Liberty and Justice

by Sketchy Markks

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, Alternate Universe, Tragedy, Adventure
Length: 4316

In the midst of America's destruction, one patriot preserves her flag and sends it out on the shining sea. It drifts to parts unknown.

America screams, her people fall. Flags burn, trees burn, people burn. Even the skies burn.
Amidst the terror and the chaos; one patriot preserves her flag, and sends it out on the shining sea.
The flag, being a symbol of all America is and all she believes, carries within it; her spirit.

NOT HiE but the human tag is still necessary.
Ponies are going to be the main focus of this story, don't worry.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-11-23 06:50:37 UTC

1:The Last Patriot

America! America!

God shed his grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining se-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-kssssshhhhhh...

The sound on an old set of speakers cut out suddenly, the antique CD player they were connected to sputtering out in a shower of sparks.

A sigh came from a figure nearby, his rugged hands working tirelessly to carefully unfold a multicolored cloth on the table in front of him. The features of his face remained cloaked in the depressing darkness gathering in the corners of the room. The hungry shadows were only barely held off by a pathetically small candle on a stand next to where he was working.

The whole room the man resided in was generally unpleasant. It was dark, dusty, and dry except for the wall behind the man; which was wet. A black, disgusting mold had entrenched itself in the cracks of said wall. On his right, if you squinted, you could see rows of boards where a window used to be. The left wall conversely was empty and plain. Across the table from him a splintered door stood guard, old and weary from its silent vigil.

However, the man paid the room's poor living conditions no mind.

A small tired smile came upon his hidden face, as he held up the tri-colored banner he had worked so hard to preserve.

That smile was quickly banished as a distant boom rocked the building he was housed in, causing the rafters to release years of accumulated dust in one go. The man coughed and hacked, the dust removing any semblance of oxygen from his lungs.

After his lungs stopped crying out in pain, the man peered outside through a small crack in the wall. What he saw there assured the man of one thing: the sounds outside were sure signs of death.

With a resigned grimace, the man quickly grabbed the cloth, and carefully tucked it uder his left arm.

After leaning over the table and blowing out the candle, he quickly dashed out the door and into the dimly moonlit night.

The far off booming sounds of explosions were slowly but surely inching ever closer.

<~----------------------------------------------------------------------------------~>

The man ran, not for his life, but for his country. With the pride of a nation under his arm he ran over the grassy knolls that seperated the city from the ocean.

The precious object under his arm was all the man thought about as he ran. The stripes it bore, the stars it earned, they all held high significance in the mind of the man. They held importance far beyond simple bands of color and shapes.

Within them was the pride of a nation. Years of sacrifice, love, loyalty, liberty, and justice. And so, so much more than could be put into words.

As his mind was distracted, he almost didn't notice when the ground under his shoes suddenly transitioned from grass to sand.

The man finally slowed to a stop as he reached his destination: the beach.

Casting his eyes out over the beautiful sea; wild, and free, he was suddenly reminded of wonderful liberty.

The man moved over to the right and reached beneath a small overhang of rock that hung just above his waist; and began pulling out a small wooden raft lovingly made from dead tree branches.

After finally wrestling the raft from the niche he had stored it in; he took a rather long stick he had picked up from the ground on his way to the beach, and pushed it into a prepared spot in the middle of the wooden construction.

He quickly bound it with twine from his pockets, using his pocket knife to cut off the excess.

The small smile made a return upon the man's face when he retrieved the banner from beneath his arm.

Its three colors of red white and blue, lit up his spirit with its beautiful hue, giving him the resolve he needed to finish his task.

Taking the last of the short supply of twine he had brought with him, he attached the banner to the stick by threading the string through two metal ringed holes on the piece of treated cloth.

He then gingerly hefted the raft that carried his nation's symbol, placing it down into the waves. The man put his right hand to his heart, a final salute to the flag of his country.

The sound of explosions suddenly stopped, letting the man know it was time.

With a heavy heart he set the raft in the softly bouncing waves, and pushed it out to sea.

While the pile of sticks and a flag began to drift away, he allowed himself to sing:

Amazing, grace!

how sweet the sound,

that saved a wretch a wretch like me!

As he sang that line, the song died in his mouth, while his heart continued on..

Reaching down into a holster by his side, the man retrieved a Weston 34 AI guided pistol, which beeped in acknowledgement of his presence. A light on the side turned green.

I once was lost, but now I'm found.

The man looked back at the flag that was drifting further and further away. And he honored it one final time, before marching torward his certain doom.

Was blind but now I see!

There were soldiers marching through the oceanside city, bearing guns of complex and terrible design. They were followed by hovering tanks, and aerocopters, each just every bit as fearsome as the weapons they carried.

T'was grace that taught my heart to fear,

The man had no backup. no weapons besides his pistol, and no vehicles of mass destruction.

But what he did have was a love for God, for his country, and for the people in it.

And for the remainder of what was left of America, he would gladly give his life.

and grace my fears relieved!

Storm clouds that had been gathering since the beginning suddenly released their agony in the form of a torrential downpour.

How precious did that grace appear,

the hour I first believed.

The rain pounded a war beat, the lightning flashed in anger, and the thunder sounded a victory cry.

The man, was just an ordinary man. Raised in the country he loved, he made his mark on the world by just doing the best he could. Knowing that he could make a difference, and believing in justice and liberty over all.

The man, believed in an ideal, an Idea, an ideology that was America. He was determined to not just stand by her, but to make her a better place. He was a Patriot.

It was these reasons the Patriot ran into battle; his gun raised, his spirits high, and his mind calm. As he rounded a corner of a building to confront a patrol of soldiers, he quietly whispered four little words:

"For God and country."

With resolve in his eyes, the Patriot pulled the trigger.

A loud crack resounded through the air. The Patriot let out a gasp, and his gaze was directed towards a red hole that had torn through his chest.

The man staggered while holding his ground for as long as he could; then collapsed to the ground.

He had expected this, the inevitable. He had even been afraid for a time. But as for today, the man had no regrets.

He died, at peace with himself and God. The man sighed and was gone, another corpse to add to the burning piles lining the ruined streets.

The gun he had carried twitched, Panels on it's sides opened up, extending a pair of stabilizers which it used to right itself. a small optic on the sight of the gun focused on the wary soldiers.

The gun warbled angrily before it began emptying it's contents in the their direction,  before it could score a hit, the commander of the soldiers aimed and fired.

The AI guided pistol sparked and fell to the side with a pop. smoke trailed from it's wreckage.

The commander scrunched his nose. "Damned loyalists." he muttered.

The commander was a tall bear of a man, with dark brown hair and cruel blue eyes, he eyed the cadaver of the Patriot with distaste.

The commander then shifted his gaze around his troops.

"Well? What are you standing around for, you damn lazy bums?" he grated.

"we've got more loyalists to flush out, and if you want to be the one to report to the general that we left even one of them still standing; by all means continue to gawk at the body."

When his company all stood at attention, he grinned thinly. "I thought so. Now get your asses moving! I want to be back at camp before dawn."

The platoon began to move again, all of the soldiers falling back in line. The monotonous sound of many boots hitting the pavement began to fill the air.

Suddenly, a world rendering screech of fear and anger suddenly tore through the minds of the soldiers, and they grasped their heads in mutual agony. The commander, a man of great strength literally and mentally, fell on his knees, the pain making his vision become cloudy.

The strange sound that was not a sound then suddenly ceased.

As the troops slowly recoved from the mental trauma the commander gathered what was left of his wits and ordered his unnerved men to return to base. They could always search another day.

Meanwhile; a mile and a half away and floating over stormy seas, the final reminder of a nation was struck by a violent surge of violet lightning and suddenly disappeared.

...

In her bed on the upper floor of the Golden Oaks library, the alicorn Twilight Sparkle shot out of her bed with a loud cry.

Her eyes were wide and her pupils thin.

Wisps of purple magic drifted off her horn, and heavy perspiration sloughed off her form like a torrential downpour.

Beside her on his new, bigger, basket-styled bed, Spike's glittering emerald eyes were gazing at her with deep concern.

Twilight drew in a shuddering breath, thoughts turning back to the horrifying dream she'd just had. Not to mention the not-so-small amount of her magic that had suddenly ejected itself from her body unbidden.

Clearing her throat she addressed Spike with as much composure as she could manage:

"S-spike, t-take a letter, I-

Twilight paused in her dictation to swallow down the hard lump that had formed in her dry and cottony throat.

"I need to talk to Princess Luna."

2:Stars and Stripes

The stormy seas were raging.

Waves crashed upon waves, over and over again in a rising crescendo. The waters swirled and twirled in a whirlpool ballet, before crashing in time with a deadly aquatic bolero.

A flash lit the liquid stage, the curtain of clouds opening up to allow spotlights of lightning to glare unforgivingly upon the miles of rolling blue crystal.

Tunder sounded like trumpets, and the crackling drumbeat set the pace.  The whistling wind joined the opera and began a pirouette to lift the seas.

Round and round went the ocean water, round and round the whistling seas.

Lightning crashed and wind spat water. Twisting the aquatic mass with ease. Higher and higher it rose, water and wind in perfect harmony.

Finally, their dance complete, the torrenting forces of nature slowed their tempo just a little. Leaving a pillar of a'ris and aqua swirling gently beneath an orchestra of chaos.

The flashes of lightning ceased for a moment as if considering, before crashing down the tremendous twister with a mighty flash.

CRACK! The thunderous boom shook the watery expanse with a mighty tremble. The whirling rope tethered to the sky lit up with a multichromatic glow.  Shimmering beams of light speared out of the sides of the cyclone at random intervals.

One such spear struck a shape on the water. Banishing the darkness for but a moment, it revealed a ship of unorthodox design  before it fading back into the shadow of the storm.

At the highest point of the powerful cyclone, a glimmering light, different from the others, slowly descended before making a rest at the base.

The twister of water and lucent iridescence gave off one final glowing whirl before exploding in a spectrum of luminescence, revealing a dull and ordinary small wooden raft with a flagpole sticking out of it.

Red, White and Blue waved slowly and soflty, the long straight stripes and shimmering bright stars shyly waved their geeting to the brave new world they were now an irreplacable part of.

The storm began to lose power as the literal magical lightning rod floating on the sea absorbed all the latent power hanging in the air. All was calm for a few minutes, then with the vigor of a newborn star a lavender aura exploded into being around the flag, blowing the material in a nonexistent wind.

A tan and pink blur came hurtling out of the darkness towards the spangled banner, moving with such velocity it would be impossible to have stopped what was about to transpire.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. let's step back, just a moment.

As the magic slowly begins to drain from the massive thunderhead, small pockets of clouds begin to dissipate into thin air.

The storm clouds thinning, the warm light of the sun struggled to pierce what had been a raging maelstrom but a few moments ago.

One sunbeam courageously bursts through the wall of misty water vapor, re-illuminating the form of the mysterious vessel from earlier.

The craft is oddly ovular in shape, and seemingly not well designed for a vessel of the sea. Odder still, the masts of the ship are shortened, leading to large U-shaped wedges of wood which hold a huge wad of cloth. The purpose as to this design is unknown.

Piping runs down from the masts and into the thick knotty boards that compose the deck, dents and scratces run up and down their well worn and rusted surface.

The decking of the ship is typical of seacraft. Thick, sturdy, and wide boards have been woven from large proud trees into a sturdy deck any ship would be proud of.

A multitude of shapes can be seen moving near the bow, at the front of the ship.

Most of these shapes are varying shades of browns, hazel, black and grey, some of them capped with white.

Avian and leonine ancestry are both profound contributors to the overall appearance of these figures.

One shape however, is not like the others.

The smaller, more rounded and less threatening shape vaguely resembles some kind of equine. Two small wings are bound with rigging to a soft and furry body, the khaki and tan fur of its coat contrasting the burnt sienna of its mane and tail. Long fuzzy ears are plastered to the back of it's head. and its enormously round and stunningly blue eyes are narrowed in stubborn defiance. Short, powerful, legs built supple and lean for running mile after mile flail themselves randomly, lashing out at the larger, more sinewy, and powerful forms before them, cracking beaks and shattering bones.

Or they would have, had the equine not been tied to a post.

The mocking beaked maws seemed the perfect targets for the onslaught of blows its limbs wished to commit, but It was not to be so- they remained frustratingly out of reach, just barely beyond striking range.

The rocking of the boat, although gentler than moments prior was enough that any near hits were thrown slightly off target.

"Having trouble, my little pony?" An unmistakably masculine voice asks with a poisonous sneer, his voice being broadcasted over the still moderately rumbling storm.

The creature, now identified as a pony swung its shiny sapphire eyes in the direction of the speaker. Its searching eyes quickly found what they were looking for in a gaze of cruel, hard emerald.

The owner of the voice was a large specimen, muscles rippling under his fur and feathers. The fluffy feathers on The male creature's head being ebony in color, his torso and legs the same browns and tans as the rest of the ship's crew.

Large ripping talons akin to a bird of prey adorn his front legs, and huge paws sheathing deadly slashing claws are attatched to his hindlegs. A long slender tail with a puff of fur at the end snaked back and forth with catty arrogance as the half-avian strode forward with grace and purpose, his talons gripping the planks on the swaying boat with ease.

An oddly ring shaped scabbard lay across the griffon's back,

On his head lay a black, gold-rimmed, triangle captains hat; decorated by a single grey plume.

"Don't expect me to thank you for this, you half baked griffon!" The retort was feminine, and held more than a little bit of spite for the aforementioned being. "You were the one that tied me to this post!" The pink-ish brown strands of her mane fell in her face as the rocking of the boat caused her to sag forward momentarily, clearly somewhat tired. A small gust of air from her lips pushed the rebellious bangs away from her eyes and back on her head where they belong.

"I am Warren Eberhardt, the captain of this ship." The rumbling tone of the

"I do not appreciate deserters such as yourself, If you hadn't tried to run away we wouldn't have strung you up miss Freeflight." His deep baritone voice was cruel and mocking, reverberating tones of malice sending shudders through the comparatively small pony's form.

The smooth features of Freeflight's face sharpened into a snarl, her brow creasing in stress and anger. "I didn't run away, I LEFT! You griffons thought you had us fooled, but all you did was feed us LIES so we could work in your LABOR CAMPS!" The pony's mouth clicked shut with a loud snap. The furious expression simmering on her face would melt even the mightiest mountain instantly, but the griffon captain did not even so much as twitch.

"Oh really? and what do you think this, "Princess Celestia" is going to do for you?" His legs started moving, the mighty griffon pacing around the post to which Freeflight was bound.

"The mighty dictator of the sun would kill you outright before giving a lowly pegasus the likes of you any kind of asylum, in fact..." He paused, evil glee lighting his wickedly sharp beak. "She wouldn't even show you that mercy. She would throw you  in the dungeon, and you would be tortured for the rest of your days. We wouldn't want that would we, my little pony?"

Freeflight shook her head vigorously. "That's a LIE!" She screamed, managing to yell loud enough that the feathers upon the heads of the griffons nearest to her actuallly rustled from the force of her extreme exclamation. "You lousy griffon! All your kind ever does is lie, imprison, and enslave! Princess Celestia is a kind ruler, who protects her subjects. And if she knew what you and your kind were doing to my people, she'd... she'd..." Freeflight's train of thought puttered to a stop, her brow unknitted, and her eyes finally betrayed her exaustion by unfocusing and adding a blur to the world.

Being on a moving boat didn't help with the nauseating doubles of the objects in her vision.

"Can't think of an answer can you?" Freeflight remained silent, but refocused her tired eyes to glare at the larger griffon. "Oh, of course you can't." His voice sounded exasperated, like a teacher explaining the same concept for the hundreth tiime. He rolled his eyes. "Those stories about Princess Celestia are just that, stories. You haven't even the slightest of clues of what she's really like, do you?"

The nearby griffons working around on the deck paused in their duties to chuckle at that remark.

Freeflight's face did it's best impression of a deliciously ripe tomato. "So what?" She ground her  teeth. "So what if I don't know what Princess Celestia is like? She could be a dictator a thousand times worse than the griffonian king, and there is no way for me to possibly tell!

Freeflight strained in her bindings to move closer to the pacing black headed griffon's face. "But if I never tried, if I never dreamed- I might as well have died in those camps, my destiny never revealing itself."

Her determination was set in her face as hard as stone. immovable and indesctructable.

"Is that so?" The griffon asked, his piercing gaze glancing at the image of broken shackles on her hip for a moment before snapping back to her face.

His pacing abrubtly stopped. "Your... destiny... is it?" A thoughtful look plastered itself on his beaked face. "And what exactly is this destiny you speak of? This picture of entitlement that makes you so brave, why does it affect you so?  What manner of power do you think it makes you able to achieve? It is but a mere mark, it has no more power than say- the flag on this ship.

The powerful griffon's gaze shifted towards the front of the vessel, freeflight's gaze followed.

A green bannner was anchored on a pole at the very point of the bow. The flag was decorated with a stencilied red image of a griffon in a mighty warrior pose; wings stretched wide.

Its chest was puffed out with pride, its head held high with dignity, and its tail looping in a graceful curve.  It's taloned forelegs were spread wide with triumph, its left talon holding arrows, its right a sword.

"A mere strip of cloth, fluttering in the wind- on it portrayed the might of the griffon empire.... Worthless. all of it." His eyes slowly shut and the smile on his face vanished.

If the drooping of his previously well-tucked wings was any indication, this subject meant a lot to the older and wiser griffon.

His voice quiet and soft, The captain whispered one more line.

"There is no pride in this banner, not anymore."

Freeflight just sat there silent for a moment.

...

Finally, her mouth opened. "You're right."

His eyes shot open in suprise, before narrowing and reclaiming their lock on her aqua blue eyes.

Seeing she had his attention, she continued speaking. "The marks themselves hold no power and never will." A confident grin bridged itself straight from the depths of her heart and planted itself on her muzzle. Her drooping eyes seemed to gain new vigor. "but you forgot one thing, the reason we get these marks in the first place."

The irritated scowl on the griffon's beak was proof alone that her speech was having the desired effect.

"And what, pray tell is that?"

The smile on Freeflight's face was not one of mocking arrogance, nor a sneer of cynical disdain. Instead, her grin projected pure confidence. A confidence unshakable by any and all that may try to convice her otherwise.

"We don't receive our talents when we get these marks..."

She paused for dramatic effect, blinking once, her smile never fading.

"We get these marks after we've earned them."

The massive griffon only got a chance to blink before the ropes around Freeflight burst in an explosion of compressed air, freeing her wings and body from their bondage.

She fell to the deck hoof-first with a clop, her weakened appendages wavering for a moment on the wet and slippery wooden flooring. Freeflight straightened her legs, forcefully keeping her aching body standing.

The shocked avian feline hybrid recomposed himself in a second, and with a roar he threw his large form at the newly freed pony with as much muscle as he could deliver, intending to recapture her swiftly.

He never got the chance.

Adrenaline pumping in her veins, and her heart thumping in her ears; Freeflight forced her wings to carry her skyward and out of the lunging griffon's trajectory.

Realizing his impending impact with the unforgiving wooden pole, The griffon captain retracted his scaly arms from their outstretched position and hastily guarded his face.

The griffon's large mass smashed headfirst into the pole his captive had been tied to a moment earlier, splintering it on impact. His prudent action barely saved him from a nasty concussion. Even so, his actions weren't quick enough to avoid him being stunned.

Their captive escaping, their captain fallen- It was at this point that the crew realized what was going on and took flight themselves to attempt recapture of their escaped prisoner. It was far too late.

Freeflight used the still ongoing adrenal rush to propel her away from the pursuing griffons. If not for the hormones, Freeflight wouldn't even be able to walk, much less fly. It had taken all of her energy to escape the first time, being recaptured and tied to a post didn't help her recovery. Nonetheless she flew, faster and harder than she ever had before, Her wings pumping as hard as they could.

In the sky, nearly all of the magic had been drained from the clouds, and the darkness was starting to lift.

But before the oppressive blackness could be washed away by the waiting sunlight, a purple glow illuminated the undersides of the fading clouds. Freeflight's eyes cried out in protest against the burning explosion of light, and she slammed them shut on instinct. This was a fatal mistake.

Exhausted, running out of adrenaline, sore and cramped muscles all over her body, and being blinded by the lavender light wave, there was no way she could have avoided what came next.

About 80 hooves below, and 200 hooves in front of her, a red, white, and blue flag anchored to a raft by a rather sharp and pointy stick was glowing with a powerful violet aura.

And Freeflight was careening straight towards it.