Ace Combat Equestria: Shattered Clouds

by Cpt Celti

Intermission

Funeral Services were held in Fyrick, the Gryphon capital, for the two fallen Princes. It was a sharp blow to the Gryphon morale, knowing that AEGIS had not only shot two Meteors, but they eldest sons of their King. A regal gryphon in darker attire stood at a podium between two portraits of Meteor Seven and Eight. Their faces were bright and lively. A testament to who they were off the battlefield. He spoke of their courage, their bravery, and their love for King and Country. On the television we watched in the bar, he looked on the verge of tears as Gryphnia's highest leaders were gathered to pay their respects. He spoke of disdain for the pilots who took their two great warriors.

The crowd itself was dressed dark, more than one bursting into tears. In the bar where I sat, the gathered members of Meteor Squadron and a few soldiers from the army. The barkeep had turned up the volume to maximum as the King finished his speech, holding up a goblet as a toast to their bravery. Every gryphon in the bar held up their own glasses. I knew those two pilots, I'd sat with them, hearing their stories, laughing at their jokes, and enjoying the occasional trinket they gave me.

I knew them, respected them. I raised my mug of cocoa.

Two weeks later...

"We'll do our best. Now I need to return to my business."

Spitfire nodded, understanding how much work the Brigadier General had to do yet. "I'll let you get back to it, ma'am."

Without another word, the Major hung up her phone. She sighed and looked around her Canterlot office. Much as she had left it when the war started; pristine, not at all dusty (thank you cleaning staff), and as she recalled, very blue. Posters from the old acrobatic flying days hung along the walls; some of recruitment ads, others of upcoming events long past, and, for nostalgia purposes only, one of Spitfire's safer recruitment pinups with her wearing her officer's jacket with a tight pair of dress pants as she lay across a rack of missiles. Narcissistic, maybe, but it brought back some old memories. She had to admit

Spitfire allowed a small smile as she let her mind reminisce of the old days. The F-15Ss of the Wonderbolt Squadron flying over awestruck youngsters and aspiring aviators alike. The days of pegasi performing acrobatic feats using wingpower wasn't over by a long shot. Such traditions were hard to bring down, but in the modern era, ponies wanted to see these loud, but graceful and acrobatic airplanes perform stunts like the regular ponies could do. Unicorns could perform loops alongside Earth Ponies who flew the same plane. Airplanes opened up new opportunities and dreams for aspiring young foals who felt they were destined to fly through the clouds like their winged counterparts. They still have wing powered acrobatic shows; they were just a separate performance.

It felt like so long ago that Spitfire had just received her wings after graduating the Academy and was led to the flight-line, with Soarin and Fleetfoot in tow, to their first planes. Frowning for a moment, Spitfire looked away from the posters, to an old photo on her desk. Caked with dust, she quickly brushed it aside. An F-15C Eagle, donning the colors and lightning streaks of the Wonderbolts, stood proudly in the background whilst she, Fleetfoot, and Soarin all flexed in front of it. The picture had been taken by Wave Chill, who has long since retired from frontline service.

Beside it was a picture that included the absent Wind Chill, and the long retired Colonel Silver Lining. Spitfire, Fleetfoot, and Soarin hung in the background and the photo was taken by the bartender. It was the last group photo they had had together before the crisis in Hibern, and then Sky Breaker five years later. The original crew was five, and it had been reduced to two now. But still, she remembered fondly all the sorties the five of them had flown in, all of the planes they had shot down, and the record of kills they shared.

But more than that, she remembered the ponies themselves. Wave Chill was the type of stallion to give you the shirt off his back if it was raining. Younger mares would swoon, of course, and Spitfire had even been caught staring. Silver Lining was the type of superior officer who would let you get away with drinking in the cockpit as long as you gave him a swig when you landed, and had joined in a number of brawls with his pilots, defending their honor.

Fleetfoot; the only one among them who was a mother. Grounded almost right at the end of the war because of her condition, she was as fiery as it got. Nimble and flexible too, she had almost come to blows with Silver Lining when she wanted to fly with the rest of the squadron. But he was also the one who made sure she stayed in the Air Force and had her job to return to when she was permitted to get back on duty. Spitfire could've sworn she had some belly-bulge in that photo. Of course she said it was just a beer gut and promptly slugged the then Captain in the shoulder.

Blinking back a bit of moisture she promised herself she wouldn't let loose, she decided to go through her desk to make sure her more prized possessions were still where they were. Opening the top right drawer, she pressed a tab in the back of the drawer, opening a compartment. Inside were letters, a pair of glasses, and a bottle of Emerald Isle Whiskey from just after the Second Equis Continental War. Hard to believe this war was number three.

Reaching in, she grabbed the letters and flipped through them, counting in her head. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen; all accounted for, as least for this war. She had had her own pilots to command during the Second War, which was thankfully only a couple of months long, but she had lost enough pilots to warrant a sizable stack that had only been compounded with the pilots she had lost in this one. She had counted at least over forty pilots lost, but only thirty or so had families that wrote to her.

Spitfire read the names of the senders, recalling each one, putting a face with all of them, except one. It was addressed for...

Unable to stop herself, Spitfire opened one of the letters and read slowly to herself...

Dear Major Spitfire,

You may not know me, or remember me, but I wanted to take the time to write to you about my marefri dearest friend, Cloud Kicker. She was a pilot in the Wonderbolts, Captain Soarin's Wingpony. I'll never forget the moment she received her commendations and approval to fly with your squadron ma'am. She was ecstatic, so excited, Kicker wanted to celebrate. I wish I could have flown with her, but with my landing accident during the academy, and confinement to a wheelchair for weeks, I was slammed with a desk job. I have you to thank for saving my career.

But I didn't want to write about that. Cloud Kicker was close to me, more than either of us let on. I wish you could have told me about how she was kill how she died. But I figured it out. The damnable Sky Breaker. Yeah, we know about the midnight raid AEGIS approved of. It didn't take long. She was very close to me Major, but I don't feel betrayed that I wasn't told the whole story about what happened to her.

I guess I'll have to move on. It'll be quiet around the house, but I'll get used to her being gone, I suppose. It's been hard going home to a very quiet house, but we knew the risks of joining, and neither of us have regrets. Her family came by the other day, asking if I needed any help, or somepony to talk to. I'm living with them now; they're much closer to my office. I only wish she was sleeping next to me is all, like before. I wanted to just write about it, have somepony to write to who flew alongside her, know how I felt and say a few words. Her funeral is this Tuesday if you wish to attend. There isn't a body to bury, but she's there in our hearts. Mine especially.

Sincerely,

Ensign Blossomforth,

Royal Equestrian Navy

Spitfire exhaled deeply as she refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. She remembered Blossomforth. A young mare in her prime, she had been accepted into the Wonderbolt Academy. Barely a week in, and she shattered her wing and both of her legs during a hard landing when her fighter's engines blew and she was forced to eject. Spitfire was the one who had gone to the academy's infirmary to drop the news of Blossomforth's removal from the class. The gold pegasus had no idea a crippled mare could throw a lamp that hard and that far.

Almost without thinking, Spitfire rummaged through the pile of letters. She found another she had read recently, sitting on the bottom. It had actually arrived in her office while she was in the stockades, awaiting her hearing. For some reason, she felt a certain obligation to read it at least one more time. To be honest, it was one she did not expect a letter from. Exhaling heavily, the Major opened the letter and murmured it to herself.

"To Major Spitfire, 14th Tactical Fighter Squadron..."

We have never spoken, but I felt it was necessary to write to my daughter's commanding officer. I remember fondly the day you gave her a second chance at the academy. She had fallen into depression when she flunked out of the Wonderbolt Academy, I had thought Lightning would never pull back from her stupor.

While she didn't make a true Wonderbolt, she learned much from her former wingpony and took it in stride that though she would never be able to call herself a Wonderbolt, she could still fly alongside them. She wrote to me shortly after graduation that she had made it to leader of Timberwolf Wing. She sent pictures of her, her squad mates, her plane. I remember seeing plenty of those in my own flights; of course I was shooting them down. If only her mother could have seen her; she'd have been so proud of her, being a combat pilot herself once long ago, probably before you were born.

Major, she was all I had left. Hearing about her death at the hands of the Gryphons was a heavy blow to take. But do not get me wrong, I do not blame you at all for any of it. You inspired her, advised her, made sure her dreams were not forsaken. You gave her a second chance, and I only hope she never let you down. Though something tells me she didn't.

My little Lightning. Her picture of her in her uniform hangs next to her mother in hers. My days of fighting are over, and I was hoping my Lightning wouldn't pay the price I never could. But this war is taking enough of us as is. You will always have my support, Major, and know that I will be rooting for your entire Squadron for full victory.

I look forward to hearing from you.

With all respects,

Stratus, former Equestrian Royal Air Force, 88th Fighter Interceptor Squadron

Spitfire bit her lips as she set the letter down. Lightning Dust, Captain, Timberwolf One. How in the Mother Mare could she forget such a brash pilot? Her fire in combat gave even Rainbow a run for her bits and reminded Spitfire herself of the days when she was just a reservist herself. Lightning's first run through the academy had been a disaster and nearly cost her one of her best pilots. Spitfire was, admittedly, going through a rough spot with the Generals and her own family troubles. She wasn't thinking clearly now that she thought back on it, approving of Lightning's antics. That day she almost lost Rainbow Dash, and the Major almost lost her self-worth, and Spitfire was glad the young cyan mare didn't see the three empty bottles under her desk.

The Academy, the Equestria Games, and many other events after were a rather dark mark on her career record. Still, it could not be denied that Lightning was a damn good pilot. She was young, had just gotten accepted into the Wonderbolt Academy, so naturally she wanted to make not a good impression, but the best impression. And in turn, she lost sight of what was truly important. Both Lightning and Spitfire lost sight. And Spitfire had made a light promise to heave herself back to the ground on drinking. After the games, she had poured out most of her supply, convincing herself that only at celebrations would she allow herself to drink.

Blinking, just as she was starting to put a few back, she caught sight of a letter that she remembered fondly. Of all of them, this one struck her heart in a new fashion that the others, with all respect to the fallen and their families, could not fully grasp her like this one did. With a slow hand, shaking without her even realizing it, Spitfire picked up the envelope and took out the letter. Swallowing, Spitfire opened it and started to read.

More than a few drops of moisture threatened her eyes.

To Aunt Spitfire,

I hope things are okay on your end of the world and you are staying safe. I'm doing okay over here in Las Pegasus. Daddy didn't want to write a letter, so he told me to do it instead. I'm learning to write much better, so I thought that was a good idea. He's been really sad for a long time, and that's making me sad. My friends and I were on our way to school when we saw some jets like those mommy flew went over our heads. We tried to follow them, but they were too fast. We went into town and asked if anypony knew if they were mom's friends, but they had no idea. It was like they didn't know she was a Wonderbolt!

I remember you calling her a while back, telling her the Generals had a secret mission for the Wonderbolts, and mommy was going with them. I think it's so cool she gets to do those things. I actually want to be a pilot too! But when I told dad that, he got scared, telling me to get flying a jet out of my head, that it was dangerous. Then he got sad again. He's been really sad lately.

Even Uncle Rapid Fire came by to try and cheer him up. He was smiling when he came inside, holding a cooler full of bottles. They wouldn't let me have one, though. Mom left three months ago, and I haven't heard anything from her. I asked Uncle Rapid where mom was, but then he got sad too. Dad got up from the couch and went to his room, and Uncle Rapid sat me down and told me that mom was going to be gone much longer than anyone thought. Then I heard dad crying. He's tough though. Why was he crying? She was just going to be a little longer.

I know she really likes her job and it keeps her away from me and daddy. I hope she's okay and she'll be back soon. My birthday is coming up and I hope she will –

Who was she kidding?

Spitfire slammed the letter back down, unable to take more. Her eyes welled up and she panted, dashing a hand over her eyes swiftly. Biting back a sob, she hastily shoved the letter back into the envelope and covered her face, but not before grabbing the bottle of Emerald Isle Whiskey and pouring a full glass, downing it swiftly.

Panting still, Spitfire once again dried her eyes, but she still choked a sob down before it came out. The last thing she needed to do now was cry like a baby in her office. To get away from the view of the letter, she looked out her window. Her eyes went higher up, following a pair of F-15Cs as they went on their regular patrol. Painted the standard grey, but with gold and blue streaks along the wings, ending at the nose and the tail, they were marked as Wonderbolt Reservists.

It brought her back to the days she and her friends were in the reserves. Flying their own F-15Cs, she, Soarin', Fleetfoot, Rapidfire, Wave Chill; they were unstoppable. Until the failed mission against Sky Breaker came to pass, the five of them were the best pilots the Wonderbolts had. The mission to launch a surprise attack on Sky Breaker, a mission that failed, and cost the lives of over two-hundred pilots; and as they discovered a couple days later, three civilian air liners mistaken for AEGIS transport planes. Almost five hundred lives lost because of a miscalculation.

Wave Chill injured himself before the mission was called out. Soarin was grounded because of his plane acting up. Spitfire needed to stay behind because her base needed a commanding officer. But Fleetfoot...

Unable to stop herself, Spitfire looked down at the child's writing on the letter and the envelope. She sniffed and looked back towards the windows, towards the clouds high up.

"Fleet... if you're up there... let him be a kid. Let him be a kid for a little longer." She downed another shot and sighed before shaking her head. "He deserves that much."

There was a firm knock on her door. It caught the Major by surprise, something she was not used to. Quickly, she downed the last of her glass and hid it with the bottle as another knock came through, and she dashed a hand across her eyes. "C-come in!" she called.

The door opened and in strode a mare she was forgetting also worked in the building. Her wings were folded, though at a bad angle; evidence of a bad crash upon ejection. She also walked with a slight limp, another piece of visual evidence. But her stride was crisp as she walked with purpose up to Spitfire's desk. White coat, green and magenta mane cleanly cut. She stopped a foot away from the desk and saluted swiftly.

"Ensign-" Spitfire stopped herself as she tilted her head at the mare's collar. "Lieutenant Blossomforth. Congratulations."

The mare smiled and stood up straight in evident pride. "Just last week, ma'am. Desk job isn't bad here, but I miss the skies." Spitfire nodded solemnly, recalling the accident that stole Blossomforth's chance of a lifetime and her livelihood and birthright as a pegasus. "And before you ask, ma'am, No, I haven't thrown any lamps at anypony."

This was met with a laugh, sorely needed, from both mares. Short as it was, it was a nice reprieve. "Office is no substitute for a cockpit, I'm sure." Exhaling, the Major sat up straight in her chair and clasped her hands. "So! What do you have for me, Lieutenant?"

Blossomforth nodded swiftly and produced a note folded tightly in the crook of her arm. Extending it out, Spitfire accepted it and opened the whole thing with one hand. Blossomforth stood silently as the Major read the note. It was filled out by Brigadier General Sparkle. Her emotions shifted around, but the one that stood out most to the two mares was the Major's surprise. Spitfire mouthed the words to herself and coughed, then turned her gold eyes back to Blossomforth. "Please tell me she's kidding!"

"I wouldn't know, ma'am," the Lieutenant replied honestly. "I didn't read it. Wasn't my place to question General Sparkle."

Spitfire dropped the letter on her desk and looked out her window to the south. Exhaling deeply, the golden pegasus mare practically fell against the back of her chair. The news hit hard, and General Sparkle knew how to make an impact with her orders. But this one was a doozy of a doozy. "Well, they'll be in for a surprise. Tell the General I'll be ready by tomorrow afternoon." Blossomforth swiftly saluted and turned on her hoof, heading for the door. "And Blossom?" The white mare turned towards the Major, who was smiling. A genuine smile.

"Tell her I said thanks."

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[Cpt Celti]

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Soon... the beatings will commence...