Author's Note

First story update for any story in almost an entire year now. Feel kinda weird about uploading ngl. I hope you still enjoy it.

PS, I've also fixed up the grammar of the previous chapter, so it should be a lot more readable now, in case you wanted to start from the top. Thanks for reading and have a great day.

Siberian Sunburn

Sergei Ivanovich is a man of little pleasure. He is soft-spoken, thinly built, and knows a good drink from wastebin booze. If someone were to tell a child to draw your average Russian soldier then they would probably draw something not too far off from the appearance of Sergei. Despite this, Sergei rarely found himself in normal situations. While he worked the mundane task of operating a radar tower out in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia, he still found ways to keep the time going by. It was rare to see anyone, but the local wildlife were aplenty.

Monthly, a new shipment of everything a lone man in the middle of nowhere could need was airdropped out the back of a plane. It was mostly expired rations and moral boosters like Soviet magazines, booze, and the monthly news report. Occasionally however his babushka in Lepro would send him letters and even a cookie she made.

He wasn’t entirely alone mind you. He was in close enough proximity to another radar operator, a man by the name of Olav. They chatted on occasion, shooting the shit about the news or women.

This wasn’t exactly the life Sergei had wanted for himself. He reasoned that back home they would probably have him working at the docks or some other terrible job. He supposed he was a bit luckier than most in that regard. Working the radar wasn’t very difficult or demanding of him so he had plenty of free time.

No, this wasn’t the life he wanted. But it wasn't the worst he’d ever had, and he didn't have much ability to change that.

Well, maybe a magical flying horse could. Imagine that!

Rainbow Dash awoke from a casual nap only to find herself freezing and in freefall. She screamed confused to no end as to what was happening. Had Pinkie tried to pull one over on her again? She managed to find north and pull herself back to a stable flight but felt dizzy. All around her for as far as she could see there were tall dark trees coated in snow. Maybe she drifted off on her cloud? But where? It was supposed to be summertime!

She could feel the cold creeping in and panic followed suit. Rainbow dashed off into wherever and began picking up speed. This had to be all a bad dream, it had to. She found it harder and harder to breathe but she saw something in the distance, something to latch onto. A deep red glow in the distance on a metal tower. That's where she needed to go.

“Come on Dash. Keep… it… AH!” She hadn’t taken into consideration her speed and accidentally Sonic Rainboomed before she got to the tower. She wasn’t prepared and found herself tumbling down again. This time she couldn’t stop it. This time she crashed.

Sergei was launched back into reality as a red alert began blaring. An unscheduled aircraft was registered on the radar array. A small blip appeared and was rapidly approaching the center of the screen. Sergei quickly hailed Olav on the radio.

“Are you seeing this Olav?”

“Yeah. We don’t have anything scheduled for today. Can you see what it is?”

Sergei examined the radio receiver. Nothing.

“It’s not displaying any radio signals. What is this thing?!”

“Calm down brother. It might just be-” A violent explosion rocked the entire building and sent Sergei to the floor. He cupped his ears and grunted. The sound reverberated throughout his body and almost made him vomit. There were a painful few moments before he climbed to his feet, checking the radio console and RADAR.

The system was almost fried. Whatever had just hit them ruined the tower and caused damage to the facility. The only noise coming from the speaker was pure static. “Shit.”

Sergei walked over to the front door and pulled his coat on. He had a rifle, an old Patriotic War Mosin Nagant, and a few bullets. While hunting wasn’t officially allowed, he found solace in the thrill of it. Nothing ever happened here, so what's a few hours spent away from the station? With that being said, It had never crossed his mind that he might actually have to use this rifle for the purposes for which it was issued. He gripped it tight and pulled the door leading to the outside world. The wind pushed him back but he persevered through the force. Out in front of him for what he assumed was 300 meters, was a large narrowing line reaching down to the dirt. He thought for a moment that maybe a meteor had struck the area, but quickly shot down the notion.

“I would be dead.” He reasoned. He pulled the rifle to his shoulder and walked towards the ending destination, hoping to the heavens it was something mundane. Was it a plane? Aliens even? He felt his heart push harder and harder as he got closer. He started to see flames soon enough, and to his amusement, they glowed like a fierce rainbow. Maybe if it had been under a less stressful situation, he could have spent hours staring into the constantly shifting pearlescent waves, but now was not the time. As though what he saw could get more spectacular, as he approached the base of the newly formed hill he could see a smoking ball of blue and rainbow. He froze up nearly instantly trying to access the item. As he stared, a deathly realization hit him. The damn thing was breathing!

“Hands up! Don’t you dare move!” Sergei racked the action, loading a round into the chamber. His mouth felt dry and he struggled to keep his composure, but he moved closer, keeping his sights trained tightly on the writhing figure.

Once he was close enough he poked the thing with the end of his rifle. Nothing. He kicked it lightly. Nothing again.

“H-hello? Are you awake?” Nothing but the harsh blowing winds of Siberia met his ears.

Sergei let a deep breath out of his lungs with a sigh. Whatever this thing was, it was asleep. He could work with that. He slung his rifle behind him and flipped the thing over. “A horse? What the fuck?”

The ‘horse’ looked nothing like he had ever seen before in his life. Small as a foal, but built much thicker and appeared fully grown despite its diminutive size. The rainbow-colored mane and the blue coat didn’t help much either. Maybe aliens were tiny horses?

A gust of wind picked up and blew straight through him. He wouldn't last in this cold, not for long anyway. And neither would his seemingly extra-terrestrial guest. He carefully picked up the small horse in his arms and began the walk back. The trip back was much shorter than the trip to. The adrenaline was fading away and he could see and think with a clearer mind, although that didn’t help with grasping what had just happened, or what would happen. One thing it did help with however was what was around him, and that's when he realized that he was going to have to repair the station by himself.

“Shit.”

A catchy tune played on the car radio and Braeburn couldn't help but sing along.

“On the tooown of the ranges, Bella can't you see what you’ve done to me?” He air-guitared a trill and let out a laugh that had been building up.

He turned to his newfound friend and bumped his shoulder. “Y’alls human music ain't half bad, Jason.”

The man adjusted his glasses and turned the music down a notch. “Oh yeah? What’s music like in Equestria?”

“Well, I s’pose it ain't much different than this. Does come with more mentions of hooves and manes of course.”

“No doubt.”

“Yeah. Where did ya say we was headin’ out towards again?”

“Bella Greens, it’s a nice restaurant near the DuPont Circle. You’ll love it. We're going to meet with a friend there, a guy named Victor. I’m sure you’ll like him too.”

“What’s he like?”

“In one word? Gruff. But don’t let his hardy exterior fool you, he's a smart man.”

“Oh Jason, I’d never assume that sort of thing.”

“I know, just a warning is all.”

“Fair enough.”

As they pulled closer to their destination, People stopped and stared at Braeburn with curiosity. In the week since he had arrived, he had become somewhat of a local legend. Everywhere he went he’d get asked about his hooves and how he could grab things.

Can you hold a pencil?

“Er, yes.”

Well, what about this, uh, apple!

“Of course, didja see my flank?”

In truth, it was as tiring as it was fascinating. There was this whole weird world out there, and to his knowledge, he was the only Pony with brains enough to ogle it all.

The car screeched to a halt in front, and Braeburn hopped out, feeling the oddly textured concrete clop under his hooves. He had to be careful or he might injure himself on it. Jason handed the keys to a valet and they headed inside. The aroma blasted Braeburns nostrils like a buffalo in a hoofball match, although much more pleasant. He shivered remembering the dogpile.

The waiter seemed a bit surprised at Braeburn. She didn’t miss a beat though and treated Jason and his otherworldly companion the same as any other customer. Maybe she had been warned about this reservation beforehand, who could say? All Braeburn could think about was how refreshing it was to have some sense of normalcy again after a month of nothing but holding things for strangers. A man popped out of a booth on their way over to the table but Braeburn couldn’t see him on the count that Jason was in front of him.

“Jason! So nice to see you. How are the kids?”

Jason smiled. “They’re quite well Vic. Thanks for asking. Although I have someone here who might want to speak to you. Vic, meet Braeburn.” Jason stepped out of the way of the pony's sight and a lively man in a military uniform stepped up and extended his arm.

“Pleasure to meet you, Braeburn.”

“The pleasures all mine, sir.” Braeburn shook his hand. It still felt weird to have all those fingers over his arm but he reasoned it wasn’t much different compared to a dragon's grasp with fewer pointy bits.

Once they were all sat in the booth they got to talking. They spoke of Equestria and Braeburn’s family. Victor seemed to show a genuine interest, unlike the mean guy who had interrogated him when he first arrived in the United States. Braeburn went into detail about his entire family and where they lived and what they farmed. Most ponies fell asleep halfway through but Victor didn’t. Then again, Victor wasn’t a pony so maybe that had something to do with it.

When the food had arrived they shared what they ate when at their respective homes. For Victor, it was a fascinating dish he called Okroshka, a sort of cold soup. For Braeburn, it was his grandma’s signature Zap Apple Pie. Getting across what a zap apple was was a bit more complicated than explaining why someone would want cold soup, but Braeburn managed.

“Tell me, Braeburn. How have you been adjusting to life in the States?”

Braeburn blushed a little. He didn’t like to be rude so he hid his shame with a smile. “Well, it’s been here and there at times.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. You know, if there’s anything you need all you have to do is ask for it.”

“Oh, pfft, now ah couldn’t. Y’all already give me just about everything a stallion like me could ask for. Rest of it’s just me tryin’ to get used to it all.”

“Of course. Now, it’s been a real-”

Victor was cut off by a loud crashing sound and a cloud of white powder filling the air. Upon closer inspection, the group realized that a man had just fallen through the ceiling! When Jason looked he realized exactly who it was.

“Agent C?!”

The Agent dashed up and dusted himself off. He seemed quite embarrassed about the whole ordeal and only managed to get a quiet ‘Gentlemen.’ out before hastily making it towards the door and leaving. Vic, Braeburn, and Jason all just stared in disbelief as he went.

Vic shook his head. “They’re spying on us. Figures.”

“Well, why would they ever be doing something like that?” Braeburn asked, genuinely confused.

Jason made eye contact with Vic and an almost audible exchange went between them.

Vic adjusted himself. “Braeburn, the world out here is dangerous. Very dangerous. Some individuals within my government would see to it that I’m eliminated from my position in it. Some look for any reason to do that.”

Braeburn seemed ashamed without any fault. Seemed his Southern heart couldn’t bear the weight of such things. “Vic… that’s awful. Why don’t you just talk to John about it?”

VIc’s face was a bit confused. “John?”

Jason chuckled. “He means the President, Vic.” This made Vic smile.

“If only things were that simple, Braeburn. Now, I think I ordered a bit too much for my plate. Do any of you want leftovers?”

Sergei climbed the rungs of the mangled corpse of the radio tower, a spool of wire in tow. Command had trained him on this. Sure the idea of a field repair was more done so for the potential of an outbreak of conflict and not for horse meteorites but the solution was all the same.

The heights terrified him. He thought back to his childhood when his sister Vedanya had playfully shoved him while they were climbing a tree and he had just barely managed to hold on. He didn’t have much of a choice in this case though. It was either repair the radio tower now or wait until the summertime for a stern talking to by the commander for incompetence and shipped even further down the rung to God knows where.

The cold would have made the wire too unworkable, so he had been holding it in the looser part of his jacket and slowly feeding it down from the top to make something resembling an antenna. It was bitterly cold work. No post-blizzard warmth could save him from the howling winds of the arctic.

He took one final step down and continued to feed the spool down and into the bunker he had called home for some time. He closed the door, careful not to clip the wire in the door, and shimmied his coat off. He took a cursory glance at his guest and pulled the spool to his terminal, clamping the bare copper into the emergency terminal on the console. After a bit of tinkering, he was able to catch a signal.

“Olav, can you hear me?” Nothing but static. “Olav, this is Sergei. Please come in.” Sergei feared the worst. What if this creature had somehow-
“Sergei you dullard. Why are you broadcasting on an open frequency??” Olav seemed distressed. More than normal that is.

“I am sorry, comrade. My tower was damaged, I had to make emergency repairs and my signal simply is not strong enough to broadcast in such ways.”

“Damaged? By what? Americans?”

“Hardly. Although if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’ve seen plenty of things in my years, kid.”

Sergei steeled himself for the inevitable laughter. “There is… horse. With wings. In my bunker.” Sergei slapped his head in embarrassment as the line went dead. No doubt Olav was laughing his ass off.

But no laughter came through. “Sergei, please tell me this is not a bad joke.”

Sergei leaned forward. “It isn’t. It is on my bed, sleeping. I did my best to tend to the wounds but the damage was very great.”

“Sergei, I swear if this is another chuchunya fantasy of yours…”

“I swear on my Babushka.”

Olav went silent again. Sergei hadn’t expected him to be taking this so seriously. “I need you to open your mission statement.”

Sergei was honestly surprised. He never read those things. They came with every supply drop the military shipped them, but they always said the same thing. “Be on the lookout for subversive activity.” He had just tossed them into a corner whenever he unpacked his supplies.

He stumbled his way over, pulling back a tarp he used to keep the sleeping quarters warmer than the rest of the bunker, and past his guest in rainbow colors, flipping through the pile before finding the one with last month's drop.

‘Mission Statement: September, 1962.’ Bingo. Sergei rushed back to the console. “Okay Olav, what do you want me to see?”

“Flip to the second page.”

“There’s a second page?”

“That’s what I said when I first got it.”

Sergei did as he had instructed. On the page at the top in bold lettering was a very stark warning.

TO ALL UNITS: IF YOU COME ACROSS ANY EQUINE NOT CONSIDERED NORMAL, REPORT IT IMMEDIATELY UNDER ORDER OF THE COMMITTEE OF EXTRA ANOMALOUS AFFAIRS

“Oh… that’s new…”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, it’s not like I can say much else.”

“So are you going to radio this in or am I going to have to?”

“With me and my jerry rigging? Take a wild guess, Olav.”

Sergei flipped the switch to turn his microphone off and leaned back into his chair. His mind rushed thinking of the implications. Could this be his ticket to a better life? He looked at the rainbow alien horse and sighed.

Nah. He’d probably just continue freezing half to death in this hole he called home.

Sitting at the kitchen table back home, Braeburn couldn’t help but think he worried too much. Sure, it was kind of a part of his job as the head farmhoof, but it didn’t make it any easier. While his job as the head was gone and dusted, the worries of this human world simply replaced them. He felt simply awful for Victor. He hoped that this would all blow over with a few words and a sturdy hoofshake. Things seemed to work out that way.

But maybe not here.

“Braeburn, how are you feeling? You look sick with worry.”

Braeburn couldn’t help but smirk and pull his hat over his face. “Oh Miss Joanna, you know me too well.”

“Please, drop the ‘miss’, would you? You’re making me feel old.” Joanna chuckled.

“It’s only proper. I’d feel awful if a decent woman like you felt disrespected.”

Joanna grunted. “I suppose there is no sorrow to be had with intentions like that. But truly Braeburn, you need something to occupy your mind.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Look, I found this ad in the paper about a company that’ll connect you with a penpal somewhere in the United States. I’ll pay for any costs, you just draft up a letter and I’ll send it off for you. How does that sound?”

“A penpal? Well, I’ll be. I had one when I was younger. A pony named Valor.”

“Well then, you know what it’s all about then. I’m eager to see it off Braeburn, don’t let me down now.” Joanna excused herself from the table. Braeburn thought about it for a while. The worries melted away as he thought of the conversations he and Valor had had all those years ago.

He was just a colt growing up on a farm near his cousin at Sweet Apple Acres, and his mother had the thought to sign him up for it when he complained of being so isolated on the farm. Valor was a draft pony on the West Coast of Equestria. She spoke of long days of hard rewarding work, and Braeburn couldn’t help but relate.

They sent letters back and forth almost weekly, talking of the monotonous but rewarding work they shared. Unfortunately, one day a letter came in from Valor that broke the little colt’s heart.

Valor had found better work outside of Equestria and had to tell her friend that she would no longer be able to send letters. Even if it only lasted for a few years, for Braeburn it meant everything. For a time the world seemed just a bit bigger than his little reality.

Now he couldn’t help but want the world to be smaller. His wanderlust was more than satiated with his travels around Equestria as a farmer. The revelation that there was an entire new world out there frightened him, and he couldn’t help but wish he was just a colt in his bedroom sending letters to a far-off mare again.

He retired to his room, thoughts heavy with what he should even write. I mean this was a different person, and he didn’t know what he should even say. He held his heavy head in silent contemplation for some time, only interrupted by a now familiar jingle of keys. Jason was home.

Braeburn put down his pen and came to greet Jason as he came in. Jason seemed surprised to see Braeburn up so late but softened once he had heard the reason.

“Why don’t you just write from the heart?” Jason and Braeburn took a seat on the couch.

Braeburn thought about that for a moment. He hadn’t exactly known what that meant, but a lingering sense of earth pony pride stopped him from admitting as much. "Oh yeah. I can do all the heart writing."

Jason chuckled. "It's a saying, Braeburn. Just write down what you feel."

"Ah'm quite worried about a lot of things Jason, Ah don't want to scare them off..."

"I'm sure they'll understand. Don't see why they would be writing to a stranger if they didn't want to hear an interesting story."

"Ah s'pose you're right. Thank you."

"Anytime."

Jason went to go sleep in his own bed, and Braeburn returned to his room. This time, he felt a little more confident.

He wrote about his struggles with adjusting to this new world, the people he'd met, and his thoughts about how it all tied together. He wrote of home, the work he did, and the ponies he cared about. In the end, he was left with a few pages.
It isn't much, he had thought, but maybe it was enough. Maybe Enough would have to do. He folded the pages carefully and stuffed them into an envelope. He'd found some stamps in the kitchen's miscellaneous drawer and placed the completed letter on the kitchen table for Joanne to find in the morning. "That's that then."

Braeburn let out a deep yawn and looked at the mounted clock in the kitchen. It was 2 in the morning. He instinctively wiped his forehead and sighed. He hadn't realized he'd spent so much time writing. He snuck over to his room and crawled into the comfy bed, placing his hat on the nightstand and falling asleep.

“My fellow Americans, today is a momentous occasion in not just American, but human history. Man has spent such a small time on this Earth, but for all that time we have thought we were the only ones. We stood alone as the patriarchal lion of the animal kingdom, our ingenuity and empathy putting us head and shoulders ahead of the next ‘Apex Predator’. But now we have been humbled by the knowledge of another.

A short time ago, a visitor to our great nation made their presence known to the world. A pony, somewhat different from our idea of one, seemingly appeared out of nowhere and caused quite a stir when his friends came looking for him. The nations of the world all seemed to stop for those few minutes, and we have all felt the consequences.

The harsh feelings that hung over our heads not too dissimilar to a guillotine have been alleviated, and a more worldly mindset has taken root in the void left over in its absence. Even now, relations with our counterparts in Moscow are softening, and we seem to be on a cusp of newfound exploration not seen since the days of Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand Magellan.

As we speak, the flyboys at NASA are working on a machine that will take us to new frontiers never dreamed of. New horizons, new lives. A New Humanity.

Make no mistake. A month ago I fully planned on coming out to this stage in beautiful Houston, Texas to tell you of a new initiative to go to the moon. But with previous events, the moon doesn’t seem so far anymore.

America, mark my words. We will have a man in this ‘Equestria’ by the end of the decade. We choose to go to Equestria. We choose to go, not because it is easy, but because it is hard. That is the American way.

But don’t take my patriotism for close-mindedness. I extend an arm out to the capable nations of the world in hopes of a new Administration. We will not take that step alone, this I can promise you. When we set foot on that new land it will be with the weight of all peoples on this Earth. We take these steps not just for America, but for all mankind.

Thank you for this amazing crowd Houston…”

The whole family looked on in awe, as though they had just seen history in the making. A thick air filled the room, as nobody wanted to interrupt the feeling. But all things must come to an end. Like most silences, this one ended with a cough. Braeburn had to let an itch in the back of his throat know it wasn’t welcome, and he made eye contact with Jason when he came back to.

A smirk slowly crawled across both their faces. Braeburn was gonna go home.

Director Katarina marched down the halls of the hidden bunker, through disused hallways that showed clear evidence of recent movement. Where once a noticeable dust layer caked the junk stacked up to the ceiling and all over the floors, a footpath had been etched out by nervous foot traffic.

The bunker had been built during the Great Patriotic War. It was designed as a shelter for party members but was quickly abandoned soon after the Germans were routed. After that, it became a storage facility for anything the party considered too valuable to scrap but not valuable enough to use.

At least the beds are comfortable… the Director had thought to herself. She sighed. This assignment seemed pointless. She was an agent of the KGB, not a zookeeper. Ever since that damned horse showed up on all the capital's televisions the entire population of the Union seemed to have a magical talking horse.

It wasn’t even always a horse, either. Some came with dogs, cats, and even chickens! It was a carnival show at this point. Still, the party demanded a deep analysis of every ‘submission’, no matter how ridiculous it may have seemed. She shoved her office door open and plopped down into her chair. Today was going to be a rough day.

She had new files on her desk. 3, to be specific. All headed with the brand new Committee for Extra Anomalous Affairs’ seal. Katarina grabbed her pen and flipped open the first folder. The sight of it made her scoff.

“This must be a bad joke…” she muttered. She sat, staring at a photo of a very clearly normal horse painted green. They hardly even tried to make it look legitimate. It’s as if the old granny who concocted this just dumped paint over the poor animal and had it shipped to the facility.

The next was similar. Although at least the subject was atypical, the ultimate fate of the animal was clear. It was a common chickadee. Dead, in a box. Katarina marked it for disposal. Katarina massaged her temple and opened the last one with disgust. Except, this one wasn’t like the others.

At first, she had simply glazed over the report. There was no image attached, only a note that read ‘IN TRANSIT’. But as she continued to read, it became clear that this wasn’t a hoax. It was the real deal.

Subject H4D. Avian-Equine hybrid. Possibly a pegasus. Subject was found in Sahka, near a Radar Station. Subject appears to be in post critical condition. Subject appears to be suffering from hypothermia. Described as blue with rainbow colored hair. Possesses wings and a distinctive cloud mark on the flank. Subject is considered mission critical. Further instructions below.

“I’m speechless.”

“You probably shouldn’t speak to yourself, Director. It’s bad for your health.” Private Anatoly, my assistant, came walking through my door and offered me some coffee. He was young. Maybe too young for Intelligence, but there is no punishment for patriotism in this bunker.

“If it weren’t for this brew I’d have already gone insane. The party must think we are very important to give us such creature comforts.”

“But this is important. Didn’t you hear? The Americans have their own horse now.”

“The Americans…” Katarina squeezed her hand and cracked the casing on her pen. “... the Americans will get what is coming to them. Besides, we may have our own horse.”

“Do you mean the normal horse painted green? We already had that disposed of, ma’am.”

“No. Something better. Take a look at this.” Katarina handed the folder over. Anatoly’s expression quickly widened as he continued to read.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed, Anatoly. You may just get a promotion out of this.”

Anatoly’s expression changed to that not too dissimilar to a dog being given a nice bone to chew on.

Katarina smiled. He was far too easy to please. “We must get going. The creature is marked as being in transit. I want to personally oversee every aspect of its being. Understand?”

“Yes, Director Katarina!”

Anatoly ran out of the room and Katarina slowly followed after him. H4D was no doubt going to arrive in the loading bay. In what condition she could not predict, but the possibilities tantalized her. Maybe being a zookeeper wasn’t that bad.