• Published 20th Aug 2016
  • 2,378 Views, 102 Comments

The Wrong Stuff - DashEight

The Wonderbolts are the greatest precision flying team in Equestria, admired by ponies worldwide and heroes to every colt and filly in Cloudsdale. They are also terrible, terrible ponies.

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Negative Ghostrider, the Pattern is Full

"Pie Tin Nine-Nine, cleared for low approach runway two-seven," the voice in Soarin's head told him. He often listened to the voices. They had surprisingly good advice, which is more than you can say about most disembodied voices. None of that 'Go ahead, put on the Alicorn Amulet. Unlimited power and absolutely no catch!' stuff here, just good old-fashioned advice about life. Usually in the form of air-traffic control clearances, for some reason that presently eluded Soarin.

"Wilco, Tower. Pie Tin Nine-Nine low approach two-seven," Soarin replied. He glanced at his squadmate Fleetfoot, currently tucked alongside his wing in a tight formation. He motioned downward with a hoof. Fleet nodded curtly, needing no further explanation. Years of camaraderie had given the Wonderbolts demonstration team a connection so deep it bordered on the telepathic. For example, any single Wonderbolt, regardless of location or proximity to the rest of the squad, could tell you the exact second that Spitfire started looking for 'volunteers' to clean the locker room.

Both ponies waited a second, continuing their leisurely flight just below the clouds. Then, as if on cue, they both rolled belly-up and dove towards the ground. The wind whipped through their manes as they plummeted to the ground, the buildings of Prism Plateau rushing up to meet them. Soarin felt the strain against his wing muscles as he pulled up, leveling of at the last second and skimming the treetops at dizzying speeds. A blue-white blur in his peripheral vision told him Fleetfoot was still holding perfect formation. The two ponies hurdled towards the Wonderbolts headquarters' landing strip as the voice in Soarin's head spoke up.

"Pie Tin Nine-Nine, do NOT buzz the tower! Maintain one five zero knots or slowe--FUCKIN--" *kshhht*

The voice cut out in a squeal of static as two blue blurs flashed past the control tower. The high-pitched squeal of the approaching flyers hit a fever pitch, then lowered to a deep thunder as they rocketed past. Windows clattered all over the plateau as the wind roiled in Soarin and Fleetfoot's wake.

You can't do everything a disembodied voice tells you to do, after all. Ponies would think you're crazy.

The two flyers pulled up out of the maneuver, trading their speed for altitude. Satisfied with their grandstanding for the day, they eased off into a leisurely glide back down to the training camp. Soarin waved jovially back at the control tower. Several ponies scurried about, too busy cleaning up spilled coffee to wave back, while Commander Spit Take angrily shook a hoof at the hot-dog flyers.

"Celestia-damn it, Clipper, again?! When the captain gets back your flank will be on a working detail so fast that--"

Soarin reached up to his left ear and unclipped the magical device that let him hear the otherworldly voices, casually tossing it over his shoulder. He turned to Fleetfoot. "Nice one, Fleet! That oughta wake the cadets up, huh?"

"Heck yeah! You know I'm always down for a flyby, dude." They hoof-bumped as only two world famous athletes could. "Anyway, I gotta head out. Spitz made me take care of Surprise while she's out at the Captains' Conference. It's almost time for her walk."

"Harsh, sis-bro. Harsh." Soarin nodded gravely. He empathized with Fleetfoot, he wouldn't wish Surprise-watch on his worst enemy. Of course, if you asked most ponies to describe a hypothetical 'worst enemy', they would often come up with a pony remarkably similar to Fleetfoot. Not Soarin, though. He thought of Fleetfoot as a friend, as he did with nearly everypony stationed on the Plateau. Why else whould she play friendly pranks on him, like that time she dosed his pre-workout with laxative right before the season's time trials? She'd gotten him good that time! "I'd help, but I've got mentoring duty this morning. She wants me to bring Crash up to speed on this season's routine." He wrinkled his brow as he considered that last statement. Did Spitfire mean that literally? Because Rainbow Dash was already pretty fast and--

His train of thought derailed at the sound of Fleetfoot's chuckles. "Oh, I see how it is!" She made the tactical military hoof-signal for 'gettin' bizzay.' "Sure, ditch your wingmare for some hot newbie action. I'll deal with Surprise's crazy all on my own."

"Dudeeeeeeee," Soarin groaned. "It's not like that! I am, like, totally professional and all that junk."

"Mhmm, don't act like you haven't thought about it. I've seen you eyeballing that candy-coated flank!" Fleetfoot dropped her voice to a 'stage whisper' that Soarin, and half the Plateau, could still hear with ease, "You know you want to taste the Rainbow, amIrite?"

"Keepitdownkeepitdown!" Soarin shushed her, hurriedly looking around to make sure that nopony had taken interest in their conversation. "I mean, yeah, she's totally rockin', but I'm not gonna put the moves on a newbie, y'know? Plus, you know Captain's rule, aren't you still on laundry detail from that thing with the Academy cadet? What's her name, Cloud Kicker?"

"Nah, Lightning Streak is covering those for me. I bet him he couldn't pull off an inverted flat spin..."

"What's so hard about that?"

"...right after he finished a pitcher of cider." Fleetfoot smirked. "Oh, and for your little date with the rook, you should take her over by that thunderstorm they're building south of Ponyville. It's a great view, tops out at fifty thousand feet. Plus, the cloud's static charge feels great for when you two start blah blah blah this should be too small to read" She leaned over, whispering something completely workplace-appropriate into Soarin's ear.

"Okay, leaving now!" Soarin insisted, now blushing profusely. He peeled off, descending towards the demonstration team's barracks.

Fleetfoot gave him a mocking salute, waggling her eyebrows. "Remember, don't mentor without protection!" She called out after him.

"Have fun with Surprise!" Soarin shot back.

"Jerk... later, Clipper!"

"Seeya, Flatfoot!"

Author's Note:

Aaand here we go. This story works much better if you hum Kenny Loggins' "Highway to the Danger Zone" as you read it.

To be updated as I think of funny things for the Bolts to do. This isn't necessarily going to be comment-driven, but I welcome any input so feel free to leave any ideas you may have in the comments. (Doesn't matter if they're dumb. This whole story is rule-of-dumb, except for the parts where I sneak in aviation nerd stuff and try to make it look like an accident.)