//------------------------------//
// Chapter Two 
// Story: Hell on Earth 
// by bobdat 
//------------------------------//


Hell on Earth
Chapter Two


August

The three weeks following my first flight were the worst they could be. It rained, drizzled, thunderstormed and just generally was cloudy, but all of these weather conditions meant that there was no point flying. Every pegasus knew that lightning could kill just as easily as the griffons, and so could ditching into the sea miles from land. 

I was one of the luckier pegasi on base, since I could swim. Most of them couldn't, and after hearing story after story of pegasi disappearing over the sea, you began to dread the fate of having to ditch. Floating in icy-cold waters, your wings burnt or sliced away, waiting and hoping that a ship would pass before you ran out of energy. 
On runs to griffonry, the others suggested you had three or four hours before you sank. On more northerly runs, protecting our shipping, it could be as little as five minutes.

The weather ponies forecast another solid week of poor weather, so those of us with outstanding leave took it. I couldn't fly in the poor conditions, so I sat on another long, uninteresting train back to my parents house in the country. It was already halfway through August, and the wet weather meant that they would need all the help they could get with the harvest.

“Hi son!” My dad said, as I walked up to him, working in the field wearing a thick raincoat. “If you'd like to wait inside, we're nearly finished out here.”

I dried off with a towel I found in the bathroom, then made hot drinks for everypony. True to his word, my dad and mum appeared before too long, and drank their beverages gratefully.
As they sipped away and asked questions like 'how are you?' and 'what's the base like?', I felt a little sad. My mum looked cheerful, her cheeks tinged red from effort, but my dad was beginning to show his age. His coat was wearing a little thin in places, and I could see his teeth loosening.

“So, how was the mission?” My mum asked, sounding a little cautious. I wasn't allowed to talk about the specifics of missions to anypony off base, but I was pretty sure that my parents weren't griffon spies.
“Oh, it was quite scary really. It's boring all the way in and out, like waiting for news or something. You're constantly expecting a griffon attack, but they never seem to come. The scary part is the bombing run. It's like hell – blazing fires on the ground, bright searchlights that trap you, and then firey guns trying to shoot you down. But it's a job, and I expect it's no worse than for the earth ponies on the ground.”

“Well, I expect you'll know all about the withdrawal. We've now got no soldiers on the continent.” My dad said, pointing to the newspaper with his hoof.
“Yeah. We're actually expecting the griffons to begin retaliating with their own bombing offensive once the long nights return this winter.”
“Do you think they'll succeed?” My mum again.
“Yes. The bomber pony always gets through, but we've got huge numbers of fighter ponies ready to shoot them down when they try to.”
“Ah, but fighter ponies can't fly at night?” Clearly my dad was following the newspapers much more closely than I had expected.

“You're right. But griffons can't see in the night properly. We have highly trained fighter ponies who can see enough at night-time to defend, plus the main part of the griffon assault will come during the day. Only a third of our forces can fly, but all of theirs can. We're saving our trained bomber ponies for the safer night-time.”
My dad nodded. “That makes sense. Do you think we should be concerned? I've already built one of those bomb shelter things.”
“No, please don't worry. They're not interested in destroying the countryside, only our cities. Just go to the shelter if the siren sounds.”

After that first day, we barely discussed the war, except occasional nuggets of news. My mum didn't like the idea of me flying in such dangerous conditions, so my father and I did our best to keep the conversation away from it. 
Mainly, we just worked hard on bringing in the harvest and drying it out. Wet grain would just rot, so once it had been cut down from the fields, we had to lay it all out in a barn and wait for the overworked local dragon to come round and dry it out for us.

It was a nice break, but my leave ran out after a fortnight and I was needed back at base. Most ponies had to build up their muscle again on their return, but all the heavy lifting and carrying meant that I had, if anything, got stronger during my leave. The forecast was for a sunny September, which to most ponies was a relief, but of course it meant more missions for me. 

I waved goodbye to my parents and made the train journey back to the base, dreading the upcoming attacks. It was going to be intense – any spell of good weather meant attacks nightly, no exceptions. The horror stories I'd heard in my bunk room were beginning to make me lose my nerve, and the stress of attacking constantly would catch up with me with a vengeance, as I had seen it do to others.

September

In the end, it wasn't our bombing offensive during September that made headlines, despite the fact that it was the heaviest of the war so far. It was the fierce fighter pony battles taking place, with our brave pegasi trying to shoot down the griffons attempting to bomb our cities. The newspapers reported a moderate success for our side, which really meant it was fifty-fifty. My parents sent me a letter in the middle of September, saying that they'd heard news of one of our neighbours in the village losing a son in the battles. I'd never really spoken to him, but it was still horribly close.

September began brightly with the weather clearing, and the first Saturday was beautifully sunny. We all slept in to keep our energy up for the flight later that evening, which was guaranteed.
The sun set as we were setting off. My second mission actually made me more nervous than the first, because I knew what was waiting for me in the evil skies. In the end though, the only thing that made it notable was the fact that we finally had to deal with a proper night griffon ambush.

It was on the way in, which was to be expected. Starry Night pulled a few of them off, but many more began skimming in between our formation. Without any weapons to fight back, we were told to simply fly straight unless one was targeting us. Of course, one did – a horrible looking black griffon that melted away into the dark sky as soon as they were far enough away. They reappeared right on my tail and flew straight at me, claws outstretched.

I rolled to the right and broke formation, before diving towards the ground as fast as I could. The theory was that pegasi were faster than griffons, but I was a huge, heavy pegasus and my attacker was small and agile. I tried to roll left but it took ages for my huge wings to finally begin to go, and it ended up as a near miss. The griffon spiralled away, overshooting and losing any chance to turn and make another attack. 

Breathing heavily, I rejoined the formation slowly, my nerves on fire. I still had my bomb, and there was a small orange glow on the horizon that was probably the attack area. We were towards the rear of the pegasus stream that night, which explained why the griffons had attacked us so readily.

As we went on the bombing run, the light from the burning city below illuminated our formation just enough to pick out vague shapes. Starry Night was still leading us, but a quick count showed that we'd lost somepony near the front, and somepony near the back. The way the formations worked was that experienced ponies moved up, and the rookies were at the back. With somepony missing from the front, we'd lost somepony experienced, and that meant I'd be moving up tomorrow night. The pony from the back was probably a rookie on his first flight.

Of course, I tried to steady my nerves with the thought that they'd probably just dropped their bombs and turned home during the attack, but there was always a lingering suspicion.
But the worst was yet to come. We passed over the target and I let go of the bomb, watching it fall down towards the target for a few seconds before pulling away to the left. As we did so, a searchlight caught the pony directly in front of me.

The way the tactic worked, if a searchlight got a pony, all the others would aim at it too, and so would all of the guns. The only way to evade was to dive or roll, which is exactly what the pony did. His name was Machine Part, and he was from the new bunkhouse across from mine. I could see his cutie mark – a heavy-set cog – just in front of me. He rolled right, away from the formation, and suddenly hundreds of firey shots began exploding in the air around us. Their shockwaves rocked us like waves in the sea, but Starry Night managed to lead the formation safely away. Everypony's eyes were on Machine Part, but our hoping was in vain. He dived severely, one wing caught fire, then he went into a spin and disappeared rapidly into the city below.

To my relief, the journey back was uneventful. We landed safely at base an hour before sunrise, and as we clocked off, the commander counted us. Starry Night was talking to the experienced flier who had disappeared during the griffon attack – he'd been injured but managed to get away. Once everypony was back, we were only missing Machine Part and the rookie, who I didn't know.

I should really try to introduce everypony I knew on the base. After a week's missions, it was almost like a family atmosphere.
First up was, of course, the Commander. We called him Commander, but I think his real name was Shield Wall. He'd flown twenty five missions early in the war, mainly against griffon troops and ships. Pegasi were only required to fly twenty five missions before they could retire from military service or take up a post in the administration. Unfortunately, a team of fifteen pegasi usually lost one a mission, meaning that your chances of reaching retirement were low.

The Commander looked after us, making sure we had everything we needed (within reason). Complaints, of which there were few, also went to him.
Commander's right hand man was Starry Night. Starry had flown twenty five missions exactly when I'd gone on my first flight, but he was an adventurer. He'd volunteered to go again for another twenty five. He spent most of the time he wasn't practicing or sleeping talking to the Commander, discussing tactics or the upcoming mission.

Starry Night was an amazingly good flier, and as a result he often took a lot of heat for the rest of the formation, at great risk to himself. Most ponies found it nearly impossible to shake one or two griffons, but he managed to regularly escape three or four. He was tall with a huge wingspan, and his coat was jet black, same as his mane. Only a few white stars on his flank made up his cutie mark. 

Everypony, except the Commander, slept in bunk houses, each of which fitted four ponies. There were four bunkhouses, making up a total team of sixteen ponies, but there was almost always somepony injured or absent on leave, so the most that ever flew was fifteen, and that was pretty rare. 
My bunk house included me, Avro, along with three experienced pegasi, all of whom were on their seventh or eighth mission. They were Brick Dust, Heavy Weight and Iron Girder, but we all called one another by our first names. None of us had our cutie marks, which was a nice thing to have in common. I was the smallest of our group, but only by an inch or so. We actually all had surprisingly similar tastes in music, food, drink and mares, and we looked quite similar. My coat was the lightest, a shade of grey while all of theirs were much closer to black. 

I knew a few of the others on base, but you didn't speak too much to them, except at dinner. Your bunk house were like your brothers, and you shared everything – from banter about the mares in the local village to your darkest fears about flying. 

Once or twice a week, when there wasn't a mission that night, you'd go down to the local pub and have a few drinks and try and pick up mares. I wasn't actually very interested in the mares. I wasn't entirely over my fear of flying, and being eighteen years old, I was more awkward than the others, who were in their early twenties. When they were trading stories about mares, I sometimes thought a little about Mossy Landscape. She was more like a pin-up than a realistic chance. She'd probably found somepony else anyway. I had no idea what she was doing or even where she was.

October

The air campaign against the griffon bombers hotted up throughout the autumn, and losses were getting heavier. They were still nothing like as heavy as ours, but we didn't say anything. The fighter ponies were glamorous and exciting, bravely defending the United Queendoms from the evil griffon attacks, while the bomber ponies were unappealing, muscled and uncouth, doing a dirty but necessary job.

I had leave scheduled for the first two weeks in November, after the Commander stopped me going away for Nightmare Night. We were facing a shortage that night anyway, so he allowed me to have an extra week if I agreed to go the next day. Of course, I said yes. 
I completed my sixth mission during the first week in October. My bunk house were already past ten and feeling confident, but I'd got the hang of the missions now and I could keep up with their talk about more advanced tactics for shaking griffon fighters.

Over the missions, we'd lost two more pegasi. This meant that I was now flying twelfth in our formation, depending on who was available on a particular night. The less experienced ponies behind me were covering the rear, and Starry Night always had the front covered, so I was responsible for the left side. I began to get quite good at keeping the look out, scattering accordingly when griffons attacked, and re-forming when they were gone. Starry Night was a great mentor. He would go out for a practice flight at any time of the day or night, when missions weren't on, to help you polish up anything you liked. His theory was, the more you flew, the better you got, so he was always flying.

The seventh mission was considered unlucky on base. Unlucky seven and unlucky thirteen. Once you'd done those two, everypony said, you were much safer. The atmosphere in our bunk house on the morning of my seventh mission was terrible. Brick was on his thirteenth that night, and I had my seventh, and we all feared it could be our last.

The day was sunny but cold. I stayed indoors, like most ponies, and just ran the mission details over and over in my head. It was a long one, deep into griffonry, which meant we'd be going well before sunset. Starry Night said there could easily be two, three or four griffon attacks on the journey, which played on my mind. Being over the target was really scary, but it was nothing like the silent threat of a griffon tailing you and then coming in for the kill. You always dropped out of formation, so your death was private and a mystery. 

This made it easier for everypony else at the base. When pegasi like Machine Part met their makers, it was horrific. You could see them burning on the way down, and all you could think about was the last joke they told, or that time they bought a round in the pub. But when somepony just slipped out of formation and you never saw them again... you had something else to think about. 

Death, and the fear of it, hung like a curtain everywhere, whether you were on your own or with others. It was almost as if there was a skeletal, black-cloaked pony sat in the corner, looking out across at you all, picking its next target. There was no way of avoiding it. When Death came for you, there was no escape. You simply hoped it was swift.

Iron swore that the only pony that could defeat Death was the pony we called Lady Luck. Iron was openly superstitious – he always put on his clothes in the same order, and drank the same thing all the time. The rest of us weren't so open about it, but you were superstitious. Both Brick and Heavy had some kind of lucky charm that they carried. I didn't have anything. It was only lucky if it meant something to you, like a gift from a mare, or something you spotted in the grass. I was waiting for something. 

Brick was playing with his lucky bit, passing it from hoof to hoof nervously. He and I were the only ponies on the base on their seventh or thirteenth missions, so everypony else simply looked at us and did their best to be cheerful. Brick was almost stunned, he just sat in a chair and stared at the wall. I spent what could have been my last few hours enjoying everything I could, like quiet conversation, and the sound of the wind whistling past the roof. When you overthought it, you could quite easily get into the state of mind where everything was an omen. I tried not to think. I thought about my parents and about Mossy Landscape, and about school and my parents house. 

By the time we were stood on the runway, ready to take off, both Brick and I had calmed down a little. You always had the worst nerves before the mission, but once you were ready to go, it was just a job. 

The sun set just as we left the United Queendoms and began flying over the sea. The only problem was, whoever planned these bombing missions had planned wrong. The griffons were ready and waiting for us.

The first, small attack hit before we ever reached the coast of griffonry. Nopony was hurt, but in trying to evade, one of the less experienced ponies had ditched his bomb and had to turn around and go home. We'd only set off with fourteen, and we were down to thirteen after just minutes of action. Smaller formations meant a lower chance of survival for everypony remaining. 

As the first wave relented, a second wave arrived almost immediately. This one was vicious – we were over their territory and they were hell-bent on stopping us from getting through. Nine or ten griffons circled before picking their targets and swooping down. Once again, Starry Night drew them again, but two of them picked me and tailed me as I rolled and dived.

I did everything I could to throw them, but they didn't seem to want to come in for the kill. I was losing altitude at a worrying rate, and I had a couple of frights when I thought I saw a hill in the darkness rushing towards me. Still they followed, probably waiting for the perfect moment to close in and finish me off. I twitched, feinted, flew upside down and went into screaming dives, but they followed my every move. The small part of my brain not working overtime on manoeuvres was irritatingly reminding me that this was my seventh mission, and luck wasn't on my side. Maybe this was it.

I hated the idea of going down without a proper fight, so I pulled back towards the formation, hoping to get them to close in before I managed to gain altitude again. They did as I predicted, both of them attacking simultaneously at high speed. I dipped under their attack and rolled left, but they hung on in a tight turn and made a head-on grab. I felt their slipstream ruffle my mane, but that was all. They disappeared into the blackness, and I pulled back into the formation, relieved.

“Good job.” Starry Night said to me as I passed him. I slipped back into my place and waited with bated breath for the next time.
It wasn't long in coming, but this time they didn't aim for me. Another nine or ten attacked, and seven pegasi from the formation disappeared, including Brick. Seeing him fall into the blackness, suddenly pursued, sent a wave of ice through my stomach. I had no idea if he'd return out of the inky darkness. If he didn't... 

We flew on, and Starry Night reappeared before long. There were no sign of anypony else for the longest time. It seemed like hours, but it must have just been a few short minutes. To my relief, Brick reappeared, flying on one and a half wings. The griffons had managed to rip plenty of feathers out, so he quickly was granted permission to return home by Starry Night. He swung around and disappeared. Injured pegasi were an easy target for griffon fighters, so he wasn't home yet, but it was unlikely that any would be hanging around.

After that, we reached the target. It wasn't my night, let's put it that way. As soon as we made our approach, I experienced for the first time what I'd heard others describe as a 'burning blindness'. The searchlights got me. At first, it was a bit like waking up in a sunny room, but as more and more lights hooked onto me, it burned my eyes intensely, even though I'd screwed them up in pain.

The shockwaves began and I knew they were firing at me. All those hundreds of anti-pegasus guns were aimed at me. Trying to escape the searchlights wasn't something you thought about, it was instinctive. I rolled and dived, hoping that my rapid movement would shake them. I knew from experience looking at others that once they'd got you, if you couldn't escape in ten seconds then you were finished.

The shockwaves were throwing my body around like a toy, sending me left, right, down, up, in every direction, each movement as violent as the next. Then, I felt a wave of heat and I was thrown horribly to the left, my neck cracking as I rolled through the air, totally out of control. As I did so, the searchlights lost their grip, and I beat my wings furiously to gain altitude and stop them getting me again. The heat scared me – I thought my wing must be on fire, but I couldn't feel any pain. Opening my eyes, I couldn't see anything except the searchlights scanning the sky and the red glow of the target. I couldn't see any other pegasi or make out any details, since my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness.

I turned for home, and found a formation of pegasi. Their leader said that Starry Night's formation was a little way ahead. Normally, I would just have attached myself to the back of any old formation, but I was anxious that the others in my formation didn't worry. Anyway, we'd already lost two pegasi. It was getting more and more dangerous for them.

Speeding ahead allowed me to skim past other formations. I had to keep my eyes peeled to pick out the dark shapes beating their wings. I finally found my formation after almost flying past them, and I slid back into formation. Horribly, my scanning count showed only ten – somepony else must have disappeared when I did.

The griffons seemed to have exhausted themselves on their attacks on the way in, and while they did attack us twice more, both times they simply aimed for Starry Night, and both times he escaped easily. The sun was peeping over the horizon when we finally landed, my tired hooves skidding a little on the runway, but I landed okay in the end. It really had been an ordeal, but most importantly, I was safe. Mission seven was out of the way, and I was clear for a few more. 

As I headed over to the hut to clock out, I must admit I was a little annoyed that Brick hadn't been there to greet us. I was one of the last to land, due to my tiredness, but he could've waited up. Unless his injury was worse than I'd thought, and he was still in the hospital. Anyway, I clocked out, almost in a daze, and headed for the bunk house. Brick wasn't there – he was clearly still injured. Iron was there, but he was simply staring at an empty bunk. The bunk was expertly made – blankets tucked in, no rough edges – which meant that the orderlies had been in and sorted it out. There were no personal items around, and while we'd both heard about what it meant, we'd never seen it. Heavy Weight hadn't returned from the mission, and his bed had been cleaned out before we'd even realised.

When ponies disappeared, either they'd been killed, or they'd had to ditch. If they ditched, sometimes they survived and returned to the base a few days later, to everyone's relief. But somehow, both Iron and I knew that we would never see Heavy again. His deep guffaw and endless tales of life in the city he'd grew up in were gone forever, along with his irritating messiness and, perhaps, part of my heart.

November

By the time November finally ticked round, I was desperate for the leave. Heavy's death had left a shadow over our bunk house. Brick had returned from the hospital as good as new, but taken the loss of Heavy hard. He was talking about skipping a mission and claiming his wing hurt, but we talked him out of it. Skipping missions, however upset you were, was a big no. If the Commander found out, you'd be kicked off base and have to work for the rest of the war in a prison somewhere.

There were three more missions in October after my seventh and Heavy's last. That took me to my tenth – we had a drink in the pub on Nightmare Night, toasting my successful tenth mission, and of course, Heavy's memory.
Losing Heavy had torn our bunk house apart. Probability had always suggested that it wasn't long until one of the four of us didn't return, and we'd done well to go six missions without a loss. What made things worse was that, three days after Heavy went, they replaced him with some scrap of a pony named Fiddlesticks. He was always twitching and shaking, even when he was tired. He was also chronically lazy.

We told him he needed the stamina and muscles to make it to griffonry and back, but he preferred to sit around and play cards in the dinner hall. When his first mission came up, he was tired before we even got halfway there, and Starry Night got snappy with him for complaining. He got fed up and turned for home, ditching his bomb into the countryside. Once we returned from the mission, he was nowhere to be found. The Commander had just quietly and sensibly kicked him out. 

Heavy's bed remained empty after that. The Commander said he'd be sending someone, but they hadn't materialised. I just assumed they'd arrive while I was taking my leave.

I went, once again, to my parents' house. November isn't exactly a busy time for crop farmers, but I didn't have anywhere else to go, really. Plus, I enjoyed seeing my parents.
Once again, my father and I had a conversation about how the war was going. Being on base, you didn't actually hear much apart from the stuff relating to the Royal Pegasus Force. Apparently, the griffon bombing raids had been quite intense, and despite heavy losses for the griffons, more and more of them kept coming. At this point, my mother went to make tea. She didn't like to hear about it.

My parents hadn't been attacked, but they'd had to go into the shelter a couple of times when bomber griffons passed overhead. One of them had dropped a rogue bomb into a field about two miles away, which they'd helped to fill back in with earth. But that was all of the excitement. While my mother was making the tea, which seemed to be taking forever, I explained what had been happening on base, and about Heavy. I left out the parts about me being attacked, because I thought it was better to spare them the worry.

“Here's the tea, dear.” My mum said when she returned, placing a tray of tea down on the table. I helped her pour it.
“So... have you met any mares you like yet?” This was typical of my mum. She always had a mischievous side, which as she had got older, turned into a healthy enjoyment of others' mischief.
“No mum, I haven't.”
“Sure? I hear those mares who work near the base are quite nice, there's always stories in the paper about fighter ponies getting together with them.”
“Mum, half of the fighter ponies are mares anyway.”
“Well, whatever.”

I spent the rest of the first week relaxing. It did help to get away from the base, and waking up knowing that you can go to bed that night, and not have to spend all night flying somewhere dangerous and worrying about not coming back. My parents didn't really have much to do with themselves. My dad had volunteered to teach at a local school over the winter, since some of the teachers had gone off to join the army, and my mum just knitted a lot. She offered me a scarf, but I turned it down. It was better that somepony on a freezing cold ship had it, since I'd probably never wear it.

Actually, by the end of the week I was considering going and buying some books to read. I was getting a bit bored rattling around the house with nothing to do, and it was too cold to do anything outside. Snow was forecast, so that would give me some time off missions, but once it was finished snowing, it'd be back to business as usual. Strangely though, once again the fates conspired to ensure that I didn't get bored. 

I was up early on the Monday, getting ready to go into the village and buy those books, when I heard the radio news.
“In the biggest night of griffon attacks of the war, three cities have been hit. Two appear to be diversionary raids, and the third has completely devastated the centre of Manechester. Casualties are reported to be high as the dust settles this morning...”
I had stopped listening by that point.
“Mum? Dad?”
My mum was still asleep, but my Dad was up and making breakfast.
“Hi Avro. Want something?”
“The griffons have hit Manechester, according to the radio.”
“Oh, my. Is the university okay?”
“Probably not. I think it's best, since I'm free for the next week, if I head up there and see if they need help. I know the place, so I can probably be of assistance.”

And with that, I found myself speeding through the crisp air towards Manechester. As I approached, smoke was still hanging in the air above it. I suddenly got a feeling of dread during my descent, and I landed in a damaged courtyard, surrounded by smoking and rubble-covered buildings.

The university, which was a little way from the city centre, hadn't taken too much damage, although the casualties contained more than a few students. I was quickly recruited by the fire service to fly over the city, looking for trapped civilians or blocked roads. Admittedly, I'd hoped for something a little more interesting, but anything that could help was good. The only problem was, I didn't really see anything in all of my time flying, apart from the smoke and ruined buildings.

Despite flying over the blackened corpse of a lively city I had lived in until recently, the only emotion I felt was a strange one of guilt. When I flew into the hell that was Griffonry every night, was this what I left behind? Were there dazed griffons wandering the streets, trying to help put out fires and dig up the remains of civilians crushed under falling masonry? Did they look up at the slate grey sky and hope with all of their heart that the destructive hurricane called the Royal Pegasus Force didn't return that night?

By the time night fell and the rescue efforts were beginning to be called off until first light, I was feeling thoroughly miserable. Yes, the griffons were trying to kill ponies, but I was actively trying to kill griffon civilians in return. Were they really that bad? I mean, when I let go of that big yellow load and flew away in relief, it was crashing to earth and killing unarmed and unaware women and children... wasn't it wrong?

With nowhere to stay, I ended up finding a church hall that housed refugees and secured a bed. I planned to get up at first light and assist again, but I was tired and I didn't really know what I wanted any more. 

But then, my life changed again. I saw two things that made me think otherwise. 

The first was a green poster hanging on the wall. I'd seen hundreds of propaganda posters, posted by the government, advising ponies about everything from food shortages to air raids. But this was one I'd never seen before. It was intended to build up spirit rather than inform, and it had exactly the right effect. Normally I'd consider propaganda a little beneath me, but in this case, it was patriotism of the strongest kind that caught me.

The poster was an elaborate landscape, a picturesque painting of the rolling farmlands and gentle hills that were unique to the farmlands where I'd grown up. Ponies always came to visit during the summer, due to the natural beauty of the area. Underneath the picture were the words 'Do you want griffons here?'
I felt rage building up inside me as I thought about griffons seeing the beauty that I'd grown up in. There was no way they could possible be allowed to win as long as I was defending that. I pounded my hoof on the blankets silently, my eyes burning with determination. 

But then I saw something that I would go to my death for, even more so than the beauty of the United Queendoms. And her name was Mossy Landscape.

“Hi, um, Mossy?”
“Oh, hi... no don't tell me, I'll remember. You're... it's one word, right?” She smiled, clearly embarrassed.
I was a little put out that she didn't remember, but it was only natural. I must be one of many in a long line of stallions she'd met.
“I'm Avro. We did dancing lessons together.”
“Of course you are! I'm kicking myself for forgetting that, I knew it! It was on the tip of my tongue, I assure you.” 
“How have you been?” It was such a non-question. We were in a ruined city and our lives had been turned upside down since I'd left for the RPF. Nothing could really describe it adequately.
She blushed a little as she helped a couple of fillies get into bed. “Not too bad. I stayed on after you left, but since the university has been ruined, I suppose it's better that I start helping the war effort.”
“So that's why you're here?”
“I volunteered to help out at this shelter after the bombing last night. It was pretty awful, so I hope that I can at least help a few ponies in this nightmare.”
I nodded. I didn't want to tell her about being a bomber pony – she might have resentment for anyone who was willing to inflict wanton destruction on towns and cities.

“I hear you're in the RPF now.”
I was busted. “Um, yeah, I've been in it for fourteen weeks or so.”
“With your build, there's no way you're a fighter pony. Not with all that muscle. What's it like? Being a bomber pony?” A slight twinkle in her eye and a trace of a smile suggested that she was teasing me a little.
“Tough, and dangerous.”
“Oh, listen to the hero talk. Excuse me while I bask in awe.”
“I didn't mean it like that...” My turn to blush.
“I know you didn't. Anyway, I think I'm finished. Do you want to go and sit outside? It's a little cold, but better than being stuck in the stuffiness here.”

We ended up sat on a chunk of chimney stack that had collapsed from a nearby warehouse and was yet to be dragged away. A chill breeze was whistling down the remains of the street, so she sat close.
“You didn't say goodbye.” She didn't look at me, just stared at the blackened brickwork ahead of us.
“I tried to find you, really. But I had to go, you know how it was.”
“I suppose. I considered joining one of the pony land armies, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for farming.” Her laugh was divine; it was more of an amused breath, but it flowed like silk.
I stamped my hooves a little to keep them from going numb. “I'm sure you'd be great. Better than risking your life here.”
“You're right. I hate to disappoint you, but I think I'll actually go into nursing.”

My heart ached at this suggestion. Nurse ponies were renowned throughout the armed forces for being the most beautiful, caring ponies, and the idea of Mossy becoming one tore me in two. Part of me desperately wanted to see her take on the air of professionalism and grace that made nurses so attractive, but another part didn't want her to be constantly chased by other stallions.
“I think that's a great idea. You'll make a brilliant nurse.”
“Thank you, Avro, you're very sweet.” She leant over and rested her head on my shoulder. “Why did university have to end like this?”

I didn't really have an answer, so I changed the subject. “We should really keep in touch. I mean, if you'd like to.”
“I'd love to.”
“What's your address? I mean, I'll write whenever I can. I write to my parents at least once a week, but they're boring, and sometimes it's boring on base and I want someone to write to, and...” I tailed off, staring at the floor to try and hide my embarrassment over rambling.
“My accommodation was destroyed, so I don't have anywhere to stay at the moment. My parents' address is Nineteen, Sycamore Close, Trottingham. They'll be able to forward it to me, wherever I'm staying.”
Silently, I memorised the address. A lot of ponies on base wrote to their wives or girlfriends as much as twice a day during heavy periods, so I was secretly very pleased to have someone to write to.

“What about you?”
“Oh, I'll include it in the first letter. Saves you having to remember.”
We both fell silent and just stared at the night sky. It was cloudless, which meant that we weren't staring at a reflected red glow from the few fires still burning throughout the city. But it also meant something rather more sinister. In the same instant I processed the implications, a siren began screaming somewhere behind us.

“Air raid.” Mossy said, leaping up and setting off at a brisk canter towards a doorway marked 'PUBLIC SHELTER'. “Come on.”
I followed her as my ears picked up the terrible beating of hundreds of wings in the distance, my heart in my mouth and the sudden smell of panic flooding the air. The griffons were back for round two, and I was smack in the middle of my worst nightmare. Flying through hell was terrible, but being on the ground was even worse.