The air raid sirens in the city of Sunset resounded in the air as the roar of many, many plane engines came from the east. The Boom! Boom! Boom! of anti-aircraft artillery answered.
On the ground, earth ponies and unicorns headed for the nearest shelter, while pegasi sped toward their homes or place of work. Some were panicking and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Far more simply trotted to their desired location.
An orange earth pony stallion both trotted into a subway entry and continued walking downstairs.
"Hey, Orange!" a co-worker yelled from somewhere in the crowd ahead.
"Yes?" the stallion answered, perking up his ears.
"Hard 8 to 6 today, eh?"
"Yep. More fish for the navy. Our submarines use them up pretty fast."
"They need to. The Wingbardian navy has a whole lot of ships."
"I hope that rumor going around isn't true." By now, the orange stallion, named Orange Soda, was in the station itself. A green unicorn stallion named Grassland, an ex-farmer and the one doing the speaking, came up to them.
"You mean the one about increasing hours even more?" the green stallion said, shaking his head. "I think they're going to do it anyway. We're a small nation on the edge of pony civilization, we need every weapon, bullet, tank, airplane, and who knows what else right now."
The roar of the plane engines could be heard even through the concrete, rock, earth, and pavement above.
The bombs will be coming soon, Orange thought, trying not to show any emotions.
Both sat down on a bench. Orange took a squished sandwich out of his saddlebag and began eating it.
"Hot out today, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Here's to all our lads at the front; they're going through a heat storm, from the enemy and from the weather."
"Here's to our salaries going up along with our hours. If they're going to have us work our hooves to the nub they can at least provide us the money to care for ourselves."
"Speaking of which, have you seen a farrier? The nails holding your horseshoes to your hooves are looking slightly rusty."
"I've tried, but the two I've been to say that steel for shoes and the nails for them to stay on is at a premium; most of its going to the factories."
"Another thing to thank Beaky for. Why couldn't he leave us alone?"
Both of them knew the answer to that question. Beakolini saw New Mareland as rightly belonging to griffonkind, and the ponies there as arrogant, bullying colonizers. His propaganda to that effect had been long and loud. Most Wingbardians had been onboard with that message, along with many griffons in New Mareland. He had finally made his demands a few months ago; Wingbardy would take over all important functions in New Mareland, with the military of the latter being abolished. Griffons would control foreign policy and the police would be from Wingbardy. it would have been annexation in all but name. Beakolini had also demanded a straight yes or no, saying these demands were non-negotiable.
The response, after a vote in Congress and numerous articles from a very defiant press, had been a resounding no.
Within hours, Wingbardian soldiers, tanks, and aircraft had swarmed over the eastern border, along with troops from Talouse and Francistria, and New Mareland's army was currently struggling to hold the enemy back. The enemy outnumbered them by a factor of about two or three to one, and despite their best efforts, the New Mareland Army Corps were gradually falling back closer to Sunset. While the island of New Manehattan had held back two separate landing attempts, the divisions there were badly needed on the mainland. Additionally, the navy was likewise in trouble; despite the bravery and skill of its captains and crews, there weren't enough ships to stop the Wingbardian surface fleet, nor destroyers to kill all the submarines plaguing trade convoys.
But arguably worst of all were the massive waves of bombers.
Beakolini had always showered great love on his air force, and it showed. The sheer number of bombers and escort fighters made interception difficult, even with radar to pinpoint their locations. Although the Royal New Mareland Air Force was doing its best, the enemy could take the casualties and keep coming.
Suddenly the shaking began, along with the dull thuds announcing the explosion of bombs across the city. Orange Soda gulped down the rest of the sandwich, then galloped to the bathroom and hid under the sinks.
"You can thank those useless, pretty prancing alicorns in Canterlot for this," another stallion said from somewhere nearby. There was a wave of responses to this, some telling him to shut up, others murmuring in angry agreement.
It was no secret that Celestia's government had done little to help, instead choosing to hoof-wag and tell the New Marelanders how bad they were at handling their own finances. And as war had fast approached, it became ever more clear that Equestria was much, much more worried about the changeling threat on its northwestern border than it was with New Mareland's defense. When the war began, Equestria had joined, but nearly the entire Equestrian army had stayed at home; only a few of its smaller divisions were aiding in New Mareland's defense.
More rumbling, this time closer. The dust from the ceiling began to fall.
There was a very loud explosion from overhead, one much different and louder than the bombs. "We got one!" still another stallion yelled, with a half-hearted cheer going round.
The anti-aircraft defenses around New Mareland were very strong, but it was clear that while they could shoot down the occasional bomber, they were incapable of stopping the raids entirely. The WIngbardians apparently just shrugged at their losses, because no amount of bombers taken out by the city defenses had stopped them from daily and nightly raids on the city. And with all the flak going around, the RNMAF couldn't try to intercept the bombers while they were over the city, lest they be taken out by friendly fire.
Finally, the crescendo of detonations reached its height; ponies could be heard screaming throughout the station, any pretense to stoicism being abandoned in the rush of fear.
After what seemed like hours - but was only two minutes according to the watch of another stallion in the bathroom - the rumbling began to die away as the bombers moved on.
Just as Orange Soda was about to get out from under the sinks, the light went out. The screaming began again.
"Stinking bombers must have torched the electric plant!" yet another stallion yelled.
Random screams and shouts continued to ring out across the station for several minutes. Orange managed to crawl his way out of the bathroom, having to find his way out by touch, trial and error.
After several minutes, the beams of several flashlights lit the darkness. An unfamiliar male voice cried out, "Do not panic! We are the Sunset police. Follow the beams from our flashlights and you'll make it out. be careful where you step and come out slowly and calmly."
Several ponies ignored the warnings and attempted to run out. There were cries of pain and shouts from those being trampled, as well as from the police, who continued to shout for the refugees to remain calm and to walk out.
After a couple of hours, Orange Soda was again outside. Despite the efforts of the police, the effort to clear out the station after the bombing had taken much longer than expected. He was now over an hour and a half late for his next shift at the factory.
The city was still standing... mostly. A number of skyscrapers were down; the skyline had several empty spaces where the tops of buildings had once stood, and Orange felt a pang of sorrow for their disappearance.
Other buildings were still standing, but damaged; one had the tail of a bomber sticking out of the rubble, with another building across the street housing the front end. the tail of the plane had rude, defiant graffiti on it, probably chalked on by mischievous pegasi. Nearer the station, a bus stop had taken a direct hit; it was completely gone, with a small crater and pieces of metal where ponies and the occasional griffon had once waited, talked, and gossiped.
As Orange continued to trot back to work, more damage was evident; roads with new "potholes" blasted into them, buildings that had crumbled into the street, and cars, buses, and trucks were blown apart. Here and there, blood pooled out of a vehicle that had been damaged or taken a direct hit; Orange did his best to ignore those and continued on.
It was late June, and the heat was intense. It wasn't long before Orange began sweating. Thankfully, it wasn't long until he reached the factory where he worked. It had once been a bottling plant for beverages, namely soda (he'd gotten his cutie mark for making his own soda as a child; fortunately his dad had helped, making sure no poisonous or otherwise dangerous ingredients were involved). Now it made weapons for the navy.
He sighed over the memories of happier days of making soda for thirsty foals and stepped through the door.
"Orange Soda, you're late," said the forestallion - Overtime - in a monotone voice. "What happened?"
"Got caught up in the subway on Starlight Avenue."
Overtime nodded. "Okay, the cops said there was trouble there."
"Trouble isn't the right word for it. It was chaos."
"Right, well, get back to work. We're not paying you to stand there and gossip."
"Okay." Orange wiped his brow. Is the AC out?"
"Yeah, everything run by electricity is still down. But we still need hulls for our torpedoes. Get to it."
It was difficult trying to work with the lights out. Someone lit candles in an attempt to help out, which it did, but not to the extent necessary. Trying to put the bolts on the torpedo hulls was also made much more difficult now that the drills that would normally be used to do it had no power, and progress had to be made by turning the bolts by wrenches. Even the strength earth ponies naturally had couldn't compete with machines.
Finally, with night fast approaching a whistle - a mouth whistle - was sounded, and work stopped for the day.
Orange trotted toward the exit. On the way, he saw Overtime again, arguing with three other ponies.
"I'm aware it's not a perfect situation; blame it on Beaky. The Gov has been pushing all industries to increase production."
"And how are we supposed to care for our families at home if we're overworked?" One of the workers, a brown earth pony stallion, objected.
"How will you care for your family when griffons soldiers with guns force you out of your job at gunpoint and some Wingbardian colonist steals your job instead? You get good wages here, and we've been increasing your pay along with the hours. I know you're working your withers off, but I'm not the company CEO, and I'm not Jet Set either."
"We know that," a pink pegasus mare replied. "But how do we do our jobs in darkness and without electricity?"
"The repair crews are working as hard as they can to fix the power plant. But ponies aren't gods; it's not 'stomp your hooves and then the power instantly comes back online.' That's not even how magic works. We'll get power back when the plant is fixed. No use crying about it."
"What about the quality?" a green pegasus stallion asked. "If these torps come apart when the navy uses 'em..."
"We'll keep the torp hulls we've made off to one side and use drills to tighten the bolts when the power's back. Any other complaints? No? Good. Now go home."
Orange came up alongside Overtime. "What was that about?"
"Not that its any of your business, but Jet Set and Congress want us increasing productivity. We need more of everything."
"Is it that bad on the front line?" Orange asked.
Overtime looked to the left, then to the right, then said, in a whisper, "Manesburg and Hoovesplain have fallen, and the enemy are closing in on New Hoofington and Applelaide."
"That's about a quarter of the country!" Orange whispered back in dismay.
"I know, and it explains why the Gov is pushing us so hard. All war industries are being pushed harder and harder. We need all hooves on deck and all the rifles, shells, torps, artillery, and planes we can muster if we're going to have any hope of stopping Wingbardy."
"If Celestia would get off her throne and do something-"
"But she won't. Not for the foreseeable future. From all accounts she has reason not to; the changelings are preparing to invade Equestria, and like us they'll need everypony they have to stop them."
"Always changelings, changelings, changelings," Orange complained in a normal voice.
"You don't know what it's like over there. Now, do I have to carry you out, or...?"
"I'll go," Orange replied reluctantly.
"Good boy. I pray you and the others get through the night. Stay safe."
"You too, boss."
Orange trotted to the bus stop just outside the factory. Other workers were gathering there, too.
"At least we got some of them," one was saying, pointing his hoof at a wreckage of a bomber. The plane had come down such that it's wings had clipped both side of the street and detached, with the main body of the aircraft coming to a stop in the street itself, it's nose up against a building.
"Not nearly enough," another said. "If only they could get 'em all, we wouldn't have this nonsense."
"Would be better yet if Beaky stayed in his own land and minded his own business. Infernal griffons deserve everything our boys are giving them."
"Wingbardian filth," yet another worker said, chiming in. "Hope we burn Karthin to the ground with our bombers."
"Don't have enough to spare for that," said still another worker sadly. "All we can do is hold and pray for a miracle."
"If only Rainbow Hair would actually send her entire army here instead of getting fat on cake..."
A murmur of discontent went around, with Orange giving a dissatisfied grunt.
"Wish we'd voted for Patriation. Couldn't be doing any worse off without Sunny than with her."
"Didn't even help us in the Great Depression," a mare added. "Just sat back blamin' us fer it all. Where's that 'Harmony' 'an 'friendship' now?"
"I don't blame Harmony, or friendship," one of the others said. "They're both good things. Problem is, Equestria's forgotten it, at least when it comes to us."
"Hypocrites."
A mild breeze blew; a piece of paper suddenly blew into the group. An orange-yellow pegasus grabbed it with her wing.
"Propaganda," she said, tossing it. "Musta been tossed out of one of their bombers."
Another pony caught it. "Most of it is in Herzlander and Wingbardian," he said. "There's a small bit in our lingo."
"What's it say?" someone else asked.
"Ahem. 'Ponies of the Colony! You have been abandoned by Equestria and are fighting for your lives in land that rightly belongs to us, the griffon people. Your cities are being destroyed, and your armies decimated. Why do you resist the rightful reclamation of land that belongs to us, when our soldiers fight with fire in their bellies for a righteous cause and you fight for nothing? Your labors are in vain and only add to the punishment of the false state calling itself New Mareland. If you and the incompetent fools calling themselves your government will surrender now, Wingbardy shall have mercy upon you, and you will be allowed to live in this land alongside its rightful inheritors. Continue your doomed resistance, and we shall do everything in our power to drive you from our shores and take the property you've stolen from griffonkind and return it to them. You will be left penniless and homeless on the streets, or in rags and likewise penniless on the ships that will take you back to Equestria where you belong. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.'"
"Give me that!" The pegasus mare said, grabbing it with her wings and tearing it up. "This is our land, our country, and we'll defend it with our lives!"
"They get to Sunset, we'll fight even if all we have are the horseshoes nailed to our hooves, or with bare hooves if we have to!" another worker shouted.
"Down with Wingbardy!"
"Down with Wingbardy!"
"Down with Wingbardy!"
"Down with Wingbardy!" Orange shouted, as furious as the others.
A few police ponies trotted to a position near where the small crowd was shouting. They said nothing, but it was clear they were worried about a potential riot. Seeing the police, the shouting began to subside, though a couple of ponies continued shouting.
Just then, the bus finally drove up to the stop. The doors opened, and the workers climbed onboard, dropping exact change into the slot before choosing their seats. Orange sat down in the middle, and the bus driver closed the door and drove off.
The bus, having dodged numerous bomb craters in the road and taking much longer than usual, finally arrived at Orange Soda's stop. He walked off the bus and trotted down the street, looking anxiously at the damage. His neighborhood was much farther east than the factory, and therefore the bombs would have fallen here first. He had tried to push the thought of it away for most of the day - bombers had come over before and not hit - but it hadn't been easy.
Another bomber lay crashed in the streets. Again, this one had serious graffiti on it; foul words and anti-Wingbardy slogans (and some slogans that were anti-griffon in general) had been chalked all over it. A number of foals were playing on the wreckage, although several concerned parents were trying to stop them from doing so. A few curious foals were even looking inside the craft, but were shooed away by parents each time.
Eventually, he came to his own house. His anxiety went through the roof as he saw part of the upper room destroyed, and he galloped to the door.
"Honey?" he cried out, knocking. "I'm home!"
A set of hooves could be heard trotting to the door, which was opened by a white unicorn with a red mane; his wife, Rosebud. "Oh, dear husband," she said, rearing up on her hind legs and hugging him. "I was so worried."
"I'm worried now," he replied, giving her a kiss as she got back down on all fours. "Are Licorice and Timber alright? What happened to the upstairs?"
"One of the planes dropped a bomb," Rosebud replied. "I think it exploded prematurely, or something else happened, because otherwise I doubt it would have stopped in Timber's room. That room is damaged, obviously, but otherwise, aside from some plates that broke and it being a little drafty in here, we're fine."
"Did you all get to the bomb shelter safely?"
"Yes, we did. Timber went back for his stuffed bear, but he got in several minutes before the bombs started falling. I've grounded him, and he promised never to do that again. What about you?"
"I managed to get to the subway station on Starlight. Must have been hundreds of ponies hiding there. But those bombers knocked out the power for the city, and we were stuck in the dark for two whole hours while cops tried to lead us out."
Rosebud sighed. "I'm relieved. I heard that there was full-blown panic at Leafpool Street Station. Nopony official has said anything yet, but rumor says that dozens of ponies were trampled before the police could arrive."
Orange shivered. "That could have happened to us. Praise be that the police were quicker on Starlight."
Suddenly, two foals ran down the stairs, one a bright red unicorn filly, the other a light brown colt. "Daddy! Daddy!" Both of them said, at roughly the same time. Both of them jumped on Orange, who fell over.
"My foals!" he said, laughing. "Licorice, did you remember to do your math in the bunker?"
The filly stiffened. "Of course not, daddy."
"Only because I reminded you," her mother said softly. "And Timber did remember to take his medication on time."
"Daddy, Daddy!" the brown colt said excitedly. "I helped Mommy to clean the bunker!"
"And I," said his sister, not to be outdone, "helped Mommy color a drawing with crayons to decorate the bunker!"
"I'm so proud of both of you," Orange said, still fighting back laughter. "Now, let me up so I can help your mother make dinner."
Dinner wasn't particularly wonderful; carrots, cabbage, and other vegetables were chopped up and put into a pot filled with water boiled on a fire in the small backyard. They were cooked to a healthy degree, then this soup was served to each member of the family, who ate silently around a makeshift table in the backyard as the sun went down.
"Wish we still had butter," Timber finally said.
"And salt," Licorice piped up.
Orange shook his head. "Sorry kids, those things are rationed. Our boys at the front need everything they can get, and most of the factories have shifted to making war stuff. And Wingbardy is doing their best to keep good stuff from Equestria from reaching us."
"Why does war exist, daddy?" Timber asked, turning to face his father.
There was a short silence.
"Well," Orange Soda tried to begin, but stopped. He tried again; "Because sometimes ponies and other species dont get along."
"Why not?" Licorice asked. "It's so much better to be friends."
"Because there are evil beings like Beakolini who just want power, and they don't care what they have to do to get it," Orange said, anger in his face as he thought of the arrogant Wingbardian leader.
"Why do griffons follow him if he's so evil?"
"Because they're jealous of us. Because they think New Mareland is rightly theirs just because they used to own it. Because they're fooled by Beaky. Because Beaky has an army and the police to bully those who don't want him as leader. And because... because..."
"Because what?" Timber asked patiently.
"Because they're too silly and selfish to think for themselves. They like living in comfort, so they ignore the hurt the war is doing to others. Like us."
Rosebud shot her husband a look. Orange sighed.
She's so loving, forgiving and kind. It's why I married her. But I can't help but be angry at these... people, who are so willing to ruin all our lives for the sake of one bird's ambitions.
"That's enough questions, children," Rosebud said gently. "I see you've both finished your soup, so I want you to get your things ready in the bunker, anything you might need."
Both foals raced off into the house quickly.
"I really hope the bomber pilots take a break tonight," Orange said, sighing loudly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"I doubt it, my love," Rosebud answered, rubbing her head against his. "I've been watching the clock when the air raid sirens start. I think they should be-"
A very familiar wailing sound broke out as she was speaking.
"... coming just about now. Kids! Hurry!"
Orange rushed to the kitchen, picking up his saddlebags and putting in a flashlight, a battery-powered radio, and a small box of basic medical supplies before running to the refrigerator. He stuffed in bags full of vegetables, several bottles of water, and a few other items before shutting the door and heading outside.
By then, the foals were already running to the shelter door. The makeshift bunker had several layers of scrap metal on top of it, beneath which was a large mound of earth that was all held up by wooden beams within the shelter itself. Already the guns surrounding the city were firing; puffs of black smoke arose in a sky still lit by a setting sun.
"Come on!" Rosebud yelled, waving a hoof at him to hurry.
Orange lost no time; he ducked into the bunker, shut and locked the door, then took the saddlebags off his back and sighed.
Rosebud lit a vanilla-scented candle. "Come on, kids, I have some coloring books and crayons for you to play with."
"Yay!"
Both foals quickly got busy drawing. Orange sighed again; he remembered being young, growing up in a peaceful neighborhood. he felt frustrated that his children couldn't have at least that same serene upbringing.
The roar of anti-aircraft artillery could already be heard. The explosions outside were those of flak shells bursting in midair.
"Hope they do better than earlier today," Orange whispered ruefully. "I only saw three bombers downed."
It was now Rosebud's turn to sigh. "My love-"
"I know, I know, we're supposed to forgive them. But how do you forgive murderers who slaughter us by the hundreds and don't care?"
"It's hard, I know, and yes, we are right to fight back. I wish we would remember harmony while doing it, though."
"If only they adopted harmony and friendship, we wouldn't be at war now."
"You can't beat hatred with hatred. It leads to more hatred, and the cycle never ends."
Orange let out a large puff of air through his nostrils. "Let's just try to survive this, okay?"
"...Okay."
Orange went over to the radio and turned it on.
"-burg and Hoovesplain are scenes of heavy fighting," the radio broadcaster was saying. "Fierce fighting is currently taking place in the central plains of New Mareland as a great tank battle takes place around the villages of Appleworth and Broomswept. Casualties are believed to be heavy on both sides, although the Wingbardian invaders, striking at entrenched defenses and ambushed in several locations, seem from a distance to be taking the worst of the losses."
A loud BOOM sounded overhead. Orange and the others stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if willing the roof to stay up would make it do so.
"Chief of Staff Marshal Steadfast has reassured the public that Hoovesplain and Manesburg have not fallen, although fighting has been confirmed as taking place within both cities. Enemy air strikes on our cities continue, with a massive blackout across Sunset as enemy bombs knocked out both the New Mareland Electric and the Sunset Incorporated plants. A branch university of the Institute of Technology was also hit, and a dockyard owned by Sturdy Sails and Company sustained extensive damage. A Littlehoof Small Arms factory was virtually destroyed, enemy bombers focusing their fire on it. Several neighborhoods surrounding the factory suffered severe damage, with many citizens homeless or trapped in the houses. Even now, brave firefighters and policeponies are trying to rescue the injured and incarcerated."
Orange sighed yet again.
"However, the enemy sustained numerous losses of their own. The air force confirmed that it succeeded in intercepting part of the bomber attack, with four bombers shot down before reaching the city, with nine enemy fighters confirmed down, in exchange for four of our gallant pilots. Over the city itself, nine more bombers were destroyed, with many more smoking as they withdrew. With any good fortune, these bombers will fail to make it back to base."
"Good. Fewer bombers equal less bombs," Orange replied.
"The enemy continues his invasion, determined to bring New Mareland into an empire that we do not wish to join, that will defraud us of our lives, liberty, and property, a supremacist nation that would treat us as second class citizens in our own country, a country built by pony hooves ever since the initial colonization. We have built this country from the bottom up, and we will not give in to a dictator who cares nothing for his own people. New Mareland will fight on, and we shall go on to win."
"Would be easier if Princess Sunny would do something," Orange muttered.
As if in response, the broadcaster continued, "In addition, Princess Celestia issued a statement praising the courage of New Mareland's forces and promising to provide a new aerial flotilla of one hundred fighter planes and their pilots, fifty medium-sized bombers, and a heavily increased supply of arms, munitions, and medical supplies to support our brave soldiers, along with five whole divisions and their equipment."
"That's not enough!" Orange said angrily, stomping a steed-shod hoof on the floor and barely stopping himself from shouting. "We need the entire Equestrian army here, right now!"
"Admiral Depth Charged has vowed to eliminate the submarine threat to our supply lines permanently, as new destroyer hulls with increased anti-submarine capabilities are even now under construction in our drydocks. Furthermore, Commander Wild Fire has announced an increased focus on submarine hunting from the air."
"That'll be good news," Rosebud said quietly. "At least convoys will be able to get through."
"But it takes months to build a single destroyer. We need these weapons right now. I notice he just breezed by the fact that Celestia is doing the bare minimum to help us."
"Maybe they really can't spare those soldiers."
"Even if that's true, it does us no good. And then if war breaks out with these changelings, she'll be demanding our divisions go and die for her."
"That's what friends and allies do."
"If so, she need to hit the books on that really hard."
Just then, the rumbling of bombs began again; distantly at the moment, but...
"Everypony get down!"
It was a fruitless command, as he would remember later; there was nowhere to go and nowhere to duck under. If that one bomb decided that their shelter was its target, then nothing but divine intervention could save them. Rosebud quickly put out the candle she'd lit and moved it off the table.
The rumbling grew quickly; explosions got closer and closer. As at the subway station, the dust on the ceiling began to fall and blow around. Timber sneezed.
Again, the bombs got closer and closer, as if somehow walking forward, toward the bomb shelter.
Finally, the shaking and explosion rose; unlike in the subway station, there was little to disguise the explosions, the sounds of wood, stone, and brick being destroyed, or the earthquake. Timber and Licorice began screaming. It took almost everything for Orange to keep from screaming with them.
You're the dad, you need to provide an example... That was what he told himself, although it seemed so weak right now, as death could be mere yards away...
It was like being through an earthquake. Everything was shaking. Some of the food and supplies began falling off the shelves they had been put on.
The crescendo again reached it's peak. Orange bit down on the nerveless keratin of his hoof to keep from screaming.
Ow! Blasted horseshoes. And I hate the taste of street dust. It might have been somewhat funny under different circumstances.
As before, it seemed as if the shaking, the deafening sounds, and the rumbling lasted forever. The artificial earthquake went on and on and on and on.
Finally, finally, the effects of the bombardment began to subside as the bombers moved on. Orange lifted himself up slightly and looked around. His family were all still alive, although the bunker was a mess; the shelves, as they almost always did, had fallen over at some point during the attack.
He sighed. They had survived once more. Just that thought alone made him worry.
How much longer can we go on being this fortunate? Eventually, if enough bombs fall...
No. No, he refused to let that thought finish. He shook his head.
God willing, we'll get out of this war alive.
"Are you all alright?"
The rest of his family began getting to their hooves. Rosebud looked around, just as relieved as her husband. "I think we can safely say yes."
"I'm okay, daddy!" Licorice said loudly, smiling as if she had just been through some great adventure.
"I'm more okay!" Timber said, as if in a contest with his sister.
"Are not!"
"Am too!"
"Am not!"
"Am too!"
"Okay, that's enough, kids," Rosebud said, a kind but firm tone to her voice, and the foals immediately stopped arguing.
There was a long wait as the family waited for the air raid sirens to stop wailing. The radio had fallen off the table and the batteries had popped out, so Orange had had to replace them as best as he could before it could be used again. The announcer had moved on from the war and was talking about the economy and local news, so Orange shut it off, feeling that even the radio broadcaster was out of touch, given the bombing raid that had just happened; he didn't feel like listening to the exploits of the criminals Bonnie Blue Flag and Clydesdale Horsecollar.
After another apparent eternity, the wailing of the air raid sirens finally stopped. Cautiously, Orange Soda went to the door of the bunker and opened it.
He breathed a sigh of relief that the house remained intact (choosing to conveniently forget the damage it had sustained earlier). There was a crater in the yard between the bunker and the house, but it wasn't very big; apparently it had been caused one of the enemy's smaller bombs.
"At least we get another night in our house," Rosebud said gratefully. "That's something to be thankful for."
"I'd be more thankful if this war never happened." But Orange wasn't upset so much as relieved. Deep down, he agreed with his wife.
"Aiutami!"
"What was that?"
"Aiuto! Aiutami!"
"Sounds like it's from somewhere in the street," Rosebud said, ears turning towards the house.
Orange went through the house (which seemed fine other than the layer of ceiling dust now on the floor), and went out into the street.
"What the...?"
An enemy bomber had crashed in the street. Another cry of, "Aiuto!" came from it.
Orange went forward, not knowing what propelled him to do so.
There was an open door in the side of the plane. Orange hopped through it.
A griffon in a purple flight suit lay propped up against the wall of the bomber, his left rear leg torn wide open and bleeding. He was clearly in pain, as his beak alternated from shouting - presumably for aid- to being tightly clenched shut.
Orange looked around for anyone else. There were two motionless griffons at the controls of the bomber; judging by their limp, tilted bodies, they had been killed when the bomber crashed. That was quickly confirmed by the blood dripping from the two seats the pilots were sitting on.
The griffon finally opened his eyes and noticed Orange. His eyes went wide, and he ceased calling for help.
The two stared at each other. Neither being seemed to know what to do.
"Per favore..., the griffon finally whispered, in a pained voice.
All of a sudden many emotions filled Orange Soda, battling as fiercely within him as the soldiers on the front lines of the conflict.
The strongest of them was anger. Rage suddenly surged within him, and he reared up to stomp on the griffon.
"No, No! Per favore, ti prego, nel nome della Trinità...!" the griffon yelled, putting up his front claws to shield himself.
Time seemed to slow down for the next few seconds. As if by instinct, Orange's eyes went to those of the griffon.
Fear. Fear of death. Fear of the enemy before him. That was what Orange saw. The same fear he had at the subway station, and the same fear he'd had just now in the bunker.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife alongside him, her mouth motionless, her eyes pleading.
Orange got back down on all fours. Time seemed to revert to normal.
"Oh, grazie, grazie, grazie!" the griffons said, calming down.
"Save your breath," Orange said, the anger resurging for half a second. He turned to regard his wife. Upon seeing her face, the anger subsided, though still rolling around somewhere beneath the surface. "I didn't do it for you," he said half-heartedly to the enemy bomber crewgriffon.
Grunting in pain, the griffon pointed to a box on the wall of the bomber that had a red cross on it. Orange went over to it; in side were bandages and a syringe filled with some sort of liquid. He took out the bandages, went to the griffon, and began to wrap the leg of the enemy soldier, who again grunted in pain but remained in place.
"Grazie," the pilot said, relief on his face. "Forse voi pony non siete poi così male. Che la Trinità ti benedica."
A police siren sounded from somewhere nearby. Orange and Rosebud both quickly got out of the bunker and back into their house, where Licorice and Timber were both in the living room, sitting around a candle that Rosebud must have lit before following her husband.
Orange went to the window. A military police truck had arrived; a group of MPs entered the bomber. A moment later, the officers came out, carefully carrying the griffon between them. The enemy soldier was conscious, and was trying to remain upright as the officers tried to keep him off his injured leg; another officer was calling for an ambulance on the radio.
"You know, I'm proud of you for not doing what you were going to do," Rosebud whispered, having stood alongside him as the officers went about their work.
"I couldn't do it," he replied, also in a whisper. "Not when he was as scared as we were in the bunker. Not with you begging me not to."
She kissed him on the muzzle. Suddenly, despite the smoke, the sound of police and ambulance sirens, and an uncertain future, the setting sun seemed especially beautiful.
"Come on," Rosebud said gently. "I'll see if we have any tomatoes left for a sandwich."
The two went back into the kitchen, a life still ahead of them and their family.
Author's Note
I used google translate for the Italian; apologies for any imperfections.
Thank you for taking the time to read this story. May Christ save and bless you all.
