing the length all the way around his back. Owens could feel her eyes pressing into him as she saw the tattoo covering his back. Each time she wrapped the strip around behind, Fluttershy slowed down and sometimes stopped, obviously to stare at his body art once more.

“Okay, your arm is taken care of,” she said, looking directly at Owens again. “Let me see what I can do about that burn. Could you be so kind as to lift your leg up so I can get a better look?”

As he silently complied by bringing his left leg up off the ground, the pony dug her head into one of the bags and pulled out a small gray bottle, which he assumed was some sort of ointment. With this she also pulled out a white roll of gauze. Setting the bottle sideways on the ground, Fluttershy squeezed a healthy portion of a blue-colored gel into her other hoof. She then proceeded to carefully rub the raw skin on Owen’s leg, spreading the gel around. His leg twitched slightly. The substance felt like ice on his tender red skin. The discomfort quickly faded away, though, as it was replaced by a calm, tingling sensation that made its way across the entire side of his leg. This, combined with Fluttershy’s gentle touch and rubbing motion, helped Owens calm down some, even slowing his raspy breathing.

Once the ointment was fully applied, she finished off by wrapping the burned area in gauze, much like his arm. His leg was taken care of, Fluttershy turned toward the final problem: Owens’ breathing. His coughing had not yet fully ceased, and the pain in his chest still made each breath a chore. He knew that Fluttershy could tell.

“You seem to be coughing a lot. Do you think you might have a cold? A lung infection?” she asked. “Oh, that wouldn’t be good.”

“Nah, it’s uh... I’m pretty sure I have chemical poisoning,” he responded, his mind still not wanting to form a complete and fluent thought.

Fluttershy just stared at him, this time a look of confusion lining her features. “What do you mean?” she inquired, clearly unsure about his terminology.

“Never mind. I think you can treat it like a lung infection,” he said in reply, followed by a short but very heavy coughing fit. Owens’ lungs tightened hard, like a whole set of rubber bands had been wrapped around his ribcage.

“Oh... my... I think I can find something to help you. I’ll be right back.”

With that, Fluttershy dashed into the other room a second time, followed by a muffled cacophony of cabinets being open and shut. After a few minutes or so, she returned with a clear glass in her mouth, containing a dark purple liquid.

Setting the glass down to the left of Owens, she said, “This will hopefully help with the coughing and chest pain. Also, there’s some nice herbs in there that will help you sleep. You really do need to get to sleep soon too, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright.” Following his short reply, Owens took a hearty swig of the purple liquid. It had a distinct and strong herbal taste to it. But it was also very soothing, nothing like the nasty, thick cough syrup the Navy had. No, this stuff flowed down his throat like liquid heaven, coating every part of his esophagus with a minty sensation. The pain he had been experiencing for the last hour gradually faded to being almost nonexistent. Wow, this stuff is great, he thought. I’ll take this over that nasty red crap any day. Letting out a sigh of relief, Owens slowly rose to his feet again, feeling far more relaxed than when he had arrived.

Looking around the room again, he looked at Fluttershy and asked, “So, uh, where can I sleep?”

Fluttershy brought her hoof to her face and shook her head. “Oh, so sorry, I forgot about that. Silly me. Um... I think you should sleep in my bed for the night, if that’s okay with you. You really do need to get some sleep.”

“Oh, sure, thanks. Where to?”

Fluttershy pointed her hoof towards a staircase leading to the upstairs. Owens quietly nodded and motioned her to lead. The two proceeded up the short staircase, leading to a bedroom, obviously Fluttershy’s. Based on what she said earlier, Owens guessed that the pony most likely didn’t have any guest rooms. The bedroom was much like the main room downstairs, except that in the center was a small blue bed, lined with sheets displaying a diamond-checkered pattern with butterflies. Seriously, what is it with this pony and butterflies? Owens made the decision not to express that out loud. He heard Fluttershy speak up.

“Oops, I think the bed might be too small. You can probably rest your feet on the chest by the bed.” Indeed, there was a blue chest lying at the foot of the bed, a perfect footrest.

He began to feel sleepy, a testament to the fact that the medicine was indeed doing its job. His eyes began to grow heavy, like his eyelids were being pulled down by bricks hanging from an invisible string. Owens let out an audible yawn, signaling that he was ready to turn in for the night. Pulling back the multi-colored sheets, he slipped himself into the bed, the mattress creaking softly as his significantly greater weight bore down on its structure. He tried rolling onto his right side, only to remember the bulky cast around his arm.

“Oh, you really should avoid rolling on your side,” Fluttershy told Owens, worried about him rolling over in his sleep and putting pressure on the fracture. “I need to make sure you don’t accidentally do that again. This might help.” She pulled out one of the pillows lying next to the one supporting Owens’ head and delicately tucked it under the cast. Looking at the cast on his arm, she commented, “Maybe I can have Twilight come here tomorrow with a bone-healing spell or something. This cast might not work alone.”

Puzzled by her comment, he asked, “Who’s Twilight?” Mumbling from the drowsy state he was now falling rapidly into, Owens didn’t expect Fluttershy to hear him. Surprisingly, she did. Just before she walked out of the bedroom, she turned her head back toward him and said, “Oh, that’s my friend. She’s a unicorn. Well, um, good night Stanley.”

His vision growing lightly blurry and eyelids heavy, he drowsily responded, “G’night. Oh, and... Fluttershy? Thanks... for helping me... and stuff...” His words transitioned into a deep yawn.

“Oh, um... you’re welcome.” With that last exchange of words, Fluttershy slowly walked out of the room. Owens could hear the faint sounds of foot—hoof—steps as the pony travelled down the staircase.

Despite his mind being caught in a fatigue-induced haze, a million questions swam through his head. What is this place. Am I even in Denmark still? How’d I end up in a forest? How did I meet a flying talking pony? How is it dark outside? It was morning when I launched. And what did that pony mention? A unicorn? A unicorn? Are there more of her kind around here? Am I still hallucinating? Am I dreaming? Is this even real? How soon can I get back to friendly troops? Ugh, this just doesn’t make any sense! Screw it, I’ll just find out when I wake up. His scrambled thoughts faded into the distance depths of his mind as the thick black fog of sleep took control. Letting his head lazily fall to one side, Owens drifted off to sleep.

Fluttershy groggily made her way towards her green couch. This day had already been longer as it was. And with the mystifying aerial anomaly plummeting from the sky combined with the discovery of Stanley, that strange two-legged talking creature, her energy felt completely depleted. Even trying to put one hoof in front of the other proved to be quite a strenuous task in and of itself. After turning out the lights, she collapsed onto the soft, inviting couch. Fluttershy had missed its comfort, ever since she had been denied rest by Angel. Despite her exhausted state, a million questions swam through her head.

What was that falling thing? Why was it on fire? Why did it burn so fiercely? Why did it explode!? How did Stanley know it would? He did seem to know what was going to happen, the way he threw himself on me. Speaking of that, who is he? What is he? Why have I never seen or heard of a creature like him? He looked a lot like an ape, but then why did he have so little fur or hair? Why was he wearing such bulky clothes, so many layers of clothes? Was he somehow connected to the strange falling-burning-exploding thing? How will the rest of Ponyville react to this? Should I really tell my friends about Stanley? He was kind of frightening at first. And that... that mark on his back. What was that? Why was there a pegasus skeleton on fire? And what is “ignem ex caelum”? What kind of language is that? What does it mean? Oh, why does all of this not make sense.

Now I know how Twilight felt about Pinkie Pie. She chuckled quietly to herself, recalling the humorous incident. Oh wait, not that great. We almost got eaten by a hydra. Good thing I have friends that protect me like they do. What would I do without them? Oh, forget it. I really hope I can figure this out in the morning.

Fluttershy gave up on trying to answer this overload of thoughts, letting sleep consume her. Curling herself up, she rested her head on her front hooves as she drifted to sleep.

Author’s note:
Hey guys and gals! Sorry for keeping everyone waiting so long for a new chapter. The dreaded third-quarter slump hit me hard this year. As such, my creative writing ability has been kept down with a ball and chain. Hopefully, though, I shall soon break free, and get back to writing more frequently (Hehe, that rhymes). On a side note, in case you haven’t quite picked up on the details fully, Owens is suffering symptoms of acute jet fuel poisoning. This includes euphoria, headaches, vomiting, painful and/or difficult breathing, and so on. Not exactly an enjoyable experience. I hope you all are enjoying the story so far as it is. Sorry that not much is happening right now, the next chapter will bring in more characters and interactions, as well as possibly the experiences of the other ponies from the crash.
-Br0nydom
logicianMLP:
Ghost explained to me that you can't fit much more under a pressure suit, but this is going to confuse some readers when she basically has him strip to his skivvies and neither says anything about it.

austingarnett1:
1) Not a pressure suit. It's a multi-layer flight suit
2) what should I do about it?

Sent from my iPhone
logicianMLP:
The description of the _Nimitz_ is very vague and could be many different things. This might not be an issue since the reader already knows where he's from. I dunno. Give it some thought.

Update (sorry for the long wait)

Alright, Br0nydom here, I'm sorry it's been a long while since I made any sort of update. 3rd and 4th quarter for me this year has completely sapped my motivation to get anything done. As such, my grades took a hard hit as a result. I was originally planning to start writing again after I had gotten out of the infamous 3rd quarter slump, but now I have to work my butt off and get caught up, not to mention study for finals and an AP world history exam (I'm a sophomore in high school just FYI). I'm hoping that once the school year is over and summer rolls around, I will have the time and motivation to get back to writing.
Again, sorry for not giving this heads up sooner, procrastination is a bitch.

See you on the other side

-Br0nydom