//------------------------------//
// 18. Waiting 
// Story: Nation Shall Speak Peace Unto Nation 
// by Dan The Man 
//------------------------------//


16. – RAAF Base Pearce, Western Australia

 
(Eighteen hours have passed. The base is still at full alarm. The news of the… delay of the attack were carried home by some of the pilots. Rear Admiral Sir Wetherby, Brigadier General Menendez and Group Captain Benson look at a trued of Area H#12, in a small, unclimatised briefing room inside the base quartres)
 
·Benson: *a raspy voice and the attitude of someone who was is deprived of a few hours of sleep* Four hours ago, Flight 12-52-94 returned to base… he was the last. Let us look at that casualty list again *he unpacks a clip board with stuck-in papers*; 18 planes returned in total… seven by ‘tactical retreat’… two for running out of ammunition… five for running out of fuel, and another two for substantial collateral damage on the exterior.
·Menendez: This is grave. I mean, granted, they were mere cadet pilots, but this must have been especially terrifying.
·Benson: Of them all, 70% claimed to have seen “horses with wings” waging combat with them in the air. Another 20% wish not to talk about what happened. 
·Wetherby: What about the Chinook detachment? Did they even return?
·Benson: Sir… *looks it up on the list* Exactly one returned. Brought the full payload of IRRs back with them, too…
·Wetherby: One out of how many?
·Benson: Out of four, sir.
·Menendez: Well, what happened to the rest? And their crews? And the SAS-commandos and engineers?
·Benson: Those could be… *wiping through his hair* considered MIA for now. 45 men in total, 9 air crew, 24 IRRs and 12 SASRs, notwithstanding Vice Marshal McIntyre, Group Captain White, the MIA crewmembers or the MIA diplomatic Corps from yesterday forenoon.
*takes a deep breath before continuing* And the ‘funniest’ thing is that, in order to effectively organise another SAR mission, it would take, what, at least 24 more hours. Mordor is snagging. *shrugs cynically* It happens…
·Menendez: And as for my men, it would take a week to get US-marines over here. At least seven days.
·Wetherby: I will not eve start about the RN. It took them half an eternity to get me over here. Not to mention how long actual reinforcements would take.
 
(Suddenly, a communications officer swings open the door, and proclaims)
 
·Officer: Group Captain Benson, sir, contact was established!
·Benson: Wait, what?
·Officer: Radio contact was established with Vice Marshal McIntyre’s com, Grasshog 1.
 
(The three officers look at each other for a moment, not immediately realising that they had been hoping on for that kind of message. The jump from the chairs and push themselves out of the briefing room, taking the officer with them)
 
·Benson: Commo, you lead on!
·Officer: Yes sir. Communications Room 4, just down the stairs and the first one on the right…
 
(They burst through the room’s door in a quick march, and crowd around the designated radio set. The officer takes his seat and speedily fumbles his earphones back on. Benson, who is nearly broken by the anticipation, rips them from his head)
 
·Benson: Use the goddamn loudspeakers, Commo!
·Officer: Yes, sir.
 
(As the loudspeakers are turned on, the listeners are greeted by loud static signals)
 
·Officer: Oh…kay. *to Benson* Sir, we just had him online a minute ago.
·Benson: Oh great. Was he at least well?
·Officer: He said he was “quite a bit out of action”…
·Benson: Well, that was to be expected. *to the others* I have no idea what is to be expected, but…
·McIntyre: Hello, this is Groundhog 1 to HQ, over!
·Benson: *quickly responding* Yes! Yes. Yes, this is Benson at HQ responding… over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Roger that, Benson. So, how are you? Over.
·Benson: *pausing* Sorry, sir, repeat that question, over.
·McIntyre: *beat* How are you Benson, over?
·Benson: *ridiculingly* Sir, how are you? We had you designated as MIA. And so were the SASRs and IRRs you had with you.  Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* So, I am… *sounds of the speaker getting passed around* Sorry about that, this is… would you… would just give me the damn thing?! Give it to me! Yes, I can hold it myself. And watch out for that cable… Oh for Christ’s sake…
I got it, I’m holding it, its in my hand! Yes, you can go now. No, just go! And go and visit a doctor to get those eyes of yours fixed, will you?
Right, I apologise for this, Benson. Those guys probably’ve never seen a proper FR before.
·Benson: What is your current position, sir? In what combative state or situation are you? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Well, strictly speaking, right out.
 
 
--------- 

 

 
 
(Nearly eighteen hours earlier)
 
·Celestia: *weakly* Captain; should we fail at casting this spell… do not show fear. Show no mercy. Defend Equestria,… to the last…
 
(The glowing gets stronger and stronger. They shine like a thousand torches united in only a few sparks.
As if in a trance, the two princesses move to the edge of the gate staircase. They raise their heads and horns high, and, out of the blue, a great white spark comes flashing down from the sky. At first, it drops slowly, like a large flare…)
 
·Cartwright: *spotting the spark first* Oh dear god. *shouting over to McIntyre* Sir!
·McIntyre: *looking up* What the…
·Atkinson: Is that…? *realises* Missile incoming at 10 o’clock!
 
(The other soldiers drop on their knees in the high grass, they all see the spark)
 
·Finch: *from his stretcher, to Twilight* What is that?
·Twilight: *scared* I… I have no idea.
·Finch: *looks back up* Then God save us all. That is a missile.
·Twilight: *uncertain* What is a missile?
·Finch: *keeping to talk while looking over to McIntyre* … Best one doesn’t think about it.
·Cartwright: *quickly using his electronic binocular* Distance, 3000 feet! Coming in at 50 mph! Two minutes until impact! Should we order to find cover, sir?
·McIntyre: Cover, Cartwright? *follows the spark with his eyes; slowly and calmly* A toffee apple and not a glory hole in sight…
·Atkinson: *inquiringly* Sir?
·McIntyre: Has an arty strike been ordered?
·Cartwright: No, sir. Not by us, and not by HQ.
·McIntyre: *paralysed* We… we have two minutes. We… wouldn’t reach cover before that thing comes in. Would we?
·Atkinson: *in a faint whisper* We wouldn’t, sir.
·Finch: Oh Christ, no.
·Twilight: *to Finch* Is it really bad, Mr. Finch? It looks like a spell to me...
·Finch: *cynically* Does it?
 
(The soldiers react differently. Some lie flat on the ground, burying their helmeted heads in their arms. Others stay as they are, praying, frozen at the thought of imminent death. Others stand up, turning around nervously, looking around for caves, forests, cellars or something like it in their surrounding. But there is nothing there but garden, fields and a flimsy maze.
 
On the gatehouse’s porch, the princesses initiate the true spell. A white and a blue thunder flash emit from their horns, as they take a few steps back to yield to the pure emanating energy. It shoots all the way up into the air, colliding with the spark in a magnificent white flash.
 
The men get down quickly, clenching their helmets and lying flat before the supposed explosion’s pressure wave.
But there is no explosion. Instead the white spark stops, and begins hovering in mid-air.
 
Then, it starts circling round and round, round in round. Never had they seems something like that before. Slowly and steadily, it transforms into a perfect, glass-like orb. From its middle, a little, purple gleam begins forming.  It gets stronger and brighter, pumping like a heart, and gaining momentum with each beat. Each beat taints the surrounding countryside in an increasingly intensive cold crimson, seemingly casting a spell over the entire atmosphere.
 
The men start to notice how the intensive light starts to blind them severely. They only see the flash of the light before the eyes, and nothing else. They cover their eyes with weary hands, and try to turn away from it, but they don’t see any better. Some close their eyes or look to the ground, suddenly feeling themselves overcome with an awkward tranquillity. Their equipment suddenly feels so much heavier.
With his eyes tightly shut, McIntyre reaching out for the shoulder of his second. He starts feeling a strange lightness in his chest, and massages his forehead in an enervated manner, in an attempt to keep conscience.
Finch fares no better. He has given up to try to screen his eyes, and limply stares at the incessantly turning orb. Slowly, his contracted body relaxes, and he sinks back down into the stretcher from which he attempted to rise mere moments ago.
Even Twilight, who painstakingly tries to sort her thoughts, begins to stagger slightly. Her mind is spinning wildly. It seems as if the nervousness would get the better of her. Then however, her worn eyelids fall shut…
 
Back at the castle, Luna and Celestia seize their spell. Their horns loose their glow, and revert back to their normal states. Both sisters seem suddenly very fatigued, but manage to remain standing tall, with the royal sense of dignity still very much prevalent.
Dr. Matuszek, Hartfield and the mane five open their eyes. What had happened? They see the orb, still spinning, hanging in the air. As the gleam begins to grow weaker and weaker, the sphere contracts a progressively reddish tone.
With one, thong-like sound, it shatters, scattering thousands of smouldering pieces of red glass raining down. Not one of them manages to reach the ground.
 
Once the orb had cleared itself as fast as it had appeared, the onlookers notice the three dozen men lying unconsciously on the field, each having collapsed on the spot. Solely Twilight Sparkle is still standing, her head sunk in a deep sleep)
 
·Celestia: By the fates, Luna. It worked…
·Luna: It did, because you trusted me.
·Celestia: Oh, how couldn’t I?
·Matuszek: Your Highness… What has happened?
·Luna: They are in a deep slumber. Thou shan’t worry, they will wake up soon. However, they bear no danger for thy and our lives anymore. We shall let thou go to your homeland as soon as possible.
·Celestia: We do not want to assume the role of the captors. You have tried to do what you perceived as the right thing. It may not have been your fault, and apart from that, this may have to be explained to your kings and queens.
·Hartfield: Will the men be also allowed to go?
·Celestia: There is no reason why we would want to keep them here.
·Hartfield: Then we have to take care of them. They couldn’t just be left there. They may need medical attention.
·Celestia: Do not fear. Your men will be cared for. *to the captain* Make your pegasi ready to bring those soldiers away from the castle.
·Matuszek: *after a little pause* Your Highness, can I ask you a question?
·Luna: Certainly.
·Matuszek: I have, and with that I am certain to speak for Mr. Finch as well: I have seen the great wonders and miracles of this land, which is positively not comparable with any other place on this planet.
This nation is a treasure. Speaking culturally as well as scientifically, it is unique on this planet. There is no other way to put it. I am afraid that if we, in our duty as diplomats of the United Nations, would leave your nation at this point, our worlds may never become acquainted on good terms.
I know that our visit was tainted by a row of unfortunate occurrences and misunderstandings, but I can assure that, if Your Highness would still find the time to conclude the diplomatic negotiations, we will try our hardest to do so on a good note.
·Celestia: Do you mean that you would prefer to stay? Even after the woeful conditions that have reigned here in the last hours?
·Matuszek: As a representative of the UN, I say that it is of utter importance to arrange a basic compromise to clear all initial differences between our worlds.
However, as a pedagogue and a liberal person, I decide to stay because I bear a deep trust on Your Highness’ honesty and cherish a strong prospect that cooperation can be achieved.
In the end, it is still the personal choice of Your Highness, though personally… I would select this course as the one of action.
 
(Celestia looks at her. Her eyes, still weak from the spell, wander from Dr. Matuszek to her sister Luna. Then, to the mane five. They look back at her with faces heavily anticipating her own reaction. Her sister smiles at her)
 
·Luna: Trust. My dear sister.
·Celestia: *bearing a mild smile, turning back to Dr. Matuszek* Please, doctor. You can call me Celestia.
·Matuszek: *performing a curtsy* The favour is on our side.
·Hartfield: Please, Your Highness. What will happen to the men? They may be in need of assistance!
·Celestia: Ah yes. *looks one more time out into the field, then immediately at her captain of the guard* Captain. Make sure that all humans are brought to the Ponyville Nursehoof Hospital at once.
·Captain: *surprised* Yes? Of course, your Highness. *to the others* Company, you heard it; move out!
 
 
--------- 
 
 
 
·McIntyre: My position; *sighs* a bed. Over.
·Benson: A bed, sir?
·Menendez: A bed?
·McIntyre: *beat* A… ehm, a sickbed. Over…
·Benson: Sickbed, what? Where are you? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Well, mainland area H#12. *groans*
I apologise. Just, my head feels like a balloon filled with hot water. Over. I hardly remember…
·Benson: Sir, please clarify: You are in Area H#12… in a sickbed?
·McIntyre: *beat* Affirmative, Benson. We are being held up settlement #A, and are currently ‘hosted’ in the local hospital. Over.
·Benson: Are there casualties? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Let me put it like this; most of the units are not under arms at the moment. One case of broken limbs, one bullet wound through friendly fire, though no fatalities, so far.
With that said, we fell victim to a collective, non-lethal attack. The details are… nebulous. All units, including me, were caught in it.
We can hardly stand up now. But that, so we were assured, is just a temporary condition.
Now, the facts are these: We were moved to the hospitals by decree of their head of state, personally. Can you believe that?
·Benson: Clarify ‘They’, sir. Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* The bloody horses, that’s who. Over.
·Benson: And the horses have a hospital? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat; wearily* Yeah, they have a medical centre of a sort. But not the modern variety, per se. I would say, 19th century, Nightingale. Over.
·Benson: Are you actively treated, or are you being detained there by the enemy? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Well, we were detained here, at least. When I came to my senses, I was informed that we were disarmed and prisoners of war. That was three hours ago. Now, not one hour ago, this state of us was officially lifted. They said that an… ehm… a local cease-fire as well as an ‘extraction allowance’ agreement was negotiated.
·Benson: By whom? By which authorities? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* The diplomats of the UN, in the name of the Australian Government. Yes, it was a bit confusing.
Oh and yes, we did manage to locate the diplomats’ position yesterday. They were being held up at the local seat of government, allegedly as a reaction to the SAR-mission. Over.
·Benson: And, well, how is the treatment? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Shameful. Seriously, they behave like they’ve never treated fleshwounds before. Mind you, my own corpsmen are doing their part already. Over.
·Benson: Right, sir. Now, have you been saying that there is an official allowance for the extraction of your contingents? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* I’m saying that it is not only that, but a temporary, unilateral proposal for a prolonged ceasefire, and that I am talking to you right now to provoke a validation from the Australian government. Over.
·Benson: Is Mr. Donathan Finch nearby, perchance?
·McIntyre: *beat* Oh sure, he is in the same ward. He is a bit beaten up. But he’s listening. One moment. *sounds* He says that there should be no more hostile military movements, and never anymore unheralded ones. *sounds* And that this government’s position is neutral and pacific. *listens* That they apologise and take credit for all casualties on our side *listens* And that Mordor would be better off complying with that armisitce. Ehm, over.
·Benson: The message will be forwarded immediately, sir. Everything is affirmative. Lastly though: Are you and your men definitely out of danger? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Affirmative, Benson.
·Benson: Is the target persons of the SAR Winter Dew out of danger? Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Yes. Affirmative.
·Benson: And the situation is, tactically as well as politically, neutral?
·McIntyre: *beat* Yes, Benson, yes! Now get some proper medics over here. And the Australian government, too. Don’t forget: Settlement #A.
I need my rest, now. Over.
·Benson: Yes, sir. Out…
·McIntyre: *quickly* Wait! One more thing. A notice passed on from one of ‘em horses. Says that one should contact the… the UK Ministry of Defence. Message reads; “To Cpt. Jack Harkness” – H-A-R-K-N-E-S-S:
“Doctor here. Back rather quickly. Am little bit confused; this is the same planet?! Fascinating.
ps: Still not ginger.”
Can you, ehm, possibly forward it, then?
·Benson: I… it can be arranged, sir. Over.
·McIntyre: *beat* Right. Out!

(Concluding Music Cue)