FEBRUARY 5, 1937

SAND ISLAND, MIDWAY ATOLL

8:47AM

Gregory Miller wished it was another boring day on boring ol' Midway, working for PanAm. A day where the most exciting thing would be greeting some fancy foreign ship coming in, like he had with those Japs a few days ago. Today was interesting, for sure, but for reasons he had thought, and absolutely now wished, were not possible.

Aliens. No, not Orson Welles' tall, lanky things in giant octopus-like tanks, but something much more benign. Or the absolute end of the world, if that those Japs were telling the truth. Pegasus, coming to destroy us all! Oh, the humanity! But you know the worst part? Of course you do, because I'm stuck in this blistering hot radio room and going on a long monologue to keep myself sane!

There's a giant pink ball in the ocean swallowing everything, and its supposedly only going to get bigger! This all came from Japs who had captured these thing's diplomats and promptly killed most of them, but not even his distaste for them could lead him to deny what all the ships and planes sent out were saying. "BIG PINK WALL, SUNK FISHING BOAT". He'd even seen pictures of it, though the grainy, shaky photos answered little.

Midway had what, 50 or so marines on it? The Navy said they were sending a few boats, but what could some dingy little skipper made half a century ago do? It annoyed him almost as much as the little incessant clicks of the teleprinter, which just tapped and printed along as fast as it could, as if it had something important to get to. Like it was-

Receiving something important. Kicking away his chair, he dashed to it, almost knocking it's young operator over.

"What's going on, why aren't you telling me when this shit goes off!"

Before he could receive an answer to his hurried question, he ripped out the paper, reading it.

"10 NAVAL VESSELS HEADING EAST, PRESUMED HOSTILE. NUMEROUS AIRCRAFT ESCORTING", along with some estimate of time

Well, this is just fucking great, isn't it? 'Anything Goes', as Crosby so eloquently put it! Martian aircraft and ships, full of magic horses! Yippee! Maybe I should've been a Mennonite, instead. Then I wouldn't even know what radio is! The operator poked him, sheepishly trying to avoid incurring his wrath. In a meek voice, he said what he should've thought a minute ago.

"Sir, we should get this to the marines".

"Yeah, I'll do it myself. Go get your pistol or something, it's all fouled up, anyways"

He wouldn't have otherwise uttered a word to that washed-up old doughboy, Corporal Daniels. Or, as all the soldiers called him, Mutt. Some baseball player from Decatur who couldn't make it big, crawling back to the Army on the basis of "oh, ah' caught uh' bullet in that there done leg in thuh' last war", and got sent to the Marines when they realized they had no use for him. The situation was too dire for that to mean much, anyway, but he had a right to be pissed, damnit!

He grabbed one of the bikes from the front of the hut, not caring who's it was. He was lucky some faraway jackass 40 years ago put the barracks on Sand Island, and not one of the other two. He pedaled as fast as he could along the unpaved road, the barracks just a little blip on the horizon. Despite the impatient whining starting to stir inside him, he knew it would just be a minute or two, a small upside to the fact his rotten hut was the newest addition to this island in almost 30 years. Some young private, with a thin, sickly looking mustache, was soon close enough to see him, happy to use his rifle for something other than shooting bottles.

"Halt! Sta-"

"Fuck off, you know me! We've got enemy ships, aircraft, whatever! Get this to the corporal right now, or you won't have me to point that rusted stick at!"

The private looked at him for a second, the crumpled paper in his outstretched hand. He snatched it up, running to the nicer looking building a few hundred feet away. Throwing his bike the way he came, he bitterly prayed for the boy. Clearly, he hadn't grown up somewhere too hard, or else he wouldn't have had to show off such a faked machismo. For such an important island, Washington seem to have given them little in the way of a competent force.

Mutt was relaxing, or at least attempting to. He'd been through the War to End War, though the name ran melancholy now. Man couldn't make his own big damned wars anymore, so they'd sent something else along. Maybe he caught a few too many missed catches to the head, back before they made everyone use helmets, and this was all one of those bad episodes crazy people went through. Sadly, the way the scrawny kid bust through the door seemed to say otherwise.

"Sir, s-shiips. Tw-twenny or s-so, aircr-craft too!"

If he heard through his stutter right, then maybe he was crazy. It wouldn't be those Japs, he could tell they weren't as stupid as people made them out to be. That only left one thing, which threatened to make him run loose inside his head 'till he was mad.

"Of course, with that damned crazy stuff goin' on in the water. Sound the alarm, I want all the guns up"

Standing up, he threw on his tin hat and followed the young man at a slower pace. Why couldn't this just be simple, like his grandfather's war? Men lining up against others, not some faraway lunacy? An alarm wailed, and the men scurried to the armory. A group of men heaved a giant .50 caliber Maxim gun. Browning, he corrected himself, but he'd seen too many different ones in France to care.

"Sir, your rifle!"

A young Lance Corporal, a dago (though he'd never call him that to his face) by the name of Luca, thrust a drum-magazined Thompson into his arms. Trying not to drop his own, he did a quick salute.

"Luca, get half the boys ovah' to Batteries C, F, an' A ovah' on the northeast. Make sure you take ones who can actually use those aircraft guns, 'cause we're fixin' to need 'em. I'll get to D an' A on the west end"

Why did they name two seperate batteries the same letter, when they were on different ends of the island? Who knows, but Luca understood. He ran off, grabbing and yelling at the mass of soldiers.

"Get your gas masks! I need the half of ya' not goin' with Lance Corporal Luca to come with me! We'll split up an' man the 3 and 5 inches D an' A! Anyone who ain't guncrew, you dig trenches 'bout 'em!"

56 marines on the island, so he had 28. the 3 inch took 3 men to crew, and the 5 inch 10....

"Powdermen on the 5 inchers, take ovah' for the hoistmen!"

OK, now he had 12 on the 3 inchers, 18 on the 5 inchers...Why didn't they give this island more men? What if they actually had to man all these damned guns, like they did now?! He tried to manage guncrews in his head as he ran, when he'd only ever fired a cannon once or twice in his life!

He could sacrifice the anti-aircraft guns, but Luca wouldn't be able to man all his, either, unless he put too few men to each.

"I want the men of one of Battery A's 5 inchers and the hoistmen of the other to act as infantry, dig in 'round the manned gun!"

Alright, he now had...22? Right, 22 men on the guns, leaving 6 (7 if he included himself) soldiers. If worst came to worst, which it probably would, they'd all end up being infantry. He knew he needed all the firepower he could manage, but he couldn't leave the crew vulnerable if they made a landing. If they landed near the 3 inch guns, he could defend them. If they did the smart thing and tried to take out the longer range one, the 3 inchers could fire in support of the infantry. If they just overwhelmed the island with naval gunfire....

Taking off his helmet and slipping on his mask, he sighed. Well, he's screwed anyway.

FEBRUARY 5, 1937

WATERS OFF THE EASTERN COAST OF EQUESTRIA

9:14AM

Admiral Baronet Gooseneck looked about the horizon as his longboat cut through the water, a few pegasi blowing at the sails with their wings. In all his days, he'd never thought he'd have come this far, figuratively and literally. He was a minor noble, yes, but this clean breeding came with a certain price. Namely, the namesake growth upon his neck, which caused his velvet coat to bulge slightly. The lower races liked to taunt him behind his back, he knew, but they always got what they deserved.

"Navigator, are you sure in your assessment that we are travelling in the correct direction? I do not wish to end up lost, like those fools they sent last time probably did"

A rough stallion, wearing a hastily cleaned uniform of thin blue cloth, took his eye off the heavy telescope mounted near the bow. He was supposedly decent, but pegasi almost always traded their intelligence for wings and good eyes.

"Yes, Baronet Sir, if we intend to simply find land. Those big birds seem to be heading east in pretty large groups, so I reckon they've got a good amount of nests"

Of course a birdbrain would look for birds to find his way. It was basic navigation, however, if you had no landmarks to guide you. He tried to butt in, to tell some related peice of his formal nautical education to his lesser, but a distorted voice came over the winds. Looking east, one of the scouts he'd sent out was returning.

She looks strong, her face a bit excited. Her hooves smacked down on the deck, before she raised one in a salute.

"Baronet Sir, I've spotted land east, southeast! If we go a little southeast, where the waves start to ref-"

"Just tell me, sailor"

"A series of islands, sir, but only two are big enough to be of any use. I saw groups of humans and ballista, sir!"

So it was fortified, then, not just a random settlement. You wouldn't build such if you expected nothing. Still, they could create a diversion with the pegasi...

"How many would you say, sailor?"

"I couldn't see them all, sir, but I suspect there are more. The ballista is the only great visible part, sir. They're set about the western island, poised to loose at any direction we might come from"

Damnit, then. He had 10 ships, he could simply make a show of force. But, if it didn't work....

"Well, then, we'll see if these beings are ones of honor"

FEBRUARY 5, 1937

SAND ISLAND, MIDWAY ATOLL

9:43AM

Gregory stood behind the overturn desk in the radio room, clutching his pistol. His assistant operator, David, shivered beside him. He wished he could be as cold as he probably felt, but the back alleys of San Fransisco had toughened him up.

"G-Greg, you think they're gonna shell us? They never gave us any masks, they're gonna make us int-!"

Greg elbowed him, not wanting his doubts to affect him. Yeah, the Japs said they wanted to "make all humanity into senrima!", but Japs said a lot of things.

"Yeah, they also said the Chinamen blew up that train in Manchuria, and look what they did then. Mythical creatures are real, but I'll be damned if I ever trust a Jap's word farther than that"

David fumbled with his revolver, some dented Smith and Wesson in .32. It was so old, he almost didn't believe him when he said it wasn't from the Civil War. Greg had his own, or rather, his father's. A Luger taken off a surrendered German officer, though he'd always say his old man had ripped it off one in a trench.

The teleprinter stirred up again, adding some more paper to the unnattended pile which now grew on the floor. David didn't want to risk even peeking over, and he didn't much care for what they had to say, either. Still, didn't Lee lose because he'd lost his plans? Sure, it was different, but did he really want this kid seeing him hiding right by him?

He fumbled up, pointing the pistol at the rotted door as he sifted through the pile of papers.

"What's it say?"

"Be a bit more quite, they might hear you! Just let me read the damn thing. Let's see....Vice Admiral Frederick J. Horne, Commander Aircraft, and then a bunch of letters. "Oh, we're sorry, but we can't spare anything but the damn-"

His wish to curse any earthly authority, especially naval ones, was cut short as he actually read what it said.

"Battle Group XVIII, USS Ranger, Lexington, Saratoga...they're not sending nothing, they're throwing everything they've got! Roosevelt, you wheelchair-bound red bastard, I might actually vote for you now!"

David looked up, a bit hopeful.

"Uh, Greg? What're those things, dreadnoughts?"

"Carriers! You keep taking messages, tell them we need immeadiate reinforcements or some shit! I'm taking this to Mutt!"

Before he could get a response, he kicked open the door, throwing himself ontop of his bike. This had to be the only time he'd be happy to see that old bastard, if how fast his bike was throwing itself forward was any indication. Trying to juggle the bike's handles and pistol, he could just about laugh at the absurdity of it all.

They'd be at those old guns, wouldn't they? Not like they'd need them, after what the Davy Jones was cooking up for them! Pedaling faster, he could make out something flying near the beach. Something too big to be a Gooney bird. Something....too pink?

Pink! Pink martian pegasus, right on Midway! Without a shot fired! Oh, that stupid old bastard, he'd wring his neck after shooting it!

He came within earshot, and a few startled heads swiveled his way for a moment. His bike tripped as it met the part of the beach where sand and grass mixed, but his anger made him recover. Mutt, true to his moniker, was talking to it! These stupid things made a shitty job even worse, they deserved nothing but rotten rice from a Chinatown trash can!

"-ou to submit yourself, when you shall inevitably lose ou-"

"Hey cocksucka! What the fuck do you think you're doing!"

All eyes, Martian or no, were upon him now. Frilly fucking things, dressed up like fairies going to a Shakespeare play at the Orpheum Theatre!

"Boy, I'm dealin' with it, just let-"

"No, Mutt, you're not! You washed up old coward, read this fucking note!", he yelled, throwing it on the ground

"Daniels, is this stallion under your command? I shall give you the time to flog him, if you wish it"

It speaks English! Sure, he knew they did, but actually hearing it is something else. Still, this rich asshole wanted to flog him like a pirate!

"No, I'm not, you fairy little limey bastard! I answer to Pan American Airways, what the fuck do you want?"

If a horse could be revolted, then this one was about to vomit. It looked like he'd just walked in on him being an onanist. It reminded him of those old nobles, scared of a little dirt on their shoes.

"We were discussing a duel for the fate of this island. Midway, as you call it. That was until we were so rudely interrupted"

A duel, a fucking duel? 50 paces and all that jazz?!

"Duel over the fate of the island? Could you sound a bit less like you take it in the ass?"

"Mister Daniels has command over the island, and as such, you must obey his authority!"

"No, you want a damn duel? I'll give you a damn duel!"

His hand went up in a second, and the horse quickly crumbled. Mutt's yells were quickly drowned out by rifle fire. A cannon fired, and a dinky little boat off in the distance exploded into woodchips. He almost didn't feel Mutt's fist as it slammed into his jaw.

FEBRUARY 5, 1937

MANEHATTAN FLEET, ON THE WATERS OFF EQUESTRIA'S EASTERN SHORES

10:01AM

Star Shine fumbled with a rope, trying to occupy himself. He knew they were likely to find humans before they found them, but that wasn't the only thing he was worried about. Earlier, he'd seen a whale, probably bigger than any recorded by pony hooves, just jump out of the water, swallowing a flock off birds whole. The fact the birds were only half his size didn't help, either. Equestria's sea monsters, they could deal with. If a kraken from the human world showed up....

"Shine, stop screwin' with that. You're not tying anything nice with just hooves, and you know it"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up, Salty. Only other thing to do is watch you cook, and I'd probably starve myself if I knew how you operate"

Salty Spoon, a close friend of his, kicked him as she sat down. They'd both signed up when Celestia (he lowered his eyes in respect to his sovereign's name) had called for volunteers, and met when they'd gotten mixed up from their initials. They'd needed craftsponies, sailors, basically everypony associated with ships. The Princess had found this world, and said it's waters were a lot larger than home's. She was right, as she always was, but he wished she hadn't been.

"You know, telling the captain you could help me was how I got you off that ballista crew. What would the captain do if he saw you just laying around?"

"Fine, you're right. Better than having a rope snap and almost decapitate me again"

She laughed, remembering the time when he came back from training with his neck whipped red. He almost wished his cutiemark hadn't been in woodworking, then he wouldn't have ever been near one of the things. Thankfully, a knife carving out bits of wood was vague enough to just say it encompassed cooking, too. It did look slightly like a bowl, if he flexed his hind legs and squinted.

"What do you think humans are like, anyways?"

What a silly question. They'd learned about them in school, alongside the conversion of Gryphonia.

"Uh, I don't know? Wild, eat ponies, kill everything just to have some fun?"

That wasn't what she wanted, but it's the basics everypony knew.

"No, like, what're their families like? Do they have towns, plant things, or do they move from place to place until they use up everything around them?"

Most everything about the humans was destroyed in their conversion. Or rather, first conversion, considering they're somehow here, too. The Princess' ancestors, in their divine wisdom (he lowered his eyes in respect), had burned all human records, smashed their monuments, and cleansed the minds of any pony who had any close relations with them. That destroyed their influence, but ponies now knew next to nothing about them, beyond what old bones and stone huts told them.

"Don't know, I assume they'd have families of some sort. They had their own monarchs, so they had to have had them. I never really paid attention to history, beyond the basic stuff"

She was about to reply, before an alarm sounded. They both jumped up, bumping into eachother as they tried to find what was wrong. A yell came down the voice pipes which ran through the galleon.

"All hooves, stations! Unknown entities closing starboard! All hooves, stations!-"

It's real! Sea monsters, coming to kill us!

"Shine, we gotta go!"

"The sea monsters, they're real! I told you!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry for doubting, now let's get up there!"

They ran out the small room, bumping into the mass of seaponies making their way up. A few held hatchets or boarding pikes, some held nothing. A popping sound, like fire cracking wood, errupted somewhere he couldn't see.

"Get some water down here, something's burning!", somepony yelled

Something whizzed past his head, and a pony near him grunted and fell. He could only see his blood coating him for a moment, before the crowd forced him away. He was practically thrown up the stairs, head banging against the deck as the crowd surged out.

As he tried to collect himself, he saw something indescribable. Fire did indeed gush out of one of the ships, but he saw nothing fanning it. No dragons, no magic spells. Something roared in the air, like boiling water. A pack of...machines. Machines was the only word he knew for something so unnatural. They flew away, turning back in a tight arc. Another group came up and from the right. A few pegasi tried to fly up to meet them both, but were cut down by that same popping noise.

"Shine, Shine, stick with me!"

Spoon grabbed him, trying to take him....somewhere. What could he do, but watch? Not even the pegasi could run, falling out of the sky as the machines broke off to chase them. Ugly, but somehow sleek. Explosions started around him, throwing up water and the remains of the two ships unfortunate enough to be hit by whatever it was these things loosed.

He watched as one of the mysterious things approached, both insanely fast and boringly slow. It looked funny, with two set of yellow wings and a black and red spotted body. His eyes followed it as it passed, and he could hardly muster up any feelings as he watched a human poke out, waving. As quick as it came, it went off, killing any ponies that dared be in its vicinity.

Madness, it's just madness. A bunch of monkeys, flying and killing! Flying trains, loosing death upon anything in their path like a bad parade! An explosion sent him forward, and he watched a ballista slide into the ocean, along with some of its crew. The ship settled, throwing him onto his back.

"Get to the boats! It's hopeless, just get out of here!"

He looked up, and a unicorn officer shot rays of magic into the air. He didn't hit anything, but it drew attention to him nonetheless. Fire spurted from the back of one of monstrosities, and he fell, pawing at his neck. Bolts flew through the air, not even coming close to the machines. Ships blew up in the water, like fireworks going off. The speed at which they started to go down almost made him pout.

Looking around, trying to find Spoon as his spine screamed. He spotted her dark blue coat near the back of the ship, fighting for a space on the lifeboat. He shambled over, wondering why they wouldn't just sink that one, too. A few more explosions rocked the ships around him, the machines falling straight down, before pulling right up after dropping what must've been sinking them. One was only a few hooves from slamming into the ocean before it rocketed off.

He fell into the boat as it began to be lowered, with ponies rocking it back and forth trying to see across the sides of the galleon.

"They just sunk the Faust! They killed it, it went down in two!", one exclaimed, almost beating themselves with their hoof.

The boat hit the water, the unicorns on board tearing at the knots which tethered it to the ship. He helped push it away, still in a trance. Spoon clung to him, as he tried to sputter out that he needed to help row. He watched the little ugly things and their human leaders as they flew east, their reign of terror over, leaving the wreckage of what must've been a tenth or so of Equestria's navy dead in the water.

A dreadful noise picked up in the absence of the machines, wailing and floundering about in the ocean. A few pegasi tried to beat wind into the sails of one of the last proper ship still floating, unicorns patching up some of the holes with their magic. Of all the things ponykind had expected, not one had likely envisioned this.

Author's Note

please respect my totally original and not expy OC Mutt Daniels. He's different, in that he's a Marine and not in the Army.