//------------------------------// // Belle and the Griffons // Story: Crackshot: New Beginnings // by Cold Cuts the batpony //------------------------------// Bored, I dangled my hoof from the rafter on which I was laying, and watched it swing slowly back and forth. The weather was gray and drizzly outside, and Delta had called off all test flights for today. I was only halfway aware of the two stallions discussing something about bullets over by the forge where Crackshot was carefully working the bellows as Delta watched intently. With an exasperated sigh, I rolled off of my perch and drifted lazily to the floor. “I’m going for a fly!” I called, “Be back later!” Neither of the two even acknowledged that they had heard me. I snorted in frustration and trotted out. Emerging onto the grid of concrete walkways that connected the laboratories to the rest of the research and development buildings, I looked up into the cold drizzling mist. Not ideal weather for flying, but that was perfect for me. I crouched, extending my wings, and paused a moment. Filling my lungs with air, I leapt, rocketing into the sky. I closed my eyes and felt the cool mist sting my face as I accelerated ever faster. Breaking the cloud cover, I snapped my wings shut and hung weightless propelled by my inertia. no matter how many times I looked at it, the rolling cloudscape before me always took my breath away. The sun was low to the west and the tops of the clouds were painted amber and caramel. Peaks of white emerged here and there as surface roiled and pulsed in the winds driving them. I began to fall as gravity caught up with me, and I glided over crests of frothy white, trailing a hoof and gently sculpting the clouds into no particular pattern. Suddenly the cloud erupted right in front of me. I was surrounded on all sides by bursts in the mist. My training kicked in, and I began to evade, tucking my wings in and dodging for the narrow gaps between bursts. “Halt! Junges pferd!” a sharp avian voice broke out, “This is a restricted training area!” I stopped and turned, the cloud bursts had been eight griffons in full gear, now hovering in place and turned towards me. I snapped a salute, “My apologies,sir,” I had not realized I might have strayed into restricted area, “If you would direct me away-” he cut me off. “This is not a playground for little ponies!” I saw his eyes stray towards my wing, “Especially halbe flügel.” The other Griffons smirked maliciously. I frowned I didn’t know much of the Griffons’ language, but I did not like the way he said that last bit. “My apologies,” I repeated slowly, Delta had insisted before we arrived here that I keep out of trouble, “If you would direct me out, I’ll get out of your feathers.” “Are you sure you’ll be able to make it? What with one wing?" I saw black, and before I realized what had happened, I had the offending Griffon in a strangle hold with his own dagger point pressed to his temple. "Wanna say that again bird brain!?" The rest of the Griffons tensed, unprepared for this turn of events. Tossing the dagger away, I let the Griffon go. "I challenge you to an aero-batics competition, tomorrow at noon." "Hmmph. Little pony, why should we?" The lead Griffon asked, crossing his talons. "Would you want to be the ones that dissolved Equestrian/Griffonian relations?" I shot back, echoing something I'd heard Delta say. The group frowned collectively. I'd hit a nerve. "Very well," the lead Griffon decided, "you and your wingpony better be ready." "Me and my wingpony are the best in Equestria! We're ready all right!” With that we parted. I immediately knew I was in trouble. Col. Striker would never allow me to borrow any one of his flyers and that left me with one option. The gunpony. I was doomed. ---- Arriving back at the lab, I slunk in, hoping that the news hadn’t reached them. The two stallions were still at the forge, presumably working on the same project as before. Phew. It’ll be better coming from me. I sidled up to them and looked interested in what they were doing. “Whatcha doing?” I asked. Crackshot looked up from the crucible he was heating before responding. “Making a new bullet to help with the tests,” he fished a lump of metal from a bowl on the table beside him, “We’re calling them ‘zingers’. See these striations? They make whizz as the bullet flies. That’ll help me judge wind and distance and everything.” I nodded, “Interesting.” He returned to his work and his conversation with Delta. “Soooo… what’re you doing tomorrow?” I watched as he carefully poured the molten metal into a series of moulds, impatient. “Nothin’ in particular. Far as I know anyways,” he said slowly. Putting the empty crucible to the side, he looked me straight in the eye, “What’d you do?” “Gahh!” I exclaimed, offended, “Why would you think something like that?” Delta leaned to peer around Crackshot. “What DID you do?” the unicorn asked with the hint of a glare. I looked at the ground and mumbled. “Ikinachalngeddagrifstoanaerobatikscompetishuntoomarowatnoon,” I rattled off, “anineedcrakshottobemawingpony.” Delta looked confused and Crackshot looked reserved. “Wha-” Delta started but Crackshot cut him off. “She got in a fight with the griffons, challenged them to a flight test, and needs me to be her wingpony,” Crackshot stared at me, his expression unreadable. I squirmed under their gaze. “How could you do such a thing!?” Delta flew into a fit , stepping around Crackshot to pace the floor, “Do you understand the implications of your actions!? What this could mean for Griffon Pony international relations!?” “Settle down,” Crackshot broke in. He closed the flu to the forge and damped the coals, “What’s done is done, and we’ll just have to deal with it.” “How can you be so calm!?” Delta turned on the pegasus. I watched the exchange in nervous anticipation of the conclusion. Crackshot continued to close down the forge. “Because I’ve spent the majority of my life under pressure heavier than this,” standing up from sweeping ash from the floor, he turned to the unicorn, “I’ve been in tougher situations facing meaner opponents. A friend has asked for my help, and I intend to deliver.” “But… this could turn into an international incident…” Delta was practically pleading. “Then sounds like I need to get practicing,” the moustachioed stallion turned to me, “What do I need to do?” ---- We stood at the edge of the airfield. Crackshot looked embarrassed and uncomfortable in his borrowed RAG bdu’s, and Delta still looked nervous about the whole ordeal. “Alright,” I said, pacing before them drill sergeant style, “The Griffon Luftwaffe is known for their agility and high speed maneuvers. Being naturally lightweight, they will attempt quick strikes, retreating before we can counter attack. We as ponies-” “Whoa! Hold up a country minute,” Crackshot interrupted, looking startled, “Counter strikes? I thought this was a demonstration of flying skills?” “This is Aero-batics, aeronautical combat. I thought this was common knowledge?” I was growing more and more worried, “This’ll be an exercise of hoof-to-hoof, er claw, combat.” “You know I’m a gunpony right?” Crackshot grimaced. I slumped in discouragement. “Do you have any close quarter combat skills?” I sighed, exasperated with myself for letting myself jump into this fool’s gambit. “I could fight with my rifle,” Crackshot offered. “That won’t work, no firearms allowed…” we were doomed. “What if…” Delta spoke for the first time since the announcement, “What if we mocked up a dummy rifle… like they use in training exercises… as a cudgel staff. Is that allowed?” I pondered a moment, “Hoof held weapons aaarre allowed so long as any blade is blunted or sheathed… I suppose it would work.” I turned to Delta. With a heavy sigh he turned and walked away, “I’ll get to work on mocking up a training dummy balanced exactly like your rifle.” With Delta on board I finally felt some hope for the next day’s coming events.