Act I: Intervention

The air blew backwards at two hundred and seventy knots, yet Soarin only felt the dull heat of his Hurricane's engine. Though the Wonderbolts prided themselves as champions of the air, the best pegasi of all three continents and certainly better than any griff, many were skeptical about flight technology, even after close to a decade. Soarin himself was no exception: even though this was his sixth hundred and eighty-sixth aircraft flight, he still wondered if he would be better off skipping over to the army with Fast Clip. Soarin pressed his control stick forward with one hoof, pitching the aircraft down an even twenty degrees. There was only one benefit of these steel birds, or, rather, one that mattered to him. He depressed a button at the base of his stick, and two flurries of blasts erupt from the Hurricane's wings, its machine guns tearing up a papercraft outpost. The firepower of even a single plane far outmatched a platoon, even a whole company, of ponies. With his strafing exercise complete, Soarin pulled the stick towards himself, overshooting a level horizon until he pushed it forward again for less than a second. He reached a hoof to the radio system in his plane, pressing in the talk button.

"Wonderbolt Two, mission complete," Soarin announced, "Wasn't Wonderbolt Lead supposed to run a counter-exercise and try to intercept me?" He cut his outgoing signal, glancing to either side in case his expected opponent snuck up on him. Instead, a voice crackled from the radio, incoming from the air base.

"Ah, Tartarus, I knew I was forgetting something," muttered the voice, feminine with a light Baltimare accent, "CAF Cloudsdale reads you, Wonderbolt Two. Wonderbolt Lead got called off for a meeting."

'Spits got dragged into a last-minute meeting, huh,' thought Soarin, 'Real last-minute. Ought to be urgent, then, but why aren't the rest of the Wonderbolts involved?' Sighing, he responded, "Wonderbolt Two copies, heading your way now." He pushed the stick to the right, his Hurricane banking the same direction before he pulled both stick and plane 'up' towards Celestial Air Force Cloudsdale.

Prince Blueblood poured a cup of tea as his guest watched the rhythmic ocean waves. The guest placed her cloven hoof against the porthole as she looked down, breathing deeply. Blueblood figured she wouldn't be used to maritime travel- he had to sacrifice many amenities himself- but he was starting to worry about her condition. "Come now," offered Blueblood, "A warm drink to quell your nerves and seasickness."

His guest looked towards him, shaking her head as azure antlers snagged on the hood of her cheap, beige cloak. "The churning of the waves is not the churning of my stomach," lamented his guest, "I cannot quell the ache I feel for all my deer so long as they are being slaughtered by the Changelings. I am pleading that you petition your aunt for volunteer forces."

Prince Blueblood froze, the refused teacup that he already took as his own now hanging in place under his unicorn magic. "But that would reinforce your brother's claim to Olenia's throne. Queen Velvet, if we acknowledged and upheld Johan's-"

Velvet stamped a hoof on the cabin's floor, and Blueblood nearly jumped back. "Better a bastard on the throne than a monster! If Chrysalis wins, the massacre of my deer shall only grow until all I can be queen of are bones!"

"I… we'll…" Blueblood could only mumble in response. Finally, he sighed, and peered out the porthole himself. "Still in Luna Bay? Why cannot we land right here on Equestria's west coast?"

"You already know why, young prince. A ship to Equestria is too suspicious, we still share land borders-" Velvet paused for a second, but when Blueblood tried to get a word in, she interrupted, "Which are much too guarded to cross. Relax, my brother would not dare interrupt New Mareland's trade."

"I don't think it's your brother that we have to worry about now," Blueblood said, drawing out his words as his eyes sharpened. Queen Velvet followed his glare, at a listing Olenian escort. "U-boats." The ship shuddered with a scream of metal, and Blueblood's teacup fell, shattering on the cabin's floor.

Spitfire felt guilty to ditch Soarin. She knew Soarin struggled to find his place in a motorized Wonderbolt Squadron, she was one of the only old Wonderbolts that didn't. Worse, this sudden meeting reeked of redaction and secrecy, like she was keeping things behind Soarin's back. She knew some secrets stopped at her level, but with how much of the team was held together by her second in command, it always hurt.

When she entered the meeting room, Spitfire immediately realized the meeting came not just of urgency, but emergency. Both princesses of Equestria sat at the head of the table, Luna at Celestia's right hoof. To Celestia's left, the noblepony Fancy Pants sat, stoic and stonelike. The rest of the seats were disturbingly barren, save for one familiar pony.

"You would've had me on cleanup duty for weeks if I were this late," cracked Fast Clip.

"My apologies, General, Princesses," Spitfire said, saluting her superior officer before bowing to the Princesses.

"Please, no need to call me General," Fast Clip offered, "I should be the one under you." Spitfire didn't blame Fast Clip for leaving the Wonderbolts for the Army; he himself still did.

After a second, Fancy Pants cleared his throat, stating, "Take a seat before you get lost in reminiscence; we are running late." Princess Celestia 'discreetly' dissuaded him from further expression of irritation with a single flap of her left wing. Once Spitfire sat down, opposite Fast Clip, Fancy Pants began, "I have already given the Princesses a brief summary, but there have been concerning developments in the Olenian situation. Four hours ago, a Changeling Unterseeboot- that is, submarine- squadron attacked a New Mareland trade convoy in Luna Bay, destroying three cargo ships and five Olenian escorts. New Mareland has already organized volunteers to Olenia in response to this attack. Internal contacts report considerations of joining against the Changelings."

"So be it," outcried Fast Clip, "New Mareland has wanted to hold their own for a long time, let this be their test, they can't cry home to Equestria any more!"

"Equestrian citizens were on those ships," retorted Fancy Pants, "High profile citizens were on those ships. We have confirmation that the ship carrying Prince Blueblood was sunk. Survivors are already piling into Vanhoover."

"But no sightings of our nephew," surmised Celestia.

"Nor the… friend he was supposed to pick up," confirmed Fancy Pants. Spitfire turned to Fast Clip in response, but his face betrayed the same confusion. Both officers concluded it was outside of their clearance.

Silence filled the room, everypony turned to Princess Celestia. The princess snorted, wings flared. "So, it has finally come to this," announced Celestia, "The fatal decision, whether I find it best in my heart to leave or to send my little ponies to their deaths."

Princess Luna lifted a wing towards her sister. "Then do not leave the decision to thyself, sister," she offered, "General Fast Clip, Captain Spitfire, you would be the ones to lead forces into Olenia; do you choose this path?"

Once again, Spitfire and Fast Clip eyed each other in silence. This time, Spitfire could discern no emotion from her compatriot. Princess Celestia mouthed an expression of thanks to her sister. In a flash of magic, Fancy Pants adjusted his tie. Fast Clip closed his eyes, and gave a light nod. Spitfire sighed, and shook her head.

"Not yet," whispered Spitfire.

Fancy Pants snorted, wondering, "I do not follow, whatever do you mean?"

"There's somepony else that needs to be here," stated Spitfire, "I can't accept this on my own."

"Right now, this information is of the utmost secrecy-" before Fancy Pants could finish, Celestia flared her left wing again.

"Enlighten me, Spitfire," asked Celestia.

"My wingpony, Commander Soarin," said Spitfire, "There's nopony I trust more."

"Then so shall we," confirmed Celestia.

The moment Soarin kicked open the canopy of his Hurricane, Spitfire dragged him across the base. In a hushed voice, pausing when passing others, she briefed Soarin. By the time Spitfire returned with Soarin to the meeting room, the duo knew their answer.

"Your Majesties," addressed Spitfire, "The Wonderbolts will depart for Olenia."

Princess Celestia nodded, saying, "Thank you, marshal, commodore."

"M- marshal?" wondered Spitfire, "Is this a brevet?"

Celestia shook her head. "No, Air Marshal Spitfire, this is a promotion. The same for you, Air Commodore Soarin. Even you, Field Marshal Fast Clip."

All three addressed officers saluted their princesses, shouting, "Understood, Your Majesties."

As Fast Clip held his salute, he thought to himself, 'This still means I outrank Spitfire.'

Author's Note

The Hawker Hurricane is the sexiest plane ever manufactured and I will die on that hill.