The chattering, groaning, and other noises of Ponyville’s residents stirred Rainbow Dash from unconsciousness. She moaned and gurgled a bit, squirmed a bit on the ground, and opened her eyes. Almost immediately afterwards, she found herself being yanked onto her hooves by a concerned Applejack.
“You feelin’ ok, Dash?” she asked, looking over the pegasus for any injuries.
“Yea… I… I think I’m good,” she stuttered, blinking her eyes a few more times. “Where’s… where are-”
“Everypony else is alright,” Applejack cut her off, “At least everypony we can see and find right now.”
Rainbow tried walking forward a bit, but her legs felt doughy. She tried trotting in place for a warm up, and slowly began to move forward, getting her balance and control back. Once that was done, she nodded to Applejack that she was alright, and she in turn led her over to her four other friends.
Looking around, Rainbow was pleasantly surprised to find that there was no serious damage; much of it looked like it was caused by the commotion of panicking ponies. The remnants of the party were thrown about in the streets, and a few buildings had broken windows, and a few carts were broken, but it was not as bad as she had feared. Most of the ponies were busy trying to clean things up or find out what had happened.
Rainbow and Applejack sifted through the mess until they reached their four friends, grouped together a short ways away. They had varying degrees of worry on their face, with Fluttershy’s being the worst. Twilight seemed more curious than worried, talking with the others; if anypony knew what was happening, it was her.
“Twilight, what happened?” Rainbow asked, drawing the group’s attention.
Each gave a quick, half-hearted smile upon knowing Rainbow was ok.
“I’m not too sure, but I’ve got an idea,” Twilight responded, her face turning to worry.
Rainbow immediately knew what she meant.
“The tale about Sombra?” Rainbow asked.
“The one you told me about,” Twilight confirmed. “That’s the only thing I could come up with.”
Rainbow’s previous fears returned for a moment, now that they were confirmed.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“I’m not too sure; it’s still just a theory, but it’s all I have to act on,” Twilight replied.
Rainbow stopped and thought for a moment, trying to remember any details about the myth; she still did not want to believe it, but reality was creeping in. She remembered from the book the pictures of a Griffon and Changeling, and some other creature, meaning they may be involved. ‘War’ was another word that stuck in her mind rather well. None of it sounded good.
“I’ve already sent Spike back to the library to find that book again, so I can look at it a little more,” Twilight continued, “and to get some paper and a quill to write a letter to the Princess. I think she knows something happened, but some kind of information would be helpful.”
“Anything we can do?” Rainbow asked, speaking on behalf of the group.
“Yes, there’s a few things you can help me with girls,” Twilight said, moving a bit to face the group as a whole. “Rainbow, you fly around and see if you can find anything that could help us.”
“On it!” Dash replied immediately.
She flared her wings out and shot into the air with one powerful swoop; she did not want to waste any time. As she got into the air, she noticed her wings were a bit stiff, but she forced them to keep going. In no time, they were back to normal, and she was flying through the air at her regular pace.
Dash decided to get to a high altitude to help see a wider area. She also decided that she would cover as much ground as she could in search of the unusual. Things seemed relatively normal in and around the town, so she decided to go a bit farther out. Even then, there was no evidence to indicate a major catastrophe, and it became clear that her hunt was not going to be easy. Turning south, she moved far away from Ponyville, trying to find something to give her answers.
January 1st, 2000
0634 Hours
Midway Island
John Cole had never witnessed a tsunami before, and after his first experience he honestly did not think they were all that horrible. Watching the wave of water wash over the island was frightening, but it seemed to have very little power behind it. As soon as it hit the beach it reduced drastically, and though the initial areas were hit with a heavy force, easily enough to flip vehicles and flood buildings, it lost it's push drastically, reaching the other end as little more than a weak wash. Something told him this was not to the scale of average tsunamis; at least he assumed so from the damage reports he had seen from others on the news in the past.
The worst part was that virtually every light on the island went out immediately as the generator was washed, making the atmosphere itself far worse, leaving the blackness undisturbed. For a moment he thought the whole island was going to sink, but it was nothing more than inexperience talking. Soon enough it had passed, and
The damage to the island facilities was unknown, but at least everyone in his squadron was alright. They had gone up into the highest floor airfield’s control center, along with dozens of other pilots, mechanics, and others who could get there in time. It got pretty crammed, and, again showing his naiveté on the subject Cole became afraid that the building might collapse between the weight and water. But it remained standing through the entirety of the event; though when it was over, the air control team chose to vacate the building just to be safe.
Coming down from the building with shoes soaked and feet splashing on the puddles of water, Cole surveyed the damage. Debris was strewn about everywhere across the field and runway; some man-made, some natural. He even noticed one of the squadron’s F-15 jets, the one closest to the shore where the wave hit, lying upside down outside of the entrance to its hangar, smashed and unusable; whether it would be fixed or scrapped was yet to be seen.
The repair crews had to get to work, and the pilots were ordered to assist them, listening to whatever to ground crews told them. Cole was going to go with the group but the Captain held him up for a minute. After talking with one of the repair crews and the island’s base commander in private, he returned to Cole. Rather than assist with clean up, he ordered Cole to meet him in whatever was left of the briefing room in about an hour.
Cole spent that hour heading back to the squad’s quarters to see if everything in his locker was still there, as a fair amount of water gotten in there. The bunks there were strewn about rather wildly, with the mattresses and sheets lying lazily on the wet floor. He opened his locker, and was happy to see that by some miracle everything was still there. He then realized that all of it was soaked, which would be a bigger problem for some items than others.
The worst were the three paperback books he kept inside. Hunt for Red October and Ivanhoe were both ruined. He had a copy of Arabian Nights he had been meaning to read. He still planned to, but not with this one. Each would have to be replaced with a new copy, and that could take a fair amount of time in this part of the world.
“Of course the submarine book would get ruined by water,” he chuckled, finding a temporary relief in the irony.
He tossed the novels back into the locker and shut it, heading out of the room. There was still a good amount of time left, so Cole decided to tour the immediate area and look at the devastation. There never was much to do on Midway; now there would be even less. All of the buildings had some sort of damage to them, either from the water or from the debris it carried striking them. Some of the weaker trees near the front beach had been torn up from their roots and thrown onto the ground, and the damp sand also made movement difficult.
With the time killed, he went to the briefing room, which had also been drenched a bit. He was the only one there; even the Captain was a little late, and it felt odd being alone. He tried to take a seat in one of the chairs only to get the unpleasant reminder that they were also wet, making him jump back up. He was not used to a situation like this, where virtually everything was damp to such a massive degree.
He decided to just stay standing, leaning up against a wall to relax, which was only wet up to about the knee. It was another half hour before the Captain actually arrived in the room. As he walked in, Cole got off of the wall and stood up straight at attention, giving him a salute. The Captain waited until he got down to him before he returned it, allowing Cole to relax.
“Captain,” Cole greeted simply.
“Lieutenant Cole,” the Captain replied. “Sorry for being late; this incident runs deeper than we thought.”
"It’s not a problem, sir,” Cole assured him.
“Well, I’ll get right to it; not too much to show you, we don’t have a ton of info on what happened,” the Captain explained. “You might have to dig into your imagination for this one, if you can. Yesterday, a few minutes after midnight, multiple satellites detected something big falling into the atmosphere, something really big.”
“A meteorite, sir?” Cole asked.
The Captain shook his head.
“Too slow. Whatever it is, it fell sluggishly, at least compared to asteroids, and we believe it was the cause of the wave that hit us last night,” he continued. “Tsunamis have also been reported all around the area; Alaska, Japan, even some on the west coast in Oregon and Washington; damage sounds light for what it is, but nothing's very clear right now. We’re trying to get eyes on the impact zone to see what’s up, but there’s only been one satellite run overhead so far. I got some pictures back from it.”
He handed Cole a set of several photographs, and the Lieutenant studied over them. Each one looked similar, in that they all just seemed like overhead pictures of some kind of green farmland. There was not too much difference or specifics; a few buildings here and there, but that was about it.
“These are right, sir?” Cole asked.
“That’s what it seems; a large amount of land in the middle of an area that shouldn’t have it for miles,” the Captain confirmed. “But we need to confirm it; get some human eyes on there. We’ve already got people from all over scrambling to get there, but we’re the closest.”
“So they want us to go take a look?”
“Not ‘us’, Lieutenant; just you,” he explained. “As much as I’d like to join you, or do it myself, your bird is the only one that the mechanics can fix up enough to fly, for now at least. And I have to stay around here to help. But I know I can trust you on this, Cole.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied.
“You won’t be alone the whole time. There’s an AWACS coming down from Hawaii that should rendezvous with you on your way there. They’ll give you a good eye to rely on, and you relay anything you find up close to them. Understood?”
“Yes sir!” Cole answered.
The Captain gave another salute, causing Cole to return it immediately.
“Good luck, Lieutenant.”
The Captain dropped his hand and left the room, with Cole following shortly after him. While the Captain turned right and moved down the hall, Cole turned left, going in the opposite direction, towards the base’s Life Support Shop. It contained all the clothing and material necessary for a pilot to have during a mission, so he would have to go there first to get dressed up.
The amount of work that was put into simply getting ready to get into the plane was excruciatingly precise. Cole likened it to putting a tuxedo on before a wedding, only your life quite literally depended on the clothing. One of the men there gave Cole a freshly cleaned suit, and it seemed that cleaning it had proved a good deal more difficult than usual. He had to admire that the base’s crew was working hard just to get the normal things back into order.
Cole had to start by stripping down to his boxers, replacing his jacket and old clothes for an olive drab green flight suit, zipping it up tightly until it reached his neck. He took a minute to fill the jacket’s many pockets with dozens of little items that may be needed during the flight, or if bad went to worse, surviving an ejection. When everything was accounted for he slipped on a pair of flight boots, followed by a pair of Nomex flight gloves over his hands, completing the inner gear.
The shop crew then assisted Cole with dressing for the second layer of clothing. An uncomfortable G-Suit was put around him to help prevent passing out during heavy maneuvers, along with a dry suit, in case of having to bail out over the water. Next a skull cap of cotton was fitted on his head, followed lastly by the helmet. A few quick tests with the oxygen hose were done to ensure it worked, and he was finally done.
With the suit finally complete, Cole could head out to the flight line and finally get into his aircraft. Moving across the runway, Cole could see a large number of repair crews looking over the runway; some were clearing it of debris, others looked over it for any kind of damage that could disrupt takeoff or landing. Mechanics were working on several sets of seemingly undamaged fighters parked in their hangars. The farthest one was his plane, and had the most men inspecting it.
“Hey, is it ready?” Cole called to the closest mechanic.
“Yes sir! Don’t worry, we’ve checked her over; she’ll fly as good as a kite on a windy day,” he replied proudly.
“I hope so; I don’t want to die from an engine flame out,” Cole replied. “What about the rest of the squadron?”
The mechanic shook his head in frustration.
“Some are in better shape than others, but none enough to send up right now; the only reason yours was fixed this fast was because it was parked farthest from the wave,” he said, sticking his thumb in the direction of the Eagle. “Don’t get me started about how frustrating the salt water’s making things.”
“Don't worry, I won't. I need to get going,” Cole agreed.
“Damn right you do; let me get you strapped in.”
Cole went over to his F-15C, climbed up the steps, and plumped down into the small pilot’s seat. The plane was already warmed up and running, on account of the flight crew’s testing it. The mechanic assisted Cole in strapping into his seat, firmly holding him against the chair.
“We already got it armed. We stuck a couple of extra fuel tanks onboard, since we don’t know how long you’ll be out there,” the mechanic explained. “Rest of the layout’s normal; Sidewinders and Slammers.”
“Thanks,” Cole replied simply.
He thought for a minute if he should get some kind of air-to-ground ordnance, but ignored it; the mission was reconnaissance, simple as that. The clear canopy of the aircraft came down and locked against the body, sealing him in the tiny cockpit. The repair crewmen gathered up their equipment and quickly got out of the way while Cole did a quick check of the cockpit to ensure everything was as it should be; all of the gauges, bars, lights, and other tracking systems looked in order.
“Control this is Eagle Three-One, requesting clearance to taxi,” Cole called over his radio.
He realized the control building was probably not being used, and wonder where they had set up the secondary flight control center.
“Control to Three-One, Runway One is open. You are cleared to taxi,” the Air Traffic Controller said on the other end of the line.
“Copy that Midway control, Three-One taxiing to Runway One for takeoff.”
Cole realized the voice on the other end was not the same that he usually heard, and feared for a moment that some misfortune had fallen on the regular guy overnight. He quickly focused on driving the plane as it rolled out from its hangar and into the rising sunlight, now beginning to light the whole area. The plane moved slowly as it turned left to line up with the long runway that stretched over the sand.
“Three-One in position on Runway One. Do I have permission to takeoff?” Cole reported to the control team again.
“Three-One hold position so we can do one last check of the runway, copy?”
“Copy; holding.”
Cole waited another five minutes before he heard back from the radio.
“Three-One, you’re clear for takeoff. Wind is five knots out from the east. Skies are mostly clear with some scattered clouds off to the northwest. Good luck, over.”
“Three-One copies, taking off now,” he replied.
Cole moved the throttle on his left forward, and the two big Pratt & Whitney engines began to move the plane forward. It moved faster and faster down the runway, gaining more speed with each passing moment. When the required speed was met, he pulled the control stick back towards him, lifting the nose, and then the rest of the fighter, into the air.
The sensation of pressure came back to him as he left the ground. As the tail left the surface, he could feel gravity tug him back in protest, demanding he return to the ground. The landing gear retracted into the aircraft, and after climbing to about 30,000 feet, he leveled out and turned to the northeast.
“Three-One takeoff complete; no problems, from the looks of it,” Cole reported. “Course set and moving.”
“Good copy, Three-One; set rendezvous time with AWACS should be one to two hours. Hope you can find something, out.”
Cole hoped he could find something as well, but that would be in time. But now began the tedious journey of monotony that was a cruise over the Pacific. Other than a few clouds spread about randomly, there was nothing. The silence on the radio only made things worse, as there was not even anyone else in the air to talk to. It was enough to drive some people over the edge.
Even ships seemed to be absent below him. The long blue sky over him seemed to meld into the vast blue water below him, and it started to become disorienting. Time also stretched out, and one hour felt more like two or three. Cole figured he had entered some kind of temporal vortex where he would be stuck flying forward forever. No doubt he was still a bit fearful over the end of the world possibility, though it had reduced to nothing more than a very minor annoyance.
Finally, something did happen that reminded him he was not in purgatory. A light flicked on to show one of the big Conformal Fuel Taanks hanging under the wing went dry. Cole looked back to see the tank as if something would happen, or as if something was wrong. Though he knew nothing would, so he just sighed for a minute, wishing for an end to the monotony.
“That was fun,” he said sarcastically to himself. “Guess it’s back to staring.”
As he looked back towards the front, he did notice a slight change, a long line of something coming over the horizon. As it got closer, he confirmed his suspicions: it was land, and a lot of it. He did a quick reference on the map and looked at his own position to make sure he was correct, and that he did not just fly all the way to Alaska.
"You’re not supposed to be there,” he said, staring in curiosity. “So where in the hell did you come from?”
Flying even closer, he saw that it was no mere island, either; the green and brown stretched far over the horizon.
“Hello, does anyone copy? Are there any United States Air Force units in the vicinity?” someone on the radio called.
“This is Eagle Three-One, out of Midway,” Cole responded. “Identify yourself; is this the AWACS, over?”
“Affirmative, this is AWACS Spyglass out of Hickam, over” the operator in the large plane, some ways away, confirmed.
“Solid copy, Spyglass; it’s nice to have someone else out here, over.”
The Airborne Warning and Control System, often shortened to AWACS, was not a combat aircraft like Cole’s fighter; its job was focused on information and warning, as the name suggested. This model, the E-3 Sentry type, was little more than a renovated Boeing 707 with a massive rotating radar dish shoved on top that looked somewhat ridiculous, but it did its job well. The powerful radar on the Sentry could see far past the one on Cole’s Eagle, giving him a much better lookout and prior warning.
“Interrogative, Three-One, have you found anything yet, over?” the AWACS operator asked.
“Affirmative, Spyglass; I’ve discovered a large landmass that isn’t on my map,” Cole reported, looking down as his plane moved from the water to the ground. “I’m feet dry at this moment, over.”
He waited a bit longer before a response came.
“Three-One, ingress over the land and conduct a recon; call back if you spot anything. Spyglass will stay on station to warn of any contacts, how copy?”
“Good copy, Spyglass; Three-One is moving on. Will report if anything is spotted, out.”
Rainbow Dash had spent the whole day flying over the countryside, and had found nothing out of the ordinary. She had talked with several different ponies, all of whom had similar experiences, but nothing peculiar overall. She figured it would be best to return to Ponyville and report to Twilight; odds were that she had found out what happened already.
Flying through the air at a normal pace, she noticed something different, something she had no experience with before. There was a far off sound she did not recognize, one that seemed to be coming closer and closer. She did not know what to think of it; it sounded like some creature let out a long, continuous roar and it was echoing through the land. Or like a faraway rumble of thunder that did not stop.
She stopped, began hovering where she was, and started to twist and turn, looking all around her for the source of the noise. As it came closer, it sounded as if it were coming from the sky, so she directed her stationary search efforts to there. After looking about for a minute, she found what she believed to be the culprit; something moving fast, high above her.
Her immediate reaction on instinct was to follow it, which is what she did, flying straight up to match its height and then moving to catch up with it. She quickly noticed that she had also never seen anything quite like it before; it was larger than any griffon or pegasus, but much smaller than a dragon. Another possibility came up in that it was actually some kind of contraption, but she still could not tell.
“Should I be following this?” she asked herself. “What if this thing is a minion of Sombra, or caused whatever happened last night? I don't think it's looking for friends.”
“Come on, you can do it; you’re Rainbow Dash, for Pete’s sake!” a voice in her head reminded her. “You can outdo whatever this is. Besides, you need something to take back to Twilight.”
“Yea, that’s right,” Rainbow said with a new determination.
She flapped her wings harder, and was soon flying next to the object and able to inspect it closer. It did not look or fly like any kind of bird .The wings attached to its body were not even flapping; it seemed to just be able to fly straight along. She also noticed there were no feathers on its body. Other odd attachments were two large holes at its rear, two more small wings on the back that were locked in a vertical position, and several stick-like objects of different sizes that were attached under the body and wings, along with a very large canisters of some sort that hung under the right wing.
The last of the oddities was a large bubble, up at the front. Flying up to it, she found it contained the biggest surprise yet; a creature, sitting inside in what looked like a seat of some kind. It seemed to be looking over and working on several unknown things, giving the impression that this was indeed a machine, and the creature was actually controlling it. Watching dumbfounded, the being glanced over to its right and noticed Rainbow with a bit of a jerk.
“Uh oh,” she said to herself, unsure of what was to come next.
Instead of attacking, the creature moved something up over its face up, showing Rainbow the eyes and part of the face; it also meant the alien was actually wearing a suit. The creature seemed not to have any kind of hair or feathers either, and rubbed one of its appendages over its light skinned face before looking back in confusion. Rainbow was not sure of what to do now.
She noticed the creature did something; it waved with its appendage at her, as if to be waving hello. That also showed that it did not have hooves like her, but it actually had hands, like a minotaur’s; perhaps that was what the thing was related to. Rainbow responded in kind waving her hoof at it, hoping it meant the same thing to them.
“Uh… hey!” she said, not sure if it could hear her.
The being seemed to be rather content, and brought the hand down. She watched as it looked at her, then went back to looking at something unseen in the bubble, then back to her; perhaps he was reading something inside, but she could not hear. When it was finished, it looked back at her and brought two of its fingers up in a ‘V’ shape.
“Ok… I can’t really do that,” she said, looking at her hoof, then back to the creature. “It’d better mean something nice, though.”
She looked back at her hoof once more and then held it up a bit, to show the thing that she did not have fingers like it did. The creature started to grin, then its eyes shut and it's head shook in what Rainbow assumed was a small, controlled bout of laughter. Dash felt a bit offended, as if the alien were laughing at her for something she did not have, but did not take it personally; in fact, she began to chuckle, too.
“Hehe. Alright, alright, I guess its a little funny,” she said with a grin, shaking her head a bit. “Well, it seems kinda cool; doesn’t look like it could hurt anypony. Maybe it is looking for a friend.”
As she brought her head back up a bit, she noticed something else coming up towards both of them, and fast, too. She quickly recognized it to be another pegasus, but something seemed a bit wrong; there was a kind of darkness around it. Its fur was black, and its wings looked as if they belonged to a bat pony; though nothing else seemed to show it was a vampiric, it just seemed like a normal pegasus. Its mane was a short grey, and as it came closer, she saw something in its eyes. The bright red orbs gave off a feeling of anger, and borderline insanity. Something told her that, unlike the creature, this pony meant harm. She did not want to jump right to that conclusion, but the idea of caution came a bit too late.
“Hey, you alright?” she called out to the pegasus.
The dark looking pony did not answer; it kept shooting upwards until it rammed into an unsuspecting Dash.
Cole could not believe what was happening to him. He thought that he had gone honest-to-God insane when he saw a bluish, pegasus thing fly up next to his fighter. But, after removing his helmet’s visor and for a brief moment to rub his eyes a bit, he confirmed it to be real. What’s more, it had waved back to him, showing it was intelligent.
He had a hard enough time believing it, and telling the AWACS found it even odder. But regardless of what either thought, it was right there, plain as day. He did not know why he decided to use the peace gesture next, as if they knew what I meant, or that they would be able to respond, but he found it comical at least, and the horse did, as well; that was perfect in his book. His feelings of content and wonder were replaced by shock and urgency when another pegasus rammed into his new friend.
“Oh damn!” he yelled.
“Three-One, what is it?” Spyglass asked. “What’s that horse doing now?”
Cole watched the blue one fall for a bit before regaining control, but the black one did not seem to be giving up as he tried to ram again, only to miss. The blue one tried her own attack, punching the black Pegasus in the stomach, but the dark one did not seem fazed, grabbing onto its target and giving it a heavy into the head, and then the back. Again, the blue one fell before flying again; this time it fled from the dark one, which pursued furiously.
“Spyglass, some other horse just jumped the first one; I think it’s trying to kill the one I met,” Cole reported. “It just jumped out of nowhere and it’s chasing the blue one now. What’s the call?”
The AWACS did not respond at first, giving Cole time to think. It could just be a simple predator and prey situation of nature, but the blue one seemed to be rather intelligent, and it made sense that the attacker was intelligent, too. Would that mean so kind of murder attempt? And could he allow that, if so?
“Three-One, you were there to see it, and you have a better idea of the situation than us,” the AWACS reported. “This is your call, over.”
Now Cole had even more to worry about. If these things were intelligent, would that mean they had countries of some sort, and these were two different nations? What if he did the wrong thing and enraged this new alien species? Should he do anything?
And if he did decide to intervene, what if he shot at the wrong one? What if the blue one deserved this? Something about it told him the second was not very true, but did that mean he should intervene at all? No trouble would come from doing nothing, but he did not want a crime to go on if he could do something about it; he would not be able to sleep at night knowing someone, or something, was dead because he did nothing. He wished he had more time to go over his options, but as the two horses flew farther and farther away, he knew he had to make a decision; and he said the first one that his instinct told him was right.
“Three-One, moving to engage attacker, over!” he decided.
Cole nosed his aircraft down and pushed the engine throttle forward to catch up with them.
“Understood, Three-On. Interrogative, you need anything from us, over?” the AWACS asked.
Cole thought for a moment.
“Keep an eye out for anything else that might be coming on from a range,” Cole responded. “I’d rather not be interrupted, how copy?”
“Good copy, Three-One; we’re not seeing any other contacts. You’re clear to engage, over,” the AWACS notified.
His F-15 had three weapons to use; the close range heat-seeking missiles, the medium range radar-guided missiles, and his guns. The small size of the target, the distance, and the unknown time limit told Cole the guns would not likely do the job, and missing would lose his crucial element of surprise. The heat-seeking Sidewinder missiles under the wings did not search out any heat source, it was designed to track the infrared radiation that jet engines emitted against the plane's metal; since these things probably did not have jet engines, that option was out immediately. That left him with one option, the radar-guided missile.
Powerful radar could detect even small birds, and since these things seemed to be almost as large as a person, tracking them seemed possible. The long missile attached to his Eagle’s belly was the AIM-120 AMRAAM, an acronym of Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile; more often the pilots abandoned both for their preferred nickname, ‘Slammer’. It tracked a target by the radar, making its range longer, and more accurate.
Working with the radar, Cole tried to get the plane’s targeting computer to find the right one. He had to be careful not to accidentally target the first one, or both, and hit it by accident. However small the chance was if both were designated, he did not want to take the risk; there was no sense in being reckless. Cole saw a green box appear around the second horse, which was beginning to catch up to the wounded blue pegasus.
“That’s it, engaging now. Will notify when bandit is down, out,” he announced.
The F-15 began to close the gap with its target much faster than the dark pegasus did with the blue one. In a matter of seconds, Cole was within range for his Slammer, and began the aiming process. Cole’s green targeting reticle, also a green box, but standing on its corner, appeared on his Heads-Up Display, and began to move itself towards the box. Before the two could connect on the HUD, the blue pegasus up front turned sharply to the left; the aggressor followed, zooming away from the targeter, as well.
“Shit!” Cole grunted.
He immediately eased up on the throttle and hit the air brakes to reduce his speed. He pulled the control stick far back and left, and pressed down on the left pedal to help the fighter turn. As the Eagle swung in its hard left turn, Cole could feel the G-forces at work, making him a bit light headed, and causing the G-suit to tighten, to help restrict the blood’s movement. In a couple of seconds, he leveled the plane out, and went back to aiming the missile.
Time seemed to slow as the dark pegasus got closer, and the targeter came closer to its target. Cole continued to make minor adjustments to the aircraft to achieve the lock for the missile he needed. It seemed to last forever, though in reality it was not even a full minute of the targeter doing its dance near the box.
Finally the targeter moved over and stayed on the black horse. The two combined and turned into the red death box Cole was looking for. At the same time, a continuous ringing came from his helmet, signaling to him the same thing the box told his eyes; the lock was complete, and the missile was ready.
“Eagle Three-One; hard lock!” he announced.
He moved his finger over the trigger on the stick and pressed down.
“Fox three!”
With that code call, the Slammer dropped a few feet from the fighter before the rocket ignited, propelling it forward. It flew straight, the computer chip inside making adjustments for its flight path. The missile turned and moved as needed to keep up with the target. Cole mentally said a short prayer that the missile would fly and detonate as hoped.
The two pegasi were totally unaware of the missile launch, and continued to fly in a line. The Slammer, flying at Mach 4, quickly began to close in with its target. In the space of a second, the missile caught up to the black pegasus and rammed hard into it perfectly, followed by the detonation of 50 pounds of high-explosives in the warhead. When the smoke cleared, the small target ceased to exist, both on radar and in the world.
“That’s a kill!” Cole yelled in exhilaration. “Let’s see you try that again, you sonava bitch!”
Cole realized that he had never been more thrilled in his life; he did not think it possible. He quickly returned to reality, and looked for the blue horse that he was trying to rescue. After a moment he spotted it, hovering a short ways away. Despite being hit hard, the pegasus seemed to be in good shape, as it quickly flew up close to his canopy, as it had done when they first met.
Cole looked at its face and could tell a few things just from the expression. It seemed to be in shock and surprise, not just from the attack, but more from the rescue. It continued to stare at him with some cartoonishly big eyes, but Cole could tell it was thankful. That alone seemed to cement his belief that it was an intelligent being; it cared, and it showed it cared.
Still wrapped up in the thrill of the fight, Cole came to another realization; he was a hero, at least to this thing, and it felt damned good to be one. He brought his fist up and down once in a miniature fist pump in the cramped space, which seemed to bring the pegasus back to reality. He showed off a bit more with a mock salute, bringing his palm next to the side of his head and popping forward in one quick motion. He was not usually one for boasting, but the euphoria got to him a bit.
He continued watching the pegasus, and saw a grateful smile come over it, as well. He could see it moving its mouth as if to form the words ‘thank you’ over and over. He got the message easily, and came to understand that he alone had probably set a course of action for who knows how many years ahead. And beyond that, it looked as though he had just made a new friend.
“Thank you, thank you,” Dash kept saying, trying to make sure the machine’s pilot understood.
Her body and head still ached from the blows the surprise attacker had done to her. It made her rather angry deep down; if that dark pegasus had not jumped her so hard, she would have run him into the ground. She was also a bit angry at herself for allowing it to happen, but most of it still lay with the ambusher.
But that was right after he died. Admittedly, she was a bit scared from what happened; though she thought she could usually handle it, she was not entirely sure how that chase would end. That was then replaced with shock from power of the massive explosion that had occurred behind her, and that it had caused her attack to totally vanish. The machine’s flyover shortly after led her only to the conclusion that it was the new creature’s doing. That, in turn, led her to the feeling of thankfulness she felt now.
As she kept watching and talking, the pilot raised the thing on the helmet covering the eyes, causing her to stop talking. It simply nodded its head, showing it understood. Replacing the cover, it waved its hand again, this time in the form of a goodbye; Dash waved her hoof in return. The alien turned its head forward, and dropped his contraption into a dive, doing a quick roll in what Dash had to guess was a celebration.
That made Rainbow realize something; whatever had happened, it wasn’t entirely bad. Certainly that pony’s attack on her spelled bad news, but these new creatures did not seem to bring aggression and terror. There were new friends to be made with this new event, and she felt they would need as many as they could get.