//------------------------------// // A Mare Called Bomber // Story: Crackshot: New Beginnings // by Cold Cuts the batpony //------------------------------// The train arrived at Kittyhawk Military Research base early the next morning. I didn't know much about the town,except that it was just over the border in Griffon territory, and it was a research project in and of itself. It was the only town where Griffons and ponies lived together. We were greeted by a rigid, uniformed Pegasus with a short cropped mane, and a Griffon in an unfamiliar uniform. "Welcome to Kittyhawk," the Pegasus barked as he snapped a salute, "I am Colonel Strike Flight, you may call me Col. Striker. I am the commanding officer of the Equestrian Royal Air Guard unit posted here." Delta and Belle both returned the salute with military precision, I belatedly returned it with a sloppy salute of my own. "And I am Oberst Katze Feder, commandant of the the of the 12th Griffon Luftwaffe wing," the Griffon introduced herself, thickly accented, "On behalf of the Griffon's Republic, I welcome you." We saluted her as well, I was a little more prepared this time. "We hope you will enjoy your stay," the Griffon spoke again. A few uniformed ponies began to unload our luggage and the boxcar was uncoupled from the coach. "Come along, we will show you to your housing," the Colonel and his partner turned together and we followed. ---- We had been settled into military housing, we shared a four bedroom house in the senior officer's district. There were four districts to Kittyhawk, the base itself, the largest swath; senior officer housing, the smallest; basic housing, for junior officers and enlisted; and finally general populace, or GP, for civilian residents. GP also contained shops, restaurants, and all the makings of a normal town. It was there that Belle and I found ourselves wandering the streets. Delta was overseeing the unloading of the contents of our boxcar and Belle and I were left to our own devices. We spied a small pub and decided to get a few drinks. Sitting down at the bar we were served tall mugs of very dark strong beer. It was good. We sat in silence amidst the hubbub of the bar before I finally broke our silence. "So I'm just gonna ask, what's with the wing?" I blurted out, echoing Belle's question to me. Belle snorted and rolled her eyes, “I knew that would come up. But after yesterday, what was I expecting? Not that I really care anymore, after so many tellings, the story gets old. You can only read the same book so many times ya know? But, since we’re gonna be working together, and I doubt you’ll get any less curious…” She sighed and took a swig of her drink. “Where to begin?” she asked, staring at the ceiling, “I guess from when I was only a young filly. I don’t know when I decided I wanted to be a guardspony, but for as long as I could remember it was my dream to join the Royal Air Guard. My parents were reluctant at first, but they did a lot to support me. Like when it was time for me to be weaned, instead of sending me off ta some relative, they sent me to a military stabling school. Personal, I think they hoped I would be deterred, being put in that environment at such a young age, but I loved it. That’s where I found my cutie mark. First in my class!” Belle expounded pridefuly, shooting a smug look at Crackshot. “After that,” she continued, “the folks had no choice but to accept my decision. An’ they did. In fact,” she added slyly, “with their permission, and my Junior Guard record, I was able to enlist a year early. I never had any desire to be an officer. Too much administrative work, even in combat units. I was a weapon to be aimed and the back-blast cleared." "Right out of basic I was approached by a special forces commander who offered me an opportunity to join his unit. I didn’t even know the RAG had special forces. Guess they don’t talk ‘bout it much eh? But more danger, excitement, and chance for adventure? I was asking where to sign before he had finished his speech." "Training was some of the best times of my life. Don’t get me wrong," she laughed, "it was extremely tough, and often miserable, but I loved every second of it. Very few mares are taken, and especially not ones as young as me, but you’d better believe I wasn’t ‘bout to be outdone by any of those macho stallions. Nearly half our class washed out before the end, but those of us who were left shared a comradery I hadn’t before known. My life seemed to be right on track." "But, as they say, all good things come to an end,"she sighed, "It was near the end of training when I had my accident. We were on a night op, practicing taking down a dirigible. All was running smoothly. My wingpony and I were in position on the port side, just waiting for the squad leader to give the signal to move against the craft when it all went wrong." "The pilot made an unexpected turn to starboard. This wasn’t a problem, we were trained to compensate for any change without notice, but the rear pair, who were responsible for watching out for opposition, didn’t notice the course change right away and suddenly found themselves out of position, with the window of opportunity closing fast," she paused somber. "Our orders were strict silence after surrounding the ship, and they had no way to communicate their predicament. Their only option was to fly as fast as they could back to the rear. But it was night, the moon was covered by cloud, and we were all in blackout gear. In a panic, my squad mate never saw us and ran headlong into me. The impact threw me into the side of the ship and my right wing was struck by the propeller. For a moment I was pinned between the hull and the engine, the wing taking repeated strikes form the blade, before I came dislodged, quickly passing out from pain and shock." "I came to a bit later, having been born to the ground by my wingpony. By now I had been stabilized and secured in a rescue harness and was being carried between him and my squad leader. The morphine I had been given reduced the pain to little more than a throbbing ache, so I chanced a look at my wing. The sight nearly caused me to pass out again. It was heavily splinted, and not much was visible, but what I could see stopped my heart. Most of the feathers were stripped off, the skin was sliced and bloody, and I could see a lance of bone sticking out where it shouldn’t ‘ave been.” Here Belle took a break and downed the remainder of her drink. For a time after that she stared into the empty glass. Soon, a full one was placed in front of her. She ignored it for the time being and continued. “I think I knew I was going to lose the wing, but I refused to accept that, even as the doctors told me the extent of the damage. But, ‘fore I knew what was happening I was put under, and when I woke up, it was mostly gone. I really think I might have tried to kill myself then. My life thrown off the only path I’d ever seen for it and ‘ad no idea what to do. I despaired of everything at that time, but my CO had dealt with similar injuries before and put me on 24 hour suicide watch. I was under constant surveillance, but I was so immobilized anyway that I don’t even know what I could have done." "Depression set in next and I was visited regularly by a psychologist. I had no desire whatsoever to get better mentally, so there was little he could do. But, it seemed some of my luck remained." "At the time of my accident, my platoon was stationed under Colonel Sky Lark’s command and he had a son who it seemed might be able to help me. I was deep in my lethargy, when, becoming aware of my surroundings, I think it might have been lunch time and I was used to the regularly delivered meals, I found a young unicorn stallion, no more than two or three years older than myself, sitting beside my bed, reviewing my x-rays. He introduced himself as Delta Wing and claimed to be an inventor of flying devices, though this meant nothing to me at the time. I remember we talked for a very long time, but not about my injury. He seemed friendly, and I wasn’t in a talkative mood, so I mostly listened, which was more than I had had done for a few weeks. Some inner sense told me that this was an important meeting. He left saying he’d see what he could do, which seemed odd because I had somehow missed why he was there in the first place. But it was the first interesting thing to happen since I had been in the hospital. Over the next month things began to change. Delta visited several times along with a doctor I hadn’t seen before with a foreign accent. I began talking to the psychologist and trying ta work on his advice. I was transferred to a small apartment in the independent living ward, and this little bit of freedom also helped improve my mood. I was unsure why I was still in hospital though, despite already receiving my honorable discharge. There was no physical rehab, and my psychological visits could continue after I left. Part of it may have been continued worry of suicide, though I only seriously considered it once after the first visit with Delta." "Half way into the next month, Delta and the other doctor returned, though it had been more than a week since their last visit. This time they explained their plan. They wanted to try an experimental and risky procedure to attach a prosthetic wing. They showed me the wing. It looked odd, a thing of metal and wood like I had never seen before, but it was clearly a wing, and if it would let me fly again, I didn’t care. I naturally agreed, ignoring their repeated warnings about the risk and high likelihood of failure. Those conditions had never stopped me from trying anything before, why let them now," her voice was filled passion and she thumped a hoof on the counter. Her cheeks were turning rosy as she continued to drink and tell. "For a while I was wired to a bulky sensor that had to be taken everywhere I went, and encouraged to move and flex my left wing and the stump of my right as much as possible. Finally I went into surgery again. This time when I awoke I felt whole again. The mechanical wing did feel odd, but it moved and responded just as well as my real one," she demonstrated by snapping them open, "Delta stayed at the hospital for the duration of my physical therapy. He explained that part of the wing was a complex spell which relied as much or more on my desire for the wing to work as it did the magic in it. This was no problem." "Finally I had the chance to fly again," her voice was jubilant, "to put my life back together, to be returned the biggest part of a pegasus’ life. In fact, the therapists had to keep me from over exerting myself during the early stages of my rehab. As I regained more and more of my old ability, I grew hopeful, and petitioned to be reinstated. But the Guard wouldn’t take me back. They said that, despite the outlook of a successful recovery, my injury was too severe, and the prosthesis too untested. Again the depression set in and I began performing poorly in therapy." Her face fell again. "Now, for the second time, Delta came to my rescue. He had left for a while, but upon hearing of the poor performance he returned, fearing some problem with the wing. Learning the cause of my loss of enthusiasm, and subsequent weakening of the spell, he decided to stay for a while, spending most of the day with me. Oddly, I found it easier to talk to him than I did the shrink. Maybe because he wasn’t so obviously analyzing everything I said, though I knew he was reporting it all to the shrink. After three days, of no rehab, and just hanging out, I was feeling a little better, but still not particularly hopeful about life in general." Belle swillled the dregs of her drink around the bottom of her glass. "That’s when Delta proposed a partnership. For a while, he had been looking for a pegasus to act as a test pilot and research assistant, unsuccessfully. It was hard to make a pony who could already fly see the point in his inventions. Plus, he explained, he needed to keep an eye on my prosthesis for diagnostics and study and he couldn’t always be taking time to travel out here. It was also clear I needed some sort of work, and something that interested me would be better than something I would quickly get bored with." "I agreed with only a little thought. I owed Delta everything, but even more than that, the job sounded exciting and occasionally dangerous. Plus, I had personal experience with the application of his work and wanted to help further it,” Belle sighed, stirring the fresh drink that had been given her absent mindedly, “So I moved and started working for Delta. The job has been great, sometimes tedious, but always fun, and I love taking out his inventions, though I think he wishes I didn’t fly them so aggressively. But at any rate, that’s me. That’s how I got here, wing and all.” I nodded slowly, mulling all of this over, "It seems we are not as different as we might have expected." Belle laughed out loud, "No I suppose not! I am cripple in body and you are cripple in soul! The Pegasus who can't fly, and the sniper who can't kill!" She was laughing so hard now the she nearly keeled over off of her stool. Reaching out to steady her, I laughed too. I couldn't help myself. Together we rose and staggered out of the pub and back home. Home. How long had it been since I used that word?