Lieutenant Commander Rainbow Dash squinted through the plexiglass windscreen in front of her, examining the skyline of Las Vegas on the horizon. From altitude, the cloudless sky of southern Nevada offered an excellent view of the city.
Some might think it rather strange to find a US Navy jet over the desert, but these were special circumstances. Below Dash’s airplane were the runways of Nellis Air Base, where she would be staying for the next week. The US Air Force was having a party.
Red Flag was the operation name for recurring exercises at Nellis that invited pilots from around the world. Each Red Flag event was attended by several countries and military branches. The simulated combat was perfect for training.
Dash thought about the week’s schedule. She would be flying three times on three very different missions. The training was diverse, just as the pilots and planes in attendance. This year, even the Equestrian Air Force would be showing up.
The doorways between the two dimensions had been open for about fifteen years. Dash had been living in the United States and member of the Navy for about ten. Say what you want about delayed gratification, she had a decade more jet flying experience than just about any other pony.
Dash shifted a little in the cockpit, stretching slightly before beginning landing checks. The flight from her squadron’s home base at Lemoore, California had not been very long. The small formation of four aircraft she led had not required much fuel and all of the planes were light and “clean” – without weapons hanging from the wings. It was the perfect configuration for top maneuverability and Dash ached to show off some of her best moves. Unfortunately, showboating over the runway was strongly discouraged. Oh well, she would just have to make up for it on the training missions.
Dash touched the radio control with her hoof. “This is Ninja One. Make preparations for landing.”
As flight lead, Dash was “One.” As part of the US Navy’s VFA-112 squadron, every member of the formation was a Ninja. It was not a nickname Dash would have picked, but it was certainly better than some things, for example VFA-143, the “Pukin’ Dogs.”
One by one, the other three pilots checked in. All of them were human, and with less experience than Dash. The four members of the formation had been sent to Red Flag as representatives of their squadron.
Ninja Two was Lieutenant Thomas “Argyle” Forrest. Three was Lieutenant John “Eeep” Harper. Four was Lieutenant Cassie “Fire” Stebbins.
Pilot nicknames were handed out rather arbitrarily, from an incident with ugly Christmas sweaters in Argyle’s case to a particular hair color for Fire. Dash had the distinction of christening Eeep, mostly because he reminded her of her friend Fluttershy. The man was jumpy and nervous on the ground. Unlike Fluttershy, he was a top pilot.
Dash herself had never received a moniker that stuck for more than a little while. Perhaps because to human ears “Rainbow Dash” already sounded like a ridiculous nickname.
The four of them spread out, aligning their jets for landing. Dash reached for the button that would lower her plane’s tailhook, but corrected herself. They weren’t landing on an aircraft carrier.
The F/A-18C Hornet she piloted was the workhorse strike aircraft of the US Navy. Capable of bombing or dogfighting, it was a versatile platform that was made famous as the aircraft of the Blue Angels. Dash had been flying Hornets since the beginning of her career.
Dash checked in with the base’s tower air controller. With approval from the tower, she made her final approach for landing. Executing the left spiral that was a trademark of tailhook fighters, the long runway appeared before her. It was a simple matter to touch down gently on the smooth pavement—much easier than landing on a ship.
Letting her Hornet slow down, Dash turned off the runway where the tower controller told her to and rolled into a parking area where a group of crew and equipment were waiting. They had arrived earlier aboard cargo planes.
After taxiing into position, Dash shut down the plane’s twin engines and began preparations to disembark. After opening the plexiglas canopy, she unplugged her radio and climbed out of the cockpit.
There was not a ladder waiting for her. As a quadruped, there was not a good way to climb it. Dash spread her wings and floated to the pavement. She worked her feathers a few times to get out the kinks that had developed during the flight before folding the wings at her sides.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” asked the aircraft crew chief. He had actually been in the Navy longer than Dash and was very knowledgeable about every aspect of the Hornet.
“It worked perfectly, Chief. I think we’re ready for Red Flag.” Dash nodded to him and headed for the briefing building for all arriving pilots. She paused a moment to let the other three members of the squadron catch up. Each of them wore the distinctive VFA-112 patch on their green flight suits. It depicted, of all things, a ninja. The same patch was worn by every member of the ground crew.
The four pilots set off, walking line-abreast. Argyle grinned. “The cool pilot strut, just like we practiced.”
They hadn’t actually, but Dash could feel herself grinning getting in step with the rest. Red Flag was about training, but what was the point if you couldn’t look good doing it?
Walking into the building was like entering the backstage of the Olympics. A multitude of countries were represented and each of them had sent their best. Dash spotted uniforms from places as close as Canada and as far away as Australia. In between, there was the United Kingdom, Japan, Belgium, and a whole host of others. Her eyes focused on the Equestrian pilots.
The learning curve for a pony to join the human military was steep, but rising to challenges was just part of Dash’s nature. That didn’t mean she had started acting full human, although certain alterations to her lifestyle had to be made. It still felt rather strange any time she met a member of the Equestrian military.
Fortunately, there was a familiar face among the EAF pilots—Major Lightning Dust, a mare Dash had met before. Before she could go talk to her, however, Dash and the rest of the Ninja pilots were intercepted by Ensign Tidd, their squadron intelligence officer.
Tidd was rather young but good at his job despite his relative inexperience. He passed out some information for the pilots’ perusal before the welcome briefing started. Dash tucked the paper into the pocket of her flight suit before trotting over to Lightning Dust.
The other mare was teal in color with a mane in the hues of a sunrise. There was a patch on her uniform from the EAF 56th Fighter Squadron, the "Buccaneers." The patch was a representation of a well-armed pony pirate. Dust's eyes came up as Dash approached.
“Commander Dash, it’s been a while,” said Dust. The two of them politely bumped hooves. Dust elbowed a nearby stallion to get his attention. “Dash, this is my wizzo, Thunder.”
The stallion was a unicorn, deep indigo in color. The badge on the nametag of his uniform was different than Dust’s, signifying his position not as a pilot but as a Weapons Systems Officer—“Wizzo.”
Dash greeted him. “I heard the EAF got some Delta Falcons.”
The F-16 Fighting Falcon was an advanced fighter. The D model had seats for two. Thunder would sit in the back while Dust piloted. Dash would have called him the Goose to Dust’s Maverick, but was unsure if the Equestrian aircrew would get the joke.
Dust nodded in response to Dash’s statement. “Yeah, Lockheed-Martin really hooked us up. I took a tour of the factory in Fort Worth a while back. They even let me roll my own brand new plane off the assembly line.”
“You visited Earth and never looked me up?” Dash chuckled.
“Yeah, I wanted to come see you at a Blue Angels show, but the schedule never worked out.” Dust thought for a moment. “Speaking of, are you back with a war squadron now?”
“It was a good tour with the Angels, but yeah, I'm back to flying grey jets.” Dash nodded.
“Stunt piloting sounds like it would right up your alley,” Dust observed.
Dash laughed. “The Wonderbolts wanted to do a joint show, but we were concerned about sucking one of them into a jet intake. Funny story, I'll tell you about it some time. We should hang out later, Dust. See you in the air.”
Dash turned to go back to her squadron. The briefing was about to begin. Every attendee found a seat as an Air Force General took the podium.
“I’d like to welcome you all to this year’s Red Flag Exercise. The training this year is going to be more intensive, realistic, and valuable than any previous Red Flag. We’ve got more countries in attendance than ever before and a wider variety of equipment and skill sets than any aviation exercise ever. I want you all to perform, but remember that this is about training and not competition.”
Yeah right, thought Dash. She was sure that any pilot worth their wings would push the limits.
The General finished his speech. “Learn all you can, cooperate, and above all, do your best.”
There was a chorus of “Yes sir!” from most of the room, and “Aye sir!” from the Navy and Marines. That was just one example of the rift that existed between Department of the Navy aviators and other services. They were all fighter pilots, but each branch of the military had its own variations. That was part of the purpose of Red Flag; to learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses in order to work together more effectively.
A few other speakers rotated past the podium to give briefs related to the week’s upcoming activity. Ensign Tidd was busy furiously taking notes. He was not a pilot. His job was not to fly, but to inform. Despite the lack of gold wings on his uniform, he was just as much a part of the squadron as Dash. Even if the fighter jocks got all the glory, they couldn’t perform without support personnel, whether it was the intel officer or the aircraft maintainers.
Despite their name, the briefs were actually quite long. The sun was beginning to set by the time they were over, although the evening was still young. Dash was unable to have a night out in Las Vegas, however. She had to be flying in the morning.