15 years ago, there was a war.
Of course, conflict's nothing new around these parts. To the north, the Griffons fought numerous wars, mostly civil in nature. Stalliongrad broke the chains of the Equestrian government in a sudden and quick revolution. And of course, the various movements across the country to reform this or breakaway that, all never getting anywhere.
But war? Here? We hadn't seen any sort of major war here in a few centuries. I suppose we left our guard down. We should have known what was coming, and I guess we all did…
The war was long, hard, and ferocious. They pummeled around our meager defenses, bombed our cities, and captured swathes of land in the blink of an eye. At times, it seemed hopeless, that the great might of the Changeling war machine would finally bear down on our nation and crush us all.
But we fought them back. We fought them back to the border, back to Olenia, and all the way back to their capital. They fought ferociously, but were utterly defeated. But, their brutal and oppressive leaders, unable to bear the destruction they had brought down on themselves, committed one final, unthinkable act.
Seven nuclear bombs were detonated across the border, a futile attempt to destroy the enemy armies, permanently scarring the landscape between the nations. Seeing this tragedy unfold before their very eyes, the victorious coalition vowed to throw down their weapons.
The world was once again at peace. And thanks to them, it seemed it would last forever...
-Ink Paper, prologue to “The Four Wings of Sand Island, a History of the Circum-Celestial War”
September 23, 1025
Sand Island Air Force Base
This should have been, by all accounts, a wonderful day.
The sun was high in the sky, bright and warm, the small, thin clouds high in the sky doing little to shade the island below. There was a constant but soft breeze coming off the ocean waves, the wind carrying the smell of sand and the taste of salt. The tropical was held at bay, only occasionally setting in when the wind would die down momentarily, the humidity making everyone sweat and suffer.
Yes, today was a perfect day, the type of day you’d expect to spend sitting out under a palm tree reading a little paperback novel, or playing Volleyball with the rest of the colts until the sun went down.
Instead, she was stuck inside, with no air conditioning, sweating bullets inside her thick flight suit, playing cards.
“You’re up Scoots.”
She grit her teeth, glancing between the cards she held before her and the ever-growing deck of cards in front of her. “Hmmm…”
“Oh come on, you either have a green, a tree, or you don’t… and I win.”
With an exasperated and defeated sigh, she grumbled something under her breath and tossed in her few remaining cards into the pile. “Aaagh, fine. You win, Pops. Can’t believe you won again…”
A soft chuckle came from her left, the victor tossing his last card onto the top. “Ha! I told you I was good at this game!”
“You can’t be good at this game, it’s Uno!” Came the accent-heavy voice of Babs Seed, sitting across from her, also tossing her last cards in a huff. “It's all based on luck and how ya shuffle the cards! And since he’s the one who shuffled the deck, I call bullshit!”
“You should watch your mouth, don’t you know how to talk to your elders? And you owe me two bits.”
She reluctantly handed it over, muttering something under her breath, the last few crew members who had been sitting in the circle standing up and scattering, returning back to their old tasks. “Yeah, but that means you gotta clean all this up, old man.”
“Stupid Maintenance Squadron, sitting on their asses getting good at card games.” Scootaloo stood, stretching out her wings, adjusting a bit when they brushed against the metal skin of the aircraft behind her.
“Don’t complain too much. You know you need me to keep you flying, so you better stay on my good side or I’ll make your engine blow up in flight.”
Scootaloo scoffed at that. “Pfft, I got Babs, she’ll keep me flying.”
The Earth pony nodded, smirking, brushing the dust off her back. The mentioned pony groaned, glancing forward, out to the front of the hangar, the bright sun outside. “Ugh… When will this stupid alert get recalled? We’ve been standing on ready five for two hours now and we’re still stuck here.”
Scoots nodded, glancing at the small beat-up clock on the wall. She had heard the whispers and rumors that had been going around before the alert came out. She knew something abnormal was going on, this wasn’t normal. When the base had gone on high alert like this before, it was for training, and it hadn’t ever really lasted more than an hour, testing how fast everyone could scramble and get into the air. This time, the scramble order was quickly withdrawn, not before two squadrons had taken off. The rest of the base was just stuck sitting in their battle-ready action stations, Scootaloo’s team all suffering in their air conditioning-less buried concrete hangar.
“So what do you think is going on? At least that training flight that left a few hours ago doesn't have to deal with all this crap…” Babs grumbled, walking over to her workbench, pushing aside her numerous tools and paperwork, grabbing a flask from the back of the desk, taking a short swig.
“Training flight?” She asked, hoisting herself up the metal ladder, stepping into the cockpit of the largest object in the room.
The Hunter F.6 was an interesting aircraft, a development of an almost decade-old airframe, upgraded and improved over the years, resulting in this most recent version, armed with the latest development of guided missiles, and more powerful engine, complete with afterburner. However, it was still a Subsonic design, completely outclassed by the modern Mach 2 capable designs being deployed on the front lines. But it was still useful for auxiliary training squadrons, which this was.
But she didn’t care. Over the past year, she had slowly made the aircraft her own, the name of Blaze Bolt inscribed on the side, a rather wonderful design of a flaming arrow painted right above it, designed and painted by herself. Not very creative or original, but it was hers, and she was happy with it. She couldn’t differ much from the standard camo of the tropical dual-tone, dark jungle green and faded sand-tan, the black dog-head emblem of the 108th Tactical Fighter Squadron, most commonly known as “Wardog”, painted on the rudder. Aircraft number 016, her callsign “Blaze”.
She sat in the seat, glancing up at the dead Heads Up Display, bringing her eyes down over the dead panels, the lifeless gages and switches. A sudden flurry of movement across the base caught her eye, peering through the glass of the windscreen. “Yo… something’s going on across the way…”
“Hmm?” Babs, followed closely by Pops, rags tossed across his back, walked up to the front to see what she was referring to.
“Hmmm…” Pops grunted as three bright red trucks sped out of their garage, jeeps following, the base suddenly a hive of scrambling ponies. Babs stepped out into the sun, bringing a hoof up to hold over her eyes.
“Oh damn… that’s not good…” She murmured, looking in the direction the trucks had raced off to.
“What is it?” She asked, just as the sound of a jet engine reached her ears. Jumping out of the cockpit, she glided down to stand beside her friend, peering off in the same direction.
In the distance, dropping out of a cloud, a trail of smoke billowing out the back, came the figure of a plane. A fellow Hunter. It rocked back and forth in the air, seemingly unsteady, dropping rather fast towards the runway.
“Shit, what the heck happened?”
“I don’t know, but it looks pretty shot up. Its nose gear isn’t locked as well.”
Scoots was about to ask how she could tell, but she was proven right the second it hit the runway after seemingly struggling to land for a few moments, in front gear folding back into the aircraft, sending the nose crashing across the ground, sending sparks flying. The right wing crumpled, sending fuel and flame across the runway, exploding in a huge ball of fire. The canopy flew off, the pilot ejecting right as the aircraft exploded, barely making it away from the flames.
Before the fire trucks even reached the first wreck, another Hunter burst through the smoke, passing over the first and touching down smoothly at the end of the runway. This one slightly less damaged than the first, many bullet holes and shrapnel tears all across its body, one of the elevators completely shot off.
“Well… shit, that’s bad.” Scootaloo mumbled, watching the shot up aircraft roll past.
“Yeah…” Babs said, watching the flaming wreck as the fire trucks finally reached the scene, beginning to hose it down.
“Should we… go out and help them?”
Babs remained silent.
The whine of another jet engine could be heard over the wail of the sirens, and the two turned to watch a third Hunter touch down on the second runway, followed closely by one of the newest aircraft on the base: an F-4 Phantom II, used by the flight instructors.
“That’s Halo Wing’s aircraft.” Pops pointed to the Phantom. “Glad he seemed to get back in one piece.”
A sudden ear-piercing screech sounded throughout the base, causing the three of them to jump lightly, before Scootaloo turned and dashed back towards her aircraft, scrambling up the ladder. “Helmet!?”
“Got it here.” Babs tossed the helmet towards her, the pegasus catching it with her wing. “Thanks. Everything clear?” She flipped the starter switch, the flights of the aircraft flickering on quickly, the soft but growing whine of the jet engine filling the room.
“Everything’s good over here, just like the last time we checked.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes as she strapped herself into the ejector seat, shoving the tight-fitting flight helmet over her head. “Alright, check, check, check…” She flipped the last of the remaining switches, a click heard for each one, before turning back to her crew chief, having to shout over the growing noise. “Alright! Let’s go!”
The Earth Pony stood back, ducking under the tail to pull out the wheel chocks, waving the all-clear. Nodding, Scoots nudged the throttle forward, the jet beginning to nudge forward, swinging left and moving down the taxiway, leaving the hanger behind.
As the departing Hunter made its way towards the only runway not blocked by a wreck, soon followed by two more jets, Babs waving as they passed. Pops returned from standing by the side of the hangar, having gotten out of the way as the aircraft scrambled. He watched as two more jets rolled past, Babs stepping up beside him to watch the three aircraft taxi towards the runway, turning her gaze to the two aircraft that had moved out onto the grass, surrounded by fire trucks and ambulances.
Seeing a perfect time to voice her thoughts, the same thing that everyone else was thinking, Babs spoke up over the roar of the afterburners of the three jets as they raced into the sky.
“So… that was only four aircraft from the squadron... Where’s the rest of them?”
