“You BASTARD” John spat, approaching the German pilot who quickly stood. Hands raised in a defensive manor.
“Is your name ‘Bastard’? That’s not a nice name.” Pinkie asked, turning to the German pilot.
John drew back his arm and threw hard sucker punch, his fist connecting in the cheek of the German pilot causing him to spin and fall to the ground. Knocking over the table he’d been sitting at. The dishes and condiments crashing to the floor. Some shattering.
“Woah! Hey stop that! You hurt him.” Pinkie cried, the 'happy go lucky' tone vanishing from her voice, being replaced with intense concern as she rushed to the fallen pilot’s side, trying to help him up. The pilot groaned and stumbled to his feet.
“Get away from him Pinkie! He’s a DANGEROUS monster!” John yelled, startling the pink earth pony.
“Dangerous!? He’s been nothing but nice, polite an- HEY!” But before she could finish the German had scrambled to his feet, moved past her and shoved John back.
John stumbled bumping into a table, the plates on it rattled. He glared at the German pilot, getting a proper look at the man this time, taking in all his features. He was almost a poster boy for the Nazi Regime, perfect skin, muscular build, blond hair. But his eyes. We’re a deep brown instead of the poster ‘perfect’ blue. There was what looked like a scar running down the left side of his head, cutting through his sideburn.
John smirked as he noticed the now visible bruise and the slight swelling on the German’s cheek from his punch. He may not have been the strongest but thanks to William he knew how to throw a punch. John set down the bags he’s been carrying and took a protesting Angel off his shoulder and set him on top of the bags.
He raised his fists in a boxing stance. “C'mon then, or are you to cowardly now that we are face to face instead of behind your machine.”
"Ich will nicht gegen dich kämpfen, Engländer. Bitte. Ich habe eine Nachricht!" The German said waving his arms in a sideways scissor motion.
“I don’t and won’t speak your crummy language. Nor do I care what you have to say. I never wanted a war and you bastards started a second one. If Ol’ Blighty loses the war we’ll make sure to take as many of you Fascist Twats with us.” John retorted, getting right up in the Germans face as he yelled.
He gave him a hard shove. The German shoved him back. Then a fist was thrown and they were shoving and wrestling each other.
“Please stop! Can’t we talk about this!?” Pinkie exclaimed trying to get between them but she was inadvertently shoved aside by John. Who’d managed to break an arm away from the scuffle to move the pink earth pony out of harms way.
Suddenly the German grabbed John’s wool sweater, taking advantage of John being distracted. He threw him to the ground off to the side. The British pilot grunted as he landed hitting his head on the wooden floor, his head more than a bit rattled.
He tried to sit up but the next thing he knew the German pilot socked him in the face. John’s head whipped back and he slammed the back of his head on the floor again. He laid there in a daze, vision swimming as he made out the German trying to make an escape. He fumbled for his revolver, he managed to unbuckle it and pointed it at the German who was making a beeline for the door. John couldn’t pin point which was the hard reality and which were the dazed ones.
John pulled the trigger and the revolver barked in response, the bullet didn’t hit the German pilot. It passed right in-front of his face and hit the doorframe sending splinters flying. The German, surprised, staggered back almost falling over and began to run to the next possible escape. Upstairs, what must have been residence for the owners of the shop.
John shook the stars out of his eyes and charged up after him. Pinkie pie right behind him, trying to defuse the situation promising parties and cannons with confetti and bubbles. It all fell on deaf ears.
When John got to the top of the flight of stars he spotted the German fiddling with the window at the end of the hallway. Trying to get it open. John charged him, crossing the hallway in seconds. He reached and grabbed him by him shoulder and threw him to the ground.
Now the German was scurrying backwards on his rump. Trying to get away from John, his vision now clear, and the revolver pointed right between his eyes. The German stopped only after a few feet, his eyes trained unsteadily on the gun. John’s shadow cast over the German pilot from the sunlight from the window, now at John’s back.
"Bitte, töte mich nicht! Ich habe Informationen!" He said desperately, his voice trembling.
“Shut your fucking mouth you Krout shit.” John replied in a cold level voice while cocking his revolver. Finger on the trigger.
When,
“WAAAAIT!” Came the high pitched voice of Pinkie Pie.
She jumped over the German and put herself between the two pilots. John, surprised by the baker pony's actions, quickly lowered the gun.
“Why must you two fight? Why cause all this pain to each other!? Can’t you all have a cupcake and have a laugh or two?” She asked her big blue eyes on the verge of tears.
John understood her logic, there was rarely a victor in war, but justice had to be served, choosing to stand his ground he looked Pinkie dead in her blue eyes. “Stand aside, Pinkie.”
“I won’t let you hurt each other!”
“Move PINKIE!”
“No.”
“GOD DAMNIT! If I don’t put a bullet in his head he’ll just kill again. It’s all those Nazi fucks know how to do! He’s already killed my best friend I won’t let him get away with that!” John yelled, finally losing what was left of his patience, he raised the revolver again this time at Pinkie. Judgement and logic being replaced by pain and hatred.
Pinkie was suddenly shoved out of the way by the German pilot. Who, while John was once again distracted by Pinkie, had gotten to his feet. John pulled the trigger. Instead of the bullet hitting The Pilot in the head, it went through his left shoulder as he charged toward John. Before John could even process what happened, the German pilot was upon him, tackling John by the waist. He poured all his body weight into him, shoving John back.
They crashed through the window, glass shards peppering their faces resulting in cuts and scrapes. He felt his stomach lurch as they both fell into open air.
It must have only been a few seconds at most but to John it felt like an eternity. But the weightlessness made it all… peaceful.
June 1st 1940 11:11AM over Dunkirk, in the North of France
It was his first mission, John and William had just completed the RAF training and were assigned to their squadron, by some stroke of luck they were assigned not only to the same airfield, squadron, barracks and were bunking mates. They were Wingmen, this played to everyone's favor they were astounding in training being top of their class in flying hours. In peacetime they might have been singled out for awards, but during the Second World War there wasn't a second to spare for such pleasantries.
At this point in their careers they were given a Hawker Hurricane, they were tasked to intercept any Stuka Dive bombers that managed to slip past the main fighter force further inland. They had been circling the city of Dunkirk for the better part of 15-20 minutes, because of the long flight from the Cliffs of Dover across the English Channel to the city of Dunkirk on the north of France, it severely limited their fighting time over the evacuation site.
As the two began their final orbits around the city, both readying themselves for the flight home. William's voice crackled over the radio.
"I got two dots to the south west, roughly 3 o clock."
John looked towards that general direction, squinting he managed to make out the two dots. He pushed a button an spoke into his mask mounted mic. "I see them, looks like only two of the buggers managed to slip through our defenses, how about we show them a right ol' Blighty welcome."
"Roger, moving to intercept bombers"
Both pilots banked their planes into a direct interception path, they both punched it, hoping to stop the bombers from dropping their deadly cargo onto the beaches of waiting British troops. The two specks grew in their canopies, but the two specs quickly grew, not into two planes as they thought, but into 8, 6 Stukas and 2 Bf-109s with each original spec being actually a flight of 4 Luftwaffe planes.
"SHIT It's a whole flight!" William yelled over the radio in a panic, being the lead plane John had to follow him. So when William banked away from the planes John had to follow. Leaving their bellies open to the fighters, who quickly moved to intercept the interceptors. The German fighters banking sharply to catch the now fleeing Hurricanes.
John looked back in his cockpit, seeing the two faster Bf-109s quickly closing the distance. The lead 109 gave a quick burst of his machine guns and cannon, tracers whizzed past John's canopy one bullet entered his cockpit rear window and exited the front. It thankfully missed him and any components, but the shell had left a decently sized hole in the canopy the wind whistled and blew onto John's face, chilling it significantly. He cut the throttle back to cruise and tightened his bank, being pushed into his seat by the sudden G-force. Trying desperately to make the German planes overshoot. If he could get them in front of him, he could kill them. But he had left William alone in the process, leaving them both without backup.
John's head whirled around, trying to find the German Fighters, quickly he found one, it was off his right elevator, nose pointed at him, banking to match his turn. John only had time to punch the throttle back to full before the first of the bullets struck his craft. it sounded like someone threw a hand full of gravel at the plane. Whilst the main part of the Fuselage was fabric allowing the exploding shells to pass through without detonating, the wings were aluminum. The bullets ripped through his right wing tearing through it like it was butter.
A fire quickly irrupted from the wing's fuel tank, even in the cockpit John could feel the heat. He knew the Hurricane had been fatally wounded, he cursed and quickly began to climb, flying with one hand, and undoing his straps and radio cable. He threw back the canopy standing up in the cockpit sot hat his torso and head were outside the canopy's protection. Feeling the bite of the cold air whipping past his face, John peered down at the city of Dunkirk, hundreds, maybe up to a couple thousand feet below, John hesitated. His brain and sense of self preservation doubting the jump.
Then the wing tore off, and the little fighter was sent into a death spiral, losing altitude at an alarming rate. John quickly clambered onto the pilot seat, exposing his waist to the outside, timing his move he gripped the top of the windscreen. Timing was everything here if he missed he would strike the rudder or the elevator, it would cripple him, or kill him.
Taking a breath and hoping to whatever higher being he would end this intact, John leapt out of the plane.
The weightlessness was unlike anything he'd felt before. Sure he'd pulled negative and zero G maneuvers in training but he'd always been strapped in, this felt like freedom. The war, the city below none of it mattered. Not even the spiraling fighter that was coming closer to hi- uh oh.
John couldn't hear much over the roaring wind but he was sure he said some not so family friendly words as the tail of the plane swung around, most likely having caught a gust of wind. The rudder smacked John like a ping pong paddle, sending him spiraling out of control. John had been lucky, while trying in vein to avoid the spinning plane he'd put the parachute bag between him and the plane, absorbing most of the impact. Whilst he would be sore for a few days or so, he hadn't died. Yet.
John reached and gripped the cord for his primary chute, and pulled as hard as he could. Suddenly he wasn't tumbling through the air, but being yanked back by the chute. The wedgie was like nothing he'd ever felt in his schoolyard days but he'd take it over being a pancake or burnt piece of toast. He looked up and quickly inspected the chute. Nothing out of the ordinary, the chute was intact. Gripping the lines like his squadron mate, 'Yankee' had showed him, John was able to guide the chute's general direction to the ground.
The noise of the wind had given way to the sounds of gunfire in the streets, the last few lines of defense, it was not a constant noise but came in short bursts. Several columns of smoke also reached out from the city streets. John then noticed his Hurricane was now adding to the small forest of smoke. The remaining fuel had ignited and blocked the road with an intense inferno, John guided his chute towards the beach skirting around the smoke from the flaming wreck, John knew he wouldn't make it to the evacuation zone, but he needed to get as close as he possibly could.
His landing was... less than graceful. He'd done parachute training sure, but that was over farmland in the country side, not over a small city. His plan had been to land in the street and make a b-line for the nearest British post. However at the last minute a gust of wind blew the top of his cute into a roof, it snagged the chimney and caused John to swing and smack into the building's street-facing wall. John was now left dangling against the side of the house, a good twenty feet off the ground.
John quicky went over his options, he could cut the lines, but he would fall. Whilst he would survive, he may have other injuries that would make getting to the beach damn near impossible. So that was out, what else... he could try to climb up. But there was no guarantee that the chute would hold against such activity. As John began to ponder other options, some more... likely to work than others. He began to hear voices and the sounds of conflict.
"C'mon lads, we don't have time for this!"
British voices, and sure enough a small group of roughly 6 British infantry came running around the corner, the last one throwing a grenade before diving for cover. German shouts were quickly cut off by the explosion.
"That's got 'em." The soldier reported.
"Hey! Up here lads!" John called out.
The Soldiers, still on edge being in a high conflict zone, whirled around in surprised one raising his rifle and taking a couple shots at the source of the sound. Thankfully he hadn't taken the time to aim properly and the bullets missed John and kicked up dust from the brickwork as they struck the wall beside him.
"I'M BRITISH I'M BRITISH!" John called desperately.
"Hold your fire! Next time lead with that ya daft flyboy. Who the hell are you?" One called up, John assumed him to be in control.
"I'm John May of the 23rd Squadron, we're here to defend the skies." John replied trying to keep himself from spinning to much.
"Dellfield, grab that ladder, and cut him down, we need to be at the beach yesterday!"
"Ay sir!" The young and possibly Scottish soldier grabbed a wooden ladder from a alleyway out of the sight of John and quicky set it up, it was more than tall enough to reach the dangling pilot, John quickly took his weight of the cables and onto the ladder. Dellfield quickly clambered up, bringing out his bayonet blade, he passed it to John. John made quick work of the chute cables and was soon free. Clambering down he was finally face to face with the officer.
"So what were you doing up there anyway?" Quizzed the officer.
"Oh just hanging around." John responded, to which a chuckle rose from the troops as they began to make their way to the beach.
"I take it that was your plane that went down a few streets back? Bloody well done of you." One of the soldiers commented.
"Uh, thanks? You do know that we're supposed to stay in the air right?" John asked skeptically.
"Not when you take out a German armor. Tis been giving us stragglers a hard time gettin to the beach." He replied.
"To bad you didn't get the Alpha Ace as well." Another troop chimed in as they rounded a T-intersection.
"Alpha Ace?"
"Yeah, he's the one that shot ya down, ya need to keep your situational awareness. That is what get's ya."
John was about to respond when the sound of a German fighter roared overhead looking up the group saw a bf-109 making a run on their street, it had evidently spotted them.
"GET TO COVER!" the officer yelled barely audible over the sound of the roaring engine. Everyone ran to a shattered window storefront, thankfully all 7 British men had been able to clamber inside the building before the 109 had passed over. A large shadow passed through the streets the sound of the engine starting to fade, Dellfield peered out of the door.
"He's gone," He said walking back out into the street, "but he's left us somtin."
John walked out to see leaflets fluttering down all around them, looking up, he managed to see the same 109 that shot him down had been the one to pass over them. John picked one of the leaflets up and examined it.
"They've been trying to break us for days now, to bad we don't quit." Said Dellfield, to murmurs of agreement from the other 5 soldiers.
Suddenly there was a loud crack and Dellfield hit the ground. John stared in horror as blood pooled from his head, he had been shot right between the eyes, the poor lad hadn't known what hit them.
"FUCK! GET TO THE NEXT STREET THERE SHOULD BE A BRITISH POST THERE!" Shouted the Officer as more shots rang out this time on both sides. John stuffed the leaflet in his pocket, drew his revolver and ran with the troops around the corner to where, sure enough, a battle scared Union Jack flapped lazily in the wind.
"BRITISH BRITISH!" The troops called as they stampeded toward the line of sandbags. They leapt over the bags and quickly filled in any gaps in the line of defense. John was about to do the same when the officer stopped him.
"Go lad, get to the beach we'll hold the line for you lot. Ol' Jerry may have us on the back foot now but we'll be back." He patted John's shoulder before turning back to the open street. John turned and ran through the small network of sandbags. He ran roughly 20 meters before the street suddenly opened up stretching out for what must have been miles in either direction was a massive beach, filled with troops all waiting for evacuation ships. He stepped onto the beach and made his way to the shore, as he began to approach the troops a voice called out.
"JOHN!"
Turning John saw the massive form of William bearing down on him giving him a massive bear hug.
"Thank God you ok! I thought I lost you there."
John turned to the street he had just come out of, from it the sounds of gunfire and grenades could be heard. Some troops that were waiting for evacuation also took notice, and several even ran to the sound, hoping to give their brothers in arms a fighting chance.
"Come on, downed pilots have priority with wounded soldiers, seems like they need all the help they can get defending the skies here." William beckoned as he began to walk towards a distant pier where a massive ship was docked, a red cross waving in the wind.
"Yeah I'm right behind you..." John gave a final glance over his shoulder to the street, smoke starting to rise over the rooftops. "Good luck lads."
John cracked his eyes open, he was laying on the ground, he had no idea how he'd gotten there. There was broken glass around him, had he fallen? He tried to sit up, and pain shot through his left hand.
"Oh yeah, definitely fell." He grit his teeth and managed to prop himself up on his good arm. He took in his surroundings things starting to come back to him. He'd crashed only a few days ago... errands, Pinkie Pie, and a...
His eyes went wide as he wiped his head around to find the German standing over him. His own weapon in one hand at his side, and his other covering a shoulder gunshot wound.
"Ich habe dir gesagt, dass ich nicht kämpfen will, aber ich werde es tun, wenn ich muss." He stated.
Ponies around them whispered in cautions tones, none knew exactly what was going on. John clambered to his feet. The German's face remining expressionless, except for his eyes. They radiated a mix of pain and sorrow. John tried to reach for his pistol that was lying on the ground a couple feet away but the pilot kicked him in the chest. John grimaced and retracted his arm. But then tried again, this time the pilot yelled something in German and got on top of him, pinning his head to the dirt ground John groaned his arm was now restrained behind his back. The German grabbed the revolver lying on the ground and put it in his coat after checking it was not cocked.
While he was doing this, John looked at the surrounding crowd. Then his eyes laid upon Fluttershy. Her eyes were full of tears and a hoof was covering her mouth. John suddenly felt the pilot get off of him. John looked up and the pilot motioned for John to stand up, and keeping his arms raised John did so. The German pistol being less than a foot in front of his face.
John weighed his options, he had to do something. If he let this man just walk away who's to say he won't harm others, hell what would stop him from bringing more Nazis here if he found a way to. Being a part of the military was about protecting your own. But this time, it was about protecting the innocent.
Throwing self preservation to the wind, he grabbed the pistol arm, pushed it to the side and full out sucker punched the German in the face. Catching the German Pilot completely by surprise, he'd not had time to defend himself, he stumbled and fell back onto his rump dropping the gun, he massaged his jaw after a second fand spat blood. John approached him standing up to his full height and towered over the German. The German made a grab for the pistol but John kicked it out of his reach before crouching down getting right in his face.
"You have taken enough lives, now it's time I make you pay for them." He spat into the German's face.
He grabbed the pilot by his shirt, much like a bully did to John so long ago, pulled him closer to him, and pulled his other fist back preparing to beat the German, the one who took his friend and threatened others. But before he could bring his fist down upon the helpless pilot, who was grabbing at John's arm fear in his own eyes, something wrapped around his arm, it felt psychical but when John turned to see who had stopped him, he found his arm wrapped in a lavender glow.
"STOP!" Came a commanding voice.
Both pilots turned to see the crowd of ponies parting for a unicorn, but with wings, the glow was obviously from her magic, her horn glowed the same color. Her dark blue mane was streaked with pink and purple, complimenting her violet coat of fur. Her wings flared out as she stepped through the crowd stopping a short distance from the 2 pilots. Her Lavender eyes were hard as she stared at them, this pony was someone you didn't want to mess with John realized. Gulping, he hoped that wasn't who he thought it was, last thing he needed was to piss off a member of the local government but it was definitely her, Fluttershy had described her perfectly.
"What the HAY is going on here!?" Twilight Sparkle demanded .
The Wikipedia article filled the laptop screen and the user began reading the short version of the article.
Project Pocket Watch
NOTE: Project Pocket Watch has not been confirmed by either side to have existed outside of the drawing board. Like the anti-gravity device known as Die-Gloke, it is nothing more than rumors and myths. This almost certainly is not a real event.
Pocket Watch was an attempt by the Germans to break the stalemate that the war had become in 1940 had become with Hitler himself ordering the project. To put it into simple terms, the idea of the project was to cross realities. Back and forth at 2 different locations on Earth. Like from Berlin to London for example. Hitler wanted it to be able to walk into the heart of London virtually unopposed and take the city whilst avoiding anti-aircraft, costal, and most ground defenses.
Whilst no official records had been found outside of rumors and former guards that were captured in the later years of the war. One thing remained constant in their stories, the Dam. An old hydroelectric dam outside of Hamburg had been seized by the German military in early 1940 for electric power. However spies indicated that no power was being outputted by the hydroelectric dam, but at the same time almost always had it's turbines generating electricity. The Dam woul-
[Connection Lost please check internet connection]
The message filled the screen, leaving the user without the ending she was looking for.
"Damn it..." she said, closing her school laptop.