Beep
Beep
Beep
The cockpit hummed with a symphony of sounds—the steady beeping of the radar warning receiver, the high-pitched whine of the turbine engine, and the rhythmic rise and fall of her own breath. Capitaine Sophie Voliere couldn’t ignore them if she tried. Her eyes fluttered as the regular tones seemed to lull her into a trance, like a lullaby that threatened to pull her into a deep sleep. Just when she was about to succumb, her eyes snapped open, fueled by a sudden jolt of adrenaline and sheer willpower. No dozing off at 23,000 feet, not today.
Her gaze flicked over her instruments: airspeed—403 knots; heading—054; altitude—23,231 feet. Everything checked out. Her flight leader was still up ahead and to her left, with the rest of the squadron maintaining tight formation. Good. No alarms, no chaos, just… smooth flying, but she didn’t want to get too comfortable, she needed to stay alert.
She silently thanked the brilliant mind behind the new autopilot system. A few quick taps later, a series of beeps confirmed she was back in manual control. She craned her neck, surveying her aircraft—a sleek, delta-wing masterpiece cutting through the tropical skies like a razor. This F-16D was the result of a special research collaboration between the Hippogriffian Gunmare and the Equestrian Innovitrot Polysciences Corporation.
Her gaze flicked to the large fuel tanks and missiles hanging under her wings, a surge of anticipation coursing through her. New hardware, courtesy of Innovitrot Polysciences, featuring active radar guidance and the capability to engage targets beyond visual range. Impressive.
If she squinted, she could just make out the Innovitrot logo on the wingtips. The company rep’s words echoed in her mind, hyping up the new missiles like they were about to change the world of aerial combat. Yeah, maybe. If they could send a creature to space and plan a moon mission, Sophie figured they had some credibility.
Her eyes drifted over the aircraft’s dark sea gray wings, catching the flash of the red and white roundel with the blue turtle—a proud symbol of the Meridiennes, born from the legacy of the Equestrians but with their own flair. The crackle of static broke her from her reverie, pulling her back to reality.
“Princess, you still with us?” The gruff Aquilian voice of her flight leader crackled over the VHF radio.
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Princess.’ She didn’t hate it, but it felt like a hand-me-down nickname, something she’d inherited rather than earned. Her father’s legacy as a distinguished Admiral in both the Aquileian and Meridienne Navies, along with whispers of her connection to Vivienne Discret, had followed her to the Joint Air Academy in Aris and stuck like glue.
“Roger, Flight Lead,” Sophie replied, her voice steady.
“Just running a control check” with a flick of a switch, Sophie reengaged the autopilot, and let herself relax a bit, her eyes still scanning her wingmates.
“Stay sharp,” her flight leader added, like he could sense her easing off.
Sophie bit back a groan. How did he always know when she was getting distracted? “Yes, Flight,” she responded, a touch more curtly than she intended.
“Yeah, I heard those mercs might be in the area,” chimed in Jester, one of her squadmates, with his usual flair for dramatics. “But I doubt they can match—”
The radio crackled again, cutting him off with their commander’s no-nonsense tone. “Keep radio discipline and stay alert. We’ve got reports of ships in the vicinity.”
"Roger," both Sophie and Jester echoed, banking away from each other as they loosened the formation to widen their search.
Sophie scanned the water below, her thoughts drifting despite herself. She couldn’t believe the Griffonia Crisis was still dragging on. She was a young flight cadet when it began and here she was flying combat missions and it seemed to only get worse. It felt surreal, even though she knew her own country, the Meridiennes, had faced its own upheaval before she was born. That crisis had led to a new government and their alliance with the Harmonist powers of Equestria and Aris. Then in 1038, the Griffonian Republic faced its own storm after nationalist parties swept through Aquileia, Wingbardy, Francistria, and Verenia. The election triggered a brutal conflict that shattered the Republic within a year. Sophie had read about it, the covert support from Riverlands communists and Arabian nationalists fueling the flames against the Federal Government in Griffenheim. Now, the remnants of the Republic clung to life in the north, shielded by the Canterlot-Arisian Pact, struggling against nationalist militias armed by the Arabians. This was why they were here—to stop those weapon shipments. Reminding herself of her mission kept her focused.
A burst of static and her commanding officer’s voice cut through her reverie. “Princess, pay attention,” he snapped.
“Apologies, sir, repeat your last message,” she responded quickly, snapping back to the present as she scanned the skies and then the ocean below.
“Reports of ships at your 9 o’clock. Do you see anything?” he repeated.
Sophie cursed herself for drifting off and squinted towards her 9 o’clock. The deep blue ocean stretched endlessly, but then—there! The telltale wakes of a large ship, and two more following in its shadow.
“Captain, two ships spotted,” she reported, mentally gauging the distance. A quick glance at her map confirmed her suspicion. “Approximately 15 nautical miles out.”
“I’ve got eyes on them too, Captain,” Jester chimed in.
The captain’s plane rolled towards the ships. “Roger that. I’ve informed the Equestrians. They’ve got a flight inbound, ETA 40 minutes. We’re to orbit the ships and report their movements,” he ordered.
The trio of fighters sped towards the cargo ships, settling into a holding pattern above them.
Twenty minutes later, Sophie and her squadron were still circling. She stared down at the slow-moving vessels below. These were the targets, and now all they had to do was wait for the naval forces to arrive, search them, and possibly detain them.
Her mind began to wander again, thoughts of returning to base, grabbing some food, and getting some much-needed sleep creeping in. She didn’t notice the contrails streaking towards them from above.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The radar warning receiver screamed to life, a bright red light flashing furiously.
"LAUNCH LAUNCH LAUNCH," the robotic voice blared. The computer had detected tracking radar and the unmistakable signature of a missile launch. The griffon's head quickly began to shot back and forth scanning the skies. Her legs pressed into the sides of the cockpit. A few moments later she saw a pair of contrails from the left.
“Merde!” Sophie spat, slamming the throttle to full burner with her left claw as she yanked the stick up and hard to the right. In an instant, a blinding flash of white streaked over her canopy, followed by a bone-rattling explosion. Her body jolted violently as she pulled the stick back even harder, the G-forces crushing her into her seat. The edges of her vision darkened—everything started to fade.
Then, like a drowning soul breaking the surface, light burst back into her world. She was conscious again. Her head snapped around, scanning her instruments in a blur of instinct. No fires, no major warnings. Her eyes darted back to check her six. Scorch marks, but her plane was intact. But which way was up? Was she spinning? Diving? Climbing? Panic clawed at her mind as she found herself lost in a swirling cloud. The disorientation was maddening, and her grip tightened on the stick, moving it frantically in different directions, desperate to regain control. Lights flashed, her radar filled with contacts, more missile launches... It was all too much.
Her gaze locked onto her instruments, her training kicking in. Trust the instruments, Sophie. Her altimeter screamed that she was plunging toward the ocean, airspeed climbing to deadly levels. She eased the stick back, cutting power slightly. Slowly, the horizon steadied—her plane leveled out. Relief washed over her. She was still in the fight. But what about the others? Her RWR showed no radar locks, but there were two contacts, high and at her three o'clock.
Her head darted frantically from side to side. Where was her squadron? She wriggled in her restraints, the cockpit suddenly feeling oppressively small. Finally, her claw landed on the VHF radio transmit button, and she jabbed it. "Giselda-1-1, report... this is Giselda-1-2... Giselda flight?" Her voice trembled, anxiety seeping in as silence filled her headset. "Giselda..."
Finally, a crackle broke through, followed by a voice. “Princess, Giselda-1-1 is down. I saw a chute.”
Sophie exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Jester’s voice was like a lifeline. At least he and their flight leader were still alive. “Gods above, it’s so good to hear your voice, Giselda-1—Jester,” she breathed out, relief flooding her tone. “My bird’s holding together. I see two bandits, bearing 154, about 15 nautical miles,” she relayed, eyes darting between the RWR and radar.
“My bird’s been hit, or at least the electronics are shot,” Jester said, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I’ll keep her flying as long as I can, but I can’t promise how long.”
Sophie’s momentary relief vanished, replaced by a rising tide of panic. The Captain was out, Jester was out, and now it was just her. She could barely believe she was alone in this. “Uh, I’ve got the restart checklist here…”
“Princess, you’ve got this,” Jester said, his voice laced with determination. “I’ll draw their fire. My plane’s puffing smoke like a Puerto Caballos cigar. I’ll grab their attention, and then I’ll eject.”
Sophie watched as Jester’s plane executed a swift roll to the right, climbing toward the enemy. She wanted to shout at him to eject now, to save himself, but her words caught in her throat. He was a seasoned pilot; she had to trust he knew what he was doing. She hoped her commander was safe.
Diving into the cover of clouds, Sophie took a moment to prepare her weapons and systems. Her fingers flew over the controls, flipping switches and pressing buttons. “Air-to-air mode… master arm… on… missiles,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the weapons mounted on her wings.
Her gaze then fell to the map on her kneeboard, marking the last known position of the Equestrian reinforcements—another 5 to 10 minutes away. She had to hold on until they arrived.
With a quick glance at her radar, she pulled back on the stick, feeling the jet accelerate and climb. In the distance, she saw her remaining winggriff’s plane plummeting, pursued by contrails that hinted at incoming missiles.
“I’m out, Princess. Give ‘em hell,” Jester’s voice crackled over the radio. Sophie watched a faint flash as the griffon ejected, her heart sinking in relief when she saw the parachute deploy.
“Time to focus,” she murmured to herself. Adjusting a small stick on her throttle, she locked onto one of the bandits. Her HUD outlined the target, and with a decisive press, she fired. “Fox-3,” she announced as the missile shot from her port wing. Almost immediately, she locked onto a second bandit. “Fox-3,” she declared again, sending another missile streaking towards her foes. With a sharp twist of her stick, she rolled the jet, watching as her missiles streaked toward their targets
BEEP BEEP BEEP
A red light began flashing on her RWR panel, and Sophie knew that only one of the two bandits could be targeting her. The urgent voice of the RWR crackled through her headset, shouting, "LAUNCH LAUNCH!" She caught the glint of an incoming missile, streaking towards her. Instinctively, she punched out flares and chaff from the rear of her craft, her eyes darting as she executed a sharp turn away from the threat.
As the launch warning disappeared from her display, Sophie peered through her cockpit, trying to locate the remaining targets. In the distance, slightly below, a flash of black smoke marked the demise of one bandit. “Splash one bandit,” she announced over the radio, her gaze flicking back to her RWR. It showed only one target, but it was dark. Did she take it out too? She pulled up and swiveled her head, scanning for confirmation.
Her plane leveled off, and she let herself sink back into her seat, feeling as though she'd just finished a grueling ten-hour canoe race. She let out a deep breath, she was in the clear it seems. She sat back in her seat slightly.
A brief glint in her cockpit mirrors caught her eye. Suddenly, everything changed in an instant: a dark flash streaked overhead, and her plane began to spin uncontrollably. Her warning panel blazed with alerts, indicating a fuel leak from the left wing tank. As the plane rolled left, her paws scrambled over the rudder pedals.
“Buck, buck, buck,” she grunted, wrestling with the controls. “I am so sorry… I bucked it all up,” she chided herself. If only she hadn't let her guard down. The plane continued its dive toward the water. Time seemed to stretch, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. “No, focus,” she told herself, reopening her eyes.
Determined, she fought to stabilize the roll, and the plane began to level off. A quick inspection revealed a line of bullet holes marring the left wing. “Damn,” she muttered, realizing the bandit had managed a gun run. It was puzzling why the enemy hadn't used a missile instead. Was he playing with her?
Switching to Channel 2, Sophie relayed, “Equestrian Flight, this is Giselda Flight, we’re under attack. One bandit down, one left. Last known heading 271, flight level 21.” She repeated the message and scanned her RWR, which was giving false returns.
Sophie’s eyes flicked to her RWR, it was blank and her radar was flickering with false returns. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind. She could eject now, end this nightmare in one desperate pull of the handle. Or maybe she could dive back into the clouds, hide, and hope the Equestrians arrived in time. But would they? Could she outlast the relentless predator toying with her?
Her talon hovered over the ejection handle, every fiber of her being screaming to yank it and escape. But she hesitated. It was as if time had frozen, the world around her in stasis. No. She couldn't just give up. Not now. Not after all the taunts that she’d only earned her wings because of her father’s influence. She had to prove them wrong.
She took a deep breath, calming herself. Her radar might be useless, but her eyes—those sharp griffon eyes—were still keen. She nudged her aircraft up, breaching the cloud cover to scan the vast expanse of blue above her. There—a dark speck, far to her left and above. Her heart pounded as she rolled her aircraft and climbed, locking her gaze on the distant dot.
Switching to heat-seekers, Sophie felt a surge of adrenaline as the dot morphed into the unmistakable shape of her remaining foe. A shrill tone screamed in her ears—she had a lock. But she didn’t fire. Not yet. She waited, feeling the tension coil within her, until she was sure. Then, with a swift flick, she uncaged the missile and watched it leap from her wing.
Sophie threw her craft into a hard right bank, her vision dimming as the G-forces crushed her into the seat. The plane rattled, groaning under the strain. And then, silence. She leveled off, her breath ragged, her pulse hammering in her ears. For a moment, everything felt eerily still. Was this the afterlife? Had she crossed over without realizing?
Her radio crackled to life, shattering the illusion. “Giselda Flight, this is Harmony Flight. Two bandits down. Great flying out there.”
Relief flooded through Sophie, her body sagging with exhaustion. “I’ve never been so happy to hear an Equestrian,” she managed, her voice shaky as her adrenaline rush winded down. But then her thoughts shifted to her comrades. “The rest of my flight had to eject.”
“Roger that,” came the calm reply. “We’ve got naval units in the area. We’ll pick them up.”
Sophie’s eyes followed the Equestrian jets as they streaked overhead, their sleek forms cutting through the sky. “Thanks. I’m hit and need to RTB.”
“How bad is it?” another voice asked, concern laced the words.
“Fuel leak and left wing damage,” she replied, glancing at the ragged metal on her left. An Equestrian jet pulled up beside her, a comforting presence on her wing. “Radar’s out, and half my electronics are fried,” she added, the array of lights reminded her of a Hearth’s Warming tree.
“Copy that. We’ll escort you to our base—it’s closer than the Meridiennes,” one of the Equestrian pilots stated.
Sophie nodded, though they couldn’t see it. “Alright, I’m with you,” she said, engaging her autopilot. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her weary as the day wound down, the sun dipping toward the horizon.
