TCB: A World At War

November 19, 1939
West of Canterlot, Equestria

The chariot approached the capital, slowly being pulled by two white pegasus guards. Four humans wrapped in blankets sat in the back, and Constellation made small talk with Greg.

After waiting about an hour, Princess Celestia herself had come down to the crash site and opened the barrier, allowing her guards to evacuate the other humans. She was flying behind the chariot, eyeing the humans carefully.

Landing on a castle balcony, Constellation hopped out and bowed to Celestia. “Princess?” she asked, “Can I please ask a favor?”

Celestia smiled. “Of course. What is it?”

“Please take good care of them. I’d like to visit sometime - can I do that?”

“Of course.”

Celestia and her guards escorted the humans inside, out of Constellation’s view. Celestia’s smile grew even wider. “Take them to Luna - she’s in the royal laboratory.” She ordered.

December 5, 1939
Near Blacklion, Republic of Ireland

“Just a few more miles, lads,” the section commander called out as the force continued to walk down the road. Corporal James Henderson looked up, checking for pegasi flying above them.

They had been stationed outside of the port town of Sligo, population 30000, when it had been attacked by these ponies. They had jumped into the fight, eager to finally put their combat training to use, but over the past five days they had been overrun by sheer numbers. They had been a proud company of 120, and now they were a beaten squad of 14.

They had seen hundreds of people injected by those needles, watching in growing horror as civilians and soon their own soldiers underwent an almost miraculous transformation. Losing soldiers at such a quick rate, and seeing no end to the attacking ponies, the only remaining officer had ordered a “tactical retreat”. Henderson snorted - tactical retreat his ass. They had fled into the woods, too scared and inexperienced to rally and fight back.

In any event, fleeing into the nearby woods where the flying ponies could not track them was the only reason they hadn’t been captured - and still, they had lost a few men in that forest. After the pegasi had given up, and the adrenaline had faded, the company - well, squad now - had continued forward through the forest until they had met a road. They had been unable to get regimental on the radio, but they had managed to contact Land Command, who had ordered them to link up with British troops on the border and stand by for orders.

They had walked for over ten hours, thirty miles, nearing the border between the two nations. Henderson was a bit worried about how the British troops would react to their approach, but he knew that they weren’t exactly threatening. Besides, reports had said British troops had been attacked as well.

It was getting dark, and the lights of the border town of Blacklion were soon visible. Henderson saw a shadow cross over one of the windows, and apparently his commander did as well. Putting his hands up, the inexperienced officer started waving at the town, hoping to catch their attention.

All of a sudden, an extremely bright light flooded Henderson’s field of vision, temporarily blinding him. Squinting through his eyelids, he could make out some shapes moving toward him. British troops? Wait... they were flying.

Henderson suddenly realised what was happening. “Pegasi! They’re pegasi!” He yelled out, trying to warn his squadmates. Bringing his own Lee-Enfield up, he shot blindly at the approaching figures, unable to use his sights because of the blinding light.

In an instant, four pegasi had tackled some men to the ground, drawing their deadly needles. Henderson panicked and ran for his life, sprinting in a random direction as far away from the ponies as possible. Adrenaline pumped through his system as he dashed across the field.

He could hear the flap of wings above him, and he dashed in the general direction of the border, hoping to god there were troops there who could help him. Whilst continuing to run, he snapped off a couple of shots above him, not able to think straight because of the fear that had overtaken his mind. After a few more minutes, he realised that he could no longer hear anything. Looking up at the now night sky, he looked desperately for his pursuer, not finding anything.

Trying to regain his bearings, he found that he had run around the entire town of Blacklion and was now approaching the border. He could see the British border post. He had no idea whether they had also been attacked, but he knew perfectly well this was his only chance.

The sandbag wall appeared in front of him, and he leapt over it, finding the Bren gun deserted. Henderson jumped behind it, hurriedly recalling his weapons training and loading an L1A1 SLR 20 round magazine into the weapon. For a few moments, he just sat there, exhaustion starting to set in as the adrenaline faded from his system. All of a sudden, he felt like he was going to collapse - after all, he had just run nearly a mile. Breathing heavily, he looked over the night skyline, seeing nothing.

“Who’s that?” A feminine voice came from behind him. Henderson whirled around, reaching desperately for his rifle, not finding it. He must have dropped it in his panic to escape. Squinting his eyes, he could make out two vaguely equine shaped forms in the shadows.

If he could’ve, the corporal would’ve facepalmed. He had been so desperate to get behind a weapon that could protect him that he had completely forgotten to check whether or not the outpost was friendly. How had he not thought anything of the fact that the Bren had been abandoned?

“It’s a human!” The other form said, turning his head. “I’ll go back and get some more of the potion. Watch him until I get back.” The first shadow nodded, spread her wings and flew off.

Henderson desperately reached for anything he could use as a weapon. Drawing his entrenching tool, he swung it dangerously at the pony, only to gasp in horror as both the pony’s horn and his shovel were enveloped in an electric blue glow. The weapon was ripped out of his hands and flung out of the way.

What the hell? He thought to himself, starting to panic yet again. Putting his hands behind him, he grabbed desperately for anything to throw or hit the pony with - and slammed his hand down on the loaded machine gun directly behind him. He mentally facepalmed again.

“Look, human,” the pony said calmly, “please, don’t be afraid! I know you’re scared, but trust me when I say that we’re not trying to hurt you! We’re trying to help-”

All of a sudden, her words were cut off by a fusilade of not-so-distant gunfire. Henderson heard the distinct rat-tat-tat of a Thompson submachine gun, a few bangs of a Lee-Enfield, a piercing scream, and then silence.

The unicorn appeared unsure of what to do. Turning her head toward the general direction of the noise, she took one hesitant step toward it.

Seizing the chance, Henderson whirled around, grabbed the Bren gun off the bipod behind him, turned, and emptied the twenty round magazine into the pony in front of him. The extremely high velocity .303 rounds literally ripped the unicorn apart, spraying blood and gore all over the place.

For another moment, there was silence. Henderson looked down at the mutilated remains of the dead equine, wondering what had just happened. Her last words rang through his head - that she had been trying to help. Maybe they truly believed what they were doing to be good. Henderson started to feel the tiniest bit of remorse.

A small sound came from the nearby buildings, and the Corporal snapped out of his stupor. However good her intentions had been, she had been trying to kill him, and he needed to get over it. Pointing the gun in the general direction of the noise, he yelled out, “Hello? Is anyone there? I’m armed!”

There was no reply for a second, then there was a cry that startled the soldier. “British troops! Don’t fire!”

Henderson sagged with relief as about a dozen Brits came out of cover behind a building. The soldiers re-occupied the position while one came up to Henderson. “Hey, mate, you okay? We heard gunfire.” Henderson nodded pointing wordlessly at the corpse lying before them.

The British officer nodded. “We got attacked a few hours ago, and when they tried to flank us we pulled back. We have two companies here, 220 men - our squad got three of the bastards on the way in. What unit are you with?”

“Irish defense infantry,” Henderson said exhaustively. Now that he was safe, he began to feel immensely tired. “C company. I’m the only one left.” Yawning, Henderson felt his eyes closing, and he collapsed to the ground, falling into a deep sleep.

Three Hours Earlier
Royal Air Force Station Angle
Angle, Pembrokeshire, Wales, United Kingdom

A familiar alarm echoed throughout the airfield while dozens of men dashed to their planes, hastily strapping on their equipment as they ran. Over the loudspeakers, information rang out for the pilots to hear. “3-2, 3-2, Scramble, Scramble, Enemy Air Forces, 5-0 Nautical miles North West, Angels 3, Move to intercept, Scramble, Scramble...”

Flying Officer Kenneth Darwin climbed into his Hurricane Mk I fighter plane and started taxiing to the runway. “Form up on me when you’re off the ground, lads,” he heard his Squadron leader ordering. Lifting off the runway hurriedly, he fell in on his leader’s right wing.

He was a member of No. 32 Royal Air Force squadron, commonly known as “The Royal”, responsible for intercepting enemy aircraft and providing naval support. Until now, they had only been fighting Germans - but this time, it was the ponies that the entire world had heard of. They had attacked Royal Navy ships and ground troops, decimated Ireland, and were apparently now trying to cross the channel. Because of the nature of their enemy, his plane was only outfitted with his machine gun - no rockets or bombs.

“It’s the bloody flying ponies!” Someone said over the radio, “Do they really think they can mess with a modern fighter aircraft?”

“I wouldn’t get so cocky, mate,” someone else said, “I’ll bet my arse that they can maneuver a hell of alot better then we can.”

“And how exactly will they bring us down?” He retorted.

“Shut up,” the squadron leader ordered, “radio discipline. Not another word. Climb to Angels 4. Keep an eye out.”

The squadron flew over the English channel, looking for any sign of the approaching pegasus force. After failing to locate anything for a full half hour, doubts started to appear in Darwin’s mind. It was entirely possible that they had missed them, that they had changed course, or that they didn’t even exist. Perhaps it had been an incorrect report.

Before he could voice the possibility, a sudden call came over the radio. “Shit! Royal 5, they’re behind and above!”

Looking into his rearview mirror, Darwin felt a sudden pang of fear as he caught sight of the enemy. There were at least one hundred and fifty of them, and they were directly behind and above them, as the report had said. The perfect ambush position.

“Royals! Split formation! Prepare to engage!” Came the order, and instantly the force of eighty fighter aircraft split into two, one banking left and the other banking right. Darwin lined up his sights with the force in front of him as he came around.

“Engage!”

Squeezing the trigger, the pilot sent a stream of 7.7mm rounds toward the enemy. Instantly, a couple dropped from the sky, spurting blood as they fell. The rest scattered, making it hard for the aircraft to get a bead on more than one pegasus at once.

Pulling back hard on his control stick, he flipped the plane over, trying to nail a couple more. He found, however, that the pegasi were so effective at maneuvering that it was impossible to fire without hitting his own teammates. He wasn’t the only one who realised this.

“Fall away! Charge them again!” The squadron leader ordered. At once, the aircraft flew away from the swarm of ponies, preparing to open fire as they turned around again. To their horror, however, they found that the ponies were flying alongside them.

The pegasi opened fire with their crossbow bolts. They didn’t do much damage, not even penetrating the canopy, but Darwin watched in horror as a bolt entered the engine of one of his comrades. The plane exploded in a fireball as the fuel ignited. The organised flight turned into an all out dogfight.

Darwin maneuvered his plane out of the fighting, hoping to lure some in the open. It worked - three or four ponies flew out with him, trying to stop him from escaping. With a lightning fast turn, he opened fire on them, killing all but one.

The last one somehow managed to get on top of Darwin’s plane, and the clearly visible aqua pegasus started hitting the top of his canopy. The pilot gave his opponent a quick middle finger, then made a drastic bank to the left, throwing the pegasus off the slick fuselage. Banking upward sharply, he tried to come around to nail the pony, but let out a frustrated yell when he flew right past the hovering pegasus.

Increasing his throttle, he sped up to nearly three hundred miles per hour, close to the maximum speed for his plane. Making an extreme bank around, he closed his throttle, and started spitting fire at the hapless equine. The pony dropped from the sky.

As the battle continued, it because clear that this was a one sided battle - although the squadron lost a few planes, pegasi were dropping like flies. About fifteen minutes after the dogfight had begun, pegasi started to break off the engagement, flying back toward Ireland.

“Do we pursue, sir?” Someone asked. After a brief moment of consideration, the order came. “No. Fall in. Return to base.” Darwin knew why - although they could achieve more casualties if they wanted to, they had already won - there was no point in risking their lives further. Descending slightly, he fell in on the right wing of the squadron leader. They made a turn to the east, heading for home.

December 6, 1939
German High Command
Berlin, German Empire

The five Generals in command of the German military smartly marched through the halls of the German government, stationary guards saluting as they passed. Climbing up the marble staircase, they came to a large oak door. Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, the commander in chief of all German armed forces, knocked smartly on the door.

“Enter,” came the reply.

Opening the door, the officers entered the office and snapped to attention, hands out in the traditional salute. The occupant of the large, extremely posh office was standing behind his desk, staring out at the capital of his Reich.

Turning, the Chancellor of Germany spoke. “What is the news?” he inquired simply.

Keitel lowered his arm and looked directly at his leader. “Mein Fuhrer, the “Equestrian Barrier”, as they call it, is continuing to expand. Yesterday, it overtook one of the Azores, destroying U-50. It was refueling at our base there.”

The expression on the Nazi party leader was unchanged. “And what do our spies say?”

Admiral Canaris, the commander of Abwehr, the German intelligence agency, stepped forward. “Mein Fuhrer, we have lost contact with our spies in Irish government. England is planning an offensive against the ponies in Ireland.”

Hitler nodded slightly. “Put all forces on high alert. Be ready to strike.” He said simply. The generals nodded. “Sieg Heil!” They shouted while performing the salute. Turning around, they left the office.