//------------------------------// // Chapter 11. Rifle Round // Story: The Epsilon Pegasus // by Sparky Brony //------------------------------// The bi-plane floats gently in for a landing, carrying all three foals safely on its top wing. The tires screech as they touch the ground, and in moments the plane finally settles. The pilot climbs out of the pilots seat and gets up on the wing, unlatches the harness from the wiring, and finally releases Dizzy from her torment. Dizzy jumps to the body of the plane, then to the ground. She kisses the runway under her hooves crying, "Oh sweet Celestia! I'm never leaving you again!” She turns and shoots a venomous look at the two pegasi. "I'm serious, no more attempts at flying cutie marks for me.” The other two's ears fall as they scuff their hooves on the tarmac. "Okay, Dizzy." Berry says. Zap perks up, “All you did was hold onto the spar and scream that you wanted to land.” Dizzy glares at her friend. “Because I was terrified! Flying isn’t for me.” Her ears fall, and tears start to form, “Please, don’t make me do that again.” Zap moves forward and nuzzles Dizzy. “I’m sorry, we just thought that if you could see how much fun flying is, you would love it as much as we do.” Dizzy shudders. “Girls, this pony’s hooves need to stay on the ground. Flying’s not for me. The whole time, my ears buzzed and I was horribly dizzy. It was horrible!” She stamps a hoof on the runway. The two pegasi of the CMC New Beginnings wilt in front of their friend. “Okay, Dizzy.” they say in unison. *** After following the directions of a couple of sailors, I finally open a hatch and a familiar smell greets my nose. “Hi Dust.” Dust blows out a cloud of smoke, which is quickly blown away in the wind. “Hi Loopy. What’s up?” “Blue Lagoon wanted you on the bridge, we are getting close to the island. We’ll be loading up on an Osprey in a bit so we can visit the ponies there.” She taps the ashes off the end of her cigarette. “That’s nice. I can’t wait.” Something in her tone gets me, and I move closer, leaning against her. “What is it, Dust?” She turns her head and nuzzles me for a moment, then she sighs, turning her head back to look at the waves. “Sometimes I just wonder, why me?” I frown and shake my head. “Why you… what?” “When there is a problem, and it involves ponies, I’m the one that’s called. Why can’t they call somepony else?” Ahh, I smile. “Because you are the one that stepped up, in those first days after the change. You gathered the ponies together. You are a hero to us.” I’ve been learning more about New Beginnings and the lives of the ponies in the last month or so. Plus, Sunset Shimmer is an amazing teacher. Lightning Dust huffs, “Mayor Mare moved on. She’s a senator right now. Diamond Tiara is now the governor of Montana, and I’ve heard she’s eyeing a run for president in a few years. Lots of ponies have become great leaders here in this world. Hell, I still get calls from them, wanting my advice.” Her ears fall. “I’m just a country pony. I want to spend as much time with my family as I can, run my companies, and just live my life.” She sighs, “And yet, ponies are in trouble… let’s call Lightning Dust.” I nuzzle the older pegasus. “Ponies need leaders. Our instincts are to herd together, and we need a strong leader. You are a strong leader.” “I’m a failure.” she says vehemently and stamps a hoof. I flinch. “No, Dust. You aren’t.” She turns and looks at me, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I wasn’t able to save ponies. Ponies have died right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. We fought Discord and won, but at such a horrible price. A true villain from Equestria showed up, took one I loved and kept her from me for too damned long a time, and in the end, I died trying to save my family from her.” I nuzzle her again, more aggressively. “But you are here, now.” She growls, “Yeah, because of the whims of a chaos spirit. I have been lucky, Loopy. Nothing more.” I move to where she can see me easily. “Lightning Dust, I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you. You aren’t perfect, I know that, but you have done your best to help. I’ve talked to quite a few ponies. Most of them, when I mention your name, are amazed that you are my friend. You are revered among them. When all seemed lost, when life was scary, this Wonderbolt came and saved them. You and your team helped hundreds of ponies. You’ve sheltered thousands when they turned. They all found out when life throws them into disarray, ‘Look to Lightning Dust, she’ll get you through it.’” I step forward and wrap my hooves and wings around her in a big hug,.“When I changed, I knew of you from watching you on TV and such, but I came to your house because I didn’t fully understand what was going on. You helped me, you and your herd. New Beginnings exists, and the ponies are together–and happy–because of you.” She sobs, “But…” I squeeze harder. “Dust, just trust me on this, you are the one that is called because you are the one who answers that call, without fail. You are trusted because of all that you have done.” “I’m tired, Loopy. So very tired.” I find myself chuckling. “Yes, but you are here. You could easily have simply said no, but you didn’t. You are helping even now. Wanna bet that those ponies on that island have heard of you?” She giggles, giving a wan smile. “They probably have.” I pull back and smile back at her. “Let’s go meet them.” *** “Absolutely not. It would violate our neutrality in this.” Dustin Trent says, folding his arms across his chest. Dust stamps a hoof, her ears back as she practically snarls, “I’m not asking, I’m telling.” “I can’t allow that.” Dust huffs, frowning at the human. “These ponies need supplies. Weapons, armor, food, building supplies.” Dustin shakes his head. “Then it would look like we are favoring them over the other nations.” She sighs, “Look, Mr. Trent, I don’t know what rules the high and mighty US State Department plays by, but these are people, just like you and I. They need help.” He lowers his hands to his sides. “I’m sorry, Lightning Dust, but we have to remain neutral in this. Taiwan and Japan are allies, and China has been a pain diplomatically for a long time. We can’t favor any side.” Dust whirls away from him, growling, “Come on Loopy, we are going to have a talk with the Captain.” *** I look out the window as the Osprey tilts its rotors and starts to come in for a landing. The island is small, but apparently the ponies have been busy. The pilot of the tilt rotor aircraft brings it in softly, rotating it to where the rear of the plane is facing the ponies on the island. Dust is sitting in the cargo bay, along with Moon Shadow and myself. Kendra elected to stay aboard the Reagan; Dust wanted only ponies to greet them. I watch the doors slowly open. Dust takes a moment and steels herself, then, as the cargo doors fully open, she walks slowly out towards the six ponies watching us. After a moment, Moon Shadow and I follow. One of them walks towards us, her ears splayed back from the spooling down rotors of the Osprey behind us. She’s light blue, with a dark blue mane and a tornado cutie mark. She comes up and talks. My ears fall—I don’t know the language. Dust steps closer to her and whinnies. I concentrate on the sound. I’ve been remembering Eponese. I make out, “I’m Lightning Dust, this is Moon Shadow and Loop De Loop.” The mare shifts to Eponese herself and whickers back, “I’m Blueberry Muffin.” She introduces the other ponies. Crafty Crate comes up and stamps a hoof. “Are you here to take us off of our island?” Dust shakes her head. “No. Even if I was told to, I wouldn’t. You found it: it’s yours. I’m offering my help.” The other ponies all look at each other, then at us. “The humans want to fight over the island.” Dust nods. “I know, the Reagan and her task force are here simply to keep the peace.” Her ears splay back. “But I can’t guarantee your safety here. None of them want to recognize your claim to the island. It’s pretty important strategically, given its location. Three nations want this little patch of land.” Blueberry looks bleak. “It’s ours. We found it first.” Dust sits down. “I know that. And we’ve come to help. Inside the aircraft are materials, tools, and food. I had to do a long gallop around the US government. They wanted to take you on their ship and let them talk it out, but I talked to the captain of the Reagan. She agrees with me. This is your island.” Blueberry looks hopeful. “So, you’ll tell the other ships to go away?” Dust shakes her head. “The US Navy may be the biggest colt on the block, but sea navigation is free for all. We can’t tell them to leave. We can only control the area around our ships for defensive purposes.” “So, they can just bomb us off the island?” Dust again shakes her head. “No. Right now, we’ve got them to agree to try to persuade you. The Thai are aware that at least one pony is a citizen of Thailand. They want to use you as a claim to the island.” Mint Leaf looks bleak, neighing softly, “They weren’t pony friendly. When I changed, I was told to leave.” She paws the ground and growls, “But since it’s advantageous to them, they want me back.” She tosses her mane, practically spitting, “Well, they can go hang, for all I care.” Dust grins. “I thought that would be your answer. Nominally, if you decide you want to get on the plane with us, I will welcome you and we can go back to New Beginnings.” The ponies look at each other, shifting their hooves. Dust continues, “You don’t have to make the decision immediately. There is a long-range radio in with the supplies. Use it to speak with the Reagan if you choose, and we will get you evacuated.” Several of the assembled ponies give relieved sighs, except for the two earth ponies. Mint Leaf shakes her head. “This is our island. They aren’t taking it away from us.” For the next couple of hours, they show us the work that they’ve been doing, and I help unload the supplies off the Osprey: bags of food and tools. Blue Lagoon drew the line at weapons, over Dust’s objection. The satellite radio is a simple affair to set up. Moon Shadow tells them about getting thousands of ponies away from what was essentially a concentration camp in China. Finally, we board the Osprey again. “Dust. What is going to happen to them?” She looks back as the ramp finishes closing. “They want to take their chances. I hope we can keep things from getting violent, but we have only so much we can do.” The Osprey lifts off the ground and accelerates. “I wish we could do more.” She sighs, “I do too.” *** Soon after the Osprey lands back on the Reagan, we make our way back up to the bridge. Dust and Blue Lagoon sit and talk, with Dust updating Blue on what is going on with the ponies on the island. “Captain!” yelps the radar operator, “I have a new contact bearing two-five-five, speed three-two-two knots, distance three-five-zero miles, altitude two-eight thousand, designating target intruder one-two-alpha, coming from the China mainland.” Blue Lagoon turns and looks at the radar track. “Damn,” she murmurs, than she looks at the coms, “Vector an F-35 pair on CAP to intercept.” Sixty miles to the north of the task force, two F-35 fighters turn and head towards the radar track. In a few minutes the coms squawk to life. “Doghouse, this is Guarddog-4. We have a visual on the intruder.” “Go ahead.” “It’s a Shaanxi Y-8. Must be doing sig-int.” “Roger.” I look at the speaker, then at Blue Lagoon. She’s tense. I sit down and try to make myself smaller. Blue Lagoon looks down for a moment, then she huffs, “Warn it off. It’s too close.” The com operator keys his mic, “Guarddog-4, warn them off.” “Roger.” *** The pilot of the lead F-35, a Navy LT—call sign “Hustler”—looks out at the track. He’s coming up next to it. The large prop-engine aircraft looks like a Y-8JB, the electronic intercept version. It’s got extra antennae on board to catch the electronic noise of the task force. He keys his radio to the guard frequency. “Unidentified Aircraft, this is a US Navy fighter aircraft on your port side. You are in our control zone. I am ordering you to change course.” Silence from the other aircraft. After a few moments, “Unidentified Aircraft, this is the US Navy. Change course now, or we will be forced to take aggressive measures. You are in US naval airspace.” After a moment, a voice comes over his coms. “Navy, this is international water and part of the contested zone, we have every right to be here.” Hustler growls as he keys his mic again, “I say again, this is US Navy controlled airspace. Change course or we will act.” Again, there is silence. Hustler changes his com frequency, “Doghouse, this is Guarddog-4, they are refusing to change course.” After a moment, “Force them.” “Roger.” He sighs. He brings his fighter closer to the larger craft. He fights the buffeting from the turbo prop engines of the larger plane. “Damn guys, time to turn.” he murmurs as he edges closer. Most pilots, in this type of situation, would adjust course. These pilots, on the other hand, are stubbornly keeping their heading. “Ah, damn.” he groans as the rear of his plane collides violently with the tailplane of the Y-8. He banks sharply to get away, but the damage is done. Alarms are starting to go off in his cockpit: hydraulic damage; his rudder is unresponsive. “Uh, Doghouse, we’ve got a problem here.” “Please clarify.” “There has been a collision.” He looks back and down, where a smoke trail shows the other plane’s path. “I think she’s going down.” “Roger that, what’s your status?” Hustler looks at the status displays in his cockpit, then growls. “I’m heading back, but it’s bad, I think I crunched my tail a bit. Rudder isn’t working, and I’ve got multiple warning lights here. I think I’m going to declare pan, pan, pan.” “Roger that, Hustler. Pegasi are being dispatched to help you in. Head back as best as you can.” *** On board the Reagan, Blue Lagoon orders one of her Arleigh Burke destroyers to head towards the crash site to look for survivors. I walk to the window and rear up, looking down at the flight deck. There, six pegasi trot from the island, adjust the helmets on their heads, and streak off into the cloudless sky. After a few tense minutes, Blue’s ears perk forward as one of the pegasi radios back, “Doghouse, this is Rescue-2, I have Guarddog-4 in sight.” “Rescue-2, what is the condition of the aircraft?” “Hold, please.” comes the response. After a few minutes, “Doghouse, the damage is pretty bad. Tailplane damaged. She’s leaking fluids.” “Can the plane be brought back safely?” Again, a pause, “That’s an affirmative.” Blue sighs, “Thank Celestia.” She breathes. *** On board the USS Michael Murphy, they are steaming at full speed to the reported crash site. Her radar is searching for wreckage from the downed aircraft. The captain of the Murph is standing in the combat information center, watching the displays. The radar operator looks at him, calling, “Captain, we’ve got a pair of surface contacts coming in. Heading two-two-three, speed twenty knots.” The captain looks at the tracks. “They are going to be in the task force’s path.” He looks down. “All ahead flank.” The twin screws of the Arleigh Burke destroyer accelerate her towards the incoming craft. After a few tense minutes, the sonar operator looks up, reporting, “Those are Type 37s, sir.” The People’s Liberation Army Navy Type 37s had heard the panicked calls from the crashing Y-8. Unaware of the US destroyer in the area, they are rushing towards the downed airplane. “Twenty-six thousand yards and closing, sir.” the radar operator calls. “Warn them off.” the captain says. The radio operator touches his screen a few times. “I’ve identified their carrier frequency, sir.” He keys his mic, “Unidentified craft, this is a US Navy destroyer. Alter course now.” After a few moments, he looks up. “No response, sir.” “Try again.” The operator bends to his task, and in a moment, he looks at the captain and shakes his head. “Everything here says they should be receiving.” “Could they not have their radio manned?” “Possible, though unlikely during such operations.” “Twenty thousand yards now, sir.” the radar operator says. “All ahead half, left full rudder. Fire a warning shot.” On the forward half of the ship, the five inch gun rotates towards the incoming craft. The gun barks once, sending its seventy pound shell on its way. The shell lands near the path of two craft. “They are changing course, sir.” the radar operator says, then his voice rises. “Sir, they’ve turned towards us and have accelerated.” The captain looks at the displays, frowning. “Damn.” He grabs the headset from next to the radar operation. “Doghouse, this is Murph. We have incoming surface craft. They responded to a warning shot by turning towards us and accelerating. We need air support.” “Roger Murph, vectoring in support.” *** I look over at Blue Lagoon, seeing that she’s obviously tense but projecting calm. She is keeping her voice controlled as she gives orders. She looks over, steadily ordering, “Fire off the plus fives and get four eighteens up and ready for launch.” Dust moves over to me and sits down. I look at her. “Are things going bad?” Dust sighs and I lean against her, getting a wing around me. “I don’t know, Loopy. But it looks like it.” *** The two Type 37 Corvettes received the warning shot’s intent. As they are attempting to rescue Chinese citizens, the captain in charge decides to attack the US Navy ship in their way. As the ships get close, they let loose with their weaponry: Four 37mm Type 76A guns and a volley of anti-ship missiles. *** “Aw, hell!” the radar operator shouts, “Tracking incoming shellfire… wait, new target, on tracks… 4… 5… 6… damn it! VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE! They've launched everything they've got at us!" The Murph’s captain steps forward. “All ahead flank! Set point defense weapons to automatic and launch the countermeasures.” The gunners mate calls out, “Aye aye, Captain.” *** Four missiles, two from each craft, streak a mere ten meters above the surface of the ocean at nearly the speed of sound. In seconds, the two point defense laser cannons on the fore and aft of the Murph punch through the bodies of the oncoming missiles, killing them and they splash into the water. *** “They are still coming, Captain.” the radar operator says. “They’ll be inside minimum radius for our missiles in fifteen seconds.” The Captain growls, “Fire four harpoons. Sink them.” On the aft end of the Arleigh Burke destroyer sit two harpoon launchers facing port and starboard, each with four missiles. Two missiles burst forth from the starboard launcher, riding on the flames of their rocket booster packs. In a few seconds, two more emerge from the other set of tubes. After about a second, the rocket boosters burn out and the turbojet engines of the harpoon anti-ship missiles take over. The missiles skim along the surface of the ocean towards the Chinese corvettes. Both ships notice the incoming missiles and start to maneuver to avoid them, while spraying chaff into the air. A loud bang, quickly followed by a second, announces the demise of one of the corvettes. A plume of smoke rises from the water as the burning ship starts to break apart. “Captain, the second volley got confused by the chaff.” the radar operator calls. “They are now inside the minimum radius for the missiles.” “Damn, fire the five-inch.” The turret rotates and fires, the shell splashing harmlessly into the sea a hundred meters past the corvette. The gun fires again, and a third time, the shells also missing as the smaller craft dodges as best it can. Exhausted of missiles, the Type 37 comes in with it’s Type 76A 37mm cannons firing. The rounds are armor piercing high explosive with a two hundredths of a second delay fuse, and they stitch along the side of the Murph, blowing through the outer steel hull and detonating in the interior. Electrical conduits and water pipes blow apart as the personnel quarters are hit. More rounds impact towards the rear of the Murph, causing a terrific explosion as one of the two Seahawk helicopters is hit and its fuel detonates. Alarms sound on the bridge. “Captain, we’ve got damage all along the starboard side. Damage control is on its way. And we’ve got a fire in the hangar; one of the Seahawks is down.” “F-35 incoming!” the radio operator interrupts. Two F-35s from the Reagan streak in. From one of them, the doors to the internal bay open and two Naval Strike missiles leap from their frames. The missiles slam into the corvette, breaking it in two and igniting its fuel load. Another plume of smoke rises from the ocean. The captain of the Murph stands up. “Launch the Seahawk. Have it look for survivors while we head to the downed aircraft. And prepare the RIB’s for launch when we get to the crash site.” he says as he watches the two F-35’s circle around his ship and head off back towards the Reagan for refuel and rearm. He turns to his CIC crew. “How bad is it?” After several minutes, a tablet is handed to the captain, who looks at it for a moment, then sits down in his chair. “Three dead, thirty-eight wounded. One chopper is barely good enough for spare parts, though the fire is contained and will be out within the hour.” He sighs and looks out towards the plume of smoke he is approaching. “All for a few ponies.” *** Crescent Moon isn’t having a good day, though he’s happy for his helmet—at least he can see right now. Two of the other pegasi with him are standing by, one at each wing, and the other three are keeping close in case they are needed. Crescent is trying to affect some sort of repairs on the tail of the damaged F-35. He touches the pad on his chest, “Rescue-2 to Doghouse.” “Doghouse reading.” A damaged section of the fuselage right in front of the tail strips off in the slip stream, causing Crescent to dodge the metal as it careens toward him. “Ah, hell!” he cries into his radio, then thinks for a moment, “Sorry Doghouse, she’s shedding parts as she flies. I’m going to need a wash down when I land. She’s blowing fuel around like nopony’s business here. I’m soaked.” After a moment, “Roger that Rescue-2, do you have an ETA?” Crescent checks his GPS display. “Four minutes, Doghouse.” “Roger that.” Finally, the hydraulic hose Crescent was fighting with snaps onto its fitting. He smiles as the rudder moves a little from side to side. “Rescue-2 to Guarddog-4. Have restored some rudder functionality.” “Got it, Rescue-2.” comes Maveric’s voice. *** I hear the air boss call out to prepare for a crash landing and move over to the large windows. I extend my wings and hover, watching the rear of the ship as I hear the damaged plane being brought in. Crash barriers are extended to catch the plane as it lands. After a few tense minutes,I can see the plane coming in with pegasi flying alongside the plane as it gets closer. I watch his landing gear extend, and I hold my breath as the plane gets closer and closer. “Loopy.” Dust murmurs. “I thought I recognized one of the pegasi that went out to help the plane.” I say softly, shooting a glance at Blue Lagoon, who is reading a report brought to her by one of the crew members. I turn back to watch the incoming plane as it finally lands hard on the decking of the ship. It gets caught up in the webbing stretched across and quickly comes to a stop as the pegasi with it peel off. One of them, the pegasus stallion I met a few days ago, lands near the aft end of the ship and in moments, a high pressure water stream floods over him. He shakes himself a few times as the human holding the fire hose plays the water over his body. The water is turned off and he shakes himself a few times, then pulls off his helmet. That gets a smile from me—Crescent Moon is safe. *** The Chinese Defense Minister slams a fist onto the table in front of the President of the People’s Republic of China, snarling, “They shot down one of our aircraft! They’ve fired on and sunk two of our corvettes! It’s time to show them that the island belongs to us. We need to get that aircraft carrier out of our way!” The president looks at the tablet in his hands: data from the two destroyed ships and a roster of the soldiers of the surveillance plane are being displayed. He looks up at his defense minister, somberly. “That is a grave escalation.” The minister whirls away, shouting, “They are the ones that have escalated! They shouldn’t have shot down our plane! They shouldn’t have fired on, then destroyed our ships! They are the ones to have declared war on us.” The President looks down again, thinking furiously, then back up. “Sink the carrier.” The order is relayed east to Zhoushan, where a small military base gets their orders. The truck based missiles are raised on their launcher and a missile emerges on a tongue of flame. *** In a polar orbit above the earth, a US spy satellite—one of many in varying orbits to keep a satellite over known tensions spots at all times—takes note of the launch and its location. The information is beamed to a communications satellite in geosynchronous orbit, where it is sent to its ground station. After a few moments of computer analysis, the message is sent back to a geosynchronous communication satellite and bounces down to a receiver in the East China Sea. Aboard the bridge of the Reagan, the coms officer swallows hard as he hands a tablet over to the XO. “Captain, flash traffic from PACFLT.” being called out by the XO gets everyone on the bridge of the Reagan to quiet down and the XO continues, “A missile has been launched from China. Based on its location and launch profile, it’s the Chinese DF-21D” Blue Lagoon pales immediately. “Their carrier killer missile.” she breathes.