The War of '63

"B-52'S, INCOMING!"

Mel awoke to somepony's panicked shout, and the sound of jet engines. He ran outside, still in his sleeping gown, to see Boeing B-52 bombers flying in from the east.

"EVERYPONY!" he screamed, at the top of his lungs, "GET TO SHELTER!"

He sprinted down a dirt path, but was tripped by a hoof sticking out from a doorway. He tripped, tumbling over and over, and landed flat on his face. To his surprise, the hoof pulled him inside quickly, and shut the door.

When somepony flicked on the lights, and Mel realized he was in the mess hall kitchen. The other ponies in the room were Private Cake, Private Dutch, and Private Donkey.

"Why'd you trip me?!" He raged, "Now we're stuck in this hell!"

"Why run when there's a concrete cellar under the messhall?" Cake suggested, "We'll hide in there until-"

"HEY, YOU TREACHEROUS BASTARDS, WHO'S SIDE ARE YOU ON?!"

All three whipped around, to find Thunder Dash standing in the doorway, The old Sarge's face red with rage.

"YOU THREE COWARDS GET OUT HERE, AND MAN THE ANTI-AIRCRAFT GUNS!"

"Why us?" Donkey, questioned, "Don't you have ponies to do that?"

"THEY ABANDONED THEIR POSTS! NOW, GET OUT THERE!"

As the three ran to the big guns, Mel was confronted by Commander Brougham and Private Harold Brougham.

"GET TO A JEEP, HUTCHINSON!" the Commander ordered frantically, "AND TAKE HAROLD WITH YOU! MAKE IT TO THE MILD WEST! YOU'LL FIND ELDORADO OUTSIDE DODGE JUNCTION!"

"But, Commander!" Mel fretted, "Thunder Dash told me and these two to man the A-A turrets!"

"FUCK THUNDER DASH!" Deville replied, "THE QUEER'S NATURAL HAIR COLOR IS A RAINBOW! THIS IS A DIRECT ORDER, WE CAN HOLD THEM OFF! JUST TAKE HAROLD AND RUN!"

As Deville scurried away, to the A-A turrets, Mel was left to fondly remember his favorite superior officer, until he felt a tug on his shirt, and looked over to see Harold pointing toward the garage.

"Let us MOVE!"

****

The two raced down the street, as another wave of B-52's passed above. As one dropped it's bombs, the tail gunner commenced shooting at the two strays.

"DUCK!" Mel cried out, as gunfire peppered the dirt road, making the impact areas poof up in tan dust. The two continued running, to the garage, where the two found a Jeep. They climbed in, started it, and raced off, down the road.

"Oh, shit..." Harold muttered to himself.

"What, what is it?"

"The gate's shut.....Should I go inside the gun tower and unlock it?"

"No time for that now," Mel warned, flooring it, "HANG ON TO YOUR HAT, HARRY!"

The Jeep burst through the gate, the big, chain-link arms giving way almost too easily, thundered across the road, and onto a meadow on the other side.

"We're a sitting duck out here, Hutchinson," Harold observed, "I hear you're a pretty nice shot. How about, from now on, I drive, you shoot?"

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, stopping the Jeep, so they could trade positions, "This trip's gonna take a while...."

"F-4 PHANTOM, INCOMING!"

The two ducked, as a Phantom fighter-bomber whooshed past, shattering their windshield with gunfire. Mel tried as best as he could with the Browning mounted on the back of the Jeep, but he couldn't hit it.

"THIS IS USELESS, HAROLD!" he reported, "THOSE DAMN THINGS CRUISE AT 600 MILES AN HOUR! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HIT SOMETHING GOING 600 MILES AN HOUR?!"

He tried some more, but it was a futile attempt, he couldn't shake the elite American fighter. That is, until it came up directly behind them, and attempted to launch a rocket.

His heart pounding, Mel focused in the seconds before the missile was launched. With precision accuracy, he shot into the left intake, crippling the craft's engine, and sending it spiraling into the ground, exploding behind them.

"HOLY GOD, MAN!" Harold laughed, pointing to the plane, "He's gonna be sore in the morning, eh?"

That was it. Mel had killed his first enemy. As he stared at the burning wreckage of the enemy fighter, he wondered, was he a hero, or a murderer?

The rest of the trip was less exciting, as they passed abandoned cars, small dwellings, and burning tanks, until they reached a highway.

"Equestrian Highway 18...." Mel muttered, "Hey, there's a diner down the road, where we could stop and eat!"

"Well," Harold shrugged, "Why not? I know my brother, and he has never given up on anything, including a battle. He isn't going anywhere."

After more driving, they found themselves at a truckstop, with signs that read, "Lunoco Truckstop: Diner, Pinball, Shower Facilities".

As soon as they pulled up, they noticed a large amount of air force officers at the counter. "They must be from the base from down the road," Mel thought, "But, aren't they supposed to be defending FORT WANAHOOVA?"

"HEY!" Mel shouted, as he burst in, the flyboys turning around to look at him, "WHAT ARE YOU FREELOADING PRICKS DOING HERE?! FORT WANAHOOVA'S BEING BOMBED, AND YOU'RE EATING BREAKFAST?! GO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

"No can do," one replied calmly, still eating his hash browns, "We can't fly as fast as jets, even SPITFORCE couldn't! She's the top pegasus at the base! Besides, we're a bombardment squadron."

"Then, go out and BOMB SOMETHING! Who's the lazy-ass pony commanding this squadron?"

"That would be me."

A jet black pegasus with a  maroon mane got up from the pinball machine near the jukebox.

"My name is Colenal Leavenworth, of the Equestrian Air Force, 4th Bombardment group. You think we can just WALTZ UP to an enemy installation, drop a couple of bombs, and LEAVE?"

He was now standing quite close to Mel, he could smell his breath. It was surprisingly fresh.

"Oh-ho-ho, NO, SIR. You have to spend time carefully planning, waiting for the perfect chance to strike, and that's what we're doing."

"By playing pinball?"

Just then, a small radio on the counter burst into life.

"HEY, 4TH BOMB GROUP, YA HEARIN' ME?"

The pony on the radio spoke with a thich southern drawl, much like Deville, and sounded very frantic.

Upon hearing the transmission, Colenal Leavenworth ran over to the radio, and picked up the mic.

"Yeah, Eldo, this is Captain Leavenworth. What do you need?"

"WHAT DOES IT SOUND LIKE, MAN?" Eldorado retorted, over the heavy gunfire in the background, "AH NEED AIR SUPPORT, THESE GODDAMN HUMANS ARE BLOWIN' UP ALL MAH SHERMANS!"

"Yes, sir," the jet black pegasus acknowledged, "We're on our way, over. Everypony get to the truck!"

As soon as they heard his command, the pegasi all sprinted outside to a Deuce-and-A-Half truck, all hopping in the back, as Leavenworth started it.

Just then, Mel realized something. These ponies were headed toward Eldorado's tank brigade, and so were he and Harold! If he hitched a ride, it would be much quicker than the long, dangerous trip by jeep.

"Hey, Captain?" Mel asked him, as he and Harold climbed into the truck cab, "Me and Harry here are on our way to Eldo's tank brigade, we were reccomended by Commander Deville Brougham, at Fort Wanahoova."

"What's your point, kid?"

"Could we possibly ride in one of your bombers to get there?"

Leavenworth smiled. "Sure, kid! The waist gunners in one of our Flying Fortresses went AWOL, you can fill in for 'em!"

Mel froze. "Wait, you still use B-17's?"

"Sure do, why?"

Memories flooded over him, as he remembered his father, who had served in a B-17 during World War 2. The once-mighty pony would be reduced to a sniffling pile of post-traumatic stress at the mention of the heavy bomber. And, to add to that, the planes had become much older, since the "War To End All Wars", being obsolete, compared to the 600 MPH fighters of the Americans.

"You don't have much of a choice, Hutchinson, it's an order."

It turns out, he had been so entwined in his thoughts, that he had zoned out from real life, that he had not responded to Captain Leavenworth for some time. He continued climbing in, and Harold followed. The truck set off down the road, doing no more than 30 Miles an Hour, toward the airbase.