The engine is the heart of an aeroplane, but the pilot is its soul.
Chapter Seven
(You’re welcome, Cyrus. :) )
Combat Air Patrol
“Oh~ it's a loong way, t’ Tipperary, ‘s a lon’ way ta’ go. ‘s a Long waay t’ Tipperary, t’ th’ sweetest Gal I know~.”
“Ahhh, Stick a sock innit, Wizard. I’m try’na nap ‘ere.” A fairly grumpy voice growled out across the spacious hangar, to the rest of the squadron’s cheer, as Wizard halted her ditty- and her maintenance work- to put a hoof on her hip.
“Oi, I dinna’ mak’ fun of the Stallski’s singin’.”
“That's because Scroupy-gal can keep on tune.” Came a third voice, that of another squadron member, as they sat on a box, flicking idly through a newspaper. “Besides, you're a better singer smashed, Wizard.”
“Oh feck off, Lightning.” The Unicorn mare- Wizard- snorted, waggling a levitated ratchet towards the opal pegasus mare. “At least I kno’ a few good ditties. You jus’ stare a’-”
“Ey, that's enough of that you crass children.” Another, more authoritative voice, spoke up, as the hangar’s side door swung open for a few moments, letting in a rush of frigid winter air, before slamming shut behind the intruder.
“Brigh’ an’ early to ya, Night Queen. I wunnit gonna say nothin’.” Wizard replied, pouting momentarily, before placing the ratchet back in her toolbox. Gazing over the box itself, she leisurely traded it for a buffing kit.
“Sure, Sunset. The sky’s also upside down, and the sea is made of salsa.”
“If’n ya dinni’ ken what th’ ocean’s made outta, I ken you outta go back ta’ flight school, laddie-boy.”
“Thunderlane, Sunset, that's enough, both of you.” The Night Queen griped, tapping her aviator’s goggles idly against her own barrel with a wing. “Everypony get prepped for a CAP. Words of wisdom from Command is that the Bugs have a flight of bombers heading towards the Shire, if partisan reports are moderately accurate.”
“With all due respect, ma’am,” Lightning Dust began, as she packed up her newspaper and swiped her skullcap and giggles from a nearby crate, “Sounds like a wild goose chase. Changelings would be crazy to fly in a damn blizzard.”
“Agreed, Airpony Dust, but command’s spooked anyhow, so… we’re on CAP. Wings up in ten.”
---
The frosted over hangar doors grumbled open, letting in the frigid air and wind from outside. Inside, the six planes of Blue Squadron were already spun up, their engines warm and propellers cycling happily.
“Night Queen” Night Glider’s Supermarine Spitfire- so named after the famed wonderbolt Captain who designed it- rolled easily out onto the runway in the lead position, followed by the rest of the Squadron. Sunset “Wizard” Shimmer was to her back and right, in Wingpony’s position. Behind her back and right sat Thunderlane, a newcomer to the Squadron, and Lightning “Gutsy” Dust, who’d been in the squadron longest out of all present. Across from them were the other two members of the flight, “Bolty” Bolterdash, and Scroup- a Stalliongradian Volunteer.
“Check one.” Night Queen began, as she tested her aileron flaps, the marginally snowed-over taxiway lit brightly by several fog lanterns, well visible despite the veritable blizzard.
“Seiceáil dhá.” Wizard’s reply followed, as she fell into her native brogue- something Night Glider never could pry the origin of, out of the mare. It sounded fairly similar to Shireish, but there were clear dialectical differences. Wizard, however, didn't like talking about home much. Still, Glider was glad to have her as a wingpony regardless.
“Ugh, Wizard’s at it again. Check Three.” Thunderlane griped, as he tested his own ailerons.
“Ya get used to it, ‘Lane. Check four.” Gutsy snarked back goodnaturedly.
“Aye, it grows on you after a while. Check five.” Bolty chuckled in bemusement, as his ailerons waggled. “Nix that, left is a bit touchy.”
“Copy that. See if you can get it to unthaw. Otherwise you're grounded unless we’ve got a backup plane.” Glider nodded, from her cockpit.
“Aye, ma’am. Give me five.”
“Check six.” Scroup finished, watching Bolty hop out with a rubber mallet and wrench. The Stalliongradian mare never spoke much, and had never given her real name, but insisted that everyone just call her Scroup. Whatever that meant.
“Why can’t the Wonderbolts get the bum jobs? Seems like we always get the shit end of the stick.” Thunderlane griped, rubbing his hooves together, in an attempt to stay warm. “Bet they ain’t flying in a blizzard.”
“Cos’ the Wonderbolts aren’t nutty enough to fly CAP in a blizzard. Why are we nutty enough?” Bolty snorted, as he hopped back into his Spitfire. “Check Five, my ailerons are good now.”
“Copy that, Bolty. And I prefer the term ‘brilliant, sexy aces’.” Night Glider chuckled. “Tower, this is the Night Queen. Blue Squad’s ready for takeoff.”
“I’d drink t’ that.”
“You’d drink to a lot of things.”
“Bugger off ya lickarse.”
—-
The blizzard howled about the six pony squadron, as snow flew by, overtaken easily by the powerful motors of the blue-winged Spitfires. The six aircraft stuck to a close formation, doing their best to maintain visibility despite the thick snowstorm.
“Ca— that we’re———-ing in th— sort—- weather.”
Night Glider frowned, as she looked down, flicking the switch on her radio. “Repeat that, Bolty, you’re cutting out.”
Bolty repeated what he’d said, just as garbled as before.
“Right.” Night Glider shook her head. “Everypony switch to one-five-five point two-zero.”
“One-five-five dot two-zero.” Came somepony’s reply, as the squadron changed frequencies.
“Go for Night Queen.”
“This is Queen. I read you, Bolty.”
“A-firm, Ma’am. I was just complaining about the weather.”
“Right, well, stop that. We’ve work to do. By my mark we should be…” Glider paused, to double check her map and her stopwatch. “Should be clearing the town of Shire now.”
“Tha’s ‘n aff’rm’tive.” Sunset chimed in, a few seconds later. “I’ve got the clock tower down there. River should be just ahead of us.”
“Wonder what it’s like, down there.”
“S’ hell.” Sunset Shot Back, nearly immediately. “Ought-ta be damn glad ye’er op ‘ere, Thunderlane.”
Nopony really said much, after that.
The flight cleared the Shire River, spotted by Lightning, and began their patrol of the area, remaining in a somewhat more spread- though not far due to the weather- formation.
—
“Gutsy here, I’ve got some shapes!”
“Shapes? The hell’s that supposed to-“
“Confirmed, we have Changeling Bombers.” Thunderlane cut Bolterdash off, supporting his wingpony.
“Shit, okay, we’re forming on you. Squadron! Combat formation!”
The six planes formed back up on the edge of their patrol zone, letting Lightning and Thunderlane take spearhead, since they’d spotted the enemy flight.
Within a minute, they’d located the flight of Heinkel bombers, alone.
“Whot the hell, no escorts?” Sunset muttered, her voice only vaguely audible over the radio and the snowstorm.
“Yeah that’s weird. Eyes and ears open everypony. Let’s go hunting.”
The six fighters split into a wide combat formation, each of the three pairs of lead and wingpony splitting off towards a different bomber in the moderate formation.
Sunset followed Night Glider up and over, then down into, one of the Heinkel bombers, their wing armaments- eight .303 machine guns each- blazing to life amidst the heavy snowfall, as the two pounced on the Changeling bomber.
Night Glider’s tracers stitched along the Wing-mounted engines, as Sunset drug hers across the dorsal turret towards the back of the plane, as the pair dodged the frantic Spandau return fire.
The engines on the left wing detonated, as the wing itself sheared off, and the bomber began to fall towards the earth.
The two came about for another pass on a second bomber, when Night Glider’s breath hitched in her throat. “Wizard, we’ve got a problem!”
“What sorta problem are we lookin’ at ‘ere, Queenie?” Sunset replied over the radio, her voice Heavy with static from the storm’s interference.
“Looking at nine BF109’s worth of problems. Whole ruddy squadron.”
“Bollocks. Prolly tha’ escorts f’r yonder bombers, aye?”
“Aye.” Night Glider frowned, gazing over and down at the nine BF109 flight. “Bugger, those are twenty-mils under the wings, I think.”
“Ruddy bugs and their ruddy cannons. Feckless arses, th’ lot of em.”
“Easy, Wizard. Squadron can take them.” Night Glider twisted her head to view the rest of the six pony squadron, who were still engaging the bombers. “Blue Squadron, form on Lead! We’ve some bug fighters to squash before the bombers are taken care of!”
She waited a couple seconds. “Blue Squadron this is Blue Leader? Do you read me, over?”
“Bloddy ‘ell, I dinnae think they’re readin’ us over th’ storm Queenie.”
“Damn... Right. Guess we’re up then.”
“Eh, we ken at least buy the Langer’s some time. Up an’ o’er?”
“Spot on. Taking the lead fighter.”
“Peckin’ the pox on ‘is asshole.”
And without further retort, the two Spitfires, .303s primed and gunsights at the ready, jerked upwards for height, before twisting back downwards moments later, on an intercepting course with the nine Changeling flight.
The one thing the two Spitfires had going for them was the blizzard, at least, as they roared downward towards the enemy formation. Their engines drowned out by the roaring winds and their blue and white paint masked by the snow itself, the two pilots watched their gauges warily, hooves grasping their controls in anticipation.
“Hold..”
Twenty thousand feet, and dropping like a brick. The wingtips Of Wizard’s Spitfire shuddered with the anticipation of it’s pilot, as she forced herself to take deep, deliberate breaths.
“Hold…”
Fifteen thousand. They were probably down at ten, level with the bombers.
Fourteen thousand.
“Clip their Wings!” Glider barked, as her .303s echoed over the blizzard, stitching across the sky, and along the engine block and canopy. Pitch black smoke flared out of the Messerschmidt, as Sunset emptied her own machine guns into her designated fighter, shearing it’s Wing off, as it toppled from the sky end over end.
“Well there’s two of the Dry Shites!” Sunset shouted, as the Spitfires passed the Messerschmitts in a downward descent.
“Quite! Seven to go.” Glider replied, whilst the two pilots leveled off and shot back up into an ascent, Sunset returning to Wingpony’s position, to the rear and left of Night Glider.
“Ach, Shooty now, numbers later.” Wizard snarked back, checking her gauges once more. Back up to twenty thousand.
The two wheeled about their fighters, searching for the enemy flight amidst the tempestuous weather.
“There.” Sunset waggled her wingtips, as Night Glider allowed her to take lead. “Looks like they’re searchin’ fir us’n now.”
“Mhn, I see them. We’ll smash them from above again. Probably get stuck in after that though, they’ll chase.”
“Aye, an’ those damn messers are tit fir’ tat on our Spitties. Rolls-Royce b’damned.”
“Yes. I just hope the others are having better luck that we are.”
“We better well ‘ope so.”
—
Sunset gazed down at the control yoke, blinking as her thoughts shifted momentarily.
“Wha’ a perfect storm.”
“Hm? Come again, Merlin?”
“Oh, nottin’, Arthur. Jes’ thinking about the weather we’er having. Think them Fokker Tris ken fly in this? I’d love ta’ ‘ave another go at tha’ red-winged bollix.”
“Soon, Merlin. Soon.”
—
“Earth to Wizard. Are you still with me?” Sunset blinked, letting her breath return to normal as she relaxed her Iron grip on her controls, leaning back in her cockpit.
“Aye, Queenie. Ah’m still ‘ere. Just lost m’self for a moment. Solid now.”
“Stay with me, Sunset.” Night Glider warned, as the two Spitfires finalized their attack run, beginning to dive back down towards the Changeling Messerschmitts.
The 109s split up nearly immediately as the Spitfires came into view through the snowstorm, and Night Glider and Sunset pursued their two marks.
A few machine gun bursts and some simple maneuvers later, and two more Changelings fell from the sky, pouring coal-black smoke from their diesel engines.
Five more to go.
Sunset split left as Night Glider split right, wheeling about in a large circle. Two of the five remaining planes were on their tails, whilst one dove low, another went high, and the pair lost track of the last one.
Finishing their loops, Sunset jinked right and started hammering away with her machine guns, as Night Glider tugged in the opposite direction and matched her.
The 109 on Night Glider’s tail fell from the air as green splotches smashed against the ruined cockpit glass, Sunset’s guns ventilating it front to back. The one on Sunset’s tail, having anticipated the move, stuck close to her rear, as Sunset dived low, attempting to shake the pilot.
“Any day now, Queen!” Sunset complained, as she twitched her controls back and forth, attempting to dodge the cannon fire of the 20 millimeters on the 109’s wings.
“Patience is a virtue Wizard!”
“Yah well, mebbe I’d be a tad mair patient if’n i wuddn’t gettin’ me feckless arse shot off!” The pilot snarked, as she twisted her Spitfire about, cannon shells bursting in the sky to and fro, and Spandaus occasionally perforating holes in her aircraft’s Wing. “Any feggin’ dae now!”
“Yes, yes I’m on it!” Night Glider growled, as she finished sliding behind the enemy fighter, shredding its tail with .303 caliber bullets until it sheared off and fell earthwards. “There you go, you wanker.”
“Much obliged, ma’rm.” Sunset snorted, slowing to return to formation. That made… Three more. One high, one low, one… somewhere.
“Right… Fuel and ammunition check?”
“Solid on fuel. Less on ‘munitions. Down to about…. Guessin’ two hundred.”
“Copy and similar. Buggery, wish these things held a couple more belts.”
“We’el make it work, Queenie, gel.”
--
The two circled back about, as the two fighters that’d gone high and low attempted to sandwich them from said directions. Sunset flicked right, as Night Glider tugged left, before the two dove after the groundwards directed fighter. Working together, the two easily tore the enemy fighter apart, before pulling upwards, and pursuing the other fighter- also short work. Which, just left-
Sunset immediately shoved her Spitfire into a panic dive, as cannon fire flared past the pair of pilots, and the Changeling fighter homed in on her tail. “Hurray suas agus a fháil ar an hoor seo!” The mare raged, slipping back into her brogue mid-sentence, as she bobbed and weaved away from the markedly better pilot, who stuck to her tail like a dog chasing a cat.
Diving low, and cursing the enemy ace’s name as Night Glider attempted to keep up and spray him down- to no avail, Sunset pulled herself level with the shoreline, her Spitfire nearly skimming the tops of the Changeling AA guns on the western bank of the Shire, noting in idle panic as the shocked Changelings watched the Spitfires and Messerschmitt dance a deadly tango, precious feet from the ground below.
“Fuck, Sunset, I’m outta ammunition!” Glider cursed, as her guns clicked empty, the three planes continuing to barrel down the frozen river.
“Are ye focken shitting mae?!” The unicorn practically screeched, as she huddled as low as she could in her cockpit, machine gun bullets and sporadic cannon fire tracing past her head.
“Just keep flying, dammit!” Night Glider barked, remaining on the Changeling pilot’s tail as closely as possible. “Fucking hell, this bastard’s good. Regular bloody Baron.”
Baron.
Sunset took a deep breath.
A baron she could deal with. A baron she had dealt with.
Granted, that was from a Sopwith Camel, which had a good tendency to fall… apart.. If you turned the wrong…
“Night Glider, pull off. I’ve an idea.”
“What, are you crazy?!”
“Le do thoil éisteacht liom ceart go leor?!”
Night Glider stopped her retort. Please listen to me. The Pegasus bit her lip, her gun sights trained on the Changeling fighter, and her ammunition belts spitefully empty.
“Aaaaah, fuck! Fine! I’m pullin’ back to the others. Gods-fucking-speed, you loon!”
“Eh, buy me a drink an’ a kiss on th’ pecker whaen we get back.” Sunset joked, grimly, as she flipped fully over the Frozen river, the Changeling ace following her closely, as Night Glider ascended back into the blizzard.
Sunset sat back in her cockpit, gazing out at the falling snow, and the howling winds. At the Ponies dug in along the bank to her left, and the Changelings dug in to her right. Shocked. Amazed, incredulous. How ridiculous, right? A dogfight in a snowstorm.
One hundred feet.
Bullets echoed, snapping by her face. One grazed her skull cap, narrowly scraping her left ear.
Seventy-five feet. Glass shattered around her.
Fifty feet. With her magic, she levitated a pocket-sized photograph from her pilot’s coat. Three humans- not ponies.
Twenty-five. Cork, Ireland. Happier times. Back before the Great War. Summer, 1913. Out on a Sunday morning picnic.
Ten feet.
Five.
She could almost reach out and touch the water. Her hoof tensed against a switch on her dashboard.
The pilot gazed back at the Changeling behind her. She’d begun her flight with two kills to her name in the Supermarine Spitfire. Who knew how many he’d shot down. He flew like an ace.
Had the killer instinct of the ace.
Five feet.
Lightning flashed in her mind’s eye. She’d been here before. Different rivers, different years. Different wars.
Different planes, different nations. Different reasons.
But she knew this place.
The Spitfire dipped to a dangerous two feet, and Sunset flicked the switch.
The landing gear shot down from the Spitfire automatically, hit the frozen river at an odd angle as Sunset’s wingtip slid across the ice, and snapped off.
With a smash of glass, the landing gear flew back, through the Messerschmitt’s cockpit, as it jerked upwards momentarily, then smashed down into and through the ice, into the frigid Shire.
Wizard exhaled, as she leaned back in her cockpit, exhausted, but alive. Pulling the abused Spitfire into a gradual ascent, as she twisted over the Equestrian side of the river, she smiled tiredly, at the cheering ponies below her, as she passed by.
Time to head home.
--
Night Glider sat, quietly, on the side of the Runway.
It was below freezing, probably, but the pegasus didn’t allow that to bother her. She was looking for Wizard. For Sunset.
It’d been nearly an hour. She should have been home by now. If Glider hadn’t been leaking fuel…
Ifs, ifs, and more damn ifs. If she had more ammunition. If she had been a better shot. If-
She was shaken from her thoughts by a steaming cup of coffee, as Lightning held it on an outstretched wing, sipping at her own.
The mare sat down next to her Squadron lead, wordlessly, as the two waited in the gloomy night.
Then it came. The low, rumbling sound of a Rolls Royce. Audible and easy to pick out, even amongst the snow storm.
The pair shot to their feet, all drinks and other thoughts forgotten.
“There she is!” Lighting pointed out with a hoof, as Night Glider just managed to make out the incoming fighter plane. Low and slow, light gray smoke trailing from the engine itself. She’d taken a few knocks it looked like, but she was back in one piece.
“Something’s wrong- look- oh, shit.”
“Fuck.” Night Glider swore, watching the incoming Spitfire. “She’s got no gear.”
“C’mon Sunny, nice and gentle…” Lighting muttered worriedly under her breath, as the two watched uselessly.
The Spitfire finally slapped down onto the ground, trailing sparks from the bottom of the fuselage as the engine sputtered and died, finally slowing to a halt as the engine burst into flames. The two rushed over, as Sunset ripped herself out of her belt straps, and leapt from the burning plane, and as far away from the burning plane as possible. The three pilots reunited on the edge of the runway, as a firetruck raced across the runway to take care of the wreck.
“Cutting it a bit close, Sunset?” Lightning whooped, as Night Glider squeezed the mare tightly, wrapping her wings about her wingmare.
“Too bloody close, Wiz! Too bloody close!” Glider chuckled weakly, as Sunset snorted tiredly into the pegasus’ shoulder.
“Aye, aye…. tá tú ina aingeal. Tá a fhios agat sin?”
“I…. have no idea what the hell you just said.”
“Well…. Buy you a drink, an’ I’ll teech ye?”
“Several. And, assuming you got that kill… Welcome to the Aces club.”
“Thanks for the stellar feckin’ welcome.”