Nearing the Edge

by Eagle

The Clock Strikes

April 18th, 2006
0144 Hours
Canterlot

Source

It was a good night for natural flying, cool but not cold, calm, and not too windy. It had been so long that Midnight Strike had almost forgotten how nice it was. Night flying was one of her favorite pastimes before the war and the displacement event, a habit that translated into jet piloting. Even with all the new technology in the fighters they had been given that allowed around-the-clock warfare, she and her squadron had excelled at night combat. However, much more time was now being spent in the seat of her fighter than stretching her own wings.

Tonight was off time for her, which she spent going into town with several human pilots and a handful of other ponies on the offer of the Americans to see her first baseball game, one of only a few that were being played in Equestria. She rode in one of the many personal vehicles with Captain Chalmers, who had originally suggested the idea, and three other Americans. Chalmers, skinny as a pilot could be and usually by-the-book, seemed ecstatic in introducing what he called ‘America’s pastime’ to Midnight.

The day encompassed three goodwill games in a small stadium, the first of which had already passed earlier. Midnight watched a close match between the White Sox and Red Sox, respectively from the cities of Chicago and Boston, neither of which she knew anything about. Despite not knowing the rules she quickly found herself enjoying the sport and loudly supporting the latter team, much to the chagrin of Chalmers as a Chicago resident. When Midnight’s team won, he and the others prepared to head back to base, but Strike sent them off without her. Despite not having a car to ride back in, she elected to stay and see the final match of the evening between the Colorado Rockies and Los Angeles Dodgers.

With the clock ticking towards twelve as she exited the stadium, she flapped her wings and took off into the night sky. Getting back to base was not a problem in itself, but entering through the gates and guards was much more difficult at night, especially with pegasi flying about and making the guards jumpy. One pegasus made the mistake of landing right outside the guard booth and the Airman on duty pulled his weapon and held the poor mare up until she was properly identified. She knew that the usual guard at this hour would be quite unpleasant over this act of hers, but still it led to where she was now: flying naturally in the solitude of eventide. In this way being late was a good thing, and Midnight Strike tried to focus on the positives of every situation, even if she did not show it.

Flying away from Canterlot proper, she arrived at the outskirts of Canterberry Air Base. The largest of the many air bases being built by the Americans, the Equestrians insisted on naming it themselves without compromise. This was much to the vexation of the humans who took to nicknaming it ‘The Cherry’, along with other, more unbecoming names, to suit their own comforts. Landing outside the base and trotting into the artificial lighting from the gate, she was greeted by the Airman eyeing her from the booth.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he greeted, sounding more tired than angry.

“Good evening,” answered Strike, trotting up to the gate. “Mind if I go in?”

“Need to see your identification first, ma’am.”

“You sure? It’s pretty clear I’m me, isn’t it?”

“I have to check your ID ma’am,” the Airman repeated, now sounding very annoyed. “We’ve got procedures to follow, especially this late at night. I’m not letting some Changeling spy in. You know that, Captain Strike.”

“Yea, yea, I know.”

Shaking her head, she reached into her saddlebag and retrieved the small plastic card that identified her as a member of the Royal Equestrian Air Force. Taking it, the guard held it under the light and rubbed his eyes, studying it. To Midnight, he seemed to be taking his time with the process.

“So… how are things looking tonight?” the Equestrian asked, trying to make small talk.

“Normal and quiet, how I like it,” the Airman remarked, handing her the card back. “Go ahead ma’am, have a good evening.”

“Thanks, you too.”

With this, Midnight trotted past the gate, looking forward to a restful night and a comfortable sleep-in the following morning. Making her way into the facility, she did notice that there was more activity than usual, with some of the Americans seen running a ways off, but she thought nothing of it. Even as the subtle signs began to grow, she ignored them, being too drowsy to pay any mind. It was only with the sudden wind up of attack alarms, followed almost at once by a sharp explosion on the edge of the base, that she was snapped into action.

The entire world changed in an instant from peaceful night to a maddening chaos. Further detonations erupted around the base at the runway and hangars, the radar positions, and other miscellaneous buildings. The surviving anti-air emplacements opened fire, sending red bursts of cannon shells into the air. Surface-to-air missiles rocketed into the air, appearing as flying torches as they trailed through the dark towards unseen targets.

Even though it was obvious, Midnight was still in a daze as to what was happening. Her mind stopped, unable to make sense of what was happening. It was only after an air-to-ground missile struck the ground close by, rocking the ground and causing her to stumble, that she realized that they were truly under attack.

“Hey! Hey, you alright!?” an Airman yelled, noticing her as he ran past. “Can you hear me?”

“Wha- Y-yea! I'm fine! I just fell!” Strike answered, standing again and shaking the dust off. “What’s going... who’s attacking us?”

“Fuck if I know! But that doesn't matter a lot right now! We have to get moving!” said the Airman. “Where are you headed? You a pilot?”

“I am!”

“Well shit, hurry up and get to your bird! Can't get taken out on the ground!”

“I will! I will!”

“Good luck, and be careful! Don't get hit!”

With that, the Airman continued on his way, heading for the runway. Midnight followed soon after, jumping at every bang and constantly looking about, trying in vain to keep track of everything. She got within sight of the flight line before another missile struck ahead of her. The Airman she had been following, who had already put a fair amount of distance, vanished in the great flash.

Midnight Strike collapsed onto the cold concrete again, her vision obscured by the dust kicked up. Coughing and choking, she heard another explosion rock the area, and her instincts took control, driving her to survive. Returning to her feet, she changed direction and ran right, entering a partially collapsed building. She took cover there under the rubble, watching what looked to be an Su-24 make a low bombing run over the base, releasing it’s string of ordinance on the runway.

Strike knew she had to reach the runway, and her fighter, but could not summon the control to do so. Her body and mind remained locked there, hiding from the terrifying assault under the rubble. The battle continued to rage around her, thrusting the peaceful region and its occupants into the hell of a full modern war.

Examining the building around her further, she spotted the familiar pattern of an American uniform, partially buried under the debris. The Airman’s face was in full view, showing a peaceful and horrific emptiness of the recently passed. The American lay there, motionless and hollow, cloth and flesh partly torn and stained from blood here and there, which formed a small slick that crept from his body.

Midnight hid her eyes in her hooves, away from the horror of the outside conflict. She waited there, weathering the onslaught and even afterwards. Hours later, daylight came to reveal the full carnage of the attack, and Midnight was still there, hidden away safely, now secluding herself in shame.

Author's Note:

Comments

[danmur15]

Midnight watched a close match between the White Sox and Red Sox, respectively from the cities of Chicago and Boston, neither of which she knew anything about. Despite not knowing the rules she quickly found herself enjoying the sport and loudly supporting the latter team, much to the chagrin of Chalmers as a Chicago resident. When Midnight’s team won, he and the others prepared to head back to base.

Ayyy Red Sox FTW