The War of '63

by Fleetwood_Brougham

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Slice of Life, Dark
Length: 3779

A motley collection of ponies attempt to hold off the American invasion of Equestria.

I've had this idea in my head for a very long time, but, except for Sir Henry, Father Night, and a few others, I haven't told many people about it.

Synopsis: The year is 1963, and war is on it's way to Equestria. After the US blocked off trade with Cuba the previous year, they began to suspect that the little landlocked nation, nestled secretly inside Utah, was stocking up on Soviet weapons. Fearing an invasion, President Kennedy launched a preemptive strike. These are the stories of several seemingly-harmless ponies, including Mr. Cake, C.D. Donkey, Dutch, Pony Joe and Mel, who once defended their country against overwhelming odds.

Rated T for heavy swearing and occaisional gore.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-26 21:22:18 UTC

Prolouge: The Eve of War

The following has been declassified by the Equestrian Military. Unauthorized copying of this archive will

result in serious penalty.

June 8th, 1963.

2:47 AM

Canterlot Palace

"Um, your majesty?"

Celestia awoke to find the outline of a military commander, silhouetted against the light from the hall, standing at the foot of her bed.

"Eldorado!" she gasped, as she turned on the lights, revealing her most trusted general, "What are you doing here in the dead of night! How did you even get past the guards?!"

"Well," the general explained, "Ah'm a good friend of Royal Guard Captain Randolph, we worked together for years at the, uh....." He broke down to a whisper, so that the ponies in the next room over could not hear them. "....Rainbow Factory...."

"Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning." The princess began to hustle him out the door, but he put his hoof out, to signal her to stop.

"Ah don't think it can wait..." He pulled a small map from his dresscoat, with the US border marked very clearly.

"You see,  radar has detected US troops incoming from Salt Lake City. Other posts have detected troops from Carson City, Nevada and Boise, Idaho. The first wave from Salt Lake will be at our southern borders in 6 hours."

Celestia stood bewildered, shocked at the sudden threat. America had been a close ally since the end of the American Civil War, when they had discovered the paradise that is Equestria, which had been Confederate-occupied since the beginning of the conflict. The two nations had fought together through The Spanish-American War, World War I and II, and even Korea, but now, they were suddenly against each other?

"This can't be right." She grabbed her crown, which was laying on the nightstand, next to a half-full glass of water, and started out, into the hallway, her hair still a single shade of pink, as it was in the morning. "General Brougham, get Washington D.C. on the phone, we have a crisis on our hands."

"We've been accepting WHAT?!"

"I'm sorry, Celestia," Kennedy explained over the phone, "I have always liked your little country, very, er...Quaint. But, sources have indicated that you've been accepting deliveries of Soviet R-11 missiles, and possibly have obtained the, uh, blueprints, to build your own."

"Mr. Kennedy," Celestia responded, "Who reported this? Whoever they are, I can assure you, they're lying. Most military personnel in Equestria have never even layed eyes on a missile before, let alone thought of using one against NATO."

"Well, then," The US president reasoned, "If you don't have any, you wouldn't mind if we just came in and made sure?"

The white alicorn threw the phone down in frustration. She was the goddess of the sun, she didn't have the time, let alone patience, to deal with the smooth-talking American politician.

"Ready the troops," she ordered Eldorado, "If we don't have enough to defend, than START A DRAFT!"

"Yes, ma'am." The general hurried out of the throne room, urgent, almost eager to fulfill the orders, and commence the gears of war to start turning.

Celestia sighed, remembering all that her and Eldorado had been through. She had raised him herself, a young, "Alicorn", given to her by a railroad tycoon in 1893. He grew up to be an essential strategist in the Equestrian Armed Forces, earning his general stars very easily. Pity his horn fell off in 1945, he would've made a wonderful prince.

"Never mind that, now," she thought to herself, "I must warn the citizens."

That night, Celestia's war address buzzed across radiowaves, aired on televisions, and was telegraphed to everywhere in Equestria.

And, so began a war. A war where both sides fought to, "defend their country". A war where both sides were the "Good Guy", in terms of actions. Equestria was defending it's borders, and America was defending themselves, and the rest of the world, from missiles that didn't even exist. This conflict had shockwaves that last to this day. This is The War of 1963.

Enlist Today!

It was a normal day for Mel Hutchinson. There were cars that needed to be worked on, Celestia's sun shown brightly down from above, and it was Wednesday.

As he began the walk out to his father's garage, he spotted an olive green Plymouth coming up the dirt road to the little ranch. It had a single white star on the doors, and the Equestrian flag fluttered from two flag posts from both sides of the hood.

As it pulled up, a cloud of dust overtook it, as it caught up with the car, from the storm up to the house. Two unicorns wearing dark green military dress coats got out, and walked slowly up to him.

"You Mel Hutchinson?" one asked. These ponies were obviously from the government. He hated the government.

"Yes, sir," he replied warily, "As a matter of fact, I am Mel Hutchinson. Who wants to know?"

The other one began this time.

"You are an expert in automotive maintenance and repair, correct?"

"You still haven't answered my question," he growled, "who wants to know?"

"We're from the Equestrian Army's recruiting base near Las Pegasus. We need you for the war effort, as your skill in automotive maintenance would be quite valuable to a tank brigade"

"WHAT?!" The simple mechanic felt as if he wanted to run away. "I don't wanna be a part of no WAR EFFORT! I'm just a peace-loving farm pony! My real name's WHEATGRASS, for Christ's sake!"

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Mr. Hutchinson," the first warned, "Now, just come with me, we'll alert your father."

Before it seemed he could blink, he was hoofcuffed to the back seat of the two Army officers' staff car, and was taken down the road.

"LET ME GO, YOU BASTARDS!" Mel kept yelling, as he struggled against his cuffs, "I'M NOT GOING TO WAR!"

"Mr. Hutchinson," the one driving sighed, "You are beginning to try my patience. Now, shut up, we're going to pick up some more future soldiers, and, unlike YOU, they signed up, you slippery hippie coward!"

The next pony they picked up wasn't even a PONY. His name was Cranky D. Donkey, but the two officers just referred to him as Private Donkey.

"So, Private," the second unicorn inquired, slightly smiling, "We hear you have a mare waiting for you at home?"

"Yes, SIR!" the mule responded, grinning with shining eyes, "I met her in Manehattan a couple of months ago. I'm gonna MAKE SURE that, after this thing, she gets to see her little soldier boy again!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that, shooter..." Mel grumbled to himself, "Unlike the movies, one shot to the head, and you're DONE!" The thought of meeting his end via sniper rifle made him shiver. He wanted to be buried in a field of flowers, inside a Chevy Impala, not left in some TRENCH, where the crows and maggots would slowly eat him away!

After Donkey, they picked up several familiar faces, such as Dutch Clogs, an earth pony who had been an explorer scoutee for a couple months, and Harold Brougham, who's brother was Celestia's number one suck-up in Mel's eyes.

They were taken to a small military base, near Ponyville, where they were rounded up, had their manes cut, were fitted for military uniforms, and underwent training, as the head-of-base blasted rock and roll over the intercom.

****

The training was especially hard for Mel, who's light diet as a beatnik had shrunk his muscle mass severely.

"COME ON, YA PANZY FAGGOT!" the drill Sargent barked as he climbed under barbed wire, "I THOUGHT YOU HIPPIES ATE MUD!"

"I resent that, Sargent Jerkoff...." he mumbled to himself, and kept crawling. Barbed wire tugged at his fur through the Army uniform, and he was bleeding in several areas, including his legs, but he kept moving, for he feared what horrible thing the Sargent would do to him if he failed.

All of a sudden, the Sargent blew his whistle, and everypony stood up straight, and saluted him. All except Mel....

"Psst...." Dutch whispered to him, "Get UP!"

"ALRIGHT, WISE GUY!" Mel froze as he realized that the Sargent was standing right in front of him. "I don't know WHAT THE HELL you're thinking, but this AIN'T NO CONVENT, we have RULES to follow here, so STAND THE FUCK UP!"

Mel responded almost instantly, shooting up in fear, and, sweating heavily as the sarge looked him straight in the eyes, saluted him.

"Well, as I was saying," The Sargent continued, "You've all done an OUTSTANDING job, even YOU, Flower-Power! You've all deserved a nice, nommy meal..." They could tell by his malicious grin that he was lying. He gestured to a ramshackle building with a sign that read, "Mess Hall".

When Mel arrived, he immediately turned his attention to the food: In large trays on a counter there was, surprisingly, instead of gruel, like in the movies, there were several, normal meals, including Mac and Cheese, Hamburgers, and even pizza!

Lining up with the others, the gray earth pony anticipated his delicious meal. After dishing up, and giving identification, he sat down at a table, with two other ponies he didn't know, and said grace before his meal.

"Bless this food to our use," he mumbled, "and us to thy service. Fill our hearts with grateful praise.

Amen."

He drank in the delicious smell of the food, and began to slowly eat it, savoring each moment.

He hadn't gotten a third of the way done, when the Sargent marched up to him.

"YOU'RE EATIN' TOO SLOW, SON!" the superior yelled, throwing his tray against the wall, "Get your ass up, and get out there WITH THE OTHERS! It's time for target practice!

Mel obeyed, and sprinted outside, to see several soldiers crowded around a box of M1 Garand assault rifles.

An elderly pegasus was speaking to the other recruits on top of a soap box.

"Hello, friends, and welcome to Basic Training, I'm sure ya've already gotten to know Sargent Thunder Dash."

Thunder Dash gave a wave from the shadows, accompanied by a malevolent wave.

"MAH name is Commander Deville Brougham, and ah'm aware that one of mah sons is here today, and 'da other is with Celestia?"

"He-hello, dad," Harold mumbled shyly, "I-I mean, sir."

"Hey, kid." Commander Brougham grunted back, "It's nice to see ya here. Maybe, some day, ya'll be as good as yer big brother, Eldorado?"

"Well, may-"

Deville cut him off with a wheezy laugh. "As IF! Yer brother's commandin' our EVEREH MOVE right now, PLUS, the bastard had wings AND a horn! Do YOU have a horn?" He laughed again, but then straightened up.

"Well, down to business.  Ah want each'a ya to grab an assault rifle, and practice on those dummies over there. Now, ya may all be wonderin', wha's the military usin' the dummies that prissy fashionistas use to style their new dresses? Well, let's just say, Aunt Celestia didn't give me mah allowance this year."

A couple of the recruits, including Mel, gave a little chuckle at the joke, picked out his gun, and began firing. After a few misses and minor wounds on his target, he managed to hit it square between the eyes.

"Excellent shot, Hutchinson!" Deville congratulated, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be a mechanic?"

"Yessir."

"Then, come with me, we'll get you on the range again later."

Mel was led down a dirt road, to a garage. In it, there was a camouflaged Travelall, a Jeep, an M-4 Sherman tank, and a Deuce-and-A-Half truck.

"This old girl has a problem starting," Deville told him, gesturing to the Sherman, "What do you do?"

"You look for a dead battery, first. And, if the battery and it's connection is fine, then you look for a bad ignition switch, or maybe corrosion."

"Aces, Hutchinson," the old, black-and-white-maned stallion praised, "Aces. Say, don't tell this to mah superiors, but could you take a look at my girl? She isn't firin' right, or something...."

After a while of working on Commander Brougham's red, '58 Plymouth Fury, he had begun to like it at boot camp. Good meals, a Commander who LIKED him, and a feeling that he belonged, this was EASY!

"There," he concluded, starting the car's V-8, "She's all better."

"We'd better get back to the range, Hutchinson," Deville suggested, "If any of the guards catch us out in the parkin' lot, they'll kick me out, and make Thunder Dash head of camp!"

The two hurried back, and, as night fell, ponies were still firing at the dummies, which were now riddled with bullet holes, after 4 hours of shooting.

Thunder Dash ran up to them, in shock that they were talking as if they were friends. "Where were you two, Commander?" He queried, "You should've seen Harold! I let him take the sniping course, and he passed with flying colors!"

"He still ain't no general..." Deville mumbled. "Hutchinson here is a top-notch mechanic. Ah think he'd do real well in the 8th Armoured, with Eldo."

"Really?" Mel gasped, "Thanks, Commander!"

He darted off, toward the firing range, leaving the two older stallions alone.

"I remember when I was like him," Dash sighed, "So eager to go out to war."

"And then," Deville finished, "You killed your first man?"

"Yep." The World War 2 veteran's eyes clouded with memory. "The look in his eyes, it was TERRIBLE, Commander Brougham. They told us that the Germans were evil, that they were the scum of existance, but, that human, that German human, I looked in his eyes, and I just saw the fear that my buddy, Joe had in his eyes, when we were stormin' the Normandy beaches...." He trailed off, and soon regained his composure, and had no expression. "Excuse me, Commander, I have to get back to watching the recruits."

Mel sat in his bunk that night. He didn't mind the blankets that hadn't been washed for a while, nor the cold. He dreamed of how his dad would love him, when he came home a war hero, and how his mother would hug him tight. In a week, he would be off to the battlefield, and, in a week, he would see his first glimpse of the hell that is combat.

Rude Awakening

"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.