With the three members of Fireteam Union on board, their mission had been accomplished. Blue Shield went around to each pony individually, checking him or her for any injuries and making sure they were all right. Sharp Shot lay curled up in dread on the cabin floor, trying to zone out the swaying of the helicopter as it veered sharply in one direction, and then another.
Fleethoof looked over each pony they had rescued. They were all pegasi, as he had read in the report on Union. Two stallions and one mare, to be precise. Each one of them looked completely shaken up. Clearly the adrenaline rush was starting to wear off.
The captain moved back to his spot close to the cockpit, leaning through the opening towards the pilots. “Get us home, gentlecolts.”
“Yes, sir. As quickly as possible.”
Left to the long flight back to Canterlot, Fleethoof turned his attention back to the two teams in the cabin. He took a spot beside one of the pegasi he recognized as Lightning Strike from the personnel reports.
“You all right?” Fleethoof asked, placing a hoof on the pony’s shoulder. “You look like you’ve been banged up pretty good.”
Lightning gave a huff, not even looking up at him. Fleethoof pursed his lips, mulling things over in his mind. He didn’t know what had happened on the ground, but things had clearly not gone according to Union’s plans. The operation must have been a bust.
“What’s on your mind?” Fleethoof wondered if the pegasus was going into shock. He had just escaped a firefight and an avalanche. He could sympathize with the feeling. A flashback of hanging on the edge of a broken bridge for dear life flashed before his eyes.
Again, no answer from the soldier.
“Is there anything wrong?” He felt like he was babying the pony too much. “I hate to sound like your mother.”
“I feel like I’ve failed the mission,” Lightning finally replied, staring dejectedly down at the metal floor of the helicopter.
Fleethoof furrowed his brow. “You haven’t failed. You took out two weapons caches, fought bravely, and got out alive. That’s not a failure, that’s a major success.”
Lightning didn’t respond to him. He must have been taking in everything at his own pace. Fleethoof nodded. He hadn’t been brought up to speed on Union’s previous missions, but this one must have been one of their closest calls to get to the pony like it was.
He sighed softly and rubbed the back of his neck. He understood what Lightning was feeling. He could recall the train rides back from The Griffon Kingdom: the long periods of silent waiting, coming down from the adrenaline-fueled high of live combat. It was a dreamlike state, where nothing seemed real, and your mind thought about too many things at once. He had always just wanted to be left alone at those times to readjust himself.
Patting Lightning’s shoulder, Fleethoof took his seat once more. The sooner they got back to Canterlot, the sooner they could all breathe easy again. Most of the flight homeward bound continued in perpetual quiet, the thrumming of the rotors fading away into white noise.
From the corner of his eye, Fleethoof kept watch over Union. He knew their unit inside and out, down to the ponies’ backgrounds. But even still, compared to them, Union were rookies—the babies of the Special Forces. Spitfire had just thrown them out into the world. Guinea pigs in a trial by fire. He felt bound to look out for them, like an older brother watching over his sibling. This was a dangerous business, and in their world, mistakes amounted to death.
Somepony had to look out for them, because it was becoming increasingly obvious that nopony else was.
No matter how many times he saw them, the green fields and hills of Equestria were always a welcome sight for Fleethoof. The closer they got to Canterlot, the darker the skies became. Shining Armor’s storm was still in full force, which meant they’d be landing in it.
“Hold on tight, everypony,” Silver Wings called back just as the first sheet of water hit the windshield of the cockpit.
Above the turning rotors, the sound of rain hitting the metal hull flooded the cabin. Several sets of eyes turned skyward to the roof. Fleethoof could just make out Sharp Shot’s whimper over the storm. The poor pony…
Despite the rain, the Black Hawk flew just as smoothly through the patch of dense downpour, and reemerged over the airfield, now illuminated bright orange in the late afternoon sun.
Thank Celestia for a competent weather team, the captain thought as the helicopter came in for a landing.
He held his breath, watching the pilots do their work. The helicopter came in lower, hovering just over the ground and slowing to a halt before it began its gentle descent to the tarmac below. The second the wheels hit the asphalt, Skyfall pulled the cabin doors open, and Sharp Shot all but launched out of the copter, collapsing in a heap to kiss the solid ground.
“Oh sweet, sweet terra firma!” he cried, half-laughing to himself. “I’ll never leave you again!”
“Crybaby,” Valiant jested, purposely bumping into the prostrate unicorn for laughs.
Fleethoof leapt down to the ground, warm sunlight bathing his coat. It felt odd, feeling the cool wind of the surrounding storms whipping across the airfield, but he knew he’d get his fair share of the rain soon enough. As he had expected, Quarter Master stood expectantly by the hangars, waiting for his pride and joy to return.
As Union disembarked and made their way back to the city proper, Skyfall Team crossed the runway. Quarter Master eagerly cantered up to meet them halfway.
“So? How did it fly?” he asked, bombarding Fleethoof with questions before he could even get a greeting in edgewise. “Was it fast enough for your liking? Any bumps? Disturbances? Turbulence? How did it handle in the cold? How did the guns work? Were the pilots competent enough? Did it—”
“Quarter, please,” an overwhelmed Fleethoof interrupted, beside himself from the scientist’s enthusiasm. “We just got off the damn thing. Give us a moment to breathe.”
Quarter stayed silent, but his wide-eyed, puppy dog gaze never left the captain. Finally, Fleethoof answered him.
“It flew beautifully. It was as fast as I’d hoped, we hit no snags, and it flew as smoothly as a griffon. We didn’t use the guns, and it held up in all the weather just fine. Silver Wings and Blue Yonder have proven themselves as pilots in my eyes. I’d recommend the Black Hawk for mass production immediately.”
Quarter Master’s expression lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “Oh, glorious! Most glorious indeed! Now, I’ll have to find a factory that can produce my blueprints, and…”
“So long, Quarter Master,” Fleethoof said with a chuckle as he trotted off, leaving the babbling pony to his thoughts.
“Oh, Captain Fleethoof! Wait!”
The stallion stopped on a dime, spinning around with a hoof still held in the air.
“Her Majesty, Princess Luna is expecting your return. She’s waiting for you at headquarters.”
Fleethoof’s ear twitched as he cocked his head. “Luna, waiting for me? What for? Our job is done.”
Quarter Master smiled, a secretive, expressive smile. “I believe she has something for you.”
Deeply curious, Fleethoof made his way off the airfield again, catching up to the distant figures of his team as they made their way back to their home base.
As he had expected, the moment he reached the edge of the airfield, darkness covered Canterlot. A sheer wall of falling water acted almost like a barrier, deterring both his joy and his willingness to proceed through it. But Fleethoof swallowed back his aversion, and walked out into the downpour.
The unicorn soldier grunted as he was thrown to the ground, his opponent pressing his hoof down hard onto his chest. He was pinned down in the mud. From the sidelines, a sopping wet Lunar Guard cast her eyes across the two.
“Be careful, Private,” she said in caution. “Just because you have him down, doesn’t mean he’s out.”
No sooner had the words left her lips, the downed unicorn lashed a hoof out in a sweep, taking the pony down and reversing the pin.
Midnight flipped her wet mane back, a smirk touching her mouth. “Told ya.”
“Hey, Mid,” one of her companion Lunar Guards called out to her. “Weren’t you lookin’ for that red pegasus colt again?”
“You know I was, Starlight,” she replied, supervising the other sparring groups with absolute boredom. “But I told you, he’s not here. He’s busy.”
“But… then who’s that?”
“Huh?” Midnight turned around in a blur of motion, following her friend’s pointing hoof across the training grounds.
True to his word, through the pouring rain, the red figure of a very familiar pegasus pony trudged through the mud, talking to the white form of the Captain of the Guard. Midnight Dasher’s eyes widened, and her pearly white teeth flashed in a toothy grin. Starlight had begun to say something, but she was already airborne, flying right towards the pair of stallions.
“So Luna’s done stealing you for the day?” Shining jested, nudging his friend with his shoulder as he spoke with a sarcasm-laden voice. “Must have been some dangerous mission. You were gone a whole six hours.”
“Bite me,” retorted Fleethoof, chuckling under his breath. “We didn’t even do anything. We were backup for another unit.”
“Which unit?”
“Classified.”
Shining Armor groaned. “Of course. Everything’s red tape and conspiracies with you.”
“Just doing my job, sir.” Shining nudged Fleethoof playfully again.
“So why did you come back here? Training’s almost over for the day.”
“I wanted to make sure Stratagem wasn’t softening my class up too much.” Fleethoof shrugged. “And I wanted to brag about our new toys.”
That caught the Captain of the Guard’s attention. “What did your mad scientist whip up this time?”
“Helicopters.” Shining Armor gave him a look of complete and utter puzzlement. “Aerial transport vehicles. I’ll take you for a ride sometime, provided you don’t get sick. Do unicorns not like flying or something?”
Shining Armor gave a rousing laugh. “I can’t say I’ve ever been airborne enough to know. Why? Does one of your horn heads not like being off the ground.”
The captain smirked and nodded. “Sharp.”
“You’re joking!”
“Nope.” Both ponies laughed this time.
They continued walking a short ways through the rain, passing by the sparring rings. Fleethoof watched the ponies wrestling one another, testing their mettle against their friends and comrades. They were getting better by the day.
“Oh look, here comes your biggest fan,” Shining said abruptly, directing Fleethoof’s attention to the aerial bat pony flying right for them. “I think I’ll leave you two to catch up. I have a group to dismiss anyway.”
“No, wait!” Fleethoof begged with dire urgency, only earning a laugh from his friend at his expense. “Don’t leave me alone with her!”
But he was already gone, trotting off towards a set of buildings. From a distance, Fleethoof could see Shining’s shoulders rising and falling in visible laughter. Revenge would be had at a later time. He clenched his teeth and swiftly debated just taking to the air and trying to escape any confrontation with the Thestral. The soft, muted sound of mud shifting under weight next to him warned him that it was too late for that.
“Weeeeell, look who decided to show up today after all!”
Fuck it all to the fiery depths of Tartarus!
“Hello, Corporal,” he greeted in as flat a tone as he could muster.
“Aww, is that all I get?” she asked, her voice inflecting injury at his indifference, although the half-cocked grin gave away her amusement. “What about all that time we spent together?”
“You mean when I was trying to ignore you, or when I was beating you silly?” Fleethoof continued walking away. As he expected, the mare followed eagerly beside him, seemingly hell-bent on driving him up a wall.
“Ha! Oh, don’t worry about me, Fleet, sometimes I like things a little rough.” Her voice turned sultry, and she batted her eyelashes teasingly at the stallion. “Just ask any of my previous lovers.”
“Goodbye, Corporal Dasher,” Fleethoof muttered, putting especial emphasis on his farewell and picking up speed to a canter to put some distance between them.
The raucous laughter didn’t get any softer. She was still following him. He didn’t even know where he was going, mindlessly wandering the barracks in a vain attempt at retreat.
“Oh, lighten up! I’m just playing with you, Fleety!”
“That’s ‘Captain’. We’ve been over this.”
Midnight scoffed. “Ranks are so stuffy and formal. C’mon, Fleethoof, I was looking for you today.”
“That’s ‘Captain’.”
Now, Midnight Dasher looked genuinely hurt that he ignored her. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
“Aren’t you going to address your superior officers appropriately?”
The mare huffed and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh, come on, Fleethoof—”
“‘Captain’.”
“Fleethoof.”
“‘Captain’.”
“Fleethoof.”
“Goodbye.”
With that, Fleethoof pushed his way past the bat pony, heading for the barracks gates. He still had to return his equipment to headquarters and see what Luna wanted. He didn’t have time for these games with somepony who didn’t even seem to understand the basis of a ranking system.
And then that voice called out again. “Nice gun. Where’d you get it?”
This time, her words came from overhead. Fleethoof didn’t need to look up to know she was hovering right above his head, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to dignify her with a sparing glance.
“That’s classified.”
Almost instantly, Fleethoof found a reason to regret telling her that.
In a gust of propelled air, Midnight landed in front of him, her gold eyes rapt with excitement. Fleethoof came to a stop right before he collided with her, blinking rapidly in surprise.
“Ooooh! Classified? What, is it secret government prototype type stuff?” she asked, all too enthused about the whole prospect. “Are you a spy or something?”
A moment of stillness passed between them. That, and about a liter of rainwater from the sky.
“No.” He tried to push past her again, but the pony sidestepped to block his path once more.
“Oh, I get it. You’re saying no because you can’t tell me you’re a spy.” Midnight grinned at her own logic. “I understand, say no more!”
“No,” Fleethoof said in slow exaggeration, staring at the mare like she was mentally ill. “I’m saying no because I’m not a spy.”
“Black ops then? Are you a secret agent, or a hitpony?”
“Goodbye, Corporal Dasher.”
“Where were you today?” She was insistent on hindering his escape. “Playing hooky or something?”
Fleethoof snorted and rolled his eyes. “You clearly don’t know the definition of ‘classified’, or ‘goodbye’ for that matter.”
“You know, being soaked doesn’t ruin your look.”
Fleethoof’s brow narrowed, knitting together in irritated confusion.
“What?” he asked, suddenly feeling very lost. This conversation was taking all sorts of directions.
“Most ponies look like somepony tried to drown them when they get wet,” Midnight pointed out, smiling happily at him. “But you don’t. You pull off the wet mane look well. Like an ad for shampoo or something.”
“Are you bipolar or something?” Fleethoof could feel his voice rising. He was losing what little threads of patience he had left. There was clearly no point in talking to her.
“No. Why, are you?”
“Goodbye, Corporal.”
“Hey, wait! I wanted to ask you—”
“Corporal!” Fleethoof shouted, gritting his teeth together so hard it hurt. “If you say one more word, I swear to the Great Alicorn, I will buck you into next week!”
An unreadable expression crossed the bat pony’s face. Fleethoof took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down again. For a moment, it looked like he’d scared the mare into shock. But then Midnight’s lips twitched gently, and a sly grin took its place on her face.
Midnight shifted her hooves forward, placing them just inches away from Fleethoof’s, and began to incline her body towards his. Her eyes were half lidded, giving him a look crossed between seduction and daring. She brought her face in closer, their muzzles separated by a thin gap of space. Fleethoof could smell the rain dripping off her, and the scent of jasmine and vanilla in her mane.
The tension between them became so electric, that Fleethoof could swear he could feel static making his hair stand on end. He didn’t know what she was up to, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was okay with it. She parted her lips, and whispered so softly.
“One. More. Word.”
For the longest time, Fleethoof didn’t know exactly what was happening. He stared at the pony in his face in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then bewilderment, then irritation, and ending on anger. His gaze narrowed by the second, glaring daggers at the stubborn mare.
He shoved his way past her, almost sending her toppling off balance face first into the mud. He’d had enough of her games. Yet, even as he stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Canterlot, bound for the castle, he heard that incessant voice calling out after him.
“Hey! Fleethoof! Wait!”
She didn’t fucking give up…
It was unusual to see Skyfall Headquarters so… still. The entire room was almost completely silent. Research had ceased for the day, and only Quarter Master remained at his desk, tinkering with something. The operation with Union had long-since ended, and the officers in charge had departed back home. Fleethoof had passed Sharp Shot and Valiant on the way down, both ponies on their way back to their vacations. Now it was just he, Quarter, and Princess Luna.
Luna looked up and smiled when she saw her captain approach, and then noticed the pained expression of frustration painted across his visage.
“Captain Fleethoof, does something trouble you?”
“More than you know, your majesty…” the pegasus muttered, stepping into the weapons vault and returning his equipment piece by piece. “Quarter Master said you wanted to see me.”
Luna nodded, waiting beside the entrance of the armory as Fleethoof popped the magazine from his weapon and ejected the round from the chamber. “Yes, indeed. I took the liberty of having something crafted for you, and you personally.”
“Oh?”
“A… gift of sorts.”
Fleethoof set his rifle in the rack at the back of the vault, and slid his tactical and Kevlar vest off, setting them on a nearby mannequin. “That’s very kind of you, Princess Luna, but what’s the occasion?”
Luna hesitated, taking a pause to think of how to phrase her intentions.
“Think of it as a… sympathy gift from me, and an apology from my sister.”
“An apology?” He sounded earnestly lost. “What does Celestia have to apologize for?”
“I should think you know what she is remorseful for, my insightful captain,” said Luna.
Fleethoof didn’t reply. He knew what she was trying to make amends for. Luna was trying to smooth over any animosity he was harboring for Celestia’s cover up. The truth was, he didn't have any. And while the thought did still leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with the Sun Princess. That road would only lead to dark places.
He shuddered as he thought back on where he’d seen that road lead…
“Very well,” he agreed with a reluctant sigh and stepped out of the armory, now disarmed down to his sidearm and uniform. “What does her majesty, Princess Celestia, send me? Another medal?”
Luna cast a scolding look at her officer, and Fleethoof instantly felt very, very small. He was still fuming from his run-in with Midnight, who had incidentally followed him every damn step of the way to the castle. The only thing stopping her from following him down here were the two guards he’d instructed to keep her at bay. For once in his life, pulling rank had never felt so sweet, nor relieving.
“Forgive me, princess,” he apologized quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment burn under his cheeks. “I’ve been dealing with a… ah, small nuisance recently.”
Luna actually appeared intrigued. "Within your personal life? How long has this been going on?"
"I don't have much of a personal life, your majesty... and within the last ten minutes."
The alicorn’s expression softened, and her horn ignited in a deep cobalt aura. From a nearby table, a richly varnished walnut box levitated towards the two ponies, hovering in front of Fleethoof’s face. With a touch of a smile, Luna lifted the lid with her magic, and the stallion's eyes went wide.
Inside the box lay a pistol, unlike any he had seen before. The entire design looked sleek, and the metal slide and hammer were blued to a deep navy. A crescent moon and trail of stars were engraved on either side of the slide.
“Quarter Master and I worked tirelessly on the design, perfecting it for every function you would require of it,” Luna said with pride as he lifted the weapon out of its home, getting a feel for it. “This is for you, personally, for your own use, however you see fit.”
“Princess, I've never seen a weapon like this before,” he said, testing out the smoothness of the slide and checking the sights. “This is… What does it shoot?”
“The same bullets you use now, so there is no need to switch,” Luna answered, then added, “as well as these.”
Luna levitated a couple of boxes over to the pony. He opened one, and stared at the silver bullets that fell out into his hoof.
“These are special, Captain, only to be used in the most dire of situations.” Luna’s voice became grave as she spoke. “These bullets have been enchanted with the magic of both Celestia and I, imbued with pure alicorn energy. They will harm anything, including magical entities, or anything physical force could not. They are untested, but Quarter Master hypothesizes use against a normal foe would cause extreme pain, more so than getting shot customarily would. Use them sparingly, Captain. These are very dangerous, and unique.”
Fleethoof returned the rounds to their home, and set the handgun back in its box. “I will. Thank you, Princess Luna. This gift is… it’s really special.”
“But of course, Captain. And please, forgive the mistakes we make. We are only pony, after all.”
He nodded, but remained silent. She was right. Everypony looked to Celestia and Luna as gods: deities descended from above to govern and rule the land. But he’d learned differently. They were divine in their wisdom and their power, this was true, but they were just as susceptible to the ways of the world as he, or anypony else, was. They could bleed, they could cry, they could laugh, they could love—they could die.
“What will you call it?”
Luna’s question snapped Fleethoof back into reality, although still confused him nonetheless. “Beg your pardon?”
The princess stifled a giggle. “What will you call your new weapon?”
Fleethoof was totally caught off guard. “Uh…?”
“Oh, forgive me. I was under the impression that soldiers gave terms of endearment to their tools of the trade. At least, that is how it was done a millennia ago. It was customary for nobles to name their family swords, and the like.”
While the notion had long since been lost to time, it struck something deep within Fleethoof. It was like connecting to his weapon, as if it were an extension of himself. His gun represented his service to the crown, and to the Princess of the Night. It was a symbol of the strength he gave to Equestria’s defense. It was a symbol of his life’s work, and all that inspired him.
And then it came to him.
He ran a hoof over the moon and stars etched into the cool metal. “I think I do have a name for it…”
Luna waited, patient and curious, as a smile touched the stallion’s lips.
“Nightingale. I’ll call it the Nightingale.”