You'll Thank Me Later

by AirmanDuke

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Dark, Human
Length: 6589

A USAF Cadet is stranded in Equestria.

Technical Sergeant Daniel Isles is trapped. A horrific plane crash strands him in Equestria and wounds him severely, killing his team. The atmosphere he finds himself in is alien and the young warrior-in-training struggles to understand the world he now finds himself in. Alone, hurt, and paranoid, this cadet will do whatever it takes to get home and find the answers to the mystery that brought him there.

Credit to the West Point Military Academy for cover photo.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-05 18:25:13 UTC

Rude awakening

“Is he alright?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. His skeletal structure resembles a monkey’s, but he’s much larger and has less hair.”

My senses are beginning to return to me. I think I hear… voices.

“So what IS he?”

“I have no idea, but regardless he has two cracked ribs and a fractured wrist. The scan was inconclusive, but it looks like he has a nasty concussion to boot. Where did you say he came from?”

I can barely hear with this ringing in my ears. It sounds like people are close by. Did they find me? Those horses I saw, was that all a dream?

“He LITERALLY fell right out of the sky. Spitfire barely caught him before he hit the ground. We were practicing speed dives and this guy just dropped right by us.”

“Well I have to say, it was genuinely a stroke of luck that the Wonderbolts were training over Ponyville today, otherwise I’d have nothing to work with.”

I hear the two voices laugh out loud; Deep, masculine voices. Hang on… Wonderbolts…? Ponyville? There’s no Ponyville in this state. Something is suddenly very wrong here.

“Yeah really. Anyway, I gotta fly. Canterlot will send an agent down to follow this up in a bit.”

“Of course. Thank you, Lieutenant…”

“Soarin. I’ll see you around, doc.”

The sound of clacking footprints leaves echoes into the hallway. Was that officer wearing heel clickers or something? I ease my eyes open, they feel heavy and sluggish. Fluorescent light blinds me and I hear a monitor beeping beside me to the left.

“Oh, you’re awake. Easy now, don’t move to quickly or you might injure yourself further. You’re lucky to be alive.”

I slowly turn my head to face the voice and I jump suddenly. Next to the bed I’m tied down to is a brown Technicolor horse in a lab coat with clean, darker brown hair.

“What the-?”

“Like I said, easy. You’re very badly injured, but we should have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

Where am I? What’s going on? Why am I tied to the bed?!

I nod slightly, trying to remain calm. If I move to quickly the horse-doctor might read it as an act of aggression and I’m in no position to defend myself.

“Yes sir.” I say calmly.

“Oh excellent! You speak Equestrian. I was worried you might not understand me.” The doctor chuckles.

Everything around me looks cartoony and over-polarized. The light is cool and white, shining on me gently.

“So why exactly am I tied to the bed?” I ask, pulling the restraints gently with my hands and a sharp pain jerks through my right wrist and arm.

“Standard procedure; you were carrying a lot of rather threatening objects and security insisted we restrain you until we could figure out what you are. What exactly ARE you, if I may ask?”

I barely hesitate to answer.

“I’m a human being. Where am I?”

“A hu-man…? Odd, I’ve never heard of that species before. But, I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian. You, my friend are in the Ponyville Medical Clinic.” He responds, tossing his head lightly.

“Hey, I’m not an animal, buddy. I’m sentient, and as you can clearly see vocal.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend you. I simply believe that you may be the only ‘human being’ ever seen around here. Where are you from? Why did you have so many weapons with you? You’re wearing camouflage; does that mean you’re a combatant?”

This guy is asking a lot of questions. Wait, the only human? That must mean the others haven’t turned up… Shit. Now I have to watch what I say very carefully. As it stands I guess I’m a political prisoner, if I tell them I’m military that might make things worse for me. Still, they did take me to a hospital and not a prison cell. Maybe I can gain the upper hand here…

“I’d love to explain, but first could you untie me? My wrist is killing me.”

“Of course; you don’t seem to pose much of a threat and it would be better to let that wrist of yours rest.”

No threat? I’ll let that one go.

The doctor walks over and pulls the release cord on the straps loose with his mouth; I instantly feel my arms fall to my sides.

I scratch my forehead.

“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it. Now what did you say you were doing before the Wonderbolts found you?”

Another horse, a bright pink one with a horn on its head in a white nurse’s uniform walks in and interrupts the doctor. Good.

“Ah, questions can wait. It’s time to try to fix you up.”

I see a lack of surgical equipment, what the hell are they going to do?

“This may hurt a little bit, we’re not terribly familiar with your anatomy.” She says.

I nod and try to sit up, noticing that my blouse is gone. All I have are my BDU trousers and the black undershirt tucked into them. They even managed to remove my boots.

The nurse points her head at me and her horn starts glowing pink. Seriously, this is weirding me the FUCK out. My body starts to glow pink as well and suddenly I feel a horrific chilling feeling wash over me.

“Are you alright?” The doctor asks, his words are distorted in my ears.

My brain feels fried and all of my nerves are screaming. What the hell are they doing to me?!

“It’s barely affecting him!” The nurse yells, closing her eyes and intensifying the energy.

“I need two unicorns in here STAT!” The doctor yells into the hallway.

I start to convulse in the bed and hold on to the rails for support. My ribs start to ache and my head gets bubbly as two more nurses run in and add their energy to death-ray.

That’s too much, I nearly pass out and vomit on the floor as my ribs crack back into position. My wrist twists itself and I hear bones re-align themselves. After five hellish minutes of confusion and pain the nurses stop and nearly collapse, panting.

“Wh-what the FUCK was that?!” I stammer as my head stops spinning.

“That was a healing spell, although it barely had any effect on you… For some reason it appears you’re extremely resistant to magic. Either way, you seem alright to me. Do you feel alright?”

I feel like a wrecking ball just tore through my head and destroyed everything.

“All good, sir.”

“Wonderful. Do you have any questions before I discharge you?” The doctor asks.

Discharge?! Already? Where the fuck am I supposed to go? Why the hell are cartoon horses talking to me? What the hell did they just do to me?

“Not really. Where did you guys put my stuff?” I reply.

“Your weapons were confiscated for inspection by the town’s librarian, and your uniform is hanging on the door. As for your gear, I believe Miss Sparkle has that as well.”

Sparkle? Really? Did I wake up in some little girl’s dreamland or something? Hang on, he said uniform. Do they know?

“Where can I find her?”

“The library, down Cherry Street through the market. It’s in a giant tree.”

Right. Giant tree. Got it.

“Thank you, sir. Do I owe anything?”

“You mean like a co-payment? Not at all. You’ve been fully provided for by the Royal Bureau of Medical Services. Princess Celestia herself sent a letter requesting your treatment. All she requests is that you stay in Ponyville until further notice.”

Great. The Monarchy knows I’m here, and they took my weapons and gear. I have nothing to bargain with, I am completely at their mercy. Worst of all, now I owe them my life. Fucking screwby.

I stand up and wince in pain, my ribs still hurt like hell.

“Be careful. The magic healed the break, but barely and your ribs are still bruised. No heavy physical activity for a while.”

Terrific.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I say, pulling on my blouse, buttoning it, and grabbing my cover off the ornate and cartoony coat rack. I lace my boots up and blouse my pants into them, dusting off. If they know I’m a soldier I might as well look professional.

I walk out into the lobby and feel every face stare at me. I don’t like this, I try not to return the gazes in the crowded ER as I push open the double doors and walk outside into the cool evening air.

Current objective: Find the library and get my weapons back.

Screwby

The air is warm and sweet as I walk through the small town. The waning afternoon sun shines down gently and the sky is absolutely clear of clouds. The dirt road crunches under my boots and the street is mostly empty, save the occasional staring pony.

Time to assess the situation:

I am, as far as I can tell, completely alone in an alien world inhabited by talking cartoon animals. I am wounded, but not mortally, and I have no means of defending myself. In addition, the local government is aware of my presence and is watching my every move carefully. If they wanted to, they could kill me and absolutely nothing would change here. My best bet now is to try to bargain with the librarian to get my gear back, and maybe I can try to radio for help.

“Hey, you there!”

I recognize that voice, one of the ponies that found me spoke with the exact same southern drawl.

I stop walking and turn around slowly, trying not to strain my chest.

Down the road a ways is blonde horse with tan fur and a… cowboy hat? That’s weird.

“Sorry for runnin’ off on y’all earlier, but some Royal Guards kicked us out of the hospital after we brought ya in.”

So she IS one of the ones that found me on the ground.

“I’m fine, thank you for helping me.” I reply, trying to keep my answers short and to the point.

“Shucks, pardner. Nothin’ to it.”

She’s REALLY working that damn accent.

“So forgive ma asking, but what exactly ARE ya? I never seen anything like ya before.” She continues.

Careful, Isles. Don’t say more than you have to.

“I’m a human; why, never seen one of me before?”

She pauses and squints slightly, placing a hoof to her chin and looking down.

“No, I can’t say I have. But y’all seem friendly enough. Why, are there more of your kind around?”

I can’t tell if she’s lying to me. Did they find my cadets? Asking if the aircraft crashed nearby would be suspicious.

“I hope so.” I reply, looking at my boots.

“Well if I see any more, I’ll be sure to let y’all know!” She says cheerfully, raising her head.

“Say, why are y’all dressed like that, anyhow? Going dragon-watchin’?” She continues.

Wait a second, did she just say DRAGONS? Right now I REALLY wish I had my weapon. I look up and scan the blue skies.

“No, I’m actually looking for the library. Do you know where that is?”

She perks up again and nods.

“Of course I do! My good friend Twilight runs the place; I was actually headed by there now if y’all wanna follow me. ‘Course, you’re dressed awful heavy just to take out a book…”

“There’s a little more to it than that.” I reply.

“Well, as long as ya ain’t causin’ trouble I don’t see any reason not to help ya out.” She says.

We walk for a while through what looks like the market district of this small village. It’s very unsettling how many talking horses are staring at me. I respond by pulling the brim of my cover down over my eyes: The sooner I get to the library the better.

The sun is setting when we arrive at a massive oak tree with windows placed all over it. There’s a small door on the front and my guide pauses before it.

“Welp! Here we are!” she chirps. “Just head on in and ask for Twilight, she should help ya out with everything ya need. Just be careful, she’s a bit of a neatfreak.”

I nod appreciatively and touch the brim of my cover. Maybe I can extend some trust to this character.

“Thank you again, Miss…”

“Applejack!” She says. “But y’all can call me AJ. Sorry I have to run, but feel free to swing on by Sweet Apple Acres anytime!” She turns her head off to a rolling hill and gallops away. “Good luck!”

I want to call after her, but I’m still cautious to put stock in anyone I’ve met. Besides, I don’t want to cause any more of a scene than I already have by being here.

Okay, deep breaths, Sergeant. Just go in, get your gear, radio for help, and get the fuck out of here.

I walk up to the door and knock loudly with my knuckles; they took my gloves, too…

“Just a minute!” a young male voice calls back. That’s odd, everyone said the librarian was female.

I step back from the door and hear the lock click open. It swings back to reveal a small purple reptile staring back up at me with green eyes.

“Woah, what are YOU?” He asks.

“Look buddy, I don’t have a lot of time, is the libr-“

“Hey, you have fingers just like me!” He exclaims, using one hand to point to the other.

“Huh. We’re two of a kind. But I seriously need to see the librarian RIGHT. NOW.” I say, trying to relate to what I assume is a young child.

He sighs out loud and rolls his eyes before turning his head into the spacious library.

“Hey Twilight, there’s someone here to see you!”

“One minute, Spike! Bring them inside!” A voice calls from upstairs.

The lizard, who I assume is Spike, shrugs and holds the door open for me as I enter. I step into the warm, bright library and remove my cover from my head, taking in the welcoming smell of cedar.

“So what are you, man? I’ve never seen anything like you before. Hey, you’re not a dragon too, are you?”

I open my mouth to reply but the sound of metal falling onto a hard surface interrupts me. The loud clatter of hooves clacking on steps quickly tells me that the librarian is coming.

She appears and trots down the steps to face me, her purple form stops suddenly as our eyes lock.

My body freezes up as I notice the horn on her head; I know what unicorns are capable of.

“Oh, it’s you!” She says. I recognize her voice also.

“I’ll go get tea.” Spike says, walking out of the room.

“Yes, it is. Thanks for saving me earlier.” I reply, standing at ease.

“You can feel free to sit down, Sergeant.” She says.

Woah, woah! FUCK! How did she know that? The uniform is obvious but most people can’t tell just by looking at my collar devices.

“Impressive. How could you tell?” I say, sitting carefully in an armchair facing hers.

“I read a lot, and my brother’s in the military. In fact, he’s the Captain of the Royal Guard!”

Holy shit, Isles: you’re playing with fire here.

“How could you tell I’m an NCO?” I ask, taking the cup of warm liquid Spike brings out on a wooden platter, in a white apron to boot.

“Non-commissioned officer? Easy.” The young mare replies, sipping her mug quietly. “Five stripes means Sergeant of some sort, right?”

“Right.” I say, placing the cup on the table in front of me. I almost came close to taking a sip, but I won’t drink anything they give me.

“So you’re here for your stuff, right? I’ve been looking at your equipment for hours now and none of it makes any sense to me.” She says, taking another sip but maintaining eye contact with me.

“I am, and I need it back ASAP.”

“I don’t know if I can give it all back, but if you come upstairs and help me understand how it works, I’ll see what I can do.” She replies.

DEAL. If I can just get close to my weapon, my odds suddenly get a lot better.

“By all means.” I reply.

She stands up and we walk up the stairs to a wider level with much fewer bookshelves. There are rooms off to the side and on a desk I see my pack lying open with its contents arranged carefully around the surface. The librarian leads me slowly over to the table.

“Now, most of this stuff is pretty basic; rope, tarp, boot polish. You even had a really big knife and some bandages in there. There’s a few things I can’t figure out, though.” She says, looking over my gear,

Her horn glows dark purple and my blood chills, but I see that she is using her magic to open a drawer and produces…

MY RADIO.

“This I just fail to understand. It’s obviously some sort of electrical device, but what does it DO?”

Do I tell her? Maybe I should. I REALLY need that fucking thing.

“That’s my radio. I use it to wirelessly send voice messages to other people. May I have it back? I want to try to establish contact with my people as soon as possible.”

“We’ll see.” She replies, brushing off my request.

“Here’s the next item, this thing just looks like an over-complicated mirror.” She says, levitating the pilot’s PDA.

Maybe if I make it seem unimportant, she’ll just let me have it. I have to know what caused me to end up here…

“That’s pretty much all it is. It’s a Combat Mirror, used for keeping clean in the field.”

I really hope she’s one of those nerds that’s easy to mess with.

“Seriously?” She asks, her ears laying back. She obviously seemed interested in it, but I can’t let her have the information stored on there.

“Yep. Gotta keep clean to keep healthy.”

“Well, hygiene is an important part of fighting infectious diseases, so I suppose that makes sense.” She says, tapping a hoof to her chin. “You can have it.”

She drops the PDA in my waiting hands. I need to guard the information on here with my LIFE. It may hold the answers to all of my questions.

“And finally, there’s this thing.” She says, floating the M9 above her head before letting it rest in her hoof.

“It appears simple enough, just pins and springs on a sliding platform. There was a box inside of it that contained these little metal cartridges.” She levitates a .9mm round off the table.

“I opened one up and it had seven grains of explosive powder in it, but that’s pretty much it. I can’t really figure this thing out at all, is it a bomb or something?”

“Not really, it-”

I get cut off by a loud bang as one of the windows explodes. The dumb bitch actually PULLED the trigger!

She jumps back and drops the Beretta to the floor, falling onto her back haunches.

I shake my head and snatch the weapon off the floor, engaging the safety.

“That’s amazing! I mean, the window’s going to need to be replaced, but that’s not important. I never would have thought that they made canons that small! And self-propelling ammunition? Brilliant!” She squeals, stomping her hooves excitedly.

This thing is too dangerous; I need it back before she kills the both of us.

“What was that?!” Spike yells, running up the stairs with a broom in his hands.

“Nothing, Spike. The Sergeant was showing me how his weapons work. The librarian replies.

“Miss Sparkle, I really do need my weapon back.” I say, cutting in.

“Oh, call me Twilight. And are you sure? There are a lot more tests I want to run on it…” She says, looking at the sidearm sadly.

I pause for a minute. I need that back as soon as possible, but building relations with the locals would help, too. An idea strikes my brain:

“Tell you what, if you return my gear and weapons to me, I’ll let you keep some ammunition.”

Booya! Her eyes light up and her ears point straight at me.

“Really?! Are you sure? This is incredible technology and there’s so much we could learn from it! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She squeals.

Jesus, why are nerds always so fucking jumpy?

“It’s a fair deal.” I reply, clipping my Aircrew Survival Knife to my web belt and tucking the M9 in snugly. I need to fashion a holster of some sort so I don’t lose this. Another thought occurs to me.

“By the way, did my radio go off at any point in time?” I ask, pulling my pack on and taking a thirsty gulp from my Camelbak.

“You mean did it get any messages? No, why? Are you expecting any?” She replies.

Damn. Maybe it’s not on.

“May I see it for a moment?”

“Sure, maybe you could help me activate it. It would be very interesting to interact with more of your kind.”

Your kind. There’s that term again, it feels so wrong to be the alien here.

I take the radio from the air she’s suspending it in and turn the volume dial until it clicks into the ‘on’ position, the light fails to come on.

SHIT.

“Hang on…” I mutter, pulling off the battery cover to reveal my worst fear:

The batteries are corroded: the crash must have ruined them.

“Something wrong?” Twilight asks.

“The batteries are shot; I can’t get it to work.” I say, smacking the leaking cases out of the radio.

She pauses for a moment, once more placing a hoof to her chin.

“Hmm… I’ll tell you what, if you leave the gun with me, I’ll see if I can fix your radio.”

Mother of fuckballs, she handed me an ultimatum. I can either go it alone here with the ability to kill anything I damn well please, or I can risk it and try to get in contact with the outside world. Mother FUCKER!

I pause, trying not to let my desperation show through.

“Fine, but I want to keep the knife if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine! I was only instructed to hold on to this thing until the Royal Guard comes for you. Did I mention my brother is the captain?”

I grit my teeth and pull the Beretta off my waist and hand it to her.

Fuck. Now they’re coming after me AND I have nothing to defend myself with but a blade. Screwby.

“Did you get any word when they would be coming?” I ask, looking out the shattered window.

“Sometime tomorrow. You’re welcome to spend the night here if you want, though.” She offers.

Hell to the no. No way in fucking HELL am I staying here.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll take my chances on my own.” I reply, placing a hand on the hilt of my knife and turning to leave.

“Where do you plan on going? It’s dark outside and the Everfree Forest can get… dangerous.” She says.

“I’ll do alright.” I say, walking down the stairs and ducking to avoid hitting the ceiling.

Everfree forest. Got it. Get there, dig a sleeping hole, pitch the tarp, make a plan.

“Seriously, it’s not safe out there!” she calls after me.

I’d rather take my chances against wild animals than a civilization of politically volatile talking horses.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I say, stepping out into the warm evening air.

A bad beginning

Name: Isles, Daniel

Grade: Cadet Technical Sergeant

Age: 16

Branch of Service: Civil Air Patrol

Status: MIA

___________________________________________________________________________________________

A warm breeze blows over my face and arms, pulling the heat away from my sweaty form and whistles in my ears. I hear a helicopter hum off in the distance and a white security vehicle drones by loudly.

"A hero or war. Hey that's what I'll be; and when I come home, they'll be damn proud of me..."

I mutter the lyrics of that horrendously catchy song under my breath as I stand idly by the door to the Captain's office looking at the light shine off of my neatly-bloused and well polished combat boots. Today my squadron was invited flying with the full- time Air Force on a refueling mission in a KC 130. It's sort of a privilege, I guess. Most of the time we here in the Civil Air Patrol never get to go flying OR interact with the military, but the recruiting brochures will tell you otherwise. I shake my head and stand up as tall as I can, trying my best to look like a professional.

As a junior NCO, I am in command of six other cadets that are attending, and by that I mean I'm babysitting some other gung-ho kids in uniform. The CAP's funny like that. You have the overweight, under-motivated little 12 year olds that want to fly model rockets that never make it past Airman, and guys like me that stay in the program and take combat and survival classes until we're old enough to enlist in the actual military. I myself couldn't give less of a fuck about flying or aerospace, I want to go into Special Tactics and be an Air Force Combat Controller. In other words, I want to go out with the Navy SEALs and call in their air strikes. But that's still a ways off, and for now I'm stuck in outdated woodland camo playing search and rescue operative for the chair force auxiliary.

A group of airmen jog past me in double time, clad in their distinctive blue and silver PT jackets; their feet hit the ground in a perfect rhythm as they sing a Jody.

I take off my cover and mop my brow with the back of my tactical glove and run my fingers through my short, black hair cut high and tight. I'm one of those guys they brings his gear everywhere. Not because I want to be prepared, I mean, in the 18 months I've served I've only been on three missions, but because it looks cool as fuck. Of course, now that I'm stuck waiting outside an office building with 40 pounds of gear and a squad radio while the sun beats down on the Tarmac like Chris brown on Rihanna, I'm starting to regret my choices.

After the longest fifteen minutes of my life, my overweight captain exits the office with two air force pilots in olive flight suits.

I snap to attention and salute my commanding officer. The caption hobbles up to me and puts his hands on his hips.

That's cool, sir. Don't fucking salute me back or anything.

"Sergeant, have your cadets been briefed on pre-flight safety?"

Go fuck yourself.

"Yes, sir. We are all briefed and awaiting further orders, sir."

"Excellent. Have them get on board."

"Yes, sir."

A C-5 Galaxy would have a hard time getting off the strip with his ass on board. I look up at the KC 130 sympathetically and then snap to attention, taking off at a brisk pace to my cadets, who I find laying around on picnic tables placed haphazardly around the building.

"Cadets, listen up!"

Man I love using the command voice.

"Get your gear together and hustle over to the plane."

"The only one here with any gear is YOU, dog. Maybe you shoulda joined the boy scouts instead." says Cadet Blake, our squadron's resident smartass and wigger.

"Just get the hell on board so we can get this over with." I reply.

"Screwby."

That's another thing about the CAP I sort of like. We borrow slang from all the branches.

I yawn and walk over to the airplane, pausing to listen to the Captain harass the pilots.

"So what will we be refueling, today?" the captain asks, like an oblivious child.

"We're going to go up to about 20,000 feet, circle for a while, and link with a national guard F-16. We'll get that done as soon as possible and just fly the cadets around a bit." replies the pilot.

I decide to climb aboard and join my cadets; I'd rather hang with irritating pre-pubescent children than retarded adults.

After whet feels like another hour of waiting in the heat, the captain climbs aboard and we taxi out to the massive runway. The pilot gets clearance from the base for our bird, callsign Hercules six-two, and we take off.

I’m chilling on one of the jump seats with my pack between my legs watching the excited little cadets look out the window. I will admit, I do love flying, but it’s all the technical shit that turns me off.

My train of thought is derailed by the pilot speaking into my headset.

“Okay, Cadets. We’re coming up to our target now; you may feel the aircraft jerk a little when we extend the boom, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Eventually an old F-16 starts to break through the cloudline and begins following the KC 130. That’s pretty cool.

The aircraft whines loudly and I watch the boom extend to the front of the Falcon. The pilot adjusts his speed as the connection is made. The KC jumps slightly and the aircraft starts to hum.

Is it just me or is this thing shaking a lot?

The aircraft jumps again and rattles loudly.

Seriously, what the fuck is up with that…?

Without warning I hear a loud screaming noise from outside and the F16 accelerates closer to the large tanker aircraft. This is seriously starting to bug me out, that damn pilot needs to chill.

There’s a loud crack from beneath my feet and I jump up.

“Sit down, Mr. Isles.” Says the Captain, laying across two seats with his leg stretched out.

It’s SERGEANT you fat shithead!

Suddenly a thunderous boom erupts from underneath me and the boom separates from the aircraft. The F16 slams into the KC and erupts into a violent torrent of fire that engulfs my window.

My cadets start screaming and the pilot cracks in over the radio, but I can’t hear him. I grab a seat for support and try to hold myself steady as a red light begins flashing. There’s another extremely loud boom from outside and the radio goes silent.

The captain grabs my belt and tries to pull me back. I jerk away and a section of the bay wall rips away, revealing a trail of burning flames. The gust pulls him back and throws him to the floor violently. I almost feel bad, but I have my people to worry about.

The wind screams in my ears as I shuffle toward the cockpit of the burning KC130. The aircraft jerks violently and throws me into the wall, smashing my face against cold and unforgiving metal.

A panicked voice calls to me from behind.

"Sarge! What's happening!?"

Swafford!

I grab hold of one of the jump seats and brace against another violent shock of turbulence as I turn to face my second in command.

"Stay here! I'm going to go check the pilots!" I call back.

"Jesus Christ, the Captain's fucking dead!" he screams looking at the gored body of our commanding officer.

"Just do as I say and STAY with the fucking cadets! " I scream.

There's a brief pause as Swafford takes in the situation. "Yes, sergeant."

I turn around again and work my way to the cockpit. The aircraft lurches and throws me off my feet as I grab the metal door and roll it open. The sight that meets me causes my blood to run cold.

The pilots are slumped over the controls, blood spatters on the windshield. The radio is clutched in the copilot's hand. I stagger to him and take the radio from his grasp.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Hercules six two is going down! Repeat: Hercules six two is GOING. DOWN."

The radio buzzes and crackles, I am met with only static. I swallow hard as my breath starts to come quickly and shallow. I can’t panic now, or we’re all fucking dead.

I pull the 9mm sidearm off of the pilot and slip it into my pants, grabbing the copilot's extra magazines: Wherever we crash I need to keep my Cadets safe and I have no idea how long it will be before rescue finds us. I wrap my arms around his chest and pull the pilot out of his seat, slipping the PDA off of his suit; if we crash I want to know what the hell happened. I grab the intercom:

"Swaf! The pilots are goners, I'm going to try to get control of this thing!"

There's no reply, but I'm sure Swafford hears me. All Civil Air Patrol cadets, regardless of their positions or interests, are required to take classes on aerospace physics and aircraft handling. Although I'm a squad radio operator, I have had experience flying single engine aircraft under supervision numerous times. However, this behemoth has four engines, a burning fuel tank and my supervision is comatose or dead.

I swallow deeply and grab the controls. The only instruments I recognize are the altimeter and barometer, which tell me that not only are we losing altitude rapidly, we're falling through an area of extremely high pressure. Not good.

I ease the nose of the KC 130 up by pulling back lightly on the wheel, the display in front of me me shows me that I’m missing two engines and we’re leaking fuel.

Of course we’re leaking fuel, the tank is on fire.

I hold the plane as steady as I can as it begins to lurch and shake erratically again. Something else is propelling this thing. I suddenly realize that the F-16 is still attached to this thing. That’s what’s ripping it apart; the engines are melting the fucking plane!

I jump out of the pilot’s seat and bolt to the back, running as fast as I can through the massive belly of this monster. On my way out I grab the Aircrew Survival Kit off of the wall and throw it into my pack.

“Swafford! Get everyone out of here, the fuselage is on fire! Come on, we have to-“

There is a deafening boom and the rear of the aircraft is completely ripped away, along with my cadets and officer.

“SHIT!”

I grab my pack tightly and hold on as tight as I can to the threshold. The plane jerks violently and lurches itself to the right side, throwing me into cockpit.

I sit slumped against the controls, dazed. My boots rest in a pool of the pilots’ blood and I feel my own begin to run down the side of my face.

I hear the engines frying beneath me accelerate again and the KC-130 shakes faster and more violently. I struggle to stand and turn to face the blood-spattered windshield. The F16 rips itself free and screams ahead of the aircraft. I jump back into the pilot’s seat and grab the wheel again. Maybe I can fly this thing on one engine…

The F16 suddenly stalls and flies backward. I duck behind the control panel and the glass above me shatters. My wrist smashes into the metal seat. I stagger to my feet as the plane falls into a steep dive. I feel the engines tear off as more flames engulf the frame.

I am thown into the back of the cockpit and the G-force of the fall holds me down. I hear the straining of metal and the wall beside me tears away, sucking me and all of my gear out of the aircraft and throwing me into the freezing, open air. I suddenly can’t breathe and my body locks up as I fall away from the burning aircraft. Only now do I see the extent of the damage caused by the explosion:

The fuel tank leaks thick, black smoke and the underside is burned away. I strain to keep my eyes open as I watch the flames completely engulf the aircraft.

Suddenly a huge boom rips through the air, deafening me. I can no longer hear the air screaming through my ears as I plummet to the ground. From the fuel tanks a black swirling mass appears, growing and spinning as it sucks away the clouds around me.

I’m too dazed to realize what’s happening as a second explosion causes the mass of black matter to engulf me completely. I close my eyes and brace for a sudden and very painful death.

I feel a warm gust wash over me, followed by a squeezing sensation. I open my eyes and am nearly blinded by the sudden re-polarization of the sky around me. Everything is brighter, bluer, more colorful. Maybe I’m oxygen deprived and my head is fucking with me, I DEFINITELY should have hit the ground by now. I look down at an even more colorful landscape and realize I’m still MILES off the ground. I spin myself around to look for the KC-130 but it’s nowhere to be found.

I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been screaming this entire time. My voice fries out and I close my mouth as the ground flies closer and closer to me. I close my eyes once more and prepare to meet my end.

This isn’t how I want to go, I didn’t earn my red beret, I never got laid, and I never even finished high school.

Suddenly I feel the wind get knocked out of me. Blood flies out of my mouth and I feel my bones crack: IMPACT.

I open my eyes. Wait, what?! I’m still falling, no I’m FLYING. My motion is horizontal. Something slammed into me and is holding me at what feels like Mach One speed. There’s a black trail of smoke behind me and it sounds like a jet has me pinned. No, the body around me is warm, and sweaty. I can hear shallow breathing, not my own, as I slip into unconsciousness.

I wake up on the ground in what feels like warm grass. My entire body is numb and warm. The colors look wrong, too bright, too… cartoony. Six forms approach me at a gallop. Wait, seriously. They look like fucking Technicolor horses and they are literally GALLOPING to me. I grab the tree I’m lying against and struggle to one knee. The brightly colored forms draw nearer. I put my hands up in front of my face and spread my fingers: Don't shoot.

I keep my arms raised to show that I am unarmed before I feel a sudden sharp pain in my lungs and collapse to my stomach, laying on the cold steel on my hip as I feel warm blood spill out of my mouth.

I hear the creatures talking before consciousness leaves me again.

“What the hay is that?”

“He looks hurt…”

“Maybe he’s new in Ponyville!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And just WHAT is he WEARING?”

“Uh, girls? Ah think we should git him on over to the hospital.”

I slip under again as I feel my form being lifted by an unseen force, the pain in my chest overwhelms me…