20. The Long Good Buy
Equestria : 1940
Friday 5 July - Western General Hospital, Edinburgh
“Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer.”
— Romans 13:1-4
It was not prison. It was not a grave. It also was not freedom. But the hospital bed that Jon remained on was life, and his short trip into Norway with his pony friends had made him appreciate that living more than any other time in his… well, life.
War complicated everything. Britain was at war, so if one of their soldiers had made a daring raid into occupied Norway, rescued a half-dozen hostages, and blew up some sort of strategic base, he would be heralded as a hero. The United States was very much not at war, and the instinctive reaction of the British system was to politely (in British fashion) detain him until somebody important somewhere else could make a decision. That meant no newspapers, no visitors, and no news from the outside world at all except for Twilight Sparkle’s brief communication a few days ago.
It had been his first attempt at using a crutch to get around and do some bathroom tasks, although he still could not bend his hip. At least it let him pee without a bedpan, and brush his own teeth so he felt less like an invalid. He had nearly spit out his toothbrush when Twilight’s reflection showed up in the bathroom mirror instead of his own, although he had been wearing the hospital gown so he was not caught totally flat barefooted.
She had given him a short briefing: They were going home.
Apparently, nobody had ordered them to stay at the hospital, and a Twilight left to her own devices went wherever she thought she needed to go. Since Moondancer had been stabilized with a cast on her leg and horn, getting her the best medical treatment possible was their primary concern. A shattered horn was an almost unthinkable injury for a unicorn, and the only specialists were in Manehattan.
Ruby had taken just a few minutes with an eye specialist and a pair of pliers earlier to deal with the metal fragments before being declared cured, and managed the almost impossible task of becoming ignorable afterwards by simply curling up behind the hospital’s hedges and pretending to sleep, so their transportation was set. Ember was… conflicted about the journey, mostly because of having to break the news about Stone and face up to her father the Dragonlord about defying his orders to stay behind. All of Twilight’s friends were prepared for the trip, including Jimmy and most of the batpony mares…
Except Nightshade.
She was still being held isolated from anypony else after having gone through four surgeries, so several of the female batponies were staying behind as emergency blood donors, just in case. And although Doctor Prickle was less than congenial, he was one of the best trauma surgeons in all of Britain. Seven bullets and fragments had been dug out of her stubborn hide, where they had done substantial damage to her wings and several internal organs in the process.
The humans involved in the rescue were… each dealing with the results in their own way. Doctor Houtermans was under military detainment, where he undoubtedly was answering all kinds of questions about the operation with “I don’t know. I had my eyes closed and was begging for my life at the time.” Jimmy’s role had transitioned into ‘Canadian Armed Forces Equestrian Liaison Officer’ and as such had refused to answer any questions until he could consult with his superiors, whoever or wherever they might be, so he had managed to stay close to the ponies and would likewise be leaving with them. The kidnapped guards (or rescued, depending on the point of view) had been taken away by the British government. It turned out they were Slovaks caught at the wrong place at the wrong time and drafted into Hitler’s service. Apparently, they bore Jon no ill will for killing one of their own, only a debt of gratitude for their own lives and most likely a permanent phobia about dragons in the night.
In any event, Ruby and Twilight's friends had vanished the next evening, on their way home through the clouded night. And as much as Jon would have liked a jailbreak for himself, it would have meant leaving Nightshade behind for any more surgeries she might need. Besides, his right hip and left arm still were nowhere near recovered, and sitting inside one of the ponybags for twelve hours or so would have most likely killed him. Hell, sitting in bed for most of the day without a word from Nightshade was doing the trick pretty well on its own, even if he was permitted to hobble around with a crutch for a few minutes a day.
“All right, let me see about my patient,” grumbled the unicorn doctor who trudged into the front door of the hospital room. He eyed the uniformed officer sitting in a chair at the side of the room and cleared his throat. “That means get out.”
The police officer, who really did not want to be there in the first place, looked up with a sudden convulsive jerk. “I’m sorry, Doctor Prickle, but—”
“Get out.” The unicorn lowered his head, and entirely not by coincidence, his horn. “I’ve got some sensitive doctor stuff to do with this human, and I don’t want you contaminating the room while I’m doing it. So out.”
To be honest, Jon liked the unicorn doctor, he just was not sure if the unicorn doctor liked any pony or human in return. The ‘coincidence’ that put a unicorn trauma surgeon on one of the alternative exit routes for the hostage rescue mission… well, it certainly was not a coincidence, but finding one with a bedside manner would have been nice. Still, as prickly as the old unicorn was, he seemed extra-pokey this morning, and somehow just the slightest bit… off.
“Off with the sheets, boy. Let’s have a look at you.” Prickle put one hoof on the bed release and stood patiently while the mattress hissed down to the bottom of its travel, putting Jon at nose level with the shorter unicorn. Behind Dr. Prickle, the door closed, but he obviously was paying attention to it because his green magic scooted a chair over underneath the doorknob. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
Shyness was not making him slow, the quantity of bandaging was. The bullet Dr. Prickle had pulled out of Jon’s shoulder had cracked his shoulderblade, and the one that had caromed off his hipbone had left some small fragments behind, so the invasive surgery to correct the damages had left him nearly immobile. Prickle hmm’d and umm’d his way along Jon’s ribcage, giving him a series of pokes with a cold hoof until releasing a satisfied grunt at the end.
“So why did you bring back the changeling?” he asked out of the blue.
“What? Um… What?”
“The bug-pony that was down in the morgue,” continued the doctor, moving around the head end of the bed and examining Jon’s ears. “Most people would have just left the gruesome thing there. Shot full of holes and with a broomstick stuck through its chest, like some sort of vampire, and you stuffed it into a body bag and brought it back. Why?”
“It… Well, she was Lemon Hearts. Or at least she looked like Lemon Hearts at one time,” started Jon, not feeling too secure in his logical argument. “She was one of Celestia’s ponies who worked with them, lived with them, and was imprisoned with them. It didn’t feel right to leave her behind, no matter what.”
“That was not one of Celestia’s little ponies,” said Prickle with a hint of steel in his voice. “She belonged to Queen Chrysalis, ruler of the changelings, and sworn enemy to Celestia.”
“Even so, Celestia would have wanted me to bring the body back home,” said Jon, feeling more comfortable with every word. “She cares.”
“Caring is the mark of fools and weaklings,” spat the doctor, who sounded much different than a few moments ago. When a much taller pony with a dark chitinous coat and jagged holes through her legs stepped out from behind Jon’s bed, he was almost expecting it. After all, it had been several days since he had the bejebbers shocked out of him by ponies, and he was far overdue.
“Queen Chrysalis, I presume,” started Jon with a brief nod. “Forgive me if I do not rise.”
He used the time while Chrysalis spluttered to look the queen over, from her ratty mane that seemed to be all snarls and knots to long limbs that had to be strong despite the holes in them. While Celestia and Luna were swans, the changeling queen was more of a rat, chewed over with holes and bites taken out of her but all the more dangerous for it. He had to wonder just how close changelings were related to ponies if they could disguise themselves as one, or if perhaps there were more changelings scattered among the pony populace than either Celestia or Chrysalis knew about. She certainly was a striking member of her species, with a feline grace and restrained power all her own. And if she had been a thorn in Celestia’s side for a long time, it was possible…
“Were you and your changelings at the Garden of Eden also?” he asked. “My Master’s thesis was supposed to be about the Eden theory, but I received enough resistance to the idea that I had to change it. If you’ve got a few hours, I’d love to interview… Or maybe not,” he added when he got a look at the changeling queen’s angry green eyes.
“I will be asking the questions and making demands here,” she snapped.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Jon, making sure to use the right form of address. “How may I assist you?”
“You can take a message to Celestia for me,” said Chrysalis. “Tell her—” The changeling’s lips curled up when she saw Jon grab his notepad and fountain pen, but she hesitated long enough for him to get ready. “Truce.”
“Truce?” echoed Jon, still holding his pen over the paper.
“What, do I have to spell out it for you?” snapped Chrysalis. “Until this… atrocity in Europe is over, I shall not move against her rule. I know all about the German chemical plants, and their rocketry program. My changelings are just as vulnerable to those poisons as her ponies.”
“If we do not hang together, we will certainly hang separately,” murmured Jon as he wrote. “Is that all? No assistance?”
The changeling queen’s dark lips curled back in a cruel smile. “What is the rule when dealing with creatures of the Fey, Doctor Walthers?”
He swallowed a sudden dry lump in his throat. “Don’t ask for things. You won’t like it.”
“Exactly.” There was a shimmering of green magic and ‘Doctor Prickle’ began to stroll toward the outside door. “I understand now why that bloated, cake-stuffed snob likes you, Walthers. Oh, and just one thing.”
He stopped with the door held part-way open and looked back with a glitter of green in his amber eyes. “At the garden, who do you think talked Eve into eating the apple?” The disguised changeling’s forked tongue flickered out for just a moment, and Doctor Prickle laughed as he trotted away.
- - Ω - -
The changeling queen’s visit galvanized Jon into doing what he should have been doing all along instead of just sitting and feeling sorry for himself. An Army After-Action Report was properly dry as library paste, and very difficult to frame when certain phrases kept floating into his mind.
At oh nine hundred thirty hours, was met by the disguised supreme monarch of a previously unidentified race of insect-ponies called ‘changelings’ and pressed into service to carry a message to the diarchs of Equestria with regards to their mutual defense against German allied powers. Said monarch implied that she was a member of the Fey race (see Elves, Mythology) and had once taken on the role of Satan in early Christian history (see Genesis, Garden of Eden). The first statement has some basis in the literature, but the veracity of second statement is unknown.
Whatever the final version of his report, it would most likely be classified so high that even President Roosevelt might have to stand on a chair to see it.
Lunch proved a fair distraction, with the real Doctor Prickle coming by to give him a quick check, and an old battleaxe of a nurse who seemed to take it as a personal affront that his visit interfered with her feeding schedule. Jon could not help but wonder if she was in actuality Queen Chrysalis in disguise, although the changeling had been slightly more polite.
He suspected he would be having such concerns for quite a few of the upcoming weeks, more so when a slender man in a pinstripe suit poked his overly large nose into the room right after lunch was over. From his brusk mannerisms and authoritative tone, he was representing the substantially higher local authority that Jon had been dreading.
“Beg pardon, Officer Bock,” he said to the current police officer who had been sitting in a chair to one side. “I’m Mr. Thompson. You are relieved. Mister Walthers is about to have guests.”
“He’s not permitted,” said the officer. “I’ve got my orders straight from the precinct.”
“These are the exceptions,” said Thompson. He went about the job of a properly paranoid policeman, checking for bombs under the bed and making sure Jon did not have a revolver concealed in his copious bandages, then returned to the door to wait.
He did not wait long.
The two men who came through the door next were anything but alike, and yet they seemed inseparable. One was tall, aristocratic, and well kept with a fine suit and graceful mannerisms, while the other was a stodgy lump wearing a comfortable wrinkled jacket and carrying a tattered briefcase. It was a little puzzling at first to realize the two of them were quite nearly the same height, only carrying themselves differently like an English Whippet and an English Bulldog. Jon did not recognize them at first glance, but from the way the remaining police officer in the room stiffened into a rigid salute and stood there trembling, they could only be two people.
Jon struggled to get out of bed, only to have the somewhat taller of the two men step forward and hold out his hand, palm down.
“Please remain seated, Doctor Walthers.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Technically, he was King George VI, or Albert something Windsor, but after spending so much time with Celestia lately, Jon was a little afraid of calling him something like Al, and his rotund shadow Winnie. Just in case, he pulled the hospital blanket up a little higher and put on his best ‘visiting royalty of the non-insectile variety’ face.
“Beg pardon for not coming to see you earlier,” said King George. “We had a busy last few weeks, what with the French Armistice and such.”
“I’ve heard there’s a war on,” said Jon despite himself.
“A much larger war, now that Equestria has involved itself without informing us, and without a word over the last two weeks.” The king reached inside his suit pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, which he shared with his prime minister and his American guest. Most likely there was some sort of hospital rule against smoking in a patient’s room, but king, so phooey on that particular rule for now.
“You Yanks and your horses certainly have knocked the Germans in the teeth,” said Churchill, who from the expression on his face would much rather have been smoking a cigar, or better, holding a machine gun jammed into the guts of certain politicians. “I had members of Parliament climbing up my arse since I made that damnable speech, half of them wanting to roll on their backs and show their fat bellies to the Germans, the other half demanding that we launch some sort of half-assed attack straight into their army and get a bunch of fine young men ground into sausage for their own bloated pride. Then no more than four nights later, I get woke up in the middle of the night by security and hustled over to a wireless to listen to the best night of my life. Bloody reports from all over the continent that night, and here you show up in the middle of Edinburgh on a dragon of all things, just waltzing into the hospital all shot full of holes.” He leaned forward in his chair, which creaked alarmingly. “How’d you manage to pull it off?”
“I believe,” started Jon slowly, “that I should report to Princess Celestia first, and have her tell you what she thinks you should know. That being said,” he added with increasing speed, because these were two humans he really did not want to cross. “Why don’t you tell me what the public has heard, and I’ll confirm anything that you’re going to find out is true eventually anyway. After all, I know she has worked with your government before, since she approved Nightshade to work with your espionage service. MI6, I believe,” added Jon in what was more or less an educated guess, since Nightshade had never actually said exactly where she was assigned.
“Nightshade?” asked His Majesty.
“One of those devil horses,” said Churchill. “We’ll discuss it later.”
“She fought for you,” said Jon levelly. “She killed for you, and she very nearly died when we went to rescue the ponies held in Trondheim. I think she deserves better than to be called a devil.”
Winston Churchill did not respond at once, but opened his briefcase and dug among the papers inside, eventually extracting one bundle and handing it over to Jon. It turned out to be transcripts of an intercepted communication from a frantic radio operator somewhere in Germany, who had been having a very bad night indeed.
“Burning demons from Hell,” murmured Jon as he flipped the pages. “Bullets don’t stop it. Batwinged devil. Black death on the wind. Five minutes of incoherent screaming. Fire and blood, so much blood. Ah,” he added, poking a finger at the page. “Golden wingless dragon. That probably means the estate at Cecilienhof. It must not have gone quite so easily as Ping thought. I hope none of the ponies were hurt.”
“What kind of devilish weapon does your horse-queen have?” huffed Churchill.
“No devils that I know of,” mused Jon. “Although according to some of the legends, Kirin can turn into a burning creature called a Nirik, and all of the batponies are technically winged Kirin, so the Germans may have pissed off one of the rescue force in a way they really should not have. Maybe they threatened a hostage.”
“And the military strikes against Peenemünde and Münster,” said the king. “Those were not among the sites that intelligence had pegged as pony detention facilities. Some of the fires still haven’t been put out. Is there a particular reason they both blew sky-high that night also?”
“That’s… different,” said Jon. “I suppose it will be public knowledge, and if anybody deserves to know about it, you two should. Germany threatened Equestria.”
“My ancestors could have told the chancellor that was a particularly unwise thing to do,” said King George flatly.
“Indeed.” Churchill nodded. “When I became a minister, I was specifically briefed on Her Highness, and I have met the lady on several occasions. She is not one to be trifled with.”
“They,” said Jon. “She has a sister.” For one brief moment, Jon considered finding whatever the hospital had done with the five misshapen lumps of lead he had left in his ruined tweed jacket’s pocket and showing them to his guests, but decided against it.
“We know she has a sister,” admitted the king. “Now. France’s Admiral Darlan refused to accept the possibility. Admiral Gensoul did. Somehow after a week and a half of absolute silence from Equestria, yesterday she spirited five destroyers and a seaplane tender of the French fleet out of Mers El Kébir right under our fleet’s nose. Equestria now has a navy. God save us all.”
Jon took one last puff on his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray on his bedside table before getting out his notebook and fountain pen. “Your Majesty, I would love to hear that story. As a historian.”
“And I would like to hear about your trip into Norway,” countered King George as he lit a second cigarette off the burning embers of the last one. “Particularly since we are going to have to deal with the repercussions.”
“I’d imagine the Germans are frantic.” Jon flipped back a few pages in his notebook to his draft report for whoever his commanding officer was at the moment. “Your government too. Ten strikes right into the heart of Germany and Italy. If Celestia can do this to them, she could do this to anybody. Including Britain.” He eyed the king and prime minister, trying to figure out just when he had gone from giving briefings to petty bureaucrats in Washington D.C. to giving foreign policy advice to the Great Powers.
“How does this sound? I’ll tell you how I wound up getting sucked into this, you tell me generally what you’ve heard over the last two weeks, and we’ll all try to figure out just what an immortal goddess-horse is up to. I have to warn you, though. It will only make sense if we had brandy.”
* * ✹ * *
It helped Jon to walk through the steps of the last few weeks, starting his story when he received The Letter, and stopping when the dragons all rose up into the sky, each carrying humans and Equestrians ready to save the hostages held half a world away.
“I wish I could have been there to see it,” said King George after a long pause. “Dragons. I’ve read all the reports, but there hasn’t been a dragon in Britain since my grandfather’s age.”
“Blasted good thing, if you ask me,” growed Churchill, who had been taking his own copious notes while Jon was talking. Their bodyguard had opened the hospital windows since storytelling and cigarette smoking went well together, and the prime minister was apparently engaged in a mental argument about lighting up a cigar.
“It was… terrifying,” admitted Jon. “Humbling. It made me feel as if I were an ant, clinging to a giant. And yet, I would not be here had not one of the dragons sacrificed his own life to save us. Don’t think that they are like us, or even generally like us, but they are creatures with their own codes of conduct and honor. Now,” he added, checking his fountain pen and flipping to a blank page on his notebook. “What has happened since I’ve been here?”
“Long or the short?” said Churchill. “Because if it’s the long, we could be here for days, and we don’t have that much time away from London. There’s still evacuations in process from France, and the Germans could invade us at any time if they were blasted idiots. In short, notwithstanding the damage the Equestrians did in their raids, the Jerrys have good and stomped the frogs, and it’ll take them a time to swallow them up. They’re setting up a puppet government in Vichy to rule in their stead, and God only knows where they’ll go from there. We had to send the fleet to Mers El Kébir in Algeria to sink the French fleet in port there, because if the Germans got their hands on those ships and brought them north, they could have sailed right across the English Channel.”
“Princess Celestia mentioned something about that,” mused Jon. “Something about Admiral Darlan talking to the Germans.”
“It would not surprise me, since there were reports of German troops all around his house,” growled Churchill. “All it would have taken was one telegram to their local admirals and the Germans would have doubled their navy. We had to disable or capture every French ship we could before that order went out, so two nights ago, we boarded every French ship in allied or neutral ports and put them under our control.”
“Except Mers El Kébir,” said Jon.
“True.” Churchill brought out the cigar he had been fidgeting with, nipped the end off with a cutter, and spent a few minutes bringing it into proper order. After blowing out a brief puff of smoke, he dug into his briefcase and produced several sheets of paper that had what appeared to be decrypted messages on them.
“At noon on the third, negotiations had broken down to the point where we ordered the Ark Royal to air-drop a series of mines across the harbor mouth. Seems the French were not impressed with the negotiator we sent, since they thought that only an admiral should hobnob with their admiral. Well, they didn’t have one who spoke English, and we didn’t have one who spoke French, so that was spot out until your Celestia and her sister just dropped out of the sky and landed on Admiral Somerville’s deck just like they owned the place.”
“Celestia does have a way of showing up when you least expect it,” admitted Jon, thinking about how he had been rousted out of his bedroom and sent to Ponyville. “When necessary,” he added.
“Anyway,” huffed Churchill, “after a brief discussion, the two of them fly over to Admiral Gensoul’s ship, and three hours later, here comes a seaplane tender and five destroyers, like a mother duck and her ducklings, waddling out of the harbor while flying Equestrian colors. The rest of the French fleet are settling at their moorings with sailors streaming off them like rats, Admiral Somerville is radioing up a storm back to England, and Celestia’s sister goes steaming past the HMS Hood like she’s out on a summer tour, waving at the sailors as she passes. Then she sends a message to him.”
Churchill wordlessly passed over a telegraph sheet with a single line of text.
NOTHING IN ADMIRAL GENSOUL’S ORDERS COVERED PIRACY STOP YARRR STOP
Struck speechless, Jon could do nothing but look at the paper while Churchill continued. “About six, lookouts from the fleet spot Celestia taking off, flying around the anchored French ships, then returning to the Hood. She informs him that the crews have been evacuated, the dockworkers close to the harbor ordered to move away, and that if he wished to carry out his orders, he could fire when ready. And he did. Put a couple of fifteen-inch shells into every ship in the harbor until their magazines went up without the shore batteries returning a single shell. The Germans won’t be raising them any time soon, and the only casualties were an aircrew involved in mining the harbor who got shot down.”
“I can’t argue with her methods,” said King George, who was morosely peeling the paper off his last cigarette butt. “I just wish I knew why she was in Algeria.”
“Shopping.” Princess Celestia pranced in through the hospital room door, looking more happy and healthy than Jon had ever seen her. She fairly glowed with joy, giving the poor police officer who had risen off his chair in a futile effort to block her a quick hug and a similar beaming smile.
“Officer Bock! Your police commissioner says such nice things about you. I’m so glad to see he trusted you with this assignment. Make sure to remind me before I go, because I brought a little present for your newborn. Oh, and Detective Thompson!”
She glided across the room and gave the older large-nosed officer a full, two-armed hug with wings. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again! How’s Mary? I know she doesn’t like it when you’re apart so often. We’ll have to have tea again sometime when our paths cross again. And Winston!”
It only took two steps for Celestia to reach Winston Churchill, who she gave an even more engulfing hug. “Oh, Winston,” she added with him still wrapped up in her forelegs. “You’re going through such a difficult time. I promise I’ll help you as much as I can, even though it doesn’t seem like nearly enough.”
“Ma’am,” said Churchill, somewhat muffled by all the feathers, “you have always done me right, no matter the circumstances, and I welcome your assistance on behalf of all Britons.”
“Thank you, Winston.” Celestia disengaged her hug, then turned sparkling eyes on King George. “Oh, Bertie,” she added with a slow shaking of her head. “It’s been far too long. Last time I saw you was—”
“I pulled your tail, I believe,” said the king, who was smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. “Mother was furious, although later she did ask me how I was able to grab it. Princess, I—”
“Just a moment, Bertie,” admonished Celestia. “Luna, come in, please.”
Jon had become accustomed to Luna rather swiftly. He attributed the flexibility to to his experiences during his week in Equestria, peaking when the older sister had scooped him out of his bed dressed only in his boxer shorts.
Well, no. Having to shoot Luna several times had really accelerated the accommodation process beyond all reason.
In any event, his personal experiences with Equestrian alicorns made any other interactions with lesser insanity less dramatic. In hindsight, he really should have expected the gobstopped reaction of King George and Winston Churchill when Luna quietly eased her way through the doorway and stopped, as if she were hesitant to approach the tobacco-reeking meeting. Both of the humans stared wide-eyed in abject silence at the dark alicorn, who looked faded and wan in the sunlight that poured in through the curtains, which made Jon carefully pick up the conversational ball and give it a gentle lob in the right direction.
“Your Highness, Princess Luna,” he began, “may I introduce His Majesty, King George the Sixth of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth, and his Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. Your Majesty, Minister. May I present Princess Luna, the younger and ever so slightly more beautiful sister of Her Highness, Princess Celestia of Equestria.”
Luna blushed crimson. Celestia gave him a light thwap from one wingtip, but still smiled.
“So what brings the two of you to my hospital bed?” asked Jon for lack of any better thing to say.
“Well, we had to stop in and check up on Nightshade,” started Celestia in a completely matter-of-fact voice as if divine goddess rulers of nations made it a rule to visit foreign hospitals where lowly soldiers were being treated. Then again, she was here, so it was not totally beyond the pale. “We were going to travel to Court of St. James’s and meet with Bertie next, but to our joy, we found him here also.”
“Ah,” said Jon, nodding his head at the king. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Your Majesty. I only wish we had more time, but I don’t want to get in the way of your meeting.”
“Not so fast, Doctor Walthers,” countered Celestia. Several nearby cabinets opened up in her soft violet magic, and two pillows were placed on the floor next to his bed. “If you have not told Bertie about your trip into Norway, Luna and I would like to hear about it too. Reading about such things in stuffy reports always takes the excitement out of the experience.” She plunked her rump right down on the pillow and put on an air of divine anticipation of the upcoming story, which her sister duplicated almost identically to her side.
“Eh…” Jon exchanged a look with his two human guests in the hopes that one of them would throw him a conversational life ring, but both of them seemed more than happy to sit and watch somebody else get Celestia’d for a change. In all odds, they both had been through the experience before. “So before I start, what were you doing in Algeria, Princess Celestia?”
“Just coming back home after we did some shopping.” Celestia waved a dismissive hoof. “The speed which the German and Italian forces advanced left many airfields overrun before all of their aircraft could be flown out. It seemed such a waste to leave them. It only took six pegasi to harness themselves up and fly out an airplane in the middle of the night, with one pilot in the seat to work the controls. The freighters we landed them on will take a circuitous southern route back to Equestria, as not to run into any submarines, so it may take a few weeks or more to get them back to San Franciscolt and refurbished for pony use.”
“I see,” said Jon, more than a little stunned. He nodded, picturing waves of pegasi guards making midnight raids on airfields in southern France and floating their ill gotten booty down to dark freighters laying in wait. It certainly was a more productive use of their time after the hostage rescuing than just flying home, and another indication that Celestia played her games for keeps.
“They’ll make good replacements for the Airacobras we had on order from the US,” continued Celestia. “It seems though some terrible accident of shipping, they got loaded on a series of freighters headed for Cardiff instead. They should be showing up within the next week or so, Bertie. I hope you can find a use for them.”
“I… believe we can,” said the king.
The Celestial Empress gives and her Pirate Sister takes… Oh.
“So the French ships you stole—”
“Captured,” corrected Celestia. “Spoils of a mysterious pirate princess who spirited them away with their crew for a life on the high seas.”
“Yarr,” said Luna quietly.
“There was no way we could possibly handle the cruiser and the battleships at Mers El Kébir,” continued Celestia. “They draw too much water under the hull for Equestrian docking facilities, and have far too many crew for us to manage. So we opened the scuttling valves on them and told the crew that the ammunition would all explode in a few hours. Admiral Gensoul barely had to give the order before the crews were evacuating.”
“And you took one last pass over the sinking vessels to make sure nobody had been left behind before going back to the British fleet and watching them open fire on the abandoned hulls,” added Jon. “Very tidy.”
Celestia’s smile thinned. “The British were going to open fire regardless. The French refused to believe it. The slaughter would have been unforgivable. And yet, I understand why you gave your orders,” she added, turning to Winston Churchill, who had become very quiet, without even the scratching of his pencil in his own notebook. “Sometimes when we are not even at war, we find ourselves doing terrible things to prevent far worse. We can only pray that we are right.”
“A righteous notion indeed, Your Highness.” Churchill checked his watch and scowled at the time, as if he were able to change it with the proper discouraging expression. Celestia picked up on his motion without a pause.
“Our time here is limited, I’m afraid. Luna and I will be traveling with Bertie to London in about an hour, if the train being held at the station is yours, of course.” At the king’s positive nod, she flowed into the rest of her sentences with the grace and unexpectedness that Jon had come to expect. “We’ll have to find Cadence and Shining Armor a room in Windsor Castle, and their personal staff, of course. I expect young Elizabeth will have no end of questions for them, since she’s going through that awkward teenage phase right now. Did you know Shining Armor has enough power to put a shield spell over an entire city, Bertie? If the Germans try to bomb anything around him, they’re going to get quite a surprise. So Jon, if you will please give us a summary of your experiences in Norway, we can be off with the rest of our evening. Start where you and Ruby passed through the portal, be brief, but detailed, and I expect your and Nightshade’s full written report by the end of next week, or I shall be greatly disappointed.”
To Jon’s secret horror, Celestia’s magic lit up, one of Churchill’s cigars floated out of his suit pocket and over to her, where she delicately nipped the end off with her teeth, spat it into the nearby trash can, and proceeded to take a puff.
Alicorns have their own built-in magical cigar lighter. Who knew?
“Sister!” chided Luna with a deep scowl.
“Oh! Sorry, Luna.” A second cigar quickly followed the same path out of a smirking Winston Churchill’s pocket, and in mere moments, both alicorns were quietly puffing away while watching Jon with mischievous eyes. “Only one or two a decade,” explained Celestia. “Don’t tell anypony, but I’ve never been able to resist the occasional La Aroma deCuba. Now, proceed with your recollection of events, Mister Walthers.”
He did.
(Although he left out the part about Queen Chrysalis until he could catch Celestia alone for a moment. There were limits, after all.)
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Manners maketh man
If I recall correctly tomorrow will be the final chapter. This sure has been a wild ride.
I wonder if Celestia will come up with a solution for the U-Boot menace that so plagued transatlantic convoys early during the war.
And for how long Luna has been gone, she has sure learned quickly what a pirate is. Yarr.
Ponys are OP. When's Pearl Harbour again?
Hang on...
You sly son of a...
Ah, irony.
You write an amazing Winston Churchill.
Heh. The Pipsqueak Principle in action; alicorn manes are tangible to those who don't realize they shouldn't be.
And the war continues. A few evacuations, detonations, and abductions won't change that. But things are definitely looking up for the Allies... though even Celestia's apparent ability to be everywhere and know everyone likely doesn't extend to Hawaii.
So, how much will it cost to commission a sequel to continue this universe?
Very interesting chapter I tend to wonder what John's superiors will have to say about this. He wasn't the only American to get involved before the US officially entered the war..
I too wouldn't mind seeing this story line continue.. Though Georg has a lot of cool story lines
9304202
December 7th 1941.
This was an interesting chapter. Now I so want to see how Celestia and her allies will deal with that certain megalomaniac villain? She definitely needs to be delt with.
9304260 He was not the only US citizen to get into trouble for it either. Wiborg v. United States makes an interesting read about some US citizens who made a pseudo-military invasion of Cuba in 1896, so keeping people out of wars is harder than it seems. The obvious parallel here is the Flying Tigers in China, or the First American Volunteer Group, which is more in the 1941 time frame.
9304218 Yeah, I had this planned out for a while. It was over a year in the making, after all. Now if only she'd get out of our house and quit eating all of our peanut butter.
9304202 Dec. 7, 1941, which is a year and four months from the end of this story. It's *amazing* how much can happen in a year. Most US citizens think WWII only started then. Heck, Hitler did not invade the USSR until June of 1941, so they had been fighting him for six months before Pearl.
9304196 I'm actually going to release it today, because I'm a little fuzzy on how to 'Close' a story from my phone. My release schedule has been: Turn off alarm clock, stumble into bathroom, take pills, push publish, make quick note in comments, finish day until at work and disasters get dealt with, then peek at story.
9304230 Well, it hasn't been too popular in terms of numbers, but I can think of a figure.
Discord?
So many possibilities what may now happen.
Would germany risk an invasion of the Sovjetu Union with Equestria being able to launch this surprise attacks ?
Would it force them instead into an unholy alliance?
9304286
heh id like to see you or someone else continue this universe....im curious how sunbutt would deal with al qada and isis…..and her reaction to a certain cartoon geared toward girls in the 80s involving certain magical quadrupeds
9304410
It seems likely the Sisters might find some way to magically cloak their nation from intrusive prying eyes. Which would lead to the misconceptions that led to some of those unfortunate 80's show you mentioned.
P O L I O
Well if you wanted to see dragons you probably should have chosen another name when you assumed the throne Albert.
Chrysalis is claiming to be the winged serpentine servant of the Devil in the Garden of Eden, eh?
Discord is going to be furious she has to gall to usurp his claim to infamy!
9304949 Yeah, you notice he didn't say he wanted the dragons to *visit* Britain. They're not really good visitors.
9304624 Roosevelt's polio was concealed as much as possible from the public, with certain exceptions. They did write about it on occasion, but even his political enemies did not hammer it.
9304529 Telegraph from exploratory vessel to port: HAVE DISCOVERED HIDDEN ISLAND FILLED WITH BEAUTIFUL FEMALES STOP CALLING IT THEMYSCIRA STOP ONLY ONE SMALL PROBLEM STOP
9304410 9304318 Equestria is by nature *small* when compared to the rest of the world of humans. In this world, it has no natural oil or coal products, so it imports all of its petrol, and the inhabitants are peaceful, so very few would be willing to travel far away from home to carry out violence. It can influence, but not direct.
Alternate chapter title: The Nags of Navarone.
But where's the brandy?
Meeting Chrysalis, the King, and Churchill, very intimidating.
I like the connection this is suggesting.
Nice.
Fantastic.
When alicorns go shopping, they do it at scale.
Now that's a neat idea.
Thompson.
I may be mistaken, but if a certain Belgian reporter shows up in any future pieces, I shall not be surprised.
Hnnnnng!!!
9608270
IKR!!!!!!
P.S. I would love (× a lot) to learn more about the mysterious cloaked islands (or tourist).
I like him already
Ha!
Heh. Yea. don't make deals with them.
But of course
Yea, see, but now, she no longer has to pretend
Ah. I guess "devil horse" was meant as a compliment
Well. Dragons, evidently
Indeed, indeed.
He's upgrading to becoming drinking buddies with the King and Churchill
Aaaahahahahaaa! Go Luna!
Well, this is turning into quite the tea party!
Oh, he's going all out here. How proper
Welp, looks like he got permission to tell them everything.
"get Celestia’d", ha.