Fallout Equestria: Alphabet soup

by Doomande

Before the bombs: Absolutely Everything By Clarke Otterton

    It was a fine morning for flying. The ponies in the weather flight had just finished clearing the fog that hung over the meadow that served as the 55th Reconnaissance Squadron’s aerodrome. The sun, which cast a pale autumn glow over remnants of fog and the brown edges of the forest, had crested the east horizon less than an hour prior, but the pegasi of the squadron stirred long before then. Some poured over maps, memorizing the flight paths for their day’s mission, while others prepared camera equipment, loading spools of film into the large metal boxes that would be strapped to the fliers heading out to the front. 
    Lieutenant Ditzy Doo double checked the straps of her camera. She did not need a repeat of last week’s incident. The leather straps dug into the skin under her tunic and chafed the roots of her wings, but the camera was not going anywhere. The morning was chilly, causing her to shiver as little droplets of condensation from the straps found their way under her fur. Her sides, though, were warm thanks to the hot muffins she had stuffed in her saddlebag to munch on during the long day’s work ahead.
    The grey lieutenant ran through her checklists one more time. Camera secured? Check. Route memorized and charts packed? A quick glance at the documents in her saddlebag checked this item off the list. Flares and emergency kit packed? Check. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and lowered her goggles. Then, stretching her wings, she ran forward through the meadow and took flight. The feeling of freedom that accompanied the weightlessness in her hooves as they skidded over the wet grass and up into the air never got old. Ditzy Doo loved flying.
    “Hey, Derpy, watch out!” The shout below startled Ditzy Doo. She looked down at the quickly shrinking pony who was pointing frantically towards a tall maple that was not. Rather, it was growing. Ditzy Doo pointed her nose upwards and climbed hard. Her hooves clipped the top of the tree, causing several of the red leaves to fall prematurely. But the maneuver bled off the pegasus’s remaining energy. Her left wing stalled first, kicking her into a spin towards the ground below. She panicked. Then she remembered the checklist. Right wing out to stop the rotation. Nose down to restore airflow over her wings. Then hard flapping to rebuild up energy. Ditzy Doo recovered with five feet to spare. She glanced back down at the pony who had warned her. He was rolling on the ground, the sound of laughter floating up to the grey pegasus. 
    Ditzy Doo’s ears burned despite the cool wind that buffeted them. She hated her callsign “Derpy”, which she had earned after the numerous accidents and mishaps that occurred during training. Not that it was a bad name or one that offended her, for she had been known by that name and many other nicknames since she was a little filly. She had fought hard to get the callsign “Muffins”, even trying to bride the others with the sweet, steaming treats, but her deployment to the front shortly thereafter solidified the less flattering name. She just wanted to be known for something more than as that “Derpy” pony.
    She had achieved some success in that regard. Her eye condition which often caused her pupils to look in different directions proved to be an advantage for observation work. She could cover separate areas simultaneously or keep one eye down and one up in the sky; depth perception on the ground, though, was another issue. The Lunar Commendation Medal on her chest was a testament to her skill as a recon flier. A year ago, during the dynamic opening campaign of the war, Ditzy Doo spotted the hanging flank of the Zebra 5th Army that had allowed the Equestrians to halt weeks of retreat by exploiting the gap between the advancing legions. This allowed the Equestrians to hold the line before the enemy reached Canterlot. But she had been riding on the success of that day for too long. Her enjoyment as well as the appreciation of others for her work had stagnated just like the movement of the front below.
    The front itself was still five miles ahead. The wasteland between the opposing armies cut through the landscape, a brown scar of mud and debris that only seemed to grow with each day that passed. Ditzy Doo focused her attention on the Equestrian side of the line; she would have plenty of time to look down on the wasteland later.
    The whole of the earth below was bathed in a warm autumn light supplied by the faithful sun. Several villages dotted the area, the clusters of buildings peeking above the colorful mosaic of oranges, reds, and yellows that made up the fall foliage. Ditzy Doo estimated that the running of the leaves back in Ponyville was a little more than a moon away. Surrounding the villages, a patchwork of golden fields and orchards sprawled and beckoned of a bountiful harvest. In the distance, standing guard over the valley, the blue forms of the mountains rose towards the sky.
    Except Ditzy Doo could not see the mountain range that was supposed to be in front of her. A thick black haze obscured them, the product of dirt launched skyward by the hundreds of artillery shells that churned the wasteland and the equally numerous bursts of Zebra anti-air flak, nicknamed “archie” by the fliers, that exploded in front of Ditzy Doo’s flight path. The weapons were new and their operators even newer, so she simply climbed higher to avoid the threat of the terrifying nuisance. She flew threw a cloud then leveled off, the altimeter attached to her foreleg pointing to 6,000 feet. The air was considerably cooler at this altitude. Time for a hot muffin.
    The treat practically melted in her mouth, warming her through. Today’s muffins were chocolate chip. Ditzy Doo had studied the weather reports carefully; she knew it was going to be a chilly day in the sky and loved just how well the melted chocolate retained heat. Blueberries worked well, too, but were getting harder to find with the war. 
    Ditzy Doo banked to the right and started her ingress route over the village of Antares. Several buildings along the edge were crumbled from stray shells, but the tall spire of town hall had survived unscathed. The wasteland just beyond the village was quiet save for the constant bursts of archie trying, as he always did, to shoot down the annoying Equestrian fliers. A few ponies waved at the grey pegasus from their trenches, the brightly colored specks of hooves and faces flashing briefly before disappearing amid the homogenous texture of khaki and mud. Within minutes she was past the Equestrian lines and flying towards a prominent ridge that ran for several miles between the Equestrian and Zebra sides of the wasteland. A large crater, created by the detonation of a mine in last moon’s offensive, broke the otherwise smooth outline of the ridge. The crater and fierce fighting that had raged for control of it earned the ridge its nickname among the ponies – Shattered Hoof Ridge. 
    Lining her right wing up with the ridge, Ditzy Doo took the camera’s trigger in her mouth and started her photographing route. She noted a new battery of Zebra howitzers dug in at the edge of a wood. They would be on the list of targets for the Equestrian artillery tomorrow.
    Three smudges appeared in the sky above Ditzy Doo. She dismissed them as friendly pegasi flying the high altitude patrol. They were probably from the 27th Skyguard Squadron whose aerodrome was only a mile from the 55th. Ditzy Doo had visited their mess last week while bringing a basket of muffins to an old friend from Ponyville. Besides, zebras could not fly. There were rumors, though, that the zebras had started hiring griffon mercenaries to counter Equestrian air superiority, but they were just rumors. No pony had sighted anything other than pegasi and observation balloons amid the clouds.
      Several hours passed with Ditzy Doo flying along the ridge, doubling further back into the rear areas to photograph any new dumps of supplies or fresh paths of worn earth that would indicate a change in the usual pattern of life for the Zebra legion below. Such a change would mean that a new offensive was being planned in this sector. But Ditzy Doo saw no signs of such excitement as she clicked through her film. All was quiet on the front. 
    Which meant it was the perfect time for a nap. Ditzy Doo snapped the last picture on her spool of film then spotted a soft cloud to set herself down on. Her wings ached and protested as she stretched them out, but it was a feeling, just like so many things about the war, that she had grown used to. She undid her saddlebag and let the muffins slide out onto the cloud. She picked one up and bit down; it was no longer hot but at least still edible. She closed her eyes and sprawled on the cloud while reaching for another muffin with her muzzle. Her jaws bit down on empty air. The cloud shook, followed by a strong current of wind. Ditzy Doo snapped her eyes open.
    The black shapes circled the cloud, peeling in to dash away bits of the grey pegasus’s platform. Ditzy Doo recognized them but did not want to believe it. Griffons, each armed with what she assumed was a machine gun. Of course she was the one to stumble onto them first. She always found trouble for herself where no pony else could.
    Ditzy Doo jumped out of the cloud, pointing her nose down to gain as much speed as she could. The griffons gave chase. Bullets whizzed past, buffeting the air around her wings. Ditzy Doo inverted herself then pulled up sharply in a half loop and rolled level, the sudden split-s maneuver forcing the lead pursuer to overshoot but leaving the pegasus face to face with the second. She ducked under the griffon and started to bank away from the third and fourth griffons. She was running out of tricks.
    A flurry of bullets knocked out the griffon Ditzy Doo had forced to overshoot. The flight of pegasi from earlier had come to help. Two pegasi pounced on the tails of the farthest two griffons, causing them to go on the defensive. Ditzy Doo recognized the blue coat and rainbow mane of the third pegasus whose streamer indicated she was the flight leader. She waved, but Rainbow Dash shook her head and pointed behind Ditzy Doo. A sharp pain in her left wing reminded Ditzy Doo that there was still one last griffon, and he was on her tail.
    The bullet had only just struck the outer edge of the wing, but the pain was enough to startle Ditzy Doo and break her concentration. She stalled and entered a flat spin towards the wasteland below. The horizon wobbled in her field of view at a dizzying pace. She tried the checklist. Nothing. The ground was getting closer. She tried again, pushing her whole body into stopping the rotation. Success. She stretched her wings and soared back into the sky to regain altitude. 
    Rainbow Dash tussled with the remaining griffon, the two performing quick reversals that interweaved their flight paths in an attempt to get a clear shot at the other. Rainbow’s turns were just a little bit better than her opponent, allowing her to line up a quick burst on his tail. The griffon crumbled and fell straight down into the wasteland below. Rainbow clinched her hoof in victory then quickly cleared the expression; she pointed in the direction of home and saluted towards Ditzy Doo, who saluted back with a toothy grin which quickly faded as soon as she pointed her nose homeward. She had wanted excitement, but this is not what she meant.
    Ditzy Doo’s heart raced; she blamed it on her vigorous flapping and too many muffins over the last few moons. She could not be scared, because brave pegasi, just like Rainbow Dash, did not get scared. She focused her attention ahead, making out the jagged scars of the Equestrian lines two miles distant. She let herself daydream about the hot bath she would take when she got back to the aerodrome. Then the sky turned black.
    The concussive wind of a shell from archie ripped through every feather on Ditzy Doo’s wings. Her vision came back a half second later, but her ears only registered an insistent ringing which was somehow more monotonous than the sound of whipping wind. The explosion had been close and had cost the pegasus several hundred feet in altitude. But she was still flying, albeit through black clouds of hot shrapnel and bursts of fire. Ditzy Doo tried to zig-zag and gain altitude, but every boom enthralled her and foiled the effort. The storm of flak raged on around her, unrelenting in its violence. Ditzy Doo prayed, oh Celestia, preserve her. She would bake her muffins, anything to escape the certain death that had replaced the sky.
    The blue clearing ahead could not have come sooner. Ditzy Doo dashed forward, finally safe on the Equestrian side. She took her last muffin out of her saddlebag and tossed it towards the now setting sun as a fulfillment of her promise. The projectile arched upwards then succumbed to gravity, tumbling into the amber landscape below until it disappeared among the lengthening shadows.
The familiarity of the ground below her hooves helped to ease Ditzy Doo. She focused on flying the approach into her squadron’s aerodrome. Right turn thirty degrees at the village with the bright pink house. Start descending over the hill with the funny looking tree. Left turn at the stream, then line up with the sunken road to enter the aerodrome’s landing pattern. Except Ditzy Doo could not see her last landmarks. The sun was nearly below the horizon, rapidly cooling the land, which in turn created large patches of fog that seeped through the forests and obscured the meadows. Ditzy Doo paused, then circled for several minutes hoping either the weather flight would clear the fog, or a landmark would peek through the growing mist to give her some bearing. The latter occurred first, the hangars of the aerodrome appearing briefly amid the blanket of grey. 
Ditzy Doo pointed herself at where the hangar had been and started to descend. 1,000 feet. She was in the fog now, her vision nothing more than a blank, constant grey. 500 feet. Ditzy Doo strained her eyes, trying to make out the hangars or at least land below. 400 feet. Still nothing. 300 feet. She could feel the wind brushing against her, but her eyes told her she was not moving any closer. 200 feet. She was 100 feet from her minimum abort altitude. The fog only got thicker. 100 feet. Time to go around and try again. Then she saw the dark shape of a hangar through the fog. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was followed by a sickly crashing sound one second later.
The hangar came tumbling down, its support post sheared by the impact. Ditzy Doo wrestled herself out of the tangle of canvas. Her mind was racing too fast to focus on aligning her eyes, so she only saw half of the ponies staring at her. The other eye wandered on the dented remains of her camera. Not again.
“Lieutenant Derpy, report to the office once you have, err, extracted yourself.” The stern yet piercing voice was that of Ditzy Doo’s flight commander. She knew what was coming. She pulled her hooves free of the canvas and inspected the camera again. The lens was shattered but the film canister was still intact, giving Ditzy Doo a slight feeling of victory that some good would come out of her trip over the wasteland today.
The squadron office was a few steps away from the wrecked hangar. Ditzy Doo brushed some dirt off her tunic and straightened the goggles on her cap. She knocked once on the door. “Enter,” came the deep voice of the squadron commander. Ditzy Doo gulped.
She marched into the little office, squaring her corners to approach the desk on the far end of the room. She saluted the two ponies and said, “Lieutenant Ditzy Doo, reporting as ordered, sir.”
“Eyes forward when you address the major, lieutenant,” scolded the flight commander.
“They are forward, ma’am,” Ditzy Doo replied. She was honestly doing her best.
“Never mind that, captain,” said the major. “Lieutenant, let’s start with your mission report. At least we can get something even though your photos are destroyed. Again.”
“Actually, sir, the film is still good.” Ditzy Doo placed the canister on the major’s desk. He looked surprised. “There are some new batteries that I listed on the map. But I ran into some griffins.” Ditzy Doo looked down.
“That’s preposterous,” exclaimed the captain. “You, of all the ponies we have out flying today, are the only one to report these rumored griffons? I supposed one of them made you crash into our hangar, too?” Ditzy Doo let her head hang lower.
“I will send a message down to the 27th to confirm your sighting, lieutenant,” the major stated. “But your captain is right, Derpy. You may have distinguished yourself during the Summer Campaign, but your record here is hardly commendable. Three major accidents and dozens of incidents in the last three moons. This is the second camera you’ve lost in a week.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have room for substandard performers in my squadron.”
“I understand, sir. I’m doing my best, honest,” Ditzy Doo mumbled. She felt like her head would touch the floor any moment.
The major pushed a piece of paper across his desk. “This is an order to transfer you to another unit. The 2nd Air Mobility Squadron. I haven’t signed it yet.”
“If I had my way, you’d be out of my air force tonight!” interrupted the captain. The major shot a hot glance at her, then focused his gaze on Ditzy Doo.
 “However, we need everypony to do their part. Maybe this squadron isn’t for you. Either you shape up, Derpy, or you’ll be shipped out. Dismissed.”
 Ditzy Doo snapped to attention then turned about to exit the office. She pulled her goggles down once she stepped through the door. She could not see well out of them in the darkness of night, but neither could anypony else see in. She had a substantial collection of moisture by the time she reached the secluded pond just beyond the aerodrome’s meadow. She took the goggles off and sat down on her haunches at the pond’s edge, allowing the tears to flow naturally like the water lapping at her hooves.
The moon had fully risen in the crisp night sky, its yellow luminance rippling against the surface of the pond. Ditzy Doo tossed a rock, distorting the reflection. She wondered why she could not escape under the shadow of “Derpy”. Her heart sank because maybe, perhaps, that pony really was who she was. She cried because each day was worse than the last, a mundane nightmare that only grew more terrifying, and she was not contributing anything to make it stop. No amount of muffins could fortify her against another trip through the flak. She shivered.
The sweet chirping of a warbler floated along with the mist over the pond. Ditzy Doo wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up. The reflection of the moon had righted itself. The soft light bended around the trees, casting shafts in the mist that held back the deep shadows within. Ditzy Doo knew she had to be better. She knew she had to fight, to do her part to end the war. And she knew she was not happy here. She had to find her place, a place that satisfied her like her muffins. 
Ditzy Doo considered this for several hours, running the same questions through her mind over and over. She watched the moon trace through the sky and the stars rotate between thin wisps of cloud. Then, the exhaustion of the day catching her, she succumbed to the peace of sleep.

    A soft chorus of birds woke Ditzy Doo. Her body ached, every muscle protesting her struggle to stir herself. She shook off the thin layer of dew on her coat that had formed from the morning’s coolness. From the muted colors of the trees and the pale grayness of the sky Ditzy Doo assumed the sunrise was imminent. The distant bugle from the aerodrome confirmed her assumption. 
    Ditzy Doo walked away from the pond and back into the aerodrome. The whole meadow was stirring with activity, as usual. Ponies looked over maps, ponies worked on camera equipment, ponies did their duty. Same mission, different day. Except for the grey pegasus. Today was not just a different day – it was a different mission, too. 
    She knocked once on the office door. She did not wait for the deep voice to invite her in.
    “Lieutenant Derpy, good morning. You’re looking … focused today,” the major said, turning around from a wall-mounted chart as Ditzy Doo marched in, her eyes directed straight ahead. 
    “Yes, sir. I’ve made a decision about yesterday. I want to transfer.” The major gestured to the seats by his desk, his expression becoming serious.
    “Derpy, are you sure? I was willing to give you a little more of an opportunity to improve. Your flight commander may be blind to it, but I see a certain potential within you, hence the second chance.”
    “I am sure, sir. I realized yesterday that I’m not happy here. I think that my potential is better elsewhere.” The major frowned, then sighed.
    “Very well, I will sign the order.” He stuck out his hoof, which Ditzy Doo stared at cross-eyed before shaking her eyes straight and accepting the gesture. “You have a talent for recon work, I can’t deny that, Derpy. But maybe you have another talent better served elsewhere.”
    “I have just one question, sir,” Ditzy Doo asked.
    “What is that?”
    “What does an air mobility squadron do exactly?” The major hesitated then saw the sincerely puzzled look on Ditzy Doo’s face.
    “They transport supplies for the military’s operations. Food for the kitchens, ammunition for the guns, letters from home for the soldiers. You could say they do absolutely everything. An army is nothing without its supply line, after all.” Ditzy Doo smiled. She liked the sound of that. But she had one more question.
    “Do you think they have muffins?” The major pondered the question. He smiled warmly to answer.
    “No. But they will now.”