Spitfire and I have history. I am a Wonderbolt through and through, the mark is on my fur and in my soul. I cannot betray Equestria, not even for the aching longing in my heart… for Gilda. Going with what is familiar to me, I question whether I am a coward or hero? I do not know.
I plea for her leave, I know it’s useless. “Gilda, go! I don’t want to fight you!” I level my lance at her.
Gilda recoils, as if I threw the first blow. Her hurt is visible in her weak beak. “D-D-Does it have to this way? You’d kill me over a stupid camera? I thought we meant something…”
“I’m sorry, Gilda. I have a duty to Equestria.”
“I told you stuff that I’ve told no one else. How could you dare betray me?!” She shrieks, her eyes blinded by tears and rage. “I’ll kill you!”
She lunges at me with her lance, but her attack is sloppy. I dodge it, easily. I’m astonished by her emotional state. I move to take advantage of the opening but I can’t.
“Go Gilda! Leave!”
She wipes the water from her eyes. Gilda tightens her Raven cloak. “No way. My squadron’s dead… and so is my dream!” Her attack this time is without reserve. I’ve seen her puffed up angry, but this calm fury scares me as does those hawkish eyes in firm focus.
I narrowly dodge her lance lunge. It cuts through my uniform logo onto the emblem of my flank. I line up for an attack of my own. I am actually thankful for the light wound. I concentrate on the physical pain so that I can do what I have to do.
Gilda swivels quickly for another pass. She looks at me with the same dead determination. The luster in her eyes I saw once is gone from her gaze.
“Soarin!!!” I hear a scream from the sky. Spitfire falls like a star.
Gilda flaps her wings but doesn’t maneuver quickly enough, Spitfire’s lance plunges into her chest. I notice the empty spot in her wings where she gave me her feather. That fractional difference in ability cost Gilda her life. Her blood is on my conscience. To my dying day I will not forget it was I that killed her, it would be cowardice to think otherwise.
I give Gilda a last look and to my surprise she has breath left to speak. She looks at me without predatory eyes instead they are filled with pain. “Bastard… I lov—”
I’m shell shocked as Spitfire shakes the dead Griffin off her lance. Gilda becomes another body. Tears are streaming from my face.
Spitfire yells for my attention. “Come on, Soarin! We’re not out of the hornet’s nest yet!”
I’m still stunned and stand where I am.
“I know we lost many of friends! I can’t lose anyone else! Not you! I’m not letting you die here!” Spitfire bites down on my mane and leads me away.
Those of us who survived the operation returned as triumphant heroes with accolades and medals, but few found the stomach to celebrate in light of the lost. There were many ‘symbolic’ funerals since none of the bodies could be recovered from ‘enemy’ territory. I found out later, that photos of the enemy’s new airship were worthless. Apparently the operation was ploy for the real plan where they had our ambassador secretly collect the information. It was a smokescreen to divert the attentions of the Griffins and buy the ambassador a cover story for plausible deniability. Such were the cold concerns of those in power. In the end it didn’t matter if we secured the photos. In the terms of cost it was a military disaster on both sides. The legendary battle between Wonderbolts and Elite Ravens will be a historical foot note.
In Gilda’s wake, I found comfort in Spitfire like I never had before. She gave everything she withheld when we were just ‘bucking’ for the first time we made love. There were moments where the trauma and memory of Gilda made me pause. Spitfire, never knowing the true depth or cause grief, rationalized it as from the loss of our friends on that cursed mission. She was our Captain and she too felt the hurt and there were times we only stood because fell into each other propping the other up. It was mutual understanding that we were spent emotionally though physically in our prime. Spitfire still wanted to hang on just a little longer but I couldn’t.
Shocking our superiors, Spitfire and I both handed in our resignation papers at the same time. I saw the pain in her eyes: as Spitfire did so… for me. Spitfire, the career mare, I was sure would be in the Wonderbolts until she became senile and they wrestled her medals away from her. I suppose we weren’t going to be young forever. Already there were replacements for us planned in advance of our retirement. It didn’t concern us one bit since we swore off the ‘game’. Free of our duty and military, laws against fraternization no longer apply. We married in the open with a massive ceremony attended by fans and friends. She even wore a wedding dress. I remembered she looked magnificent. Spitfire is the flame that warms me in moments of cold.
Spitfire is the perfect wife. We live in our cottage a little glide from that small town of Ponyville. Sitting at my desk, I grow pensive as the years wear on. A lifetime of intense flying catches up to me and Spitfire, our wing joints ache too much for the hard and fast stunts we pulled in our youth. Spitfire takes to the easy instructing of foals in flying lessons while I take to reading and writing. One night Spitfire catches me in a flurry of quill activity.
Spitfire flexes her wings and yawns. She spots the odd brown feathered quill I had. “Why are you wasting money on quills? We’re pegasi.”
I sigh. “It was an old gift from a friend... who’s no longer here.”
Spitfire raises a brow. “Is that a primary feather? I don’t think I know any one of friends with brown feathers.”
“Gilda” Her name stings as it leaves my lips, “was more than just a friend. I loved her.” I choke up as I spoke up.
Spitfire looks as me in confusion and hurt. “Soarin?”
I pat her reassuringly with a wing. “I loved her, but I love you.”
Satisfied Spitfire sighs. “You scared me, Soarin.” She kisses me on the cheek and leaves me to my memoirs.
I do love Spitfire, I meant it, but there are moments I wonder what at time would have been. Gilda never finished her last words but I didn’t need them, I knew because at that time I felt it too. I’ll never forget our week of wonder. Writing down my thoughts I give consideration to the title. I dab my quill and let the words bleed onto the page. I know the title in my heart.
To Live, Love, and Die in the Sky