Beyond the Call of Duty

"I was a member of the Royal Equestrian Air Forces 231st Tactical Squadron, stationed on the Canine Arabian border. Since we were the closest air unit to Stalliongrad, we went sent in to provide air support. Once we got there, though, we had no idea that the dogs had fighters waiting for us."

-Major Soarin, Royal Equestrian Air Force (ret.)

"Hawkeyes, this is Wonderbolt One, we are one minute out from the target. Do you have eyes on any enemy air in the area?" Wonderbolt One, or Spitfire, inquired.

"That's a negative, Wonderbolt One. Wonderbolt's Ten and Eleven, you are cleared to engage enemies on ground." Hawkeyes, the AWACS that was assigned to the 231st Tactical Squadron, or the Wonderbolts, stated.

"Copy that." Wonderbolt Eleven replied.

"Hawkeyes, this is Colonel Nightwing, I have forces to your south that are requesting air support." Nightwing requested.

"Copy that, Colonel, advise them to mark enemy forces with a targeting laser. Wonderbolt Eleven, veer off and prepare to supply close air support."

"Roger. Is napalm approved for use?" Wonderbolt Eleven inquired.

"Napalm is approved for disposal. Careful where you drop it, allied ground forces are danger close." Hawkeyes advised.

"Copy that."

"Wonderbolt Two, Wonderbolt Three, give Wonderbolt Eleven some cover." Spitfire ordered.

"No problem, Spits." Soarin, or Wonderbolt Two, replied. Soarin looked out of the left side of his cockpit to see Wonderbolt Eleven's F-15E roll to the left and dive down a few thousand feet, weighted down by several cluster bombs and a couple sidewinders. Soarin wrapped his hooves around his F-15's joystick and moved it to the left, sending his F-15 into a roll.

"Target marked!" Somepony shouted over the radio.

"Confirmed, target marked. Napalm strike is one minute out." Wonderbolt Eleven stated. Soarin watched from a few thousand feet above Wonderbolt Eleven as his F-15 started diving towards the ground, before pulling up barely 500 feet above the ground and dropping its payload on the enemy forces on the ground below.

"Poor bastards." Wonderbolt Three commented, as they both watched the napalm spread throughout the enemy forces, burning them alive.

"I honestly felt bad for those dogs... at the time, at least. Now, after I was told of the atrocities that were committed by the canine forces, I'm sure a good number of them deserved such a fate." Soarin stated.

"What about the canine air force? When did they show up?" Inkwell inquired.

"Shortly after we finished our first attack runs. Their first wave came in with brand new stealth fighters, the PAK FA, followed by numerous SU-35's and MiG-29's. Nopony saw them coming, not even our AWACS. By the time we realized they were there, they were right on top of us."

"Wonderbolts, we're picking some very small blips on our radar. Might be canine drones or missiles. Move in and intercept them." Hawkeyes ordered.

"Copy that Hawkeyes. Wonderbolt Two, Wonderbolt Three, form up on me. Wonderbolt Four, Wonderbolt Five, form up with Hawkeyes in case there are enemy fighters in the area. The rest of you, split up into pairs and patrol the airspace." Spitfire ordered.

"Understood." Soarin responded, turning his fighter in the direction that his HUD instructed him to. In the distance was a blue blip, indicating that it was Spitfire. Zooming around the air space was about a dozen green blips, indicating where the rest of the Wonderbolts were. And then there were these ten, tiny, red blips far in the distance, high up in the clouds.

"Wonderbolts Two and Three, climb up to 15,000 feet and continuing heading in your current direction. We will attempt to hail the incoming unidentified aircraft." Hawkeyes stated. Soarin looked the left as Wonderbolt Three passed by him and started to pull up.

"Race ya." Wonderbolt Three said.

"You're on." Soarin replied, pushing his throttle stick forward and pulling back the joystick. His F-15's speed increased by about 200 mile per hour as it started to pull up, easily passing his wingmate.

"Unidentified aircraft, you are entering restricted airspace. Identify yourselves." Hawkeyes ordered.

"No response..." Spitfire muttered after a short pause.

"Unidentified aircraft, you will be engaged if you do not change your course immediately. Change your course to heading 225."

There was no response, not even by the time Soarin and his wingmate formed up on Spitfire.

"Wonderbolts One, Two, and Three, unidentified targets are designated as possible hostiles. Move in to identify, and engage them if necessary." Hawkeyes ordered.

"Copy that. Moving in to intercept." Spitfire responded, as her F-15 started to accelerate. Soarin pushed the throttle stick forward in an attempt to keep formation with their squadron leader.

"You'll be right on top of them once you break the cloud cover." Hawkeyes stated.

Soarin switched off his sidewinders and gun pods safety as he watched the distance between his fighter and the red blips grow smaller and smaller.

"Breaking the cloud cover in three... two... one..." Spitfire counted down, before her aircraft disappeared from view as she broke through the clouds. A split second later, Soarin broke through the clouds as well, blinded for a few seconds by the bright sun and the brilliant blue sky. As he eyes became accustomed to the brightness, he spotted ten small objects in the distance.

"I've got eyes on the unidentified aircraft. To our northeast." Soarin stated.

"I see them. Let's try to get beside them." Spitfire said, as her F-15 banked to the right and started accelerating towards the aircraft in the distance. Soarin rotated his joystick to the right as his fighter jerked right.

"Unidentified aircraft," Spitfire began, "this is Captain Spitfire of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. You must identify yourselves immediately and change your course to heading 225, or we will engage you."

There was no response from the unidentified aircraft.

"Wonderbolt One, unidentified aircraft are picking up speed and not changing course. You are clear to engage if needed. Wonderbolts Eight, Nine, and Ten, form up and support Wonderbolts One, Two, and Three." Hawkeyes ordered.

"Copy that, Hawkeyes. We're on our way." Wonderbolt Eight responded.

"Unidentified aircraft, you have three seconds to identify yourselves and change course, or we will engage!" Spitfire shouted.

Soarin jumped as warning alarms started going off.

"Missile lock." A computerized voice stated calmly. Soarin cursed to himself, banking to the left to evade the incoming missile.

"Shit!" Wonderbolt Three shouted, "I've got two- no, three, on my tail!"

"I've got your six, Wonderbolt Three." Soarin stated, watching Wonderbolt Three's F-15 roar past him, followed closely by three enemy fighters. Soarin pulled back the throttle slightly and pulled the joystick to the right, turning his jet around. He then pushed forward on the throttle, picking enough speed to catch up with the enemy fighters. A steady tone started going off, indicating to Soarin that he had a lock on.

"Wonderbolt Two, Fox Two." Soarin stated. His F-15 shuttered as one of his sidewinders launched off of its rail, racing past Soarin's cockpit and hitting the closest enemy fighter in the tail. The fighter started smoking as its engines failed, causing it to plummet out of the sky.

"Shit! I'm hit! I'm hit!" Wonderbolt Three shouted desperately. Soarin watched as his F-15 started to smoke and slow. One of the enemy fighters fired it's gun pod at his F-15, causing his right wing to shred off and hit the other fighter.

"Fuck!" Soarin cursed, locking onto the last remaining enemy fighter and firing off a sidewinder, which ripped right through its left wing.

"Wonderbolt Three, eject!" Hawkeyes shouted.

"I can't! The lever is jammed!" Wonderbolt Three shouted desperately, as his smoking F-15 plummeted out of the sky, disappearing as it dropped into the cloud cover.

"We had never seen the diamond dogs fly with such skills before. We thought they were a bunch of dumb mongrels who flew their fighters like a retarded pegasus. How wrong were we, huh?" Soarin asked with a light chuckle, before collapsing on the table, shaking as he sobbed.