"The human failing I would most like to correct is aggression."

-Stephen Hawking

Gaia, "New Hin'd", Chheda Nagar Forest Airspace, June 13th, 2038.

The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the Blackhawk's rotors sliced through the air as it cruised over the dense canopy of White Tail Woods. The helicopter flew in formation with two others, their dark, metallic frames starkly contrasting against the blue sky and the endless green canopy below

Inside the cockpit, Thomas Hopkins gripped the controls, his eyes scanning the tree line below for any signs of movement. Beside him, his co-pilot Toby Kennedy, a young and eager pilot who was still getting used to the strange feeling of flying over an alien landscape, kept an eye on the instrument panel.

"Got anything, Toby?" Hopkins asked, his voice calm but with an edge of anticipation.

"Nothing on thermal, sir. Just trees, more trees... and, well, endless forest," Toby replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. "You’d think for a world supposedly teeming with life, we’d see a little more activity."

Hopkins let out a dry chuckle. "Consider yourself lucky. I’ve heard rumors from the ground teams. Something hit that cement plant hard. Don’t know if it’s wildlife or... something else. Could be worse than just trees, kid."

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life with a sharp burst of static. "Blackhawk One, this is Eagle Eye. We have unidentified airborne contacts approaching from the east at high speed. Twelve signatures—possibly hostile. Be advised, they appear to be equine in shape."

Hopkins’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Toby. "Equine? Did I hear that right?"

Toby’s eyes widened as he spotted something ahead. "Uh, sir... you’re gonna want to see this."

Out of the horizon, a squadron of pegasi was rapidly closing the distance. Twelve armored ponies flew in perfect formation, their wings beating furiously against the wind as they carried spears and bows. The sight was like something out of a medieval fantasy come to life—only this was no storybook tale.

Hopkins’s pulse quickened as he reached for the radio. "Eagle Eye, this is Blackhawk One. We have a visual on the contacts—definitely Pegasus in appirence. I repeat, winged horses carrying weapons. What’s our ROE?" (Rules of Engagement)

"Blackhawk One, maintain course. Do not engage unless fired upon," came the terse reply. "But stay on your guard."

"Roger that," Hopkins said, his gaze locking on the incoming squadron. "Toby, switch the systems to active targeting just in case. We need to be ready."

"Copy, sir," Toby replied, his fingers moving quickly over the controls, priming the Blackhawk’s defensive systems. "Systems are hot, but weapons are in safe mode."

The pegasi drew closer, and Hopkins could see their determined expressions. They were not just scouting—they were heading straight for the helicopters with a look of fierce resolve in their eyes.

"Here they come," Toby muttered, his voice tense. "Looks like they’re not backing down."

The lead pegasus, a burly stallion with a dark blue coat and a silver mane, angled his wings and dove toward them, his spear aimed directly at the cockpit. Hopkins’s instincts screamed danger, and he pulled the Blackhawk up into a sharp climb to avoid the impact. The rotor blades roared as the helicopter banked hard, barely dodging the charging stallion.

"Jesus!" Hopkins exclaimed, jerking the controls. "These things are actually attacking us!"

More pegasi followed suit, swooping in from different angles, attempting to close the distance. A pair flew alongside, unleashing a volley of arrows that clattered harmlessly against the Blackhawk’s armored body, but their intent was unmistakable.

"They’re serious!" Toby shouted, his hand hovering over the weapons controls. "What do we do?!"

Hopkins gritted his teeth. The Rules of Engagement were clear—no firing unless provoked—but they had already crossed that line, hadn’t they? "I’ll try to shake them off. If they don’t back down, we go weapons hot. But hold your fire until I say."

He banked the helicopter into a tight turn, hoping to shake off the pegasi, but the ponies seemed undeterred. One particularly agile mare darted up beside the cockpit, her eyes meeting Hopkins’s for a split second. There was no fear in those eyes—only a resolve as hard as steel.

Another pair of pegasi swooped toward them from the side, arrows bouncing harmlessly off the helicopter’s armor. Hopkins twisted the Blackhawk into a tight bank, trying to evade the incoming attacks. But the sky was quickly becoming chaotic, the agile ponies darting around the lumbering helicopters like hawks attacking prey.

A flash of light caught Hopkins's eye as a unicorn on the ground launched a glowing bolt of magic at the Blackhawk. He yanked the controls to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast. The magical projectile detonated nearby, sending a shockwave that rattled the helicopter.

"Toby, get us some altitude—" Hopkins began, but his words were cut short as the Blackhawk shuddered violently. One of the pegasi, in the chaos of the melee, had flown too close. The unfortunate mare collided with the spinning rotor blades, her body struck with a sickening crack that sent blood spraying into the air.

The impact snaps one of the helicopter propellers, causing it to spin wildly out of control. Hopkins fought desperately with the controls, but it was a losing battle. The Blackhawk lurched and plummeted toward the ground, the rotors groaning as they struggled to maintain stability.

"Mayday, mayday! We’re going down!" Hopkins shouted into the radio, his voice strained as he wrestled with the controls.

The ground rushed up to meet them, and with a thunderous crash, the Blackhawk slammed into the earth, skidding along the forest floor and tearing through the trees. The impact jarred Hopkins in his seat, the air filled with the sound of twisting metal and the shattering of glass. For a moment, everything was chaos—then, silence.

Overhead, the two other Blackhawks circled the crash site, their pilots watching in horror. "Blackhawk One is down. Eagle Eye, requesting orders," came the frantic voice over the radio.

"Eagle Eye to all units, retreat from the engagement zone. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. I repeat, retreat immediately."

As the two remaining helicopters began to pull away, Helicopters like the Blackhawk are not designed for dogfighting, especially with the enemies they currently encounter.

Meanwhile, the UN peacekeeping convoy on the ground could only look on in stunned disbelief. They had witnessed the Blackhawk’s descent, and now smoke was rising from the twisted wreckage.

The radio buzzed with a grim new order from command. "All units, authorization granted to engage. Neutralize the 'hostile wildlife'. Secure the factory and do not let them approach the wreckage."

A cold shiver ran through the soldiers in the convoy. The war between ponykind and humanity had just been sparked, and now the first battle was about to begin in earnest.

The dense foliage of Chheda Nagar forest erupted with the chatter of gunfire and the sharp crack of magical discharges. Dust and leaves flew in the air as the convoy of Humvees and Stryker APCs ground to a halt. The .50-caliber machine guns mounted atop the vehicles roared to life, spraying the treeline ahead with covering fire as the UN peacekeepers disembarked.

“Move, move, move!” Sergeant Edward Snowden shouted, waving his arm as he and his squad leaped from their vehicles and took cover behind rocks and trees. The deep thud-thud-thud of the .50-cals echoed through the forest, tearing through branches and sending shards of bark raining down.

But as the soldiers pushed forward, strange, bright beams of energy streaked toward them from the depths of the forest. The first wave of magic slammed into the vehicles and the ground around them, creating explosions that resembled mortar strikes. One of the Humvees was hit by a particularly potent blast; its front end was torn apart, sending shrapnel flying in all directions.

Snowden ducked as another shot whizzed past, sizzling like a beam from a sci-fi movie. He glanced at the smoking wreckage of the Humvee and saw the bodies of two soldiers who had been caught by the blast. Their once-intact Kevlar and ceramic vests had been charred and melted in places; they lay motionless, their skin burned and blackened from the intense heat.

"Goddamn it, keep your heads down!" Snowden barked, his voice barely audible over the deafening firefight. He glanced over at Corporal Jimmy Barnes, who was frantically laying down suppressive fire with his FN Minimi. "Barnes, get some rounds on that ridge!"

"On it!" Barnes shouted, his voice strained with exertion as he swung the light machine gun toward a cluster of brightly glowing shots coming from the treeline. The rapid brrrt of the Minimi cut through the cacophony, forcing the attackers to momentarily pull back.

But the enemy wasn’t retreating. From the shadows of the woods emerged several unicorns, their horns blazing with magical energy as they unleashed a volley of searing magical bolts at the advancing peacekeepers. The bright beams burned through the air, creating streaks of light that left trails of residual magic. One beam struck Private Staebler in the leg, punching through his kneepad as if it were made of paper.

Snowden's eyes widened as Staebler dropped to the ground, gasping. “Medic!” Snowden shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos.

The order came through Snowden’s earpiece: "All units, scatter and engage the enemy. Return fire, suppress those Equine!"

With that, the UN troops began to spread out, diving behind the cover of rocks, trees, and fallen logs. Snowden and his team huddled behind a large boulder, the air around them filled with the sharp cracks of rifles and the distant, thunderous roar of the .50-calibers. Snowden leveled his HK416 at the nearest source of magical fire and squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of rounds downrange.

A few feet away, Sergeant Denijs Veenstra was braced behind a thick oak, firing his M4A1 at the horned equine. He saw one of them stagger, the magic around its horn flickering, but then, out of nowhere, a flash of bright red light caught his eye. It was too late.

A magical beam, glowing a deep crimson, struck Veenstra's outstretched arm. The pain was immediate and excruciating—a sensation like a white-hot poker being pressed into his flesh. The beam sliced through the fabric of his uniform and seared into his skin. His scream tore through the air, loud and guttural.

Snowden saw it happen. "Veenstra!" he yelled, scrambling over to the wounded sergeant, who was clutching his arm, the skin bubbling and blackening as if it had been exposed to an open flame. The area around the wound was charred, the muscle tissue visible through the damaged skin, twisted and burnt beyond recognition. It looked like a piece of meat left on a grill far too long—crisp, blackened edges with angry, red flesh underneath, blood oozing out in sickening rivulets.

“Hold on, Veenstra, just hold on!” Snowden shouted as he grabbed the radio. “We need a medic over here, now! Veenstra’s hit!”

A medic sprinted over, dodging incoming fire as he slid into cover next to them. "Stay still!" the medic ordered, his hands trembling slightly as he reached into his kit. He quickly tore open a field dressing and began wrapping it around the smoldering wound, the stench of burnt flesh filling the air. Veenstra’s breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his face as the medic applied a painkiller.

“Get him out of here!” Snowden barked. The medic nodded, grabbing Veenstra under the shoulders and dragging him back toward the safety of the convoy. Even though Veenstra was being pulled away from the frontline, his groans of pain followed them, echoing over the gunfire.

Snowden gritted his teeth, turning his attention back to the fight. The UN troops were slowly gaining the upper hand; their experience in coordinated fire, combined with their superior range, was beginning to show. As the peacekeepers laid down suppressive fire, the unicorns struggled to hold their ground, their magical bolts less frequent and less accurate.

“Target the horned Equine! Keep up the pressure!” Lieutenant Alex Hill ordered, his voice steady and filled with resolve. Snowden squeezed off another burst from his HK416, sending a unicorn diving for cover as the bullets whizzed past.

To Snowden's left, Corporal Barnes was still firing his Minimi in controlled bursts. “I see one! Second ridge, right side!” he called out, directing fire toward a unicorn whose horn was glowing an ominous purple. Barnes unleashed a volley, the rounds tearing into the dirt and forcing the unicorn to retreat deeper into the forest.

Suddenly, another explosion rocked the battlefield as a magical blast hit one of the Humvees. The vehicle lurched to the side, its tires blown out, and the engine compartment engulfed in flames. A soldier who had been crouched nearby was thrown off his feet by the force of the blast.

“Damn it, they’re hitting the vehicles now!” Lieutenant Liu shouted. “Stay low, keep moving, and return fire!”

Despite the intense pressure, the peacekeepers held their ground. Their steady rate of fire and accurate shooting were slowly thinning the ranks of the attackers. One by one, the bright, magical discharges grew fewer and farther between, their attackers beginning to retreat as the UN troops advanced cautiously, weapons trained on the tree line.

Snowden’s pulse began to steady, though the tension in the air remained thick. He could see the unicorns retreating further back into the woods, and the bright lights of their magic gradually faded into the forest’s depths. But as he glanced back at the convoy—smoke still rising from the destroyed Humvees, the wounded being tended to by medics—he knew this is not over.

As the UN peacekeepers moved in from the edge of the forest, their eyes scanning the horizon for signs of movement. The once-bustling cement factory loomed ahead, a picture of chaos. Damaged transport vehicles littered the lot, some still smoldering, while sacks of cement lay torn and scattered across the ground like fallen leaves. The bodies of workers and security personnel lay where they had fallen, sprawled out in unnatural positions that spoke of the suddenness of their deaths.

“Eyes open,” First Lieutenant Alex Hill ordered, his voice a low growl over the comms. “We don’t know what else might be waiting for us.”

As they crept forward, the peacekeepers could hear the distant crackle of flames and the occasional metallic creak as a piece of machinery settled. But then, a different sound reached their ears—a faint whistle that rapidly grew louder.

“Incoming!” Private Sulzberger shouted, just as the sky darkened with a rain of wooden shafts. The arrows came down in waves, hundreds of them, their tips gleaming like tiny daggers in the afternoon sun. Snowden and the others ducked, diving for cover behind trees, fallen logs, and the scattered debris.

Several soldiers grunted in pain as arrows clattered off their helmets or lodged into the soft material of their uniforms. One man, Corporal Mili, yanked an arrow free from where it had pierced his thigh, gritting his teeth as blood soaked through the fabric. But the Kevlar vests and helmets did their job, turning what might have been deadly strikes into painful but non-fatal injuries.

“Stay down, find cover!” Snowden yelled as he pressed his back against the trunk of a large tree, the bark splintering as more arrows thudded into it.

Then, through the haze of dust and falling arrows, Snowden saw them—dozens of equine figures emerging from the forest. The earth ponies, their coats glistening with sweat and dirt, charged forward with spears held high. Behind them, unicorns hung back, their horns glowing as they launched magic bolts into the fray. Above, the pegasi swooped down in organized formations, loosing arrows from bows gripped between their hooves or in their mouths.

“Open fire!” First Lieutenant Hill's roared, and the forest exploded with the sound of gunfire.

The .50-caliber machine guns opened up first, their deafening roar sending heavy rounds tearing through the air. Each shot ripped into the pegasi above, shattering wings and sending the creatures tumbling from the sky like broken kites. Rifle fire followed soon after, with bursts from HK416s, AK74, QBZ-191 and M4A1s aimed at the charging earth ponies. The peacekeepers had the advantage of range and firepower, but the equine warriors pressed forward with reckless courage, driven by a desperate determination that Snowden found almost admirable—almost.

Corporal Barnes was manning the FN Minimi, his hands moving almost automatically as he fed the belt of ammo into the weapon. “Got another one! Wing clipped!” he shouted as another pegasus crashed into the ground, its cries of pain lost in the chaos.

“Keep them off us!” Lieutenant Liu barked back. “We can’t let them close the distance—”

But it was already happening. Despite the hail of gunfire, some of the earth ponies had made it through, their eyes wide and filled with rage as they thrust their spears at the nearest soldiers. Private Sulzberger fell back with a scream, blood spraying from a gash in his thigh as an earth pony withdrew its weapon with a snarl.

“Close combat! Fall back!” Snowden shouted, switching his rifle to his sidearm as an earth pony lunged toward him. He fired three shots in quick succession, each one finding its mark in the creature’s chest. It stumbled, its spear falling from its grip, and collapsed with a choked cry at Snowden’s feet.

Second Lieutenant Mell Wilkinson was not as lucky. As he fought to fend off two attackers, a third pony—a hulking stallion with a scar across its muzzle—thrust its spear into his side, the tip piercing through the gaps in his body armor. Wilkinson's breath left him in a shuddering gasp, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching at the wound.

"Wilkinson's down!" Snowden shouted into his radio. "We need a medic here!"

Amid the chaos, the unicorns continued to launch magical projectiles from a distance, their energy bolts exploding on impact like mortar rounds. Another Humvee erupted in flames as a well-placed shot hit its fuel tank, sending shards of metal and glass flying outward. The explosion knocked several peacekeepers off their feet, the shockwave rolling through the factory grounds.

Lieutenant Liu dragged Wilkinson behind a pile of rubble, trying to staunch the bleeding. “Hang on, man! Medic’s on the way!” he said, tearing open a bandage pack with trembling hands.

The battle raged on, a brutal, up-close fight that left both sides bloodied. Even as the peacekeepers shot down more pegasi and gunned down the advancing earth ponies, the relentless melee left several UN personnel wounded or worse. Despite the heavy casualties, the UN held the line, their training and superior weaponry giving them the edge.

And then, suddenly, the sharp call of a trumpet split the air, cutting through the sounds of battle like a knife. Snowden froze, his finger on the trigger, as he watched the equine forces begin to pull back, their ranks breaking in a frantic retreat. It was over as quickly as it had begun—the ponies vanished into the forest from which they had come, leaving behind their dead and dying.

“What... what the hell?” Corporal Barnes panted, lowering his Minimi as he scanned the tree line. “Why are they pulling back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Snowden grunted, still keeping his rifle trained on the forest. “Secure the perimeter. We’re not out of this yet.”

As the peacekeepers regrouped, the full scope of the carnage became clear. Bodies littered the ground—both human and equine—amidst the wreckage of vehicles and shattered equipment. The remaining troops moved swiftly to establish a defensive perimeter around the cement factory and the helicopter crash site, setting up barricades and dragging the wounded to cover. Medics worked frantically to save as many as they could, while Alex Hill and other surviving squad leaders coordinated the efforts to fortify their position.

Inside the factory, Snowden and a small team found a group of terrified workers huddled behind hastily constructed barricades. They emerged cautiously as the peacekeepers approached, their faces pale with fear and exhaustion. One man, his clothes covered in dust and grime, stepped forward hesitantly.

“Are... are you with the United Nations?” he asked, his voice trembling. “My name is Dhani Mayadev. We didn’t think anyone was coming.”

Snowden nodded, his expression stern but not unkind. “We’re here now. You’re safe.”

Dhani’s face broke into a tired, relieved smile. “Thank you… thank you for saving us.”

But there was little time for thanks or celebration. As Snowden took in the scene—injured peacekeepers being loaded onto medical transports, body bags lined up near the factory’s entrance—he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his chest. The cost of the battle had been high, nearly a quarter of their force had been killed or wounded, and reinforcements would be slow in arriving.

The radios crackled as calls for backup went out, and soon, the distant thrum of helicopter rotors grew louder as medical evacuation teams and additional troops began arriving to secure the area. Snowden watched the sky with a grim expression, one-quarter of the UN peacekeeping force deployed was injured or killed, and half of his squad is now out of commission.

Stream of messages came through Snowden’s earpiece: Reinforcements are about fifteen minutes out. We’re setting up a field hospital just behind the main gate.”

“Good...,” Snowden breathed, the word coming out as little more than a hoarse whisper. His voice was heavy, crushed beneath the weight of exhaustion and grief. “We’re going to need it.”

As the peacekeepers prepared for the next phase of their mission, the bodies of the fallen lay silently around them—a somber reminder that, In war, there is no such thing as honorable death.

Snowden slumped down onto a pile of cement sacks, the weight of exhaustion settling over him like a leaden cloak. His chest heaved as he tried to calm his breath, his mind still reeling from the battle’s frantic chaos. He fumbled for an e-cigarette in one of his vest pockets, his fingers trembling as he tried to ignite it. The device refused to light, no doubt damaged in the firefight.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, throwing the e-cigarette into the nearby bushes in frustration. He leaned back, rubbing his forehead with one hand, the adrenaline starting to wear off and leaving a dull ache in its wake.

A gentle nudge at his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Corporal Nikolayev Mili standing beside him, his own uniform stained with blood—some of it his, some of it not. “You look like you could use one of these,” Nikolayev said, extending a real cigarette toward him.

Snowden took it with a weary nod. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. He put the cigarette between his lips, and Nikolayev struck a match, the flame flaring to life before touching the tip of Snowden’s smoke. He took a deep drag, feeling the burn in his lungs as he inhaled the harsh comfort.

Nikolayev dropped down beside him, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the twilight. “That was... one hell of a day,” he said, the understatement hanging heavy in the air.

Snowden nodded, staring out at the darkening horizon. “You ever seen anything like this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nikolayev was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. “Back in Ukraine,” he began, his voice low and gruff. “My unit... we were hit hard during the Donbas offensive. Lost three-quarters of our men in one day. We walked into an ambush, and the artillery just... kept coming. The survivors spent hours crawling through mud and blood just to get out. The medics did what they could, but some of us... some of us were never the same.”

Snowden turned to look at him, his eyes searching Nikolayev’s face for something—anything—that could help make sense of the madness they’d just survived. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

Nikolayev shrugged, his expression hardened, yet there was a flicker of something more vulnerable in his eyes. “It’s war,” he replied simply. “Doesn’t matter what century or what world it is. It’s always the same—people die, and the ones left behind pick up the pieces. It’s just that this time, the enemy’s... different.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds coming from the distant shouts of the medics and the dull thrum of the arriving helicopters. Snowden took another drag on the cigarette, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body, only to be replaced by a deep, aching fatigue. He glanced at Nikolayev and saw the same weariness etched across his face.

“Do you ever... get used to it?” Snowden asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Losing people, I mean.”

Nikolayev shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “You don’t get used to it. You just learn how to live with it.” He took another drag from his cigarette, the end glowing bright in the dimming light. “And sometimes,” he continued, “you don’t even do that. Some guys—” He broke off, shaking his head again. “Well, some guys don’t make it back, even if they survive. Not really.”

Snowden looked down, his fingers tightening around the cigarette as his thoughts turned to the soldiers he’d lost today. He could already feel the weight settling on his shoulders, the faces of the dead flashing before his eyes—Veenstra’s bloodied form, Wilkinson cries as he fell, the young lieutenant who had bled out just before the medics arrived. There was a hollowness forming in his chest, a gnawing dread that he recognized all too well. It was the same feeling that had haunted him after each deployment, a reminder that the real scars of war were not always visible.

He glanced sideways at Nikolayev. “I hope this is the last we see of those... things,” he murmured, his voice sounding far away, even to himself. “I’m not sure how many more surprises I can take.”

Nikolayev gave a grim chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he said, his tone somber. “This... what we just faced out there—it’s just the beginning. Whatever those creatures were, they’re going to come back. And when they do, it won’t be to run away.”

Snowden exhaled slowly, his breath a weary sigh. The sun was setting now, a red-orange blaze dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cement-strewn ground. He watched the fading light, wondering how many more times he would see it, wondering how many more soldiers would never see it again.

“I just hope we’re ready,” he said quietly, not entirely sure who he was speaking to—Nikolayev, himself, or the ghosts of the fallen who seemed to linger in the dusk. He felt the familiar chill of dread curl around his spine, knowing that this battle was far from over. He had seen enough war to recognize that the true toll would only be realized in the quiet aftermath, when the screams had faded and the smoke had cleared.

The two soldiers sat in silence as the last of the daylight slipped away, each lost in their thoughts, each haunted by what they had seen and done. The cigarette in Snowden’s hand burned down to a stub, and he crushed it under his boot, watching as the smoke dissipated into the cool evening air.

“Let’s get moving,” Nikolayev finally said, standing up and offering his hand. “We’ve still got work to do.”

Snowden took it, hauling himself to his feet. As he followed Nikolayev back toward the hastily established perimeter, he felt the weight of the day press down on him. His body was exhausted, his mind numbed by fatigue, but he knew that rest was still far off. For now, there was only the march forward and the lingering shadows of the fallen.

Author's Note

"Did you just introduce new characters to the story and kill them shortly after?"

Hehe...yeah?, maybe because they have no plot armor bruh.
Don't worry about the Snowden team, I'll be adding new members while the old ones are busy recovering.
(RIP Mell Wilkinson though)

Btw, this is how the Royal Guard looks like in this story.

Special thanks to askguardsponies (Tumblr) for allowing me to use this art.

Btw, this is 3D art of planet Gaia