Chapter 2: Enemy Unknown

"There is only one true unifying force. It is not common ideals, agreements, or even friendship. It is a common enemy."

~~Vasiliy Pantushenko

March 1, 1012. 17:00 hrs. Snowybury Police Department, Crystal Empire.
Sapphire Baton was bored. Sans the news about the Great War, nothing much happened in Snowybury. The most rowdy she'd ever seen it get here was dealing with drunk hobos.

Honestly, Sapphire thought, a homicide would definitely liven the place up. Almost immediately she berated herself for thinking such a thing. Still, it didn't change the fact that Sapphire was stuck behind the reception desk for the rest of the night. Sighing, Sapphire slumped her light blue body over the desk, amber eyes lazily wandering over to the clock on the alabaster wall.

The glass double doors that served as an entrance opened, a short and stout lime green mare coming in from the cold. She looked middle aged and worried, the wrinkles around her blue eyes becoming more pronounced. She walked quickly to Sapphire, "H-hello. I would like to file a missing pony case."

Sapphire immediately perked up, "May I have a name, miss...?"

"L-Limeberry. My husband Quick Slot went out drinking with friends the other night and hasn't been home since."

Sapphire quickly got out the proper forms, "Alright, can you tell me his description?"

Limeberry did so and Sapphire continued on, "Okay. Do you have an idea where he might be?"

Limeberry shook her head, "W-we live out in the countryside. I checked the road over and over again. I-I found his hat on the side of the road. H-he'd never go anywhere without it."

Limeberry reached into the coat she was wearing, pulling out a very worn baseball cap. She sniffed, looking like she might burst into tears any moment. Sapphire's heart immediately panged out for the poor mare, "I see," she said softly, "If you come with me I'll take you to the ponies who'll oversee the search. We're going to do all that we can to find him, Mrs. Limeberry."

Limeberry sniffed and nodded. As the two got up, Sapphire immediately regretted wishing something exciting to happen in this small town.

March 11, 1012. 10:49 hrs. 7 km North of Hoofbeat, Stalliongrad.
"Loshadinyye per'ya!" swore Vanya Vineyard. Chaos reigned around the forest green stallion, flame orange tufts of mane poking out behind his firefighting helmet. Firefighters and forest rangers alike coordinated in an attempt to isolate the raging fire burning in the woodland, "Where'd this fire even come from?!"

"You tell me!" cried his coworker, Dashing Dasha. The ice-blue Pegasus mare didn't have a helmet that covered her purple mane. She pushed a cloud over a patch of embers, kicking it to shower down a blanket of snow. She panted heavily, having to go get clouds that were over the town of Hoofbeat.

Bizarrely, there wasn't a single cloud over the area where the fire started. By the feel, there wasn't much water vapor in the air either. Even stranger still, the snow that had been there the days prior seemed to entirely have evaporated and left a two kilometer wide area of dry--with half of it currently on fire--forest. The most strangest thing that struck Vanya particularly hard was how clear cut the difference in terrain and weather was. There was a clear line separating the snow and the dry dirt. It was so unnatural--clearly artificially made--that Vanya struggled to wrap his mind around it.

A truck ladened with a water tank and a hose pulled up beside Vanya, the operator quickly getting out and spraying the roaring fire. More trucks arrived, helping to push the fire line back. The next few hours involved a cycle of extinguishing a few meters of ground, moving up, and repeating the same process with Vanya coordinating the teams.

By 5:00 PM it was safe to say the fire was extinguished. They were giving the area a lookover, with Dashing walking beside Vanya. Dashing shook her head, "I don't understand how or who would want to do this. Do you think it was Equestrians?"

Vanya huffed, "Don't be foolish. First of all, why? What purpose would setting fire to their backyard serve? There aren't any strategic advantages around here. Plus, would they really risk another war now? They already have their hooves full fending off the Changelings. It would be idiocy to start another war on another front."

Dashing snorted, "You overestimate the cruelty of Equestria, Vanya..."

Vanya realized he had forgotten Dashing Dasha's parents died in the initial revolt but moved on, "Second, how? You saw what I saw. How contrasting the ground was with not a cloud in sight. How did they manage such a feat without alerting anypony? We certainly couldn't do the same."

Dashing Dasha quieted down after that, for she didn't have an answer for that either.

March 30, 1012. 14:18 hrs. Road between Equadoe and Cervus, Changeling Olenia.
Konsta Karl's brown fur was bathed in blue and red light from the police vehicle. Before him the white snow was dotted with red specks of blood leading to a smoking car wreck. Parts of the vehicle were glowing orange-hot, steaming in the cold air. Snow crunched behind him, prompting him to turn around to see his coworker Seet Snowmalainen, "You find any trace?"

Seet shook his head, "No. But the tracks led to something weird," he said, motioning his head for Konsta to follow. The aforementioned tracks showed a body being dragged into the countryside surrounding the road. The two Deer walked a ways to the side of the road before the two stopped to stare at what Seet had found.

Before them was a large depression in the snow. Parts of the area, in particular near what Konsta assumed to be the back, had the snow on the ground melted and the grass underneath burned. Konsta's eyes trailed the bloody tracks up to the depression.

"I also found this," Seet said, pointing to the side. Konsta's breath hitched upon seeing the dismembered deer horn lying in the snow, staining it red, "There also some more tracks, this time clearer."

Seet pointed to another location, nearer to the depression. Here Konsta could make out a clear set of clawed footprints, with four individual clawed toes. They were also big, easily dwarfing their own hoofprints. Seet shared Konsta's thoughts, "Looks like dragons deer-napped some folks. Still don't know why."

Konsta sighed, "Just what we needed. First the war, now this... make a report...Ukko-dammed dragons."

April 1, 1012. 15:24 hrs. Baltimare, Equestria.
"C'mon kids! Show's about to start!" Hun Batz called down the hallway to his foals' rooms. Two junior speedsters ran down the hall and around his light gray legs, crying in glee and joy. His daughter, Ribbon Tail, was a Pegasus like her mother while his son, Toll Charmer, was a Thestral like his father. They scrambled onto the couch next to their pale-red coated mother, Velvet Feathers. They were a mixed Thestral couple, a rare sight even after Project Moonshine helped smooth tensions between the three main tribes and the 'forgotten fourth tribe'. Even rarer still, Hun and Velvet had met fairly early on after Princess Luna's return, giving them enough time to actually form a family.

His two foals jumped up to sit next to their mother on the couch, which could only be described as 'ugly but comfy' and ushered him, "Hurry Dad!"

Hun chuckled, trotting to the radio sitting on a small table in front of the couch. Every week at this time the radio drama "The Miraculous Adventures of Mare-Do-Well" played, which his foals loved. Oddly enough, he found the show entertaining as well, despite it being primarily directed at foals. It also took his mind off of the current state the world was in, with more wars seeming to start everyday.

He quickly turned and tuned the radio and trotted back to sit next to Toll. The radio announcer's voice filled the room, "Good evening everypony. Welcome to another rousing adventure of our favorite hero, Mare-Do-Well. In this episode she--"

WoooooooooooooooooooEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The family screamed and covered their ears as what could be only described as a Theremin from Tartarus drowned out the announcer's voice. Even covering their ears, the wailing and synthetic notes were deafening. Hun could faintly hear Velvet cry out over the noise, "Hun! Turn it off!"

Hun grunted, staggering back to the radio. It felt like walking through molasses as his eardrums over-reverberated by the cacophony coming from the machine. Finally, after what seemed like hours of constant, head-splitting torment, Hun Batz finally reached the radio. Fumbling with the device, his hoof found the large on/off switch and shut it off.

A deafening silence, equally oppressive, filled the room. The family could feel their eardrums throb and the whining sound of cochlea dying off. Toll and Ribbon began to sniffle and cry softly, with Velvet trying to console them despite the splitting headache that was beginning to take its toll on them all. Velvet looked at Hun, "What was that?!"

Hun scratched at his ears, "I...I don't know."

"Do...do you think it was an April's Fools joke?"

"If it is," Hun growled, "it isn't funny."

Hun stomped to the phone on the wall, "I'm gonna give 'em a piece of my mind..." he said, putting it to his ear and dialing for the operator.

It rang two times before the click of the receiver being picked up came over the line. Hun began to yell, "HEY--"

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--"

Hun flinched, dropping the phone in pain. Even as it lay on the floor, connected to the wall by the cord, the Theremin-like screeching was still painfully loud. The phone itself vibrated as Hun scrambled to pick it up and slam it back down home on the base.

Hun Batz panted, holding the ear that the phone was initially up against. He looked back to his family. His children had stopped crying and along with his wife looked at him worriedly. They likely came to the same conclusion he did: This wasn't an April's Fool joke. It was something else.

Hun's teeth groaned, the Thestral realizing he was grinding his teeth. He unclenched his jaw and spoke, "I'm...gonna go out. See if this is happening to anypony else."

"Be careful, Hun," said Velvet, as Toll and Ribbon cuddled against her, sniffling. If that sound was over their phone line, in all likelihood the same was happening to other ponies.

"I will," Hun replied before turning and going out the front door to their apartment; Their apartment wasn't too out of the ordinary, with standard décor and faculties. The hallway was tan with a green stripe connecting the doors, giving it a hotel-esque feel to the place.

He exited just as his neighbor, Snow Way, did the same. The all-white stallion was picking at his ears, wincing with tear-ridden green eyes. Sluggishly, he noticed Hun Batz, "Ah. Hey Batz. Uhm...did you happen to hear over the radio-"

"An extremely loud noise that almost makes your ears bleed?" Hun finished for him, his theory confirmed.

Snow Way apparently didn't have the same theory as he looked surprised, "Yeah! Wait, did it happen to you as well?"

Hun nodded, "Yeah."

"Do you know what's going on?"

Hun Batz grunted, beginning to notice there were more of the same noises in the distance, "No. I have a bad feeling about it, though."

April 30, 1012. 09:55 hrs. Seaddle Airbase, Changeling Lands.
Staffelkapitän Labrax, known in the air as 'Labrat', checked the watch on his wrist as he laid on his cot in the barracks. His squadron wasn't scheduled to take off for a few more hours. Today, bombers were scheduled to strike the Equestrian coastland in preparation for a Southern invasion. His squadron was to escort them.

The Changeling pilot perked up when he heard his name called, his wing'ling galloping into the room. Popidia breathed heavily as she spoke, "Labrax! They want us to scramble, now."

Labrax sat up, his expression questioning, "What? Why?"

Popidia gasped and swallowed, "The Equestrians have somehow managed to invade Olenia. Their puppet forces have already made landfall. Command has decided to advance the schedule."

Labrax gritted his teeth and snorted, "Fine!" he spat, "Damn Ponies," he said as he stood up. The duo trotted their way to the base's taxiway, which had Labrax's staffel already fielded and had technicians swarming about them for their pre-flight checks.

Labrax and the Changeling pilots under his command entered their Sv. 109s after the technicians go-ahead, rolling out to the runway just as the last bomber took off. Giving their instruments one last check, Labrax and his wing'lings took off, easily catching up to the bombers.

The lead bomber's pilot came over the radio, "Is that you, Labrat?"

"That is correct, Ant," Labrax replied smoothly, "We'll be taking care of you. You'll be safe."

'Ant' laughed, "HA! No doubt, with Ägide!"

Labrax's staffel was famous for their escort missions, the only thing they've ever been unable to repel was flak. It was why they were chosen in particular for this mission, and the coming mission of escorting transports for Jaeger paratroopers to their drop zone. The successful invasion by Southern Equestria would almost certainly win them the war. However, shockingly, the Equestrians seem to have a similar plan and strike first. With the war now in jeopardy, time would be of the essence. And it would take some time to reach their mission site.

~~~

The group flew for an hour or so. Labrax checked the map he had brought along and estimated they were somewhere over the Pegasai Gulf. He frowned at the arrogant name. The sky was a cloudy overcast, casting the world in a muted tint. The blue-gray sea stretched to the South, West, and North horizons, while to the East and to his left was the Pony port town of Haystin. It was one of their targets, and from there they would move on to San Manetonio and Horston.

"Heads up, Ägide. We finally have the Equestrians' attention. Picking up a contact on RADAR, directly ahead. Huh. Only one it seems," Ant said over the radio.

Chuckles came over the radio. Helevitus 'Heretic' Ursus spoke, mirth in his voice, "The Equestrians underestimate us by sending only one! It will be their downfall."

Labrax smirked, "Let's show them why we're superior pilots. Ägide, advance and engage."

Labrax and his staffel increased their throttle to overtake the trio of bombers. Labrax, at the head of a skewed v-formation, was flanked by Heretic, Neophyte, and Pitch to the left with Hide and Popidia to his right. Soon enough the unknown contact appeared ahead of them.

Even without getting close enough to see details, the silhouette didn't match any known Equestrian aircraft. Or any other nation, for that matter. Labrax squinted trying to make out more details. For now, all he could make out was that it was circular and lacked any wings.

As they got closer, Labrax initially thought it was an actual living creature, as it had glowing sets of eyes and a black nose on top of its beak-like front. Its body was a light tan in color with purple 'wings'. The wings seemed more for decorative purposes, as they were below the craft and ran along from nose to tail instead of the sides of the fuselage. The circular fuselage itself was segmented into three parts, with the center that housed the eyes ovoid in shape. The other two segments were crescent in shape and was itself further segmented in such a way to give it a bladed appearance. Two shutters were above the two largest glowing orange eyes

"What i-is that?" Popidia's voice was at a higher pitch than normal.

"I don't--" Labrax started to say when without warning the most frontal of the segmented plates that made up the crescent-shaped sides retracted, sliding backward to reveal glowing blue lines laced around a series of cylindrical structures. One on each side flashed neon blue.

Several thin, bright blue projectiles emerged and hurled towards the Changeling staffel. Labrax and other more agile and responsive flyers rolled and dived away. Heretic was not one of them. The bolts pierced through his cockpit, shredding the wings and fuselage apart and melting most of the pilot to a charred half solid, half liquid state. A moment later the fuel in the Sv. 109 ignited and erased almost all traces of the plane and pilot save for burning debris.

"Scheisse!" screamed Neophyte, "Heretic's gone!"

"Ägide, engage!" barked Labrax, beginning to pull out of the dive he went into.

"What is that thing, Labrat?!" cried Pitch as his plane climbed upward.

"Hostile!" snapped Labrax, "Engage!"

Labrax pointed his nose onto the alien craft, attempting to align the gunsights. He let out a short burst of his cannon as the UFO, unnervingly precognitive, sped forward. Blazing forward with a sonic boom, Labrax looked on in horror as it beelined for the bombers.

"WHA-" Ant began to speak before another flash of blue. This time the projectile was larger, a flaming mixture of blue and green. Before anyone could react it collided with Ant's bomber head on, incinerating everything in a blaze of blue and red. The UFO adjusted its roll axis to avoid colliding with the burning tail-end of the bomber. After passing, it returned to its original position.

By this time, the operators in the bomber turrets recovered enough to fire at the craft. Labrax felt an ever increasing sense of despair as the .50 caliber rounds, rounds that would punch holes in any conventional planes, did nothing more than leave a few dents and shallow holes in the hull.

The alien craft didn't seem worse for wear as it sped away for a hundred meters or so. The UFO slowed down for what Labrax guessed to be a turning maneuver. What the Changeling pilot didn't expect was to simply rotate around the yaw axis, accomplishing the same effect that normal fighters could achieve by rolling and pitching. It followed a S-shaped path in such an unfamiliar and unnatural way. It looked too perfect, artificial. Robotic and alien. Labrax couldn't guess how many g-forces it was pulling compared to them.

Suffice to say, it was already on the second bomber's six. Pitch, in an attempt to drive it away from the bomber, flew at it head on while he fired the Sv. 109's cannons. It did even less damage, the tracer rounds simply bounced off the tan hull and left only pockmarks.

Another glow of blue, another flash, and another ball of fire speared through the air towards the bomber. The bolt, boiling and seething in anger, hit the bomber's tail. Exploding, the ethereal bluish fireball consumed all but the nose and cockpit of the Fv. 200.

"WE'RE HIT!" The surviving bomber pilot voice came over the radio as the UFO passed under Pitch and over the flaming stub of a bomber. Adrenaline and mortal terror fueled the Changeling's voice to be heard over the roaring wind in the background, "PLEASE! SOMEONE SAVE US! PLEA-"

Labrax momentarily shut off the radio and led out a shuddering gasp. His limbs were shaking and his breaths came in short, rapid gasps. With his heartbeat thudding in his chest and ears, it gave the impression that he was underwater instead high in the atmosphere. He stared blankly at his controls trying to think what to do.

What could they do? In less than a minute, three out of the nine of them were all but obliterated by a single craft. None of their weapons were effective against whatever that hull was made of, and it clearly outclassed them in terms of speed and agility.

He wasn't sure if they even could run at this point. He noticed Popidia's plane was flying next to him. As he looked over, even at this distance he could see how her ears were splayed back. Her red eyes were wide, staring at him and silently begging him to tell them what to do.

Labrax let out a steadying breath after managing to get his breathing under control. He still had a job to do, although now it wasn't to bomb Equestrian targets but simply get everyone out alive. His limbs were still shaking as they turned the radio back on, heart still pounding as he spoke, "Ägide, form up around the remaining bomber. Its guns are the best we have against this thing."

As Labrax spoke, the alien craft sped back to the South. Neo and Hide fired at it as it passed by, with Neo's shots ricocheting off the hull and Hide's out right missing their target. Pitch's voice came over the radio, with an eerie wailing in the background, "What's the plan, Labrat?"

"Envelope the bomber. We're redirecting to the Equestrian mainland," said Labrax as he flew above the bomber. Popidia and Hide flew to either side. Pitch trailed behind the FV. 200 while Neophyte mirrored Labrax below.

Sounds of confusion and questions came over the radio, with Hide speaking particularly loud, "We're still on mission?!"

"No," Labrax said, further details of their escape plan coming into his mind, "We'll head further inland and make our way home from there."

"But that's enemy territory, Labrat!" exclaimed Popidia, "They'll send fighters at us and it'll reveal our plan to the Equestrians!"

"Do you want to fight the Equestrians or that thing!?" snapped Labrax, anger rushing his words. The UFO began its yaw-only turn, "We have a better chance at surviving against the Equestrians, so do as-"

A blue-green flame entered Labrax's field of vision, striking the Hide's cockpit dead-on and burning away most of the fuselage and wings. Simultaneously a shower of thinner blueish white projectiles turned Pitch and his plane into burning swiss cheese.

Labrax's head snapped to look behind him, seeing not one but two more UFOs behind them. Like the other, the pair had retracted their fuselages' segments to reveal their weaponry. One of theirs began to glow blue, a harbinger of death in the sky.

Immediately Labrax pulled up, "On our six! Scatter!" No sooner than after he said that, beams of plasma traced the space he occupied moments ago. Two of them impacted his left horizontal stabilizer, burning holes into it and rendering it borderline useless. Neophyte rolled and pitched right while Popidia went left.

The other one continued to fire at the bomber, all but reducing the tail to slag. To Labrax and the other's disbelief, it rolled to orient itself vertically and sped up before crashing into the Fv. 200's left wing. It severed through the spar and skin with relative ease.

The UFO, miraculously and distressingly, appeared to be in one piece. Granted, it was now the most damaged of the three--a large dent in the beak-like front accompanied by a frustratingly shallow scrape-line running down the fuselage--but it was quickly apparent that it was still combat-viable. It quickly reoriented itself, mildly bobbing in the air as it joined the UFO to the front.

The third and final UFO put Popidia in its sights and began to fire at her. The female Changeling saw this and had her fighter roll upside down before pitching into a dive. She evaded the fire, blood rushing into her head and stomach feeling like it was being pushed up her throat.

Labrax saw that even though Popidia evaded, the UFO still could easily compensate and shoot her down. Labrax committed to a loop that would allow him to fire a few rounds at the UFO. He knew he couldn't actually hurt it, but he hoped that it would drive the UFO off Popidia's tail.

It worked, despite it being considerably harder to finish the loop than normal now. The UFO rolled to the side, the few times Labrax saw one of them do a maneuver they would do. Reorienting, it sped away to rejoin its brethren.

Popidia came out of the dive, her grunt coming over the radio first, "...thanks Labra--"

"Disengage and head to the mainland, Popidia," Labrax spoke quickly and the UFO trio began to speed up. What had just happened showed him that there wasn't any way all of them would get out alive. If they all tried to bug out, the UFO's would shoot them down with ease. No, two of them would need to cover the last one. The chances of the two covering surviving the resulting dogfight was basically nil. Labrax was strangely okay with the thought of dying, as long as someone else got out alive. He felt that Popidia was too innocent to die like this, being the youngest in the squad. She hadn't even gotten a call sign yet, and her career and life ending here feeling too tragic for Labrax, "Neophyte and I will cover you and keep them distracted as long as we can," he finished, turning his plane to the approaching UFOs.

Neophyte apparently felt the same way, as he spoke with a resigned yet determined tone, "I'm with you, sir. Until the end."

"But-" Popidia began to protest but Labrax cut her off, speaking with haste. They likely only had a few more moments before the alien crafts reengaged.

"Go! One of us needs to survive. You need to survive. To tell someone. Tell the Queen. Tell the Ponies, I don't care. Someone needs to know what happened here."

Popidia was silent for a moment, "...Egg and Queen guide you," she said quietly, peeling off and flying full throttle to the shore.

Labrax felt some sort of relief from that. With mere seconds to spare, he spoke equally as quickly to Neophyte, "Here's the plan: Don't bother trying to take them down. We both know we don't have the firepower. We just need to keep them occupied as long as we can. Try to get them behind and interested in us, not her."

"Understood," Neophyte was always known for his brevity.

The duo sped towards the trio, with Neophyte going into a mild climb to bait the enemy. One alien took the bait, angling upward after adjusting its yaw. Again, Labrax was struck at how robotic their movements were. Maybe they weren't fighting living things, but machines instead? He still doubted Equestria--or any other nation on this planet--could make such a thing.

Labrax, on the other hoof, wanted to put himself between the aliens and Popidia. He rolled and aimed to fly in a diagonal direction between them. The other two yawed right to match him. Full throttle, and he still felt sluggish compared to them. They were already upon them.

Neophyte saw the one taking the bait begin to fire its weapons. Performing a twisting Immelmann turn, their Sv. 109s' lack of speed worked in their favor for once as the UFO sped past him before getting a chance to adjust its targeting. Unfortunately, it also meant they had a hard time avoiding the UFO's fire. A muted hissing was barely perceptible over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears prompting Neophyte look to his left. A couple of smoldering, blackened holes were on the edges of his wing; He could still fly, but couldn't withstand much more punishment.

Labrax fared no better. One fired the alien equivalent of a canon while another fired a bolt of plasma. Labrax cut the throttle turning a hard right to avoid the plasma fire and molten bolt. He succeeded in evading the plasma beam, wheezing and getting lightheaded as be pulled out of the sudden turn. Looking back left he realized with dread that the bolt had changed course and was still headed for him.

Labrax pulled up and accelerated. The plasma missile soared past his tail, slowly fizzling out with distance. Labrax grunted, managing to speak under the duress and g, "Popidia, Neophyte! The bolt things can track your movements! Be carefu-" his words ended with a gurgle as plasma fire tore through the underside of his plane and into his body. Half a second later the SV. 109 was engulfed by a blue explosion as another missile hit the fuselage.

"L-Labrat?!" said Popidia, "Labrax, what happened?!"

Neophyte saw what had happened, ill deserved guilt flooding him. With how fast everything occurred, he didn't get a chance to warn Labrax, "...Labrat's gone, Popidia. It's just me now. Forget about me, keep going!"

"Wh-what?! N-No! I-" Neophyte interrupted the stammering Changeling.

"You can still survive, Popidia. Fly and tell..." Neophyte trailed off as the duo that had shot down Labrax split, one heading for him. The other turned to follow Popidia, "Popidia! One's headed for you! Their bolts can track, but you have to keep flying!"

Neophyte noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively rolled and turned right. Moments later plasma fire traced where he once was. Seeing the UFO that fire turned to him, Neophyte continued to pull on the flight stick as hard as he could. Even though his death was a certainty, he had no intention of making it easy for them.

Neophyte managed to reduce what would have been a kill-shot to merely severe damage as half of his left wing was burned away. He struggled to straighten out, finding his craft more vulnerable to turbulence and became harder to roll properly. Neophyte wheezed, realizing he couldn't keep this up for much longer. The alien craft didn't seem to be getting tired, while the Changeling was feeling the toll of the constant Gs. Coupled with his damaged plane, it was a matter of time before they shot him down.

Not wanting to fight his aircraft, Neophyte rolled right and turned to face the UFO that had shot down Labrax. Letting out a burst from his cannons, the rounds ricocheted off the hull but caused the alien aircraft's equivalence of a flinch. Having driven the UFO momentarily, Neophyte looked behind to see the other one line up behind him.

Neophyte pulled up as quickly as he could, but the UFO was already firing before he could process what was happening. The rain of plasma hit the top-middle of his fuselage, severing the tail and effectively ending the dogfight. As the UFO pitched up to fire one last time, Neophyte resigned himself and spoke over the radio, "Egg and Queen guide you, Popidia."

The resulting barrage of plasma melted through to the fuel tank, igniting the fuel within and enveloped Neophyte in an incinerating fireball. Popidia called over the radio, "N-Neophyte? Neophyte?! Oh no.."

Popidia shivered, breathing raggedly and clenched her eyes shut as spoke in a whisper, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

She reopened her eyes, tears at the corner as her mind tried to come to terms that she was the last one and failed, "Please...anyone...is anyone out there?!"

Popidia looked back to see the damaged UFO gaining on her, "N-no," the word came out strangled as her throat tightened. Her breath ragged and rapid, she quickly looked forward to the shore line. The sea was oddly calm, contrasting against the chaos and horror that occurred in the skies. Popidia looked back at the UFO to see it begin to charge its weapons.

She immediately rolled and pitched left, the air she previously occupied filled with the angry hiss of plasma fire. Glancing at the UFO, she rolled all the way upside down before diving and narrowly avoiding death again. The UFO passed her, slowly beginning to turn around.

Popidia rolled again and pulled out of the dive, vision graying. The logical part of her mind--currently taking a backseat due to the panic racing through the rest of her mindscape-- wondered why the UFOs weren't leading their shots. Was something in the UFO's design preventing them from doing so, or did they simply not know how? The aliens flew so differently than they did; Either way, they were still plenty deadly. The aliens didn't seem to get tired either, though she couldn't know for sure. Popidia certainly would, though. Eventually she would make a mistake and then end up like...

...no. She couldn't think like that now. The others counted on Popidia's survival, and she wouldn't sully their name and memory by dying here. She kept telling herself all she had to do was make it to landfall. Then she could find terrain that could help her. Maybe it was false hope, but it was the only hope she had. Nonetheless, one word echoed in her mind, prompting her to grip her flight stick tighter and try to keep her breathing under control.

Survive. The UFO fired, forcing the Changeling pilot to pitch and turn to the left. The UFO continued to fire at her, forcing her to level out and go full throttle. She swore as she realized she was flying parallel to the shore. She couldn't afford to get into a dogfight and waste time. If the other two UFOs arrived, she wouldn't stand a chance.

Survive. Popidia rolled to the right and banked diagonally upward. A single plasma beam burned a hole through the front part of her rudder. It was still functional as she leveled out, gunning it and pushing her plane to its limit. She glanced at the UFO, seeing it begin to rotate. She steeled herself, realizing that if she didn't pull up or dive the UFO would have a clear shot. They'd probably have a mid-air collision too.

Survive! Popidia pulled on the flight stick as hard as she could. She grunted as her vision took a gray tinge, her body beginning to feel the strain of taking so many evasive maneuvers in such a short period. Popidia threw her weight forward onto the stick, leveling out. Her plane, too, began to suffer its own form of fatigue. Her fuel began to run low and her coolant and oil struggled to compensate for how hard Popidia was pushing her engine. That was assuming she didn't suffer any further damage or was shot down altogether. On that note, the Changeling looked behind her. She had heard the UFO pass by her, but she couldn't find it.

She couldn't find it. That realization sent Popidia crashing into another wave of panic. Popidia looked around wildly, beginning to hyperventilate "Oh no..."

The UFO was gone. It wouldn't have just flown away, not after all that had happened. Was it a trick? A tactic? Stealth? Popidia didn't know or care. All she knew was that she had to get over land.

Boosh!

Popidia's head snapped to the faint sound coming above and behind her. The clouds above glowed blue, before a plasma missile burned its way through the cloud cover. The UFO followed suit, barreling through what the missile didn't evaporate.

Labrax's voice rang through her head, along with the images of how the plasma missiles killed her squadron playing on repeat. Popidia froze, time seeming to slow to a crawl as she watched two forms of death descend upon her. It wasn't until the UFO began to fire its other weapons that compelled the Changeling to act. Survive!

Popidia banked left as tight as she could, grunting in effort. She felt the airframe shudder and heard a muffled sizzle behind her. The Changeling craned her neck to see a plasma bolt had grazed her fuselage, leaving a smoldering burn mark on the side. The plasma missile was still tracking and gaining.

Popidia dived and rolled. The Changeling pilot, now mere meters above the ocean, continued to speed to the shore. She now had less than a third of a kilometer left, but if Popidia didn't do something about the missile she wouldn't get even that far.

The Changeling screamed as a few plasma bolts hit home, causing her to weave in panic. Black smoke began to waft out of the burn holes in her fuselage. The missile continued to track, and the UFO continued to fire. A few more bolts hit her airframe, causing Popidia to continue to fly frantically. She glanced back and suddenly yanked her stick back, climbing sharply and letting the missile overshoot her. It hit the water, exploding. The burning shockwave washed over her and Popidia felt something in her tear. The Changeling's chitin had protected her enough so that the shockwave wasn't immediately fatal.

Nonetheless, Popidia doubled over in agony in a choked gasp and pushed the flight stick forward. The Sv. 109's sluggish response prompted Popidia to look behind at her plane's tail. Her elevators and rudders were scorched black, melted and mangled for the most part. Only one elevator was still functional, barely able to move.

Popidia glanced forward, gritting her teeth in order to minimize the pain; She felt nauseous. Popidia's plane had just passed the shoreline. Passed the beach was an elevated, grassy plain. To her left was Haystin. Popidia wondered if anybody was watching.

Popidia forced her crippled plane to climb, noticing her fuel level was rapidly decreasing. The shockwave must have ruptured her fuel tank. She coughed, tasting blood. Popidia looked back to see the UFO still following and began to charge up.

Popidia rolled and sluggishly pitched to the left. The majority of her right wing disappeared in a hail of fire, sending the Sv. 109 into a tailspin. The engine sputtered to a stop as the fuel tank finally emptied. Tears ran down Popidia's cheeks as she struggled to regain control of the aircraft. The last thoughts Popidia had before the belly of the plane hit the ground was how she failed.

April 30, 1012. 11:45 hrs. 55 km East of Haystin, Equestria
Ringing and blackness. Those were the first two things Popidia became aware of when she came to. Swimming in darkness, her mind struggled to remember what had happened. She was flying with her squadron, but something had happened. What was it? Something bad had happened, but the Changeling couldn't recall--

Sounds and images flashed in her mind's eye. Demonic orange eyes. Screaming and gunfire. Heat and explosions. Panic and plasma. Blue and death. Popidia found she couldn't draw a breath. Something was stuck in her throat. The fear of suffocation, the sole common fear of all living things, urged the Changeling to move. Her forelegs moved sluggishly, flailing.

As more CO2 built up in her bloodstream, her fear and panic grew in tandem. Something bubbled in her throat, preventing her from taking breath. One of her forehooves reached and tore the mask from her face, faintly aware of something moving against her face. Popidia opened her mouth, retching and vomiting onto her lap. She gasped, sucking in air.

The Changeling's eyes fluttered open, staring down at the mess. A tooth floated in the mixture of blood, bile, and whatever remained of her breakfast currently seeping through the clothes on her lap. Popidia stared dumbly at it, starting to become aware of a new sensation: Pain. Pain enveloped her body. All-encompassing agony made it difficult to diagnose what was wrong. Most offensive was the piercing headache she had, to the point that it hurt to think. Still, Popidia fought through the haze as best she could.

Her legs and hips were broken. Changeling anatomy was a mix of endo and exoskeletal structures; her legs lacked bones and had structures similar to insect legs while her core contained a skeleton like other mammals on the planet. Suffice to say, the legs of her flight suit were wet with blood. Her guts hurt and felt out of place. It hurt to breathe, with more than a few broken ribs. It didn't help that her chitin was cracked in places, slowly weeping green blood and making it difficult to inhale fully.

A sudden shift of something against her forehead and a new influx of pain caused her to drift her eyes upward. Her blurry vision cleared enough to see her horn dangling in front of her eyes, a dense bundle of exposed nervous tissue the only thing connecting it to her.

Popidia vomited again, this time with more blood than bile. The Changeling knew she would die soon if she didn't get medical attention. What were the chances of that, though? She was in enemy territory, and nobody knew where she was. Survive.

The same voice, albeit smaller, nonetheless urged Popidia to press forward. To do something. Grunting with effort, ignoring the agony of shifting chitin and the swaying of her broken horn, Popidia struggled with her seatbelt. After a minute or so of fiddling, she released it. Popidia slumped over to the left side of her cockpit and began to cry. What was the point? Even if Popidia managed to somehow escape the cockpit, the Changeling wouldn't make it far with broken legs. And it had taken so much effort to simply release her seatbelt. Popidia felt tired. Very tired.

"Over here!"

The voice came from the right, but Popidia was too tired to try to move her head. More voices, sounding muffled, "Are you sure what you saw?"

"Yes, sir."

Hoofsteps preceded multi-colored blobs entering her shrinking cone of vision. Ponies. That word reminded her of something, but what was it? Popidia struggled to remember. The ponies either didn't realize she was still alive for now, or didn't care, "Damn...Took a heckuva beating before being splashed."

Popidia struggled to think. The edges of her vision began to darken, but Popidia knew she had to do something really important. The subdued voices continued to talk, "Your orders, sir?"

"Get a forensics team down here. Analyze those burns," The world turned grey for Popidia, still struggling to recall.

"Yes, sir," Popidia closed her eyes.

Tell the Ponies, I don't care. Someone needs to know what happened here. Popidia's eyes snapped open. Her vision was still grayscale and shrinking, but a new sense of vigor flooded Popidia at the memory of Labrax's words, "...It..."

"Did you say something, sir?" Popidia's breaths became more labored, the Changeling gathering what little of her strength remained.

"...no? Did you--"

Popidia felt sick again, but managed to speak louder, "...It..."

"Holy shit, that came from the cockpit. The pilot's still alive, sir!" Popidia clenched her jaw as her vision began to darken once more.

"Get her out of there. We need her alive," Popidia took a slow, deep breath and prepared herself.

"...It killed us..." Popidia weakly spoke before she slipped back into darkness once more.

May 6, 1012. 14:58 hrs. Blacklisted prison ward, Canterlot Dungeons
Popidia stared at her cast-covered legs as she sat in a wheelchair. Her torso and head were wrapped in bandages. As she rolled down a steel corridor, Popidia reflected on recent events.

The Changeling had woken up a day prior in a hospital bed, disorientated. It soon became evident that she was in Pony custody. Something struck odd, though. Popidia was always told that Ponies were racial purists, but the ones that took care of her were nice for the most part. Granted, there were some who weren't exactly warm to her but others seem to genuinely care about her health.

It had to be a trick though, right? They were simply trying to lower her guard. Why else would they be moving her to an interrogation room? Indeed, there was a one-way window to the interrogation room when Popidia glanced right. She debated on what information she'd willingly give them when a lance of pain shot down into her brain. Popidia winced, moving a hoof to the bandaged stub where her horn used to be.

Already Popidia was beginning to feel withdrawal effects, with heart palpitations and a growing sense of anxiety. While emotional energy wasn't needed for biological survival, all Changelings felt a never ending need to consume it. Since love energy was the most 'filling', it was a go-to choice and one of the main reasons for the Changelings' recent wars. However, one needed a horn to extract it directly.

A horn that Popidia now lacked. Her horn had shattered at the base and exposed the nervous tissue that snaked a third of a way into the horn's interior, damaging said tissue and dooming it to be removed. Horns could grow back. Neurons couldn't. Despite that crushing blow, the Pony doctors harped on how it was a miracle she survived. If one of the Ponies didn't happen to be a Unicorn that knew a stasis spell, she wouldn't have lived long enough to reach a hospital. Medical technology--magical or not--was one of the few things the Ponies were more advanced in comparison.

Popidia wished she had died. All her friends were dead. Her body was battered and bruised, and would take months to fully heal. She now lacked a horn, meaning the only way of consuming emotional energy was through infused food and drink. To top it all off, Popidia was now a prisoner of war.

Popidia and the MP that was pushing her turned a corner, moving to the right. A short hallway contained a double steel door leading to the interrogation room. The MP pushed a button off to the side. A buzz rang as the doors opened to reveal a spartan room, cool gray walls and floor lit by fluorescent lights. The sole objects in the room were a metal table and two chairs. Popidia was wheeled next to one of the chairs, the MP leaving her alone in the room.

A minute passed when the door opened again. This time a pale orange Unicorn in a business suit walked in, two steaming cups of liquid, a tape recorder, and a manila folder floating in his telekinetic grasp. Popidia eyed him as he took a seat at the opposite side of the table. His white mane was slicked back, and his tan eyes studied her. Sizing her up. The stallion turned on the recorder. He set the cups and recorder down and spoke in Equestrian, "Coffee?"

Popidia scoffed, "To poison? Me, no," the Changeling wasn't very fluent in Equestrian, but knew enough to get by. There wasn't a perceived need for pilots and civilians to understand or speak Equestrian. The only ones who did were spies, infiltrators, and front-line soldiers due to their proximity to the enemy.

'Ah. I suppose the suspicion is understandable,' the stallion said in fluent Changeling, surprising Popidia. Her expression must have betrayed her. He smiled, 'In my line of work, it helps to know the language of the other side.'

Popidia shifted in her wheelchair, trying her best to hide the wince and spoke in her native tongue, 'You...You will get nothing from me, Pony.'

The stallion tilted his head, 'Not even a name?'

When Popidia didn't say anything, he continued, 'What if I introduced myself first? My name is Cream Cycle.'

Popidia looked away, silent for a moment, '...Popidia. My name's Popidia.'

Cream Cycle nodded sagely, 'Like the flower. Your eyes and fin certainly match. Both are pretty.'

Popidia lightly blushed, glaring at Cream Cycle, 'F-flattery will get you nothing, Pony.'

Cream Cycle sighed, 'No, I suppose not. Worth a try.'

Popidia continued to glare, grounding out her words, 'What do you want, Pony? Why am I here?'

What Popidia really wanted to ask was why she was alive. Cream Cycle's expression and voice turned serious, looking her in the eyes, 'I believe you already know why.'

There it is. Popidia broke eye contact and stared at her lap, 'I already told you, I will tell you nothing-'

'About your mission to weaken our coasts' defenses and launch an invasion from the South?' Popidia's breath hitched, her head snapping back up to look at Cream Cycle. The stallion had his hooves together under his chin, smirking slightly, 'We've known about the plan for a while now. Why else would we invade first?'

'H-how...' Popidia stammered as a pit of ice formed in her stomach.

Cream Cycle smiled, 'Not every Changeling or Deer agrees with Chrysalis. Some are sympathetic to our cause and help in what ways they can.'

Popidia's mind spun at the implications. Changelings, masters of deception, were being deceived by their own. Popidia, like most other Changelings, believed the VOPS had rooted out any opposition to the regime before war broke out. Sure, there were some who weren't exactly happy or keen with fighting but none openly admitted that. A sense of rising anxiety and confusion filled Popidia.

Popidia, more than anything, was more confused about why Cream Cycle was interrogating her, 'Why am I here?' she asked again, this time genuine.

'Why are you here?' Popidia blinked at the stallion's counter question. Cream Cycle continued, magically withdrawing papers from the manila folder and looking them over, 'I'm not interested in your role in your perceived secret invasion, I'm interested in why you are here in your current state.'

Cream Cycle stared down the Changeling pilot, 'We know you were shot down, but it wasn't because of us. We've analyzed what remained of your plane,' he said as he put down photos of Popidia's crash site, a smoking wreckage at the end of a short and shallow trench. Popidia felt mildly nauseous, and was more aware of the dull pain in her head, 'As you can see, there are clear burn marks but they aren't from magical lasers. We've scanned the craft, and didn't find any Thaumic aftereffects. A few locals saw you get shot down by something, too.'

Cream Cycle leaned over the table, 'What happened?', the stallion's voice was low enough that Popidia briefly wondered if the recorder would be able to make it out, 'and please don't lie. I think we both realize that this goes beyond wartime politics.'

Popidia shuddered as she stared at the photos, unconsciously hugging herself as unwanted memories of mortal terror and death flashed in her mind. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes as thoughts on how all her friends were dead violated her mind. That she shouldn't be alive. That she didn't deserve to be alive. It should've been Labrax or Neophyte to survive. Popidia wasn't as good at flying as them. All she was good for was running away, and she couldn't even do that right.

'I know it's probably hard and painful to remember now,' Cream Cycle said, louder but more gentle this time, 'and I'm sorry for what happened to you and your squad. It's really important, though, that you tell us what happened. This isn't an isolated incident. We've been getting reports of odd phenomena from Stalliongrad to Olenia. Something's up, and it involves all of us.'

Again Labrax's words echoed in her head, giving herself just enough courage to actively try and remember what had happened. Popidia sniffled and nodded. She took a few moments to ready herself, steadying her breathing. After figuring out the right words, Popidia began to relay what had happened.

The Changeling didn't bother trying to dance around giving information on their original mission. Cream Cycle was right: If what had happened to her was indicative of what was happening elsewhere then now wasn't the time to be playing political games, current war be damned. Even Labrax thought so, too. So she told him. About how one craft destroyed three craft within seconds. About how none of their weapons did little more than denting the alien hull. About how the alien weapons burned and melted their planes with ease, about how some weapons could track them. About how the arrival of two more craft quickly reduced their flight to her alone. About her frantic fleeing and how she was eventually shot down.

Cream Cycle was silent after Popidia was finished, leaving her to wonder what he was thinking and what would happen to her now. Cream Cycle glanced at the recorder on the table, "Thank you for your cooperation, Popidia," he said in Equestrian before turning the recorder off.

He looked at Popidia and spoke in Changeling again, 'Off the record, I must admit this information is...troubling. As I said before, our agents have reported similar sightings of unknown aircraft. The prevailing theory is that we're dealing with...aliens.'

'Aliens,' Popidia replied in a deadpan tone.

Cream Cycle raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, 'Do you have a better explanation?'

'I...' Popidia started, '...no, I don't. Maybe demons?' She finished lamely. Not even Popidia truly believed that.

Cream Cycle laughed, something Popidia didn't appreciate. She felt like he was laughing at her, 'Ha, I wish it were demons. At least then we could understand their motivation and intention better. The truth of the matter is we don't know what these things want. Our reports can't really make any connections to each other. With one exception.'

Again Cream Cycle turned deadly serious. His tendency to shift from a light, almost joking manner to one grave enough almost to the point of frightening was something Popidia had trouble getting used to, 'Whatever these things want, it isn't diplomatic or peaceful. Something you know all too well, right?'

That last sentence earned him a glare from Popidia. If her reaction bothered Cream Cycle, he didn't show it. He gathered up the contents on the table, 'Again, thank you for your cooperation. We will be in touch,' Popidia gave him a questioning look, so Cream Cycle continued, 'Something big is coming. I have a feeling we'll need as many allies--especially ones with experience--as we can get.'

Cream Cycle walked to the door, 'Which is why you'll be held in relatively comfortable captivity. While we can't provide emotional energy for you, we'll make sure your other needs are met. Warm beds, hot showers and such. You'll still be watched over by MPs of course, but you will be given more freedom than most other POWs.'

Cream Cycle looked over his shoulder to Popidia's bewildered face, 'When the time comes, I hope you'll be just as cooperative as now. And, to know which sides truly matter now.'

With that, Cream Cycle left Popidia alone in the room.

May 7, 1012. 09:20 hrs. Canterlot, Equestria.
Celestia frowned as she stared at the singular table in Canterlot's War Room. Once again, she was alone in the room. Once again feeling dread at having to read the after-action and casualties reports. This time, however, an additional report found its way on the map covered table.

This one came directly from S.M.I.L.E., Equestria's intelligence agency. That itself was rare, as most reports and propositions came from civilian or military sources. What was stranger still were the contents. If the report didn't have a date and if Celestia didn't know any better, she'd think it was an April Fool's joke.

The first part detailed sightings of aircraft of unknown origin, from both the ground and air. All reports detailed a bomber-sized aircraft capable of seemingly impossible speeds and maneuvers entering a local airspace and exiting just as fast. This particular unknown object apparently took no hostile actions when first encountered, although a casualty was reported indirectly caused by the craft simply flying at breakneck speeds. Another form of an unknown craft was more damning that something odd and sinister was happening.

A different, even larger kind of craft was spotted hovering before the entire city of Baltimare suffered from some sort of communication interference. That was putting it mildly. Everything in the city that could send and receive communication signals put out an obscenely loud wailing noise, from TVs to radios to phones. Even telegraphs were affected, sending and receiving a garbled and undecipherable mess of text and signals. The sound was so loud that it was theorized that complete deafness could occur in a few minutes of exposure. There were even deaths attributed to it, mostly elderly that suffered cardiac arrest and accidents that were a result of the interference. Apparently, it lasted for more than an hour and all but totally isolated Baltimare from the rest of the world.

More worrying was the report of the interrogation of a Changeling pilot. The pilot claimed to be the sole survivor of an ambush carried out by three unknown craft, with details of her wounds and damaged plane validating her story. It was initially believed that the plane had been damaged by magical weapons, however closer examination revealed otherwise. The parts damaged showed signs of burns and melting. A magical weapon would also produce burns, but had a tendency to pierce and pass through the target rather than melt material as was shown on the airframe. All magical weapons--and spells too for that matter-- also left a sort of 'residue' on their targets. Said 'residue' was intangible and emitted Thaumically charged particles akin to radiation, albeit completely harmless. The plane, however, showed no signs of emitting Thaumic particles.

The report concluded that the entities were likely aliens. Aliens. Celestia let out a singular laugh of disbelief. The white Alicorn wanted this to be a joke. That someone was brave and stupid enough to send her a report to waste her time in the middle of a war. The last thing Celestia needed right now was to deal with seemingly hostile aliens with unknown motives and technology. Fate, it seemed, had different plans.

Her horn lit the room in a golden hue as the Alicorn levitated a few particular pages to her face. Celestia looked over the names of the individuals that had encountered the aliens and memorized them. Popidia, Barrel Fire, Snap Shot, Twirly Whirly, and Gel Layer. Celestia had a feeling she would be meeting them sooner rather than later.

Author's Note

I think I can get away with using Google Translate if I just limit it to single words and expletives. Still, let me know if there's a glaring error.
My take on what happens when the game reports alien activity interfering with communications is them blasting ear-rape levels of Theremin-like notes over all radio channels. I also like to think that the UFOs don't actually roll and pitch to turn, but simply turn via the yaw axis. They only roll to dodge and pitch to change elevation.
This story also operates under the idea that EAW nations don't have the same cultural concept of aliens like Humanity does. That is, they have the actual concept of space aliens, but don't equate the classical signs of alien activity(Flying saucers, abductions, crop circles, lights in the sky, etc) to actual aliens and only recognize aliens by seeing them directly.
UFOs described in this chapter:
Fighter UFO

3/29/2023--Changed VSS to VOPS