The Mystery of the Iron Bird Festival

I broke through a layer of clouds. My moment carried me up, accelerating more and more. Sweat was rolling in a stream, and his hands were shaking unusually, as if it was the first fight. From behind, over the roar of the plane, a heart-rending scream was heard and the half-dead pony was carried out after the small fighter. Her rotted flesh in her chest exposed a black heart. It was as if death itself was rushing on gigantic and withered, previously white, wings. Overpowering myself, I took a sharp turn to the right.

Drawing a dead loop, my moment went into the back of the revived corpse. I squeezed the fire button with all my strength. But the fighter was silent. My heart skipped a beat, and the unfolding creature was reflected in my eyes. The open, toothy mouth bristled with jagged, yellow fangs. Fear did not allow to turn away and the plane, painted in Korean, went to ram, as if in slow motion.

Breath…

***

And a sharp exhalation.

Kramarenko opened his eyes sharply. The bed was soaked with sweat, and my chest ached. Only now he began to feel the complexity of the situation. The last day passed like a dream, and only now the pilot has recovered from the shock of what happened. At the same time, fear and guilt lurking somewhere deep for the shooting of that…

Stop! I couldn't do anything else. I couldn't help but kill someone who is dead.

Taking out a watch from the dresser, the pilot calculated that he had only slept for three hours. For a minute he nervously fiddled with the mechanism of the finest work. Someone rustled behind the wall. Waking up, the man began to dress.
And here he is again in a green tunic, with a TT and a paratrooper knife on his belt.

It won't hurt to get some air. And then I will soon become a living dead myself. — thought Kramarenko and grinned at his thoughts.

With a leisurely step, he approached the window and opened it. The measured life of the town flowed behind him. Strange noises from the neighbors did not stop.

How tired they are. What are they even doing there?

Suddenly, the partition between the rooms exploded. The blast wave put Kramarenko on the floor. Small fragments and dust fell down. The pilot quickly crawled behind the closet, where he lay still with a pistol in his hand. Just in time. Two unknown men in red capes came out of the hole. One of them turned to the bed and with a clawed paw threw a small ball into the bed. As soon as he touched, the bed was engulfed in green fire. Small flames instantly ate away a good half of the bed. If a person were not awakened by a nightmare, he would immediately be devoured by the devil's fire.

While one was clearly enjoying watching the quick and painful death of a soft bed, the other cautiously approached the table. Not counting on the material existence of the owner, the killer began to search the saddlebag for something valuable. While the second was busy gutting things at the table, the first kept watching the smoldering remains.

Taking out a knife, Kramarenko went behind the first one. It was the size of a local pony, which means the neck location should be the same. Seizing the knife more comfortably, Kramarenko jumped on his back and sharply struck him in the place where the neck should presumably be.

The accompanying luck did not disappoint and the tip deftly entered the flesh. The reptile began to twitch and wheeze. The pilot managed to turn the knife before he was thrown off his back. Suddenly something struck on his right shoulder and a sharp pain sobered his rage. It can be seen that the second managed to shoot from something, but the coup and the cover of the corpse saved the man from the fate of pouring everything with his blood here. Throwing off the dead man in red, Kramarenko raised his gun. But before the man could shoot, he noticed that the second one was also dead. There was an arrow sticking out of the assassin's back. Turning his head, the pilot did not notice anyone else.

So they shot through the window.

Like a worm, the pilot crawled on the floor, afraid to get a "gift" from the sniper. When he reached the wall, the pilot took a deep breath and examined the wound.

Phew, it's okay. — thought Kramarenko, seeing the wound on his shoulder. - Just a tangent wound

There was silence. The man crawled back to the first corpse. Turning it over, he saw that it wasn't a pony. Bird's head, feathers up to the breast and paws: the front ones are bird's, and the hind ones are lion's.

It must be a griffin

He was related to a pony, except that he had big eyes and height. And again, he is not at all like from myths and fairy tales. Pulling a paratrooper knife out of the griffin's neck, the pilot wiped the weapon on the fabric of his raincoat. Pressing as low as possible, the man crawled to the second with an arrow. The second one also turned out to be a griffin. He found throwing knives. Kramarenko did not disdain to take all three remaining knives for himself.

In order to get a saddlebag and not be under the gun, the pilot had to overturn the table. Having already collected all the things from the floor, the man decided to get out through the window of the next room.

It is unlikely that the shooter had a second hiding place, and he killed the griffin, not me. Can a friend do this? And what the hell is not joking.

After the pilot climbed over the hole in the rotten wall, the thoughts of where to go later alarmed him in earnest. He did not understand the language, and in the eyes of the locals he was a black sheep. Anyone could have turned him over to the government.

And it will certainly be interested in such an instance. It makes little sense to run to unsociable places: new mercenaries will track you down. Besides, there's no food, no shelter. One hope, to find that shooter. If he helped once, maybe he will help a second time.

No one answered the quick glance from the window. It was quiet outside the window, on the street and in the neighboring houses. Only when the street temporarily became empty, Kramarenko climbed over the frame, leaned over and jumped off. My legs gave off a hollow pain, but it quickly passed. After taking a sharp look at the area for the second time, the man cautiously, but slowly, moved to the center of the town. Maybe the shooter was an interesting person and, perhaps, even a secret friend, risking his life like that was stupid.

A light wind calmed the heavy thoughts, and the shoulder gave a dull pain. There was nowhere to treat the wound and nothing. The locals followed the two-legged alien passing by them with a curious look. They did nothing more. When the street led to a familiar square, seen at dawn, the pilot was surprised to notice a sign with a cup and a bun.

It looks like a local catering. It's strange that I didn't notice him this morning.

Hesitating a little in front of the porch and turning his head in unsuccessful attempts to notice the "Red Cloaks". But, apart from simple ponies, the eye had nothing to catch on to. This could at least a little, maybe just a little, give hope that there is no surveillance. Throwing everything off on paranoia is not worth it, and now especially. Having driven away unpleasant thoughts, the pilot, already with confidence, opened the door of the institution.

A nice atmosphere of light shades and a variety of colors greeted the guest. About five round tables were empty, two more were occupied by quiet couples. Crouching, the man walked through the low doors and sat down at the far table. In the blink of an eye, a black unicorn in a white apron appeared next to the soldier. The melodious voice and the smell of roses hit my head. Regretfully, the hands reached into the bag and pulled out the communication tools. The traces left by the pencil were clear to the foal: a cup of tea and pies. Leaving the choice of the latter to the waitress.

The few visitors gave their full attention to the strange creature in the corner of the establishment. The whisper of big-eyed ponies did not bother a lonely person, because everyone is curious. Ten minutes later, the unicorn brought the order. Barely visible steam rose from a small cup, and the pies were piled on the same small plate. The pilot did not hesitate to start eating.

There were all kinds of pies there: with apples and pears, with jam and…

With grass? Although, what I'm surprised about, they're herbivores, they can't feed on meat.

The creak of the door opening did not disturb the peace of this place, and Kramarenko simply did not pay attention. The sound of hooves approaching the far table alerted.

The man raised his head and saw a pony in a gray raincoat walking towards him. Recently, raincoats began to strain the downed pilot very much. His hand dropped to his holster just in case. Before reaching the man only five steps, he threw off his hood. The green muzzle of the mare opened under him. Her yellow eyes looked at Kramarenko with a kind of childish joy.

A little more and she wags her tail like a dog at the sight of the owner

Stepping softly, pony sat down on the pillow next to the tense man. Taking out a new piece of paper and sketched himself clumsily, he gave it and a pencil to the mare. She cheerfully took the instrument in her mouth and began to draw something. When Kramarenko saw that she had drawn a bird of prey, he did not immediately recognize her as a fighter. Yes, there was a MiG-15 veiled in a bird in front of him. After letting her digest what she saw, she drew something again. Having looked, guesses began to shine through in the person. The Kramarenko depicted on the sheet was enclosed in an egg.

It turns out that the ponies consider me a baby bird of an airplane. Or, to be more precise, some part of them. Perhaps that's why she looked at me with such lust.

Now the fighter pilot, and now the chick, faced an urgent problem: trust a stranger and follow her, or stay here and think out a plan of action yourself. Everything had its pros and cons, and life itself depended on the decision. A difficult choice forced me to wait and "ask around" her until the final answer.

***

A group of mismatched creatures were sitting in a room lit by magic lamps. Griffins, ponies and changelings stood up when two large figures in gray cloaks entered the room. Throwing off more unnecessary things, the Alicorn sisters addressed the audience.

"Dear friends of the Order of the Iron Birds, it is with great pleasure that we would like to inform you that the Iron Bird was able to lay an egg before its death. The chick, who grew up by leaps and bounds, came to one of the cities of Equestria. He cannot understand our speech, his clothes are like darkened grass, and he himself does not look like anyone living today. We want everyone who can to give him protection. For, the Order of the Red Dragon will hunt him. So help the little son of the Iron Bird!"