0955 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Southern Discovery Coast near Eldoran
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

It was a quiet morning or rather, night—since the Griffonian continent had been shrouded in darkness for nearly three weeks. The stormy and rough seas made matters worse.

Waves crashed and battered against the armoured hull of the aircraft carrier, producing a resounding metallic screech with each impact. The aircraft carrier had been shoddily constructed from the hull of an armoured cruiser by installing a three hundred meter long aluminium deck and a protruding bridge on its right.

Conditions aboard the ship were grim. The deck was riddled with hastily patched holes covered by planks, while the medical wing housed over a dozen injured crewponies, many of them still bleeding due to a critical shortage of medical supplies aboard the ship.

And those supplies weren’t coming anytime soon, thanks to Changeling hunter-killer submarines patrolling the Discovery Coast. Supply ships are stretched thinner and thinner each passing day as more are sunk or damaged.

Despite the dire circumstances, the Marelandian crew clung to their duties, determined to keep the ship running. They were defending their homeland at all costs, even if it meant facing death.

After the Changeling takeover of Equestria, Queen Chrysalis had successfully captured both Princess Celestia and Luna, along with the Element Bearers.

With a little help from Discord, she successfully seized control of the Elements of Harmony and the power of the Alicorns. Giving her the ability to raise and lower both the sun and moon herself, and also preventing the usage of the Elements of Harmony against her forces.

One pony stood silently on the bridge of the aircraft carrier, staring at the intercom and alarm button: Admiral Rain Rider, a grey-furred earth pony with a lime coloured mane. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and his mane and uniform were dishevelled and unkempt after several weeks at sea.

He is tasked with leading Naval Taskforce 'Lunar,' a fleet of twenty-three ships, as well as Taskforce 'Eldor,' an air wing consisting mostly of bombers and older fighter-bomber aircraft stationed on the island of Eldoran. They are the last line of defence in case of Changeling forces infiltration from the South.

Rain Rider was ordered to lead two measly forces to defend the Eldoran-Celestia gap, because his superior, Fleet Admiral Grey Shore had ordered the bulk of the New Mareland navy to defend the north, predicting that the Changelings are going to launch an offensive to land on New Manehattan.

'How wrong he was' Rain Rider thought bitterly. Though he's uncertain due to the blackout in communication, Grey Shore might've been engaged by a larger fleet than him.

“Admiral, I’m detecting... roughly eighty-nine ships, twenty of them large vessels, southwest of our position,” the Radar Operator said, his voice a little too calm for the situation.

He hesitated, glancing back at the radar screen before turning to Rain Rider, looking distinctly more anxious. “I’m seeing three notable ships among them, spread across three taskforces. Their size and structure... seems to match the description and structure of the Changeling's 'Chrysalis Class aircraft carriers' data received from high-command.”

His eyes flicked back to the panel, and this time the panic really set in. His voice cracked as he stammered, “I’m s-seeing one more... another large ship in the fourth fleet. T-the size and structure... it m-matches the data on the rumoured Tirek Class heavy battleship.”

The entire bridge fell into stunned silence. You could practically hear everypony’s thoughts screaming inside their heads even with no sound. Rain Rider didn’t need to ask the obvious—he could see it all over their faces. They were panicking from the news silently.

“Alright, ponies, calm down. Let’s think this through critically,” Rain Rider said taking the initiative to calm his crew ponies down, trying to inject some steadiness into his voice. Though, the crew was still visibly rattled, his words seemed to offer a small sense of relief. They trusted him with their lives, even when the odds looked grim.

But inside, Rain Rider was panicking just as much as them. 'Three Changeling carriers and a Tirek Class battleship?!' He nervously cleared his throat, realizing there was absolutely no way he could win this with what he had. His fleet had only twenty three ships.

Three of them are large ships, including the aircraft carrier he was on and two armored cruisers. He also has zero armor-piercing bombs because they were sunk by Changeling submarines and aircrafts a week back.

His air support wasn’t much better. He only had twenty P4R-4C carrier-borne fighter-bombers (basically the F4U-4 Corsairs) and forty older P3SB light fighters (Similar to F4F-2 Wildcats).

Meanwhile, Chrysalis Class carriers were rumored to carry about 80 planes each. Doing the math—that’s two-hundred and forty planes they’d be up against. 'Not great' Rain Rider said in his thought.

Even with the support of the Eldoran Naval Airbase garrison which is around thirty S-10 Medium naval bombers (Resembles U.S A-20C 'Havoc' Medium bombers, but with an extra tail-turret) and forty P3SB, he is still outnumbered two to one. And still, the bombers at Eldoran do not have armor-piercing bombs.

Rain Rider took a deep breath before turning to face his crew. “I’m sounding the alarm. Radio pony, Chase?”

The communications operator spun around in his swivel seat to meet the admiral's gaze.

“Alert the rest of the fleet and the airbase in Eldoran about the approaching Changeling fleet. Tell them to prepare to scramble. Send a message to Fleet Admiral Grey shore about the Changeling fleets, thanks.”

Chase nodded sharply, turning back to his station.

Rain Rider made up his mind. If this was their inevitable end, they would go down fighting like Tartarus itself. Besides, he knew the higher-ups and government back home would spin this into some noble tale to inspire the ponies back home.

“Here goes nothing...” he muttered, pressing the alarm button. Instantly, the intercom blared to life, an air raid siren piercing the air and rousing the idling aviators and crew from their rest out of the blue.

“General quarters! General quarters! All hooves to your battle stations!” Rain Rider howled into the intercom.

The once quiet and still deck exploded into a frenzy of movement. Aviators and crewponies rushed to their stations, preparing for battle. To an outsider, it might look like utter chaos; to Rain Rider, it was a kind of harmony—the machine of war spinning into motion.

1005 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Briefing Room, Lower Bridge.
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

Within ten minutes, several P4R-4C fighter-bombers from the 1st Airwing, 'Bataan', were lined up on the carrier's deck, each loaded with two 200 kg bombs. The 2nd Airwing, 'Midway', waited in line behind them, ready for their turn to launch.

Rain Rider watched silently as the crewponies worked quickly and tirelessly, preparing the planes for takeoff. The tension in the air was palpable, though he said nothing. His thoughts were interrupted when the briefing room door squeaked open behind him, making him flinch ever so slightly.

He took a deep breath before turning to face the aviators. He didn’t want to—he knew too well the burden of sending ponies to their deaths, even though he wasn't trying to do that this time, it was still very risky.

Several pegasi, unicorns, and earth pony aviators entered the room quietly, taking their seats in silence. Determination was etched into their faces, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of anxiety creeping into the room. Some of the aviators fiddled with their pony-tags, trying to distract themselves.

“Ponies, at attention!” Rain Rider barked. The aviators immediately stood from their chairs.

“From the back-left, count off left to right!”

The aviators followed his orders promptly, each calling out their number in turn. By the end, the total came to 48.

“Senior Aviator Swift Buster,” Rain Rider called, fixing a stern gaze on the dark-green furred, olive maned earth pony in charge. “Why are we missing twelve aviators?”

Swift Buster stood at attention, his face weary. “Admiral, they’re still in the infirmary from last week’s supply ship attack. The doc's are doing their best to keep them alive as we speak.”

Curse you Chrysalis.., Rain Rider cursed under his breath. Now he was down to just one-hundred eighteen planes. He had used the past ten minutes to gather his thoughts and form a plan—one that didn’t involve fighting to the death.

That would have been a waste and idiotic of him.

Instead, Rain Rider had decided to use his air power to strike the Changeling fleet, hoping to slow them down enough for Naval Taskforce 'Lunar' to retreat safely to Sunset or regroup with Fleet Admiral Grey Shore’s fleets in the north. He had even ordered the airwing at Eldoran to fall back to Sunset after the attack.

But now, with fewer aircraft, the chances of delivering a significant blow to the Changeling fleet—and ensuring his own task force’s escape—is greatly reduced. Still, he had no choice but to move forward with the assault.

"Alright, take a seat," Rain Rider commanded, his voice carrying a sharp edge as the aviators quickly sat down. He paused, surveying the room for a moment before turning back to face them.

“Gentlecolts, this is how it’s going to go. In about…”

The aviators focused intently to every detail of the briefing as the minutes ticked by.

1007 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
South of Eldoran
Taskforce 'Eldor', 22nd Bomber Airwing, 6th Bomber 'Firestorm'

Eric Attis, is a brownish-cream colored unicorn pony with a black mane, he is also an senior aviator pony with the rank of 'Captain'. He had always stood out amongst his peers. Adopted by griffon parents after being abandoned at birth, his upbringing was anything but typical for a pony.

Raised like a griffon, he was given a griffon name and developed their bold, blunt demeanour whilst being raised. While his friends and peers found him odd, his military superiors saw him as a valuable asset.

He didn't mince words or beat around the bush like most ponies would. Always deliver critical updates from the battlefield, whether it was news of failure or success. This straightforwardness and also natural skill in commanding made him propel him up the ranks.

Now, as captain of an S-10 medium naval bomber nicknamed "Firestorm," Eric was leading his twentieth mission since taking on the role in November of 1011 ALB. A single LED lamp dimly illuminated the inside of the aircraft as it flew through the night, the sea beneath them lost in the darkness.

"Spirit—course check," Eric called out to Silver Spirit on the radio, his navigator and best friend. Spirit, an earth pony, had joined the New Mareland Airforce at the same recruitment depot as Eric, and their bond had formed during training. It was pure luck they’d ended up on the same bomber crew.

"We’re on course! Target visible in—give or take, five minutes if these thingamajigs works!" Spirit shouted back, his voice barely cutting through the roar of the bomber’s twin eighteen-cylinder radial Sunset engines, even over radio comms.

"Here we go, gentlecolts," Eric practically yelled into the radio. "Bombardier, prepare on the bomb sight. Gunners, be ready for bogeys. And lastly, don't forget to turn on your Night Opti—Er, Vision device, Best of luck." He steeled himself for the battle ahead, knowing everypony from Taskforce Lunar is counting on them to escape with their lives.

Eric's horn glowed faintish yellow, illuminating the dark cockpit a bit—his Night Vision device was engulfed in the faintish yellow as it is lowered toward his eyes—before the switch on its right side is flicked down by the same telekinesis power, turning the device on.

A flash of bright neon green momentarily blinded him as the device powered up, but it quickly dimmed to a manageable brightness. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the new view. Though his field of vision was now severely limited by the optical device, it was better than seeing nothing but pitch darkness. And for that, he was grateful.

Eric whistled in astonishment as he looked around and outside the aircraft, his surroundings now faintly visible through the eerie green tint. "This is some serious engineering..." he muttered to himself with a grin.

He then relayed their status to the other bombers in the 22nd and 23rd Airwings, as well as to the escorting P3SB squadrons—the 55th and 56th Naval Airwings. As they approached in radio silence, the tension inside the aircraft raised bit by bit as minutes passed, each second dragging on like an eternity.

Suddenly, the S-10 shuddered and rocked violently. The sharp cracks and whiplash of explosions and dull thuds echoed around them as black puffs of smoke filled the air—flak bursts. Eric’s heart pounded, but he trusted the bomber’s armour. Still, a silent prayer escaped his thoughts: Miss us, miss us...

But luck was not on their side. To his right, two S-10 bombers were struck. Flames engulfed their engines, and before long, both aircraft descended in fiery arcs toward the ocean.

Eric could only watch as the first bomber slammed into the sea, erupting in a secondary explosion. The crew—gone in an instant, the water murky with red showing that they are turned into a mush of gore.

The second bomber fared slightly better. As it hit the water, the crew hurriedly managed to escape before their burning craft sank beneath the waves. Eric wished them luck, though there was little time for reflection.

Moments later, a P3SB fighter to the right of his bomber suffered a devastating hit. A flak round flying too close—exploded underneath its left wing, snapping it in half due to the pressure and shrapnel. The stricken aircraft spiralled toward the ocean, its crew likely meeting a grim fate.

Eric grimaced. The brutal reality of war was unfolding all around him, but he had no time to mourn. His focus remained locked on his mission—reaching the Changeling fleet and delivering their payload. There was no turning back even if his instinct is telling him to turn back.

The formation finally broke through the thick cloud layer at about 9,000 meters. Below them lay a sprawling fleet of over one hundred and nine Changeling ships. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck..." Eric muttered under his breath. The intel was wrong—it wasn’t eighty-nine ships—it was one hundred and nine.

As soon as the bombers became visible to the fleet, they were bombarded with a relentless barrage of anti-aircraft fire. The formation rocked and jolted violently, as if they were on a rollercoaster. Eric gripped the controls tightly, doing everything he could to keep the bomber in the air while manoeuvring through the chaos.

Behind him, his crew worked frantically to extinguish a fire that had broken out on the left wing. One of the engineers pony crawled through a narrow maintenance hatch connecting the inside to the wing, fumbling with a fire extinguisher in the cramped, swaying space. The thick stench of smoke filled the cockpit, mixing with the chaos outside.

One by one, more bombers succumbed to the Changeling onslaught. P3SB fighters and S-10 bombers spiralled toward the ocean, their engines ablaze or their wings sheared off by the relentless anti-aircraft fire. Eric watched in horror as two bombers collided mid-air, their wreckage disappearing in a ball of flames.

Amid the smoke, debris and chaos, Eric finally spotted the target: two massive Chrysalis-class carriers, their silhouettes barely visible against the black ocean. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized this was their moment.

"Bomber formations, targets one and two spotted. Adjust course—head ninety-four degrees west!" Eric called into the radio, his voice steady despite the overwhelming odds.

But Eric's luck worsened as he spotted the Changelings scrambling multiple interceptors—specifically the BV-201 fighter-interceptors (think of Do-335 fighters), a recent addition to their growing arsenal, equipped with air-to-air radar to fight during the night, if the intel given to them is correct.

Though, the Changelings probably didn't anticipate that the New Marelanders would be using Night Vision devices, which quickly levelled the playing field, as the P3SB escorts could see the approaching BV-201 before the Changeling pilots inside could figure out which is which.

The P3SB escorts wasted no time responding to the threat, despite being outmatched by the more advanced and powerful BV-201s. The sky erupted into a deadly dance of fire and light as the two forces clashed in a fur ball of tracers. Several bombers and escorts were torn apart, their engines or wings scrapped with holes by the Changeling fighters' powerful autocannons.

However, a few P3SB pilots managed to outmanoeuvre the interceptors. Their aircraft, lighter and more agile, gave them the advantage in tight manoeuvres, allowing them to get the jump on some of the Changeling fighters. Explosions lit up the night as a few BV-201s were shot down in the frenzied dogfight by the quad heavy machineguns mounted in the manoeuvrable fighters.

After receiving Eric's updated coordinates, the bombers swiftly adjusted their formation, engines roaring as they moved into position. Inside Eric's bomber, the bombardier, with sweat dripping from his brow, readied the payload. The bomb bay doors groaned open, with a metallic clank echoing in the cabin.

"six-hundred meters... four hundred meters... two hundred meters..." Spirit muttered under his breath, counting down the distance to the target.

"NOW! DROP, DROP, DROP!" Spirit shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. The bombardier didn't hesitate—he slammed the release button with urgency as if their very survival hinged on that moment.

The bomber jolted upward, relieved of its heavy payload, as the five 250 kg bombs tumbled down toward their targets. What destruction they would cause remained unknown, but there was no time to watch.

Eric quickly banked his bomber to turn around, followed by the remaining aircraft of his battered bomber formation. As they hurried try to escape the Changeling defences quickly, several thunder of explosion are audible as they flew away.

The radio crackled to life, and Eric's heart pounded as he heard his tail-gunner and other bombers reporting in. "One of the carriers... she’s been hit—multiple times!" the excited voice broke through the static of the radio. Relief washed over him for a brief moment, as he raised a hoof skyward in a small, silent celebration of victory.

1025 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Deck of the carrier
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

Swift Buster quickly climbed into his aircraft, using a flimsy wooden stool to reach the cockpit. Once inside, he fiddled with the control stick to test the hydraulics of the vehicle.

After receiving a tap of approval on the right wing of his aircraft from the crew pony nearby, he closed the windscreen, stored his clipboard beside his seat and pressed a switch to pressurize the cabin.

He donned his oxygen mask over his muzzle, tightening it securely before switching on the radio communication and pressing the mic.

"Testing, testing..." Swift said casually into the mic.

"I can hear ya, Chief!" replied Junior Aviator Astral Bronco, another earth pony with a thick accent, from the aircraft third in line behind him.

"What a terrible day to be flying, ain’t I right, Swift?" called out Thunder Charge, a Pegasus and Swift's wingman, who was in the aircraft behind him.

Swift rolled his eyes. “Keep it down, you two. You’re going to need that energy later,” he replied, half-serious. “As for the rest of you, once we’re in the air, form an arrow formation as per the plan. We’ll climb to angels eight. Copy?”

He received several affirmative replies from the aviators in his airwing, including "Ehyup," "Copy that," and "Affirmative."

Swift smirked, his tone lightening just a bit. “Best of luck, gentlecolts. Try not to get turned into mush—I hear that’s fatal.” His grim joke was met with a few chuckles and snorts over the radio. Though, a wrenching feeling came from his gut, a combination of his intuition and experience, he knew most—or all of them—are not going home.

Based on the briefing he heard earlier, the Admiral's plan—though carefully thought out—was undeniably him sacrificing the airwings in order to save the ponies of Task Force Lunar from being sunk beneath the waves, and with the look of guilt on his face, Admiral Rain Hard knew what he was doing.

Swift nervously closes his eyes before taking a deep breath, at least if he's dying to save other ponies, he's at least going to fight like Tartarus whilst doing it.

The signal bearers with glow sticks in front of his massive fighter aircraft quickly signalled his clearance to take off, as the deck was now clear of the crew ponies who had been running about earlier. The deck light which illuminated the deck quickly shuts off, submerging it in complete darkness.

Swift silently activated his Night Vision optics, ordering the rest of his airwing to do the same. With the ocean now illuminated in a green hue, Swift smiled in anticipation.

He also pinned a picture of five aviators below the control instruments—him sitting in the middle of the picture, Thunder to the left of him. All of the other individuals in the photo except the two are crossed out with a red cross. He then refocuses on the task at hoof.

Swift slid his right hoof onto the throttle control and slammed it forward to full power. The aircraft's engine roared to life, spitting fire from the exhaust as it began to propel forward, quickly accelerating on the deck of the carrier.

Soon, the aircraft jumped off the deck, and Swift Buster was rocked violently in his seat, but the belt held him securely in place. His aircraft climbed higher and higher away from the deck of the carrier.

The nine other aviators quickly followed him, forming an arrow formation about five hundred meters over the ocean. They circled around the aircraft carrier, waiting for the 2nd Airwing to take off.

Not long after, the 2nd Airwing 'Midway' joined them, slotting into another arrow formation right behind the 1st Airwing.

The twenty strong P4R-4C aircraft formation began climbing toward eight thousand meters, following their path to strike the Changeling fleets.

Suddenly, the airwings radios crackled to life. The voice of the radio operator aboard the NMRS Celestia came through. “1st and 2nd Airwing, Bomber formation 22nd and 23rd from Eldoran reports mission success. One of the carriers may have been crippled or sunk.”

Cheers erupted from the aviators in both airwings through the radio, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

The news about them facing multiple Changeling taskforces was disheartening at first, but now knowing they have a chance to escape with their lives—it gave them a surge of hope.

But the radio operator quickly tempered their excitement. “Your orders are now to confirm and hit more carriers. If the previous carrier is still afloat, your job is to sink it.”

The newfound sense of confidence among the aviators was palpable. Most of the group were junior aviators due to the seniors being injured in the med bay, fresh-faced and eager for glory. Swift Buster could sense the overconfidence creeping in, a dangerous state of mind in wartime.

He frowned, muttering to himself. These foals are too eager for glory aren't they? Swift grabbed the mic and spoke with authority. “Just a reminder, don’t get too confident—don’t bite off more than you can chew. Heads in the game gentlecolts, how copy?”

Replies of “Ehyup,” “Copy that,” and “Affirmative” echoed back, though Swift could tell they were still buzzing with anticipation.

"Alright, gentlecolts, radio silence until we reach eight-thousand meters," Swift ordered, cutting the radio transmission with a flick of a lever.

The formation began climbing steadily, the hum of engines filling the night air. In the eerie silence of his cockpit, Swift swore he could hear his own heartbeat, louder than the roar of the Riverflight nineteen-cylinder radial engine in front of him.

Half an hour passes.

Soon, the 1st and 2nd Airwings were flying at an altitude of about eight thousand meters above sea level. The clouds blanketed the ocean, reducing their visibility.

"Radio check—radio check—how copy?" Swift said, activating his radio and breaking the silence as the formation moved forward.

"I can hear you loud and clear, over," Senior Aviator Thunder Charge replied, his voice coming through the crisp audio of the radio.

"I'm here, loud and clear," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco followed, chiming in after Thunder Charge.

This was soon followed by other pilots responding with, “All good,” “I’m here,” and “Loud and clear.”

With all the aviators accounted for, Swift quickly pulled out his clipboard. It contained a list of tasks he needed to complete and a map of their route.

"Swift, I see something in the distance—angle one-eighty-seven degrees, directly southwest," Thunder Charge reported over the radio.

Swift quickly shoved his clipboard back into the side of his seat before scanning in the direction Thunder indicated.

Just as Thunder had reported, he also spotted several dozen black dots contrasting against the white—green clouds. More dots soon emerged from the clouds, like stars in a dark night sky.

"Enemy bogeys, I count about two squadrons, they're probably going toward our aircraft carrier—" Swift replied but he cuts off himself before finishing as he saw six of the black dots breaking away from the formation and banked hard right. They are flying directly toward them.

"Tartarus—they spotted us. Prepare for combat," Swift ordered into the radio, banking his aircraft downward.

The 1st Airwing dove into the clouds, attempting to lure the Changeling fighters into pursuit, while the 2nd Airwing cruised above at seven thousand meters in altitude, ready to pounce.

1107 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
??? - BV-201B

Phantom Buzz, a junior Changeling aviator attached to the 4th Interceptor Airwing, piloted a BV-201B equipped with a supercharged nineteen-cylinder engine. He was confident in his machine, believing he could easily outpace the recently reported new Marelandian heavy fighter-bomber.

His formation cruised along the cloud tops, escorting the 2nd and 3rd Fighter-Bomber Airwings to strike the Eldoran airstrip or the reported Carrier taskforce to the northeast, when one of his fellow Changeling aviators reported strange shapes flying at about seven thousand meters in the sky, visible—though not clear—through his natural night vision.

Enemy fighters, Phantom Buzz thought, and he was correct. After his formation redirected their course toward the suspicious shapes to investigate, the air-to-air radar confirmed that they were a formation of around 15 fighters or more.

Radar was a recently adopted technology in the Changeling Empire; initially, it had been dismissed as useless or merely a 'fad' by some of the higher-ups.

Consequently, it wasn’t integrated into the Changeling armed forces until the final four years of the war against the Equestrians. This left them somewhat behind in radar technology.

However, the tech proved useful in the hooves of the Equestrians during air raids, prompting the Changelings to give it a try.

The technology quickly proved itself, leading to the establishment of multiple research bureaus aimed at improving their radar capabilities.

Phantom Buzz grinned in anticipation as his formation of six BV-201Bs spotted about ten enemy fighters diving toward the clouds, perhaps attempting to evade them. By Chrysalis, you’re not getting away, pony scum, he muttered to himself.

His formation dived down chasing after the Marelandian aircrafts, Phantom Buzz using his natural night vision spotted a silhouette of a fighter, it's image and description fitting that of the rumoured brand-new Marelandian fighter-bomber.

After comparing the silhouette on the radar with his visual confirmation, a sharp smile crept across his face. He pressed down on the fire button on the control stick. RATATATATAT—The autocannons roared to life, unleashing a hail of rounds forward, the tracers illuminating the sky as they raced toward their target.

In the distance, something caught fire, the flames painting the thick cloud layer with an orange and yellow glow. Phantom Buzz savoured the moment, marking his second kill, the first being a bomber an hour earlier.

Phantom Buzz turns his attention elsewhere trying to search for more fighters, but suddenly he heard something from behind, a loud terrifying engine—'Damn it' Phantom buzz muttered to himself, he tried to dodge last second but it was too late.

The enemy fighter soon fired, a repeated mighty thunder like sounds—akin to ripping cloths, is heard behind his aircraft.

He then saw his haemolymph splash against the control instruments of his craft, but he wasn't sure as he is blinking repeatedly—wincing from the pain coming from his torso.

He tried hard to keep his eyes open, it was hard but he eventually succeed in the end.

What he saw was worse though, he saw his guts—pieces of his intestine, splashes and chunks of his haemolymph are spilling onto the control instruments as his aircraft is still in a dive. He's as good as dead, he scanned around to see if he can at least try to fly back to the carrier.

The left wing of his BV-201B was snapped clean off, the windshield was riddled with multiple gunshot holes.

This is it.

"This is the end." He winces in pain. "Goodbye, Nectar," he whispered, his voice weakening. His eyelids grew heavy as if they were weighed down by lead. Accepting his fate, he let go of the control stick and closed his eyes as his aircraft plunged closer and closer to the ocean as his story ended with him.

1115 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

Swift Buster hard-banked his aircraft upward, leveling off just about two hundred meters above the ocean. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears.

He scanned his aircraft for any damage, finding none. Once satisfied, he surveyed the sky for the pursuing enemy aircraft as the chaos from the dive settled.

The 1st Airwing had lost one pilot when their aircraft, along with the aviator, crashed into the ocean after a lucky autocannon burst from a Changeling pilot.

To his relief, however, one of the six interceptors had been shot down by the 2nd Airwing, which was following closely behind.

Swift and his aviators continued to bank and dodge left and right to evade the approaching interceptors, watching as they were picked off one by one by the 2nd Airwing.

But this small victory was short-lived, as two of the interceptors retreated to the northwest, them outpacing the 2nd Airwing.

He offered a silent prayer for the junior aviator who had been shot down, hoping they would rest in peace before continuing his mission.

The 1st Airwing was quickly reformed into an arrow formation after Swift had cried out the order through the radio.

"Bataan to Midway—We are way off course. Redirect to eighty-seven degrees, following the direction of those interceptors, and climb back to angels six. How copy?" Swift asked, addressing the senior aviator leading the 2nd Airwing.

"Copy that, Bataan. We're following behind you. The 2nd Airwing's got your back. Over and out." the senior aviator from the other side replied.

Soon, both airwings banked northwest, climbing silently back to six thousand meters.

"That was quite something, ain't it?" Thunder Charge said over the radio.

"Not the first time, and probably not the last," Swift Buster replied, a hint of guilt lacing his voice. He knew some of them are not coming home—but it was too soon.

"Don't let it get to your head, it's not your fault," Thunder Charge retorted, concern evident in his voice.

"What' he said. It’s war, Chief, not everything goes according to plan," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered into the radio, his tone laced with a hint of sadness.

"Tsk—don’t you two get all buddy-buddy on me. Keep your eyes scanning, will you?" Swift Buster replied, half-serious, though a small smile tugged at his face from their concern.

"But what about the rest of the Changeling squadrons heading toward Eldoran and Taskforce Lunar?" Thunder Charge asked over the radio.

"2nd Airwing reported it to high command while they were trailing behind us during the dive. They should be prepared," Swift said, though a hint of anxiety crept into his tone. He swallowed hard, eyes scanning the skies once more.

Another half hour passed in complete silence.

The 1st and 2nd Airwing cruised just a few meters above the cloud cover, at over six thousand meters in altitude.

The unnerving stillness weighed heavily on Swift Buster. Swift’s stomach twisted and churned with anxiety for what's to come too. They had encountered enemy fighters just an hour ago, but now, the skies were eerily empty, as if the Changelings had vanished.

Still, Swift glanced at the map on his clipboard. They should be over the enemy fleet in about three minutes—roughly 600 meters out. Well, it's time to tell them.

"Alright, gentlecolts, this is it. We’re dive-bombing in about 600 meters—on my command." Swift paused, the weight of what he was about to say sitting heavy on his withers.

His voice shook for a second before he regained composure. "I hope you've made peace with yourselves. Try not to get shot down, alright? Good luck. Give them Tartarus, stallions!"

A cacophony of "Oorah" filled the radio, the fiery spirit of the aviators in the 1st and 2nd Airwing blazing strong. Swift Buster couldn’t help but smile, pride swelling in his chest of his aviators even though they were heading to their deaths.

Suddenly, the formation was rocked apart by a thunderous barrage of explosions, the sky filling with black smoke all around them. Sounds of cannons echoed loudly from the distance, It was undeniably the anti-aircraft fire of the enemy fleet. They're closer than Swift anticipated.

"Brace yourselves!" Swift shouted into the radio toward his fellow ponies, his voice straining. They are now about three hundred meters from the dive point.

Suddenly, an aviator pony aircraft to his right caught fire, the engine blazing as it dived down into the clouds. The fate of the pilot unknown to the rest. Swift muttered another silent prayer before refocusing himself on the mission.

Suddenly, the concentration of anti-aircraft flak fire coming from below the clouds intensified with each meter that they flew closer to the objective. Swift knew they wouldn't last if this continues, they need to dive right now.

"Shit—DIVE!" Swift practically growled into the radio with his voice laced with urgency.

The 1st Airwing, followed closely by the 2nd, they banked hard and dove below the cloud cover, cutting through it.

As they descended, the full expanse of the Changeling fleet came into view through the green tint of their night vision optics—ninety-eight ships sprawled out beneath them.

Tracers lit up the night sky like shooting stars, streaking past their aircraft from the various anti-aircraft guns on the ships below. The Changelings sailors intentions was clear—they wanted every single one of the Marelandian aviators dead.

"Darn, they really don't want us here!' " Junior Aviator Astral Bronco yelled into the radio from the sight.

Seems that they retreated the aircraft carrier from here with a few escort huh? Swift wondered in his mind, well at least it's out of combat. But he was quickly shook from his thoughts as his aircraft was shook from a shaving-close flak explosion.

The 1st and 2nd Airwing banked hard lefts and rights, dodging through the wall of anti-aircraft fire, but their luck was short-lived. Out of nowhere, Changeling interceptors dived from the clouds, ambushing them in a surprise attack.

Three aviators reacted instantly, trying to evade the incoming threats, but their evasive manoeuvres led them right into the Changeling fleet's deadly anti-aircraft blanket.

The first and second fighter-bomber spiralled toward the sea, burning like a meteor as they plummeted, slamming into the waves violently below.

The last, despite being heavily damaged, veered directly toward a Changeling destroyer—a clear effort from the pilot inside. The impact turned it into a massive fireball, the fighter's bombs detonating in a secondary explosion that tore the destroyer in half, sending it sinking beneath the waves.

Swift watched as several Changeling sailors dove into the sea to save themselves. His stomach churned from the scene as several sailors laid in pieces across the deck.

Swift was brought back out of his trance when suddenly a fighter-bomber on his left was cut down by a Changeling BV-201 interceptor.

His instinct kicked in, he banked hard left, aiming his aircraft's heavy machineguns in the path of the interceptor.

He clenched the trigger on his aircraft's joystick—the six heavy machineguns within his aircraft's wings shook to life as several thundering sounds like cloth-ripping is heard—they fired several bursts of 13mm rounds forward, the tracers guiding his aim.

The Changeling interceptor, caught off guard, was riddled with bullets. Its tail was severed in the hail of gunfire, and the enemy fighter spiralled out of control, diving straight into the sea with a violent crash.

Swift let out a sharp breath, muttering to himself, "Gotcha," before quickly scanning the surrounding for the remaining Chrysalis-class aircraft carriers.

His heart pounded like a drum as he searched for the target, knowing their window to strike was closing fast with the amount of aircrafts and anti aircraft fire pounding them.

"Swift—we need to find that carrier and get the fuck out, we are not going to last if this continues!" Thunder yelled into the radio, his voice laced with urgency.

"Where the Tartarus are the P3s?" He muttered to himself as he multi-tasked, manoeuvring his aircraft to avoid the hail of anti aircraft fire and scanning the surrounding for their targets.

The 3rd, 4th and 5th was supposed to attack at the same time as them, they mostly consisted of the older P3SB fighter-bombers, but they should be sufficient.

Suddenly, Swift's eyes caught a shape to the north. There it was—the second reported Chrysalis-class aircraft carrier. Its deck was swarming with activity, several planes preparing to take off. He's going to sink it before they get the chance to take off.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Swift banked his aircraft hard to the right, his remaining wingmates falling in line behind him. The formation, now reduced to just four fighters, turned toward the looming carrier. They all knew this could very well be their final flight.

"Give it all you've got stallions!" Swift shouted into the comms, as adrenaline pumped into in his veins.

1225 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
2nd Airwing 'Midway', 1st P4R-4C in formation

The 2nd Airwing had broken off from the 1st during their dive, choosing the southern route in search of the Changeling's heavy battleship. However, the volume of anti-aircraft fire had proven even more concentrated than expected, as the Changeling cruisers filled the skies with tracer fire and flak bursts.

Despite this, the senior aviator of the 2nd Airwing, now steering what was left of the formation, spotted their primary target—the Tirek-class heavy battleship. The massive warship loomed ominously to the west, surrounded by a screen of destroyer escorts. This was not going to be easy, but they're going regardless.

"Ponies—we're going to damage that heavy battleship if it's the last thing we do—for New Mareland!" the senior aviator said over the radio before banking his aircraft, followed by his airwing toward the battleship.

The response was immediate, filled with determination. Several voices shouted in unison, "Oorah!" and "Let's go!" as the remaining aviators braced for the strike.

Their numbers were dwindling. From the ten strong P4R-4Cs, only five remained. Two more aviators were struck down, their planes engulfed in flames as they spiraled toward the sea, leaving behind thick trails of black smoke before crashing violently.

The formation was now within five hundred meters of the Tirek-class battleship. It was time. With a decisive signal from the senior aviator through the radio, the remaining three aircraft banked into a steep dive, their sights locked onto the heavily armoured warship below.

The battleship's deck erupted in chaos with Changeling sailors running for their lives or delivering munition. Anti-aircraft cannons from the deck and the nearby destroyers fired wildly in a desperate attempt to ward off the diving Marelandian aircrafts, but the airwing pressed on, determined to hit their mark.

As the P4R-4Cs plummeted toward the target, the sheer force of the dive pushed the aircraft forward with terrifying speed. The frame of the fighter shook violently as they accelerated faster and faster, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

Quickly, they released their payloads of six 200 kg bombs, before banking hard upward. The senior aviator's aircraft wings nearly grazed the surface of the sea as he fought against the crushing G-forces, the adrenaline surging through his veins. The taste of blood was apparent in his mouth as he recovered from the dive.

He heard several explosions erupt behind him—they did it! Yet, he had no time to assess the damage that had been dealt.

As he scanned the skies for the remains of his airwing, he expected to see his fellow aviators close behind. But there were no aircraft following him; he was utterly alone. A deep sense of despair washed over him before forcing himself out of the trance, banking his aircraft toward safety.

However, luck was not on his side. A Changeling interceptor dove down, its autocannons already trained on him.

It was already too late to dodge even though he spotted it through the mirror in his aircraft. Time slowed down around him, but he had nothing to say.

Thunderous shots erupted, and the sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears as his face planted first into the control instruments along with his brain matter with a sickening wet thud. His consciousness faded to black with no pony ever hearing or knowing their success.

1235 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran Island
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

The formation flew closer to their target as the concentration of tracer fire and flak bursts thickened with each passing second.

“five hundred... four hundred... three hundred...” Thunder counted down the distance to their target over the radio, the anxiety and anticipation rising among the aviators with every tick of the clock.

Swift closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. “Here we go... DIVE!” he barked the order into the radio comms.

The 1st Airwing, now reduced to four P4R-4C fighters, was directly above the Chrysalis-class aircraft carrier. With a single command from Swift, the pilots plunged toward their target.

“HERE WE FUCKING GO—!” Swift yelled as the formation dove toward the aircraft carrier.

As the aircraft accelerated toward their targets, they descended with terrifying speed. The frame of Swift's fighter shook violently in response to the G-forces; the howling and screeching of the wind from the descent almost drowned out the radio chatter deafeningly.

Suddenly, Thunder's aircraft, positioned to the right of Swift's, almost spiralled out of control as a lucky anti-aircraft shot clipped its left wing, severing it completely.

“Shit—Shit—SHIT! Swift, I'm going down!” Thunder Charge yelled into the radio, his voice thick with panic.

"THUNDER TRY TO LAND HORIZONTALLY ON THE WATER!" Swift boomed in the radio, concern flooding his voice.

"I can't—I CAN'T MY FLAPS A GONER!" Thunder shouted back, the sound of rustling coming from his cockpit crackling through the radio. Suddenly, his frantic yelling stopped, and the radio buzzed as he took a deep breath.

"Get your' craft under control Thunder—," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered in the radio with stress within his voice, trying to focus on the dive rather than the situation being heard in the radio chatter.

Thunder's plane plummeted toward the carrier, faster than Swift and the remaining aviators' aircraft. Swift knew what was coming but he hadn't the heart to accept it.

"Swift, take care of my kid, will you? I don't want him in the adoption system. Just... take care," Thunder said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. The line went dead, leaving only the crackle of static in Swift's ears.

"Thunder? Thunder—THUNDER I CAN'T LOSE YOU TOO—THUNDER!" Swift helplessly yelled into the radio as he called for his friend multiple times.

Instinctively, as if on command, Swift pressed the drop payload trigger on his joystick at the agreed altitude from earlier. The remaining pilots of the 1st Airwing followed suit, releasing their bombs before banking upward from the dive to escape the chaos below.

The warheads plummeted, gaining speed as they hurtled toward the carrier, trailing behind Thunder's doomed aircraft.

Swift glanced into the mirror of his cockpit, watching as he and the other two aviators pulled away from the scene of destruction. Thunder's aircraft slammed into the deck of the carrier, erupting into a massive fireball.

Moments later, a secondary explosion erupted as the payloads Thunder had been carrying detonated, followed by the bombs released by Swift and the remaining pilots, lighting up the sky with a fiery display.

But amidst the carnage, the radio chatter on the comms fell silent, the usual voices replaced by a deafening roar of anti-aircraft fire from the Changeling fleet. A trace of regret and despair overcame the surviving pilots, but right now there was no time to mourn, they have to get away.

"All remaining pilots—on me, we're getting the Tartarus out of here," Swift barked the order into the radio, there was however no response from the 2nd Airwing. The remaining 1st Airwing aviators responded to his command immediately.

"Chief, you have my' condolences," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered in the radio to Swift, his tone filled with sorrow.

The formation quickly and silently flew away into the night.

1305 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Bridge of the ship
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

Admiral Rain Rider was a whirlwind of motion as he managed his aircraft carrier, his brow slick with sweat that trickled down his forehead, soaking into his uniform and fur.

The situation was dire; the 4th and 5th Airwings—forty P3SB aircraft in total—had been obliterated while climbing toward their designated altitude, falling prey to the speed and firepower of the Changeling interceptors. He felt the weight of each lost pilot pressing heavily on his conscience—but there was no time to mourn.

His mind raced, grappling with the harsh and unpredictable reality of the battlefield. He had severely underestimated how fast the new Changeling interceptors could fly, and now he was paying the price.

As such, he cancelled the order for the 6th Airwing to go on their previous naval strike mission, and instead to commit the remainder of the aircrafts to CAP (Combat Air Patrol) around the fleet to intercept Changeling fighter-bombers.

As he yelled orders to the helmspony to evade incoming bombs, the thrum of explosions in the sea followed by sea water splashing the deck echoed and boomed around him, a grim game of spot and manoeuvre.

The thunder of anti aircraft guns on the carrier and other ships sounded all around him as he went around the bridge going from window to window scanning the sky for incoming bombers that are being illuminated by the fleet search lights.

Worse, his radar operator reported several Changeling fighters streaking past them, heading most likely toward Sunset, likely to bombard the location for the incoming invasion fleet.

“They're targeting our defences,” he muttered, wiping his brow of sweat.

Even worse, the radio communications officer reported that, apparently Fleet Admiral Grey Shore is being engaged by a fleet twelve times larger than the one he's facing, with several more Tirek class heavy battleships and Chrysalis class aircraft carriers. Meaning they can't come to reinforce him nor can they escape.

“This is beyond FUBAR,” Rain Rider thought bitterly, fighting the urge to throw his clipboard against the wall in frustration.

The sudden moment of distraction costed Admiral Rain Rider dearly. A 50 kg bomb, although smaller than the 500 kg munitions he had been dodging earlier, struck the deck with a resounding explosion, unleashing chaos and destruction. The blast sent debris and shrapnel flying everywhere, and the shockwave knocked several crew ponies off their feet.

“Medical team—Fire control—to the flight deck! NOW!—” he bellowed, his voice hoarse from the smoke and panic that enveloped them. He could feel a knot of fear tightening in his chest as he heard the yelling and crying of several ponies on the flight deck.

He watched as the medicos, obviously fatigued and overwhelmed, rushing to the scene trying to tend to multiple injured crew ponies moaning and screaming in pain, their intestines, limbs, bits and pieces of flesh and blood sprawled across the flight deck.

Fire control ponies tirelessly rushed forward with water hoses and extinguishers trying to put out the fire in the crater left by the 50 kg bomb.

Admiral Rain Rider could only watch in horror as he is trying to order the helmspony to manoeuvre, as more Changeling fighter-bombers took the opportunity—diving in for the kill, their 500 kg bombs plummeting toward the flight deck. The air thickened with tension, and he braced himself for the impending impact.

But instead of hearing multiple detonations going off on the deck of his carrier, or worse his vision blackening signalling his end, a bright blinding white light engulfed his vision instead.

1306 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Bridge of the ship, Upper Bridge.
CIS 'Chrysalis Might', Chrysalis class Fleet Carrier

Admiral Glimmer Shroud huffed in relief as she sipped her mulberry tea. She knew she was likely facing demotion after having one of her fleet carriers rendered mission-killed and one sunk by those damn ponies, but she was determined to make it up somehow.

Fortunately, the bombs dropped by the Marelandian fighters on the CIS Minotaur heavy battleship were not armour-piercing bombs, so they caused little to no significant damage—well, aside from the unfortunate loss of several Changeling sailors on deck. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of impending repercussions.

So to avoid said repercussions, she is going to make up to the losses by sinking the Marelandian carrier to the northeast, its visual distance right now.

They probably didn’t know that Queen Chrysalis had successfully harnessed the power she obtained to produce spell crystals for the Changeling navy. Powerful enough to teleport entire fleets when used—this was how she had outflanked the nearby Marelandian fleet and is currently pummelling them with her airpower.

Her second carrier fleet had successfully scrambled their interceptors and caught forty older Marelandian fighter-bombers climbing, a stroke of blind luck that was nonetheless welcomed.

Admiral Glimmer Shroud pulled out her binoculars, activated the Night-vision magic enchant and maximized the zoom, watching as her aviators launched their assault on the Marelandian fleet.

She barely caught sight of an explosion on the deck of a carrier ship once more. This carrier was proving incredibly difficult to crack; she had seen several bombs hit it before, yet it had survived each time.

Sink already, you damn pony... she cursed under her breath before taking another sip of her tea, feeling a flicker of irritation.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a blinding flash of light erupted in the distance as several bombs from her fighters neared the carrier. The sudden brightness caught her off guard, forcing her to close her eyes and shield her face.

The entire bridge erupted into chaos from the flash; paperwork, snacks, and drinks—including her beloved tea—were spilled across the floor, adding to the disarray.

Admiral Glimmer Shroud was utterly bewildered. Regaining her composure, she grabbed her binoculars once more and scanned the direction of the fleet—or rather, where it used to be.

"RADAR! TELL ME WHERE THAT CARRIER WENT!" Glimmer yelled at the radar operator, a Changeling who looked utterly dazed with his combat helmet backward, still processing the unexpected turn of events.

"Uh, Admiral? They're not anywhere within our radar range," replied the radar operator after checking his radar repeatedly, even restarting it.

Confused, Admiral Glimmer turned her attention to the radio communications officer, who was smiling awkwardly, as if trying to hide his own unease.

“RADIO! Contact me the 2nd and 4th Airwing. I need recon data from the 2nd and a progress report from the 4th Airwing heading toward Sunset!” she ordered, her tone sharp and demanding.

The radio officer quickly nodded, his fingers flying over the controls as he attempted to establish a connection before listening in. Glimmer’s heart raced as she waited for a response, the uncertainty of their situation pressing heavily upon her. Her retribution for her failures earlier during the battle is getting away.

A few seconds of awkward silence permeated as the communications officer worked his flank to get the information.

"Uh. Admiral?" said the communications officer, his face now more confused than ever. Glimmer turned to him, her expression stern and critical, a sense of unease pressing upon her.

The Changeling gulped, steeling himself before delivering his report with a straight face. "The 2nd Airwing reported that the fleet is not anywhere within one hundred Nautical Hoofs, and the 4th reported that they were attacking Sunset defences when a bright light blinded them temporarily. Now, Sunset and the landmass surrounding it are nowhere to be seen."

Glimmer's heart raced as she processed this unsettling information. "What do you mean ‘nowhere to be seen’? Can’t you triangulate their last position? There must be something!”

The communications officer hesitated, glancing nervously at his equipment. “Th... They're trying, Admiral. But all the airwings are reporting the same thing.. It’s as if... they just vanished. The 4th has also reported just now some of their aviators and craft are missing.”

"....What?"

That was the only word in the mind of Glimmer Shroud and the rest of her crew.

Author's Note

Hello! Thanks for reading my story, I am not that new to writing but I am an amateur, please provide feedback or improvements I can do to the story. Thanks!

• 11/11/2024 - EDIT 1; Changed some words.
• 14/2/2025 - EDIT 2; Improved readability of the first part of the chapter.
• 15/2/2025 - EDIT 3; Changed time frame, 17/11/1012 ALB ---> 10/3/1012