When Lightning Cracks, Thunder Rumbles

He just would not die, would he?

A tapping stirred Eugene from his deep sleep. His vision was heavily blurred, and everything looked like a smudge of color and abstract shape. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times to try and sharpen his sight. Soon, after a shake of his head, the cockpit he sat in came into sharper focus. The sky above held a swirling palette of purples and oranges, showing that it was late in the afternoon.

The tapping continued, and it sounded from his left.

Looking over, Eugene jumped.

A creature of some kind stared back at him. The head looked like an eagle, with bright blue eyes staring intently at him. The body however, save for the talon like claws in the front, resembled a lions. A pair of powerful looking wings sat curled against the barrel of the lion body.

Eugene recognized this creature, but he couldn't believe it. It was one from his childhood stories of mystical creatures and folk lore. Eugene was staring at a Griffin. It was small, probably a adolescent. The feathers adorning the eagle-like features were light gray with faded pink tips. The fur on the lion body was a white that bordered on gray.

One of the talons tapped against the glass again, and the griffin blinks.

"Hey, you okay in there?" asks the griffin. The voice was distinctly feminine.

Eugene was aware that he was beaten and battered from his escape, but he wasn't sure if he was simply hallucinating the creature. If he wasn't hallucinating, then he hoped that this was some kind of strange purgatory.

"Hello?"

A strange purgatory where mythical creatures existed was preferable to trauma induced hallucinations.

"Uhm..y-yes!" Eugene called back. The griffin seemed to give a sigh of relief, its' beak somehow making a small smile.

"Thank goodness! I was afraid that you were dead!" said the griffin. It casted its' sky blue gaze over the canopy, tracing the spider web like cracks within the glass. "Do you need help getting out?" it asked. Eugene looked over the internal latched of the canopy himself. Disappointment overcame him when he saw that one of the latches was blown to pieces, effectively fusing the canopy to the window frame at a single point. He pushed against the canopy, hoping to make it budge, but it did not give. After bracing himself, Eugene threw his shoulder upward against the glass, but absolute pain racked his body.

"Well, it would seem that I'm not dead..." he mentally growled as he gripped his shoulder. After a minute or so, the pain ebbed away and returned him to a state of half-numbness.

"It would seem that I do need help..." he grunted. The griffin was quick with her actions. Before he knew it, Eugene watched as the griffin jammed the tip of a crowbar into the canopy edge. After bracing herself, the griffin pulls down on the crowbar. The creature demonstrated some impressive strength for something so small. In a matter of seconds, the fused point on the canopy was broken. Eugene immediately slid the canopy back, taking in a few deep breaths as fresh air hit him. The griffin smiled once again, putting her crowbar back into a side satchel that sat draped around her neck.

Eugene gently lifted himself from the cockpit, trying his hardest to not cause another wave of pain. Strain began assaulting his muscles as he shifted his hips over the lip of the cockpit. The griffin stepped back and waited, watching him drape one leg over, followed by the other. A jolt of pain hits his calf, making his face scrunch up in agony.

The griffin cringed a bit as she watched a stream of blood trickle down the side of the fighter.

"That looks pretty bad..." she started. Pulling her satchel around, the griffin began digging into its' contents. "I think I have some gauze in here somewhere..." she continued. Eugene moved his hands towards his bleeding calf, his grip trembling as he applied pressure to the area.

"Hurry..." he urged. "There's a bullet in there..." he added. The griffin looked up with a look of confusion on her face.

"What's a bull-it?" she asked, mispronouncing the word. Eugene shakes his head and signaled for her to keep looking. A moment later, and the griffin produced a medium sized wad of gauze wrap. Another second later, and she pulled out a pair of large tweezers.

"Let me see your wound." she said, stepping towards him. With a grunt, Eugene slid himself onto the dusty ground, hissing through his teeth as pain shot through him again. Putting his bloodied leg out, he pulled up the pants leg and exposed the angry red entry wound.

The griffin stared perplexed.

"I've...I've never seen something like this before..." she said, uncertainty coming over her face. "I'm used to pulling out thorns and splinters..." she admits. Eugene gestured to the wound with a shaking finger.

"In there, about two inches deep, is an object. I need you to pull it out before wrapping up my leg." he said as he looked to her. The griffin continued to look uncertain about the situation. Rolling his eyes, Eugene sighed. "Think of it as a very deep splinter." he added. The griffin scrunched her face as determination rose within her. After adjusting her grip on the tweezers, she set the gauze aside and drew closer to the hole. With her free paw, she steadied Eugene's leg before inserting the tweezers. Eugene threw his head back against the fighter as new pain shot through him.

To her merit, the griffin did not jump at his sudden agony.

Eugene could feel the tweezers parting the split meat within his leg as it drew closer to the bullet. Suddenly, the tweezers met the bullet, slightly pushing it deeper.

"Pull it. PULL IT." he hissed. The tweezers parted and found a stable grip around the bullet. With growing agony, Eugene felt the bullet leave the passage in his leg, waiting for that feeling of relief. When it finally came, Eugene was quick to grab the gauze and began wrapping his calf. After a few passes and a few layers, the tore the material clear of the wad and secured the tail end of the wrap. Allowing himself a few relieved breaths, Eugene put his back against the fighter and looked at the griffin.

"Eugene Zurich." he said, introducing himself.

"Zoey." said the griffin. She put a taloned paw forward, offering a handshake. Eugene took the offered gesture and gave a single shake.

"Thank you." he said, releasing his grip. Zoey gives a little chirp as she smiles.

"It's no problem, mister! It's a good thing I heard the commotion when I did, otherwise you might have ended up all alone out here." she said as she looked past Eugene, her gaze looking over the wrecked 190. "What is that thing?" she asked, looking back to him she added "And what are you?". Her voice carried heavy curiosity, and her features did not portray any hint of fear either. With the back of his palm, Eugene pats the fuselage behind him.

"This, is called an aircraft." he said, putting his palm to his chest. "And I, am a human being." he added. "I already know what you are." he continued, pointing a finger to Zoey. The griffin looks startled at this statement, gesturing to herself. Eugene nods. "Where I come from, griffins are creatures of myth. But you," he reaches a hand out to pat Zoey. The griffin squawks at the contact, reeling back slightly. "Appear to be the real deal." he finishes. Zoey scowls a bit, readjusting her ruffled feathers with a quick swipe of her paw.

"Well, I would hope that I'm real!" she retorted, her face scrunched up. Eugene chuckles at her demeanor before taking a moment to look at her.

"What brings you out here?" he simply asked. Zoey patted her satchel, a proud smile coming to her beak.

"I'm a scavenger! Yep, I'm sent out here every other month to try and find something with trade value to it. If I do, I fly home and get it cleaned up before passing it off to the merchants. Mom and dad say it's good, hard work, but I get incredibly lonely out here..." she trailed off, tapping the points of her talons together shyly.

"You said you heard the fight?" Eugene asked. Zoey perked up from her thoughts and nods eagerly.

"Yeah! I was taking a nap when heard a loud explosion right over me! Next thing I know, there were these things zooming over me! It was so loud, and it got even louder! I watched you take the other two out, and I was scared! I had never seen anything blow up like that before! Then it got real quiet. I watched you glide over to this plateau. After that, you vanished and I took off to investigate! It took me a while to get up here, the crosswinds up here almost got me. And, well, here we are!" Zoey explained, throwing her arms wide, a large grin on her beak. The grin faltered before dropping entirely. "Now what?" she asked simply.

Eugene pondered the same question; What did he do now? As far as he was concerned, he was far, far from the grip of the Gestapo and the law. For all he knew, he was already considered to be dead, having become a smear within the forest outside of the airfield he escaped. Now, here he sat in a strange land, talking to a griffin.

"Step ten, begin a new."

"You said you came from a village, yes?" he asked. Zoey perked up again, nodding once more.

"Mhmm! It's about a two day flight from here." she said nonchalantly, gesturing off to her left. Then a though hit her. "Wait, you can't fly without that machine, huh?" she asked. Eugene simply nods in confirmation. "Make that three days flight. I'm going to have to carry you, that is, if you're okay with that?" she asked, hoping for him to approve of her idea.

Eugene simply shrugs. "I don't have any other choices, now do I?" he replied. Propping himself against the wrecked fighter, he hisses with pained effort. His body was telling him he had other pieces of shrapnel that needed to be extracted before things got worse. "You don't mind being a mobile nurse, do you?" he asked, trying to catch his breath.

"Why? Do you have more of them bull-its in you?" she asked, looking at him with a worried expression. Eugene shook his head feeling himself over to find the tender and pain riddled areas.

"N-no...just some shrapnel that needs to be extracted..." he hissed, having just found an area that felt peppered by hot metal. "They feel deeper than the bullet was..." he adds. Zoey frowns, looking the man over.

"You are definitely going to need an experienced doctor then. Come on!" she said. In that moment, her wings unfurled and flared. Eugene stared in awe. For a young griffin, her wing span easily rivaled that of the Fw. 190 behind him. Without warning, Zoey grabbed onto Eugene's shoulders, and hauled him off the ground. With a firm flap of her wings, Zoey took off like a shot.

~ooo000ooo~

Eight months later

He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Hutton gazed at the wreck, but his mind wouldn't accept the reality. Here he stood, staring at the wreck of a Fw. 190. Judging by the faded paint and sun bleached metal panels, the fighter had been sitting here for quite some time. He could barely see the faded yellow 9 that adorned the aircraft's flanks.

Hutton's fists began to curl.

His blood began to boil.

Here sat an aircraft that terrorized Hutton and his fellow bombers with each mission. Swarms of these compact bastards of the air would cause terror and wrought so much destruction.

He hated it. He hated the purpose behind it. He hated the idea of its mere existence.

And for a minute, all Hutton did was stare at the wreck hatefully. Before he knew it, his right foot was being drawn back. With a hollow clunk, Hutton's foot hits the loose engine cowling with as much force as he would muster. The metal rattled, causing a few rusting bolts to rattle in their spots. Another kick brought about more rattling metal. Then a third kick, and a fourth. Now Hutton was just wailing against the downed machine, throwing everything he had into his actions. The metal groaned in protest with each hit, each impact shaking its' frame looser and looser. He opted to stop kicking and began actually punching the aircraft, his fists leaving small dents in the metal work with each hit.

Within minutes, Hutton's fury drained away, leaving him panting and his foot hurting. His knuckles held a shiny glare, their surfaces a bright red from being nearly broken. As he panted and waited for the pain to recede, the lower engine cowling panel fell to the dusty ground, exposing the rusting lower half of the radial engine within.

He hated this machine.

"Phillip?!" cried a voice. Turning on his heel, Hutton turned in time to see Twilight flying towards him at breakneck speeds. Plowing into his chest, the two collide against the 190. Twilight laughs victoriously as Hutton gasps for air. Pulling back, Twilight sees his struggle and backs off immediately, allowing him his space. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" she pleaded. Hutton waves a hand dismissively as he tried to regulate his breathing.

"How did...you..." he began. "Find me...?" he said, taking a few deep breaths to try and get some air into his lungs.

"Well, long story short, it involved a lot of magical shit that is too complex to explain right now! I was just so fucking worried that I wouldn't be able to find you! I looked all over Ponyville, Canterlot, Sweet Apple Acres, all over Equestria! I didn't even think to look into the Celestia-damned Griffin lands! Now come on Mister Hutton, we need to get back to Ponyville so I can hunt down that idiot Lyra and shove my horn right where-" Twilight stops her worry-stricken rant of rage. Hutton is laughing now. "What's so funny?" she asks.

"I never thought I would hear you use fowl language. I thought your kind didn't know it existed!" he replied, laughing loudly now. Twilight's cheeks erupt into a blush as she scowls at him. She hadn't realized that she had allowed those kinds of words to filter into her rant. In a moment, she collects herself before speaking.

"Well, unlike humans, we do not use profanity as filler language in our sentences, Mister Hutton. But, yes, we do know of those words." she says, huffing and turning her nose away from him. Hutton continues laughing, the sight of a flustered and angry Twilight bringing him much amusement. While Hutton got his kicks from the situation, Twilight looked past the man and at the wrecked machine behind him. "Phillip..." she starts, looking over the wreck now. "What is that?" she asks, pointing a hoof behind him. Hutton's laughter starts dying away as he looks behind himself, reminded of the hated object behind him. In mere seconds, his mirth was replaced by a solemn graveness. Standing up, he moved away from the 190 and looked down at her.

"Another aircraft." he says simply. Twilight blinks, looking to the 190, then back to him.

'Is it one of yours?" she asks. "You know, from your air force?" she adds. Hutton shakes his head and gestures to the tail of the 190. Twilight follows his finger, spotting a symbol of some kind. She did not recognize it, but its' angled position and sharp lines made her feel uneasy, but she couldn't explain why.

"That there is a symbol of hate where I'm from. My military would not dare use it on their aircraft. If anything, I was helping fight that symbol, to ensure that it did not wave across the lands. Those who follow it are sadistic, mentally disturbed, and blinded by loyalty to those in command." Hutton says, glaring at the symbol. Twilight feels a sense of pride fill her chest as Hutton talked down on the symbol. A thought crossed her mind. Looking away from the wreck, she began to scan the vast expanse of wheat around the plateau. Hutton notices this and begins to gaze as well. "What's up?"

"I'm checking something, hang on." she said, putting up a hoof for silence. Her horn glowed as she moved her head from side to side. "How am I not picking it up...?" she muttered aloud.

"Picking what up?" Hutton asks. With her horn shutting down, Twilight sighs a bit.

"Earlier you asked how I managed to find you. Well, here in Equestria, everything is soaked in an aura of sorts. It comes from the deeply imbued magical properties of the land. Everyone here can access this magic in one form or another. And, just like how the species of this land are unique and vary from one end of the spectrum to the other, their auras are unique and vary in style as well. Since you're the only human in this land, your aura stood out like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. Your aura isn't tied to the magic of the land, so it stood out above the others." Twilight explains. Hutton raises an eyebrow, taking in the information she just put before him.

"So...you were what, tapping into the mojo of this place to find the other pilot?" he asks. Twilight chuckles and nods a bit.

"In a nutshell, yes. But, nothing is popping up." she says. Hutton gives a bemused scoff.

"Hopefully the Nazi bastard is dead." Hutton muttered. Twilight looks up at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What's a Nat-zee?" she asks simply, mispronouncing the word. Hutton waves away the question, shaking his head in a firm manner.

"That's a mess I don't want to get into, Twilight, trust me on that one." he says. The two fall into silence as they stand there. After a few minutes, Twilight speaks up again.

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay, Phillip." Twilight said, turning to smile at him. "Now, stand still, I will take us home." she said. Stepping into place right next to her, Hutton nods his head. With a spark of her horn and a crack, the two vanish from the dusty plateau, leaving behind the wrecked Fw. 190 and the ocean of golden wheat.