//------------------------------// // 32: Into The Desert // Story: The Jolly Rogers // by lockheed //------------------------------// I sat down on the edge of the bed, my mind trying to decide how I should react to seeing the stillborn foal. Finally I heard a sob echo off the walls and I realized that it was me. I placed my face in my hands and began to weep, not caring what anyone else in the room thought. A hoof wrapped around me and I raised my head up to see Luna holding me in an attempt to comfort me. After what was about an hour I finally spoke. “What now?” Turning to look at Thunderstreak I saw she was holding the blue filly with tears still in her eyes. Carefully I reached over and gently took the filly to look at her for myself. I slowly unwrapped the blanket from around her and saw that she seemed to be somewhat like a manticore. She had hooves on her back legs but where fore-hooves would have been were hands that I slowly reached for. I extended a finger towards her hand. She gently wrapped her fingers around mine and I gave a small smile but then let it drop when I began thinking about the situation. Looking over at Thunderstreak I saw her looking back at me. “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.” She said and her voice cracked with every word. “I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to see her every day and not cry.” Thunderstreak continued and I looked back down at the foal. Wrapping her back up in the blanket, I began to think of what to do. And then a thought struck me. “What about Mac and Fluttershy?” I asked and Thunderstreak looked at me again. “Fluttershy can’t have foals and we know that they would be good parents. Maybe we should give the foal to them.” “It would be legal as I am here to grant the request for change of custody.” Luna said as she looked between us. “As long as both of you agree on the decision of course.” She added and Thunderstreak looked between Luna and I as she thought. Thunderstreak sat silently for a moment and then gently nodded as she began crying again. I nodded to Luna that I gave consent as well and she gave a small nod back in acknowledgment. I stood up with the foal still in my arms and silently walked out of the room. Stopping in the hallway I turned to see Luna had followed me out and had shut the door behind her. “I’ll handle the paperwork in the morning as long as Mister Macintosh and Mrs. Fluttershy agree to adopt the foal. Perhaps it would be best to talk to them now though to ensure that they will be alright with the situation.” ~~~~~ 00:59 Hours May 21, 1987 Fluttershy’s Cottage ~~~~~ I gently shut the door of the car and made my way up the path towards the small cottage on the edge of the Everfree. When I reached the door of the house I sucked in a deep breath and raised my hand. Knocking on the door, I stood and waited for a minute until the door flung open. Looking down I saw an angry looking rabbit standing in front of me. “Sorry, Angel. Can you get Mac and Fluttershy for me?” He stood for a moment and then hopped off. A minute or two later I could hear hoofsteps coming from inside the home. Fluttershy and Big Macintosh walked down the stairs and both looked at me through eyes heavy with sleep. “James, is everything alright?” Fluttershy asked as she flipped on the living room light. Mac waved for me to come in and I walked in and shut the door. “Things could be better.” I replied. It seemed that they only now had noticed the foal as Fluttershy’s eyes were glued to the bundle in my arms. I sat down on the couch and they sat down on either side of me. “Is that the new baby?” Mac asked as I pulled the blanket down for them both to fully see the filly’s face. “She is.” “I thought you guys were supposed to be having twins?” Fluttershy asked with curiosity as she leaned forward to see the foal better. “We did.” I replied and the tone of my voice must have said everything because I suddenly felt someone hugging me. Turning to look at Fluttershy I saw she was looking up at me. “I’m so sorry James.” "If there's anythin' we can do to help, just let us know." Mac said from my right, his tone enough for me to believe his offer. "Well, I actually came over to ask you guys about something." I replied as Fluttershy finally ended the hug. "Thun-" I paused as I contemplated how to phrase what I was about to say. "Thunderstreak and I have decided that it would be for the best if we could find a couple parents more suited for her. We decided that we wanted to give her to somepony who would love her and raise her as though she were their own." Looking down at the filly in my arms, I felt a weak smile cross my face. I looked up from the filly and turned to look at Mac and then Fluttershy. "Ponies who wouldn't be able to have foals of their own." Fluttershy covered her mouth with her hooves in shock and I gave her a small nod to confirm her thoughts. "If you two would agree to it, we would like to turn over custody to you." Fluttershy nodded quickly as tears streamed down her face and I tuned to see Big Mac's answer. He nodded his head and though he held his usual, neutral face; his eyes showed joy and hope. "Well I suppose that since I'm here, I'll just go ahead and be the first to say this." I gently turned my body and let Fluttershy take the foal in her forelegs. "Congratulations on your new baby girl." I gave the both a smile and then stood up to leave. But just as I was about to shut the front door behind me I heard Fluttershy's voice. "James." I turned to look at her as she held their new child close to her. "We'll be sure to send you a picture of her before you ship out." I gave a weak smile and a small nod to her in response and gently shut the door. ~~~~~ 12:32 Hours June 29, 1987 The Skies Over The Zebrica Coast ~~~~~ "Jones, Stigler; straighten up!" A voice barked over the radio. I leveled my plane and sighed as my view of some ancient ruins along the shore was blocked by my left wing. Alongside me flew Franz who gave a small wave from the cockpit of the P-40 that he had just recently been checked out in. Waving back to him, I looked past his fighter and out towards the seemingly endless desert. Ahead of us, General Galland's Spitfire, the only non-Curtiss plane among the formation, gently bobbed up and down with the air rising off the dunes below us. Looking back ahead of my fighter, I could see our final destination on the horizon. About a mile inland from the sea and ten miles ahead of us lay a small desert airfield. We all began descending and as we approached the field we entered the traffic pattern. After the three planes ahead of me landed it was finally my turn. At last I got a good look at the airfield that I was going to be staying at for a tour of duty. And I was not very impressed. Scattered around the edges of the field were groups of tents that matched the color of the surrounding sand. Gently touching down on the hard-packed sand that made up the runway, I let the Warhawk slow until I could safely maneuver her on the ground. As I turned off the runway I was suddenly shrouded in the loose sand kicked up by my fighter. Through the swirling blizzard of sand emerged a stallion who hopped up on the left wing of my fighter and began directing me though the sand to my spot. After finally reaching the area where the other new pilots were parked I shut down my engine and slid back my canopy. "James!" Turning my head to look at who addressed me I saw Galland walking towards my fighter, his trademark cigar clamped firmly in his jaw. "Welcome to Zebrica!" Unbuckling my seat straps I stood up and hopped out onto the wing of my P-40. Walking back toward the trailing edge I made sure to shed my leather flying jacket before jumping down to the ground. "Let's go report in with the commander." Walking along side Galland I glanced over at him and then back at the command shack. "Dolfo, is it weird?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me, clearly needing more to the question. "Being a general but taking orders from someone as low as a Major or a Phone Colonel." He clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled. "You'll get used to it." He replied as we entered the command post. Inside, a motor driven fan spun slowly and did nothing to keep the room from being just as hot as it was outside. Sweat was already soaking my forehead and I removed my crusher cap to wipe my brow. Looking around the shack I saw several photographs of pilots next to their planes, many of them having upwards of ten victories painted under their canopies. The sudden click of boot heels made me spin around and snap to attention as the group commander, a red pegasus stallion who wore the rank of colonel, walked into the shack. He Returned our salutes with a wave of his hoof as he took a folder from the stallion behind the single desk in the room. He flipped open the folder and looked at the paper inside. "General Adolf Galland?" He asked as he looked up at the general, whose cigar was now burnt down dangerously close to his mustache. Galland stepped forward and the colonel looked closely at Galland. "For Luna's sake man, put out that cigar before you light your face on fire." Galland quickly reached up and grabbed the cigar and tossed it out the still open door. "General, you and Lieutenant Marseille will be with First Squadron." Galland and Marseille saluted and walked out of the shack to collect their duffel bags from their planes. "Major Hartmann." The blond pilot stepped forward and saluted the colonel. "You'll be with Third Squadron." Erich broke the salute and walked out like Galland and Hans. "Now, Lieutenants Jones and Stigler." We stepped up and snapped to a salute. The colonel looked up at us from the folder at us and gave us what was easily the laziest salute I'd ever seen. "You two will be with Second Squadron." We looked at each other and shrugged before walking back out to our planes. When I reached my plane I extended my hand to open the storage hatch but reeled back at the searing pain the hot metal inflicted on me. Shaking my hand, I used my other hand and my shirt to open the hatch. Grabbing my bag from inside, I slammed the hatch shut and walked around the tail to meet up with Franz. "You two want a lift?" Galland's voice shouted and I turned to see him smiling to us from behind the wheel of a captured kubelwagen. The car rolled to a stop and we both eagerly tossed our bags in and clambered into the back. Galland gunned the accelerator and we went careening across the airstrip. As we approached one of the four tent "towns", the kubelwagen began to slow and stopped in front of a tilting sign that proclaimed the area to be that of Second Squadron. Franz and I grabbed our bags and jumped out of the ugly little vehicle. Our heavy flying boots sunk into the loose sand between the taxiway and the tents and behind us Galland drove off. Looking over at Franz, I saw him smiling at the cluster of tents. He started off and after a moment I began to walk behind him. Several heads poked out from behind tent flaps and I could feel their eyes watching us as we walked past. "You must be the new pilots." An unidentified voice said from behind us and we turned around to see a grey unicorn looking at us. He wore a tan short sleeved pilots shirt and matching tan shorts that somewhat helped him blend into the sand. We both nodded and he grew a smile to rival any of Pinkie Pie's. "Alright fellas, let's give these guys a big Second Squad welcome!" ~~~~~ 23:15 Hours June 29, 1987 Maretuba Airfield, Zebrica ~~~~~ Stumbling our way out of the mess tent, Franz and I leaned on each other for support and laughed at something I couldn't even remember. The entire group had thrown a party to welcome us to their little airfield and they made sure to keep the booze flowing. In my hand I carried a near empty bottle of captured griffin alcohol. The bottle itself was enough to get me drunk as a skunk as the griffins brew much harder stuff than ponies. As we stumbled across the runway, I dropped the bottle of 200% proof alcohol and looked down at it. Waving my hand at the bottle, we continued on towards our tents. After drunkenly navigating through the majority of the tents we found ours and I let go of Franz to try and leave. But I managed to fall on my face and a dull thud told me that Franz had done the same thing. Reaching my arms up, I slowly pulled myself into my tent and somehow crawled up onto my cot. A rustling at the opening of my tent got my attention and I rolled over to see the squadron leader sticking his head inside my tent. "Jones, you and Stigler are going up on patrol at noon tomorrow." He said and it was clear that he too was drunk. I nodded in understanding and he retreated from my tent and made his way across the row to Franz's. Rolling back over, I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep. ~~~~~ 11:35 Hours June 30, 1987 Maretuba Airfield ~~~~~ I adjusted my sunglasses as I walked around the group of tents, my head feeling like a kettle drum with every heartbeat. Franz was in no better condition and stepped out of his tent in his flight clothes and sunglasses just like me. We looked at each other and we both groaned at a kubelwagen backfiring nearby. As we both stood there, the squad leader trotted up to us in good spirits and smiled at both of us. "Good morning, lieutenants." "What the hell is so good about it?" I asked as I held my head. "And how the hell are you so chipper? You were just as smashed as us." "You drink enough of that griffin made stuff and you start getting used to it. Now, let's get flying!" We followed him to the small group of planes parked near our tents and found our fighters parked right up front. Climbing up into the cockpit, I strapped into the seat and went through the startup procedures. After a few minutes the engine was running smoothly and the squad leader began to taxi towards the runway. Signaling a stallion on the ground crew to remove the chocks, I saw him a few moments later with the chocks draped across his back. Pushing the throttle forward, I taxied behind Franz and the squad leader. Several ground crews waved to us as we rolled past and as we past Third Squadron I could see Marseille laying out sunbathing in nothing but his underwear. The three of us rolled onto the runway and I slid my canopy shut in preparation of what was about to come. As expected, when the squad leader powered up, he kicked up any loose sand behind him and I listened to hear when Franz would power up. When I head the roar of the fighter in front of me I began counting to ten. Once I hit ten I pushed the throttles forwards and my fighter began to gain speed. Roaring down the runway I saw the horizon fill my windscreen as the tail lifted up. Gently pulling back on the stick I began climbing up into the blue sky. "Alright. Today we're going to head for the deer city-colony of Tobuck about fifty miles down the coast." The squad leader's voice called over the radio. "One of our L-3s reported a possible griffin airfield in that area. If we can find it then we can report it to local bomber command." Falling into formation on Franz's right wing, I zoned out as we climbed up to ten thousand feet and felt like I could fall asleep to the drone of my engine. But before I could do such a thing a call came over the radio. "Bandits, eleven o'clock low." Pulling against my shoulder straps, I looked down and ahead of the left wing. Sure enough, there were a group of Me-109s snaking their way back and forth a couple thousand feet below us. They were painted a pinkish-tan and the only way I could see them was their white spinners and the black crosses on the wings. We rolled inverted and began to dive on the unsuspecting 109s. Rolling around so that we were facing right side up again, we each selected one of the five 109s for our target. Waiting until I was sure I would hit it, I opened fire on the fighter on the far right of the V formation. My 50 caliber bullets tore into the nose of the 109 and he began to pour black smoke out from his engine. Looking over at Franz's plane, I saw him open fire and shell casings fell from his wings like brass rain. Looking back up as I raced past the 109s I saw their color change from that of sand to the same blue as a robin's egg. Pulling up into a climb, my fighter screamed it's way back towards the heavens. I smiled at getting my first victory with the squadron but when I looked in the mirror on top of my canopy, I felt my elation turn to pure dread. "James, you've got on on your six!" Franz called and I immediately pulled back on the stick, rolling around to face the opposite direction as the 109 behind me. Just as I began the nose dive I saw a sandy colored blur zip past me and, knowing that the griffin pilot would soon begin his chase again, I began to dive for the desert floor. The needle on my altimeter whipped around counterclockwise, 9,000 feet, 6,000 feet, 3,000 feet. Pulling back on the stick, I felt it had grown heavier with the speed I'd picked up in my dive. Leveling off, I looked in my mirror and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw nothing there. But my relief was short lived as a moment later bullets and cannon shells whipped past me. Before I could do anything I saw the engine cowling get shredded by the bullets. The engine began to couch and spit out an oily, black smoke. Pulling the canopy release, I unbuckled my seat straps and tightened the straps on my parachute. Climbing out onto the wing I let the slipstream pull me off the wing and I began diving for the ground. As soon as I was clear of the plane I pulled the ripcord on the parachute. The sound of air filling the parachute added some comfort in knowing that I wouldn't fall to my death. But looking around for the griffin fighter that had shot me down, I felt the dread return as I saw him heading straight for me. Just when I felt like I was about to be shot like a tin duck in a shooting gallery, the pilot flew past me. Watching in amazement at the plane passing me by I saw him rock his wings at me before banking away and flying off into the distance. As I floated down I looked around for Franz and saw them dogfighting a few miles away. Getting close to the desert floor, I bent my knees and tumbled across the sand and down a dune with my parachute when I landed. Laying still for a moment to get my bearings and let the world stop spinning, I finally stood up when a small gust of wind sent sand flying into my face. I removed my parachute and looked towards the sky to try and figure out what direction was where, but found it useless with the midday sun. Shrugging my shoulders, I began walking the direction I was facing and decided that it would either be my salvation or my death. ~~~~~ 23:40 Hours June 30, 1987 Somewhere in the Desert ~~~~~ My death. It was to me most certainly my death. I'd been walking through the desert for hours and the sun had said it's goodbye almost an hour earlier. I hugged myself to keep warm as I trudged across sand dune after sand dune. Just as I was about to lay down and rest, I saw it. From my position at the base of a sand dune I could see a small light coming from just over the dune. Scrambling up the dune I felt like jumping for joy. But when I reached the top, I felt my heart drop to my stomach. There in front of me sat an airfield. A griffin airfield. "Beautiful night, isn't it?" A voice asked with a slight British sounding accent. Jumping in surprise and turning to face whoever had said that, I felt my heart go from my stomach to my boots when I saw who had talked. There on the the dune lay a griffin in a tan uniform on his back looking up at the sky. He turned his head to look at me and patted his talons on the sand next to him. My mind screamed to run but I stood there, looking at the relaxing griffin. He raised a brow at me and I didn't know whether to run or do as he said. "Well, are you gonna sit or are we gonna be all awkward about this?" Slowly, I walked towards the griffin and sat down next to him. "By the way, Sergeant Michael Harper." He extended his right hand and I shook it, confused as to why this griffin wasn't trying to strip my flesh from my bones. "James Jones." I replied. He sat sat up and his eyes looked as big as dinner plates. "As in General James Jones?" He asked with some excitement in his voice. "Um, well, yes." I answered and mentally braced for him to pounce on me and attack. "Wow. I'm a very big fan of yours sir." Michael said as he shook my hand again. That was a development that I hadn't been prepared for. "The fact that you're the man behind the most powerful air force in the world is incredible enough but that you know so many famous ponies is amazing. Tell me, is Fancy Pants really wooing Fleur De Lis?" He asked with true fascination and excitement in his eyes. "Oh. Well, yes as a mater-of-fact he is." I told him and he smiled. "Man, is he lucky. I wish I could nab someone like her." He sighed as he laid back again and I looked down at him a bit confused. "You keep up on Equestrian news?" I asked and he nodded his head. "You'd be surprised how many back home risk being shot for reading smuggled Equestrian newspapers. We mostly love the comic strips but we do read the new too. A lot less censorship than the with the Party. They have a whole agency just for propaganda and censorship. If I didn't think the SS would shoot my family, I'd just jump in my fighter and fly on over to your field." Micheal replied and I laid back on the sand dune. "It is." I said as I looked up at the sky and the griffin looked over at me in confusion. "The first question you asked me. About it being a nice night. It is." We sat in silence for a bit and then a thought occurred to me. "Tell me, if you really do read our news, then surely you've read about the camps the Party has built. Why do your people continue to fight?" He reached into his shorts pocket and removed a billfold which he flipped open. He held it out for me to see and inside was a picture of him next to a female griffin with two kids in front of them. "I fight for my family. Most fight simply because it's serving their country. Others join seeking glory or honor. And those of us who are fit enough to serve, well we don't really get a choice. It's not a matter of if you get drafted, but when you get drafted. I volunteered because then I at least got to choose what branch I went into." He put the billfold away and looked down towards the airfield. "Although, I really could be shot for just sitting here and talking with you." "Then why are you? Why haven't you taken me prisoner?" I asked him as I'd been curious about it since I sat down. "Well, I just like talking with people. There aren't many down there who enjoy the same things as me. Anyone I can talk to is someone I consider a friend." We sat silent for a few moments until he sighed. "That's what we all need in this dirty, rotten war. A friend." "Yeah. Say, you're a pilot, right?" I asked as I turned my head to look at him. "Yeah. Why?" "Did you fly today?" "Yeah." "You get any victories?" "One. A Warhawk. Came in from above and hit his engine. Pilot bailed out." I smiled and looked back up towards the stars. I let out a small chuckle which slowly became a full blown laugh. Micheal looked at me, extremely confused. "That was me. You're the one who shot me down!" I exclaimed and his eyes got wide again. "Sir, I apologize. If I'd known it was you I wouldn't have fired!" He replied and I chuckled again. "You know, you're probably the first fighter pilot to ever apologize for shooting down a plane." We both had a small laugh about that. And then the severity of the situation finally sank in. "But now, I'm fifty miles from my home base and there's no way I can get back alive without a tank or a plane." I reached up and held my face in my hands and let out a defeated groan. "What if you did have a plane?" Micheal asked and I looked over at him. "You don't mean-" "Steal an airplane. You're what, about six foot?" "Six foot, one." I replied as we sat up and looked down at all the parked aircraft. "Okay. So we'd just remove the canopy and it'd be good to go." He replied just before he spread his wings and jumped off the top of the dune. Running after the gliding griffin, I felt the urge to shout and tell him that such a plan would very likely get us both killed but bit my tongue for fear of waking the others in camp. Micheal landed a few yards ahead of me and turned to make sure I'd followed him. He then walked towards a 109 that was parked by itself on a vacant part of the airstrip. Climbing up onto the wing, he opened the canopy and pulled the canopy release handle. There was a clunk of the canopy detaching from the aircraft and he gently brought it down and set it in the sand. As I looked on, he opened the panel for the storage compartment and pulled out a crank handle. He then walked around to the right side of the nose and inserted the handle into a hole on the side of the cowling. I climbed up onto the wing and into the snug cockpit of the 109. "You know, this'll be my first time in a plane like this." I said as I buckled the shoulder straps. Micheal began cranking the engine over and I could hear the engine winding up. Once it was ready, Micheal removed the handle and I reached for the starter. But before I could start the engine I saw Micheal's talons holding a Knight's Cross in front of me. "It's mine. I got it for shooting down forty planes. I want you to have it. And let the world know we're not all the blood thirsty monsters they think we are." I took the medal from him and saw that the swastika in the middle had been ground off of it. Nodding to him, I slipped the ribbon under my collar and hooked the medal together in the back. Sticking out my hand, he shook it and I smiled to him. "Micheal, you've got bigger gonads than anyone in the whole damn Luftwaffe. Hopefully we'll meet again under different and better circumstances." He nodded before quickly flying off towards the empty mess tent and I hit the starter for the fighter. The engine coughed, spit, and belched a plume of white smoke before finally starting up. Pushing the throttle forward, I began rolling towards the runway. I turned to look back at the camp and could see pilots and ground crew looking out from their tents in confusion. Spinning around to line up on the runway, I saw several griffins running or flying towards me with pistols in their talons. I ducked and began to push the throttle forward as bullets whizzed over and past my head. There were a couple of metallic thuds as bullets hit the plane. With the engine running at full power, I pulled back on the stick and began climbing into Luna's starry sky. Below me, the griffins lowered their pistols and watched me fly off unscathed. Smiling to myself, I reached down and retracted the landing gear. As I was looking back up from the gear handle, my eyes stopped on the Knights Cross dangling from my neck. Smiling at it, I began to remember what Micheal had said about considering me to be a friend. In the middle of a war, I'd managed to make a friend.