A War

by Comma Typer

Hours to Go

Spitfire noticed something.

Two pegasi flying in the air, pulling a boxed carriage. Then, two more pegasi with their own boxed carriage. Then, yet another one with yet another boxed carriage—all of them having wheels.

"Those must be the fighting uniforms I sent to the washer!" a male voice cried out.

Spitfire looked behind her.

"What?" Soarin asked, his uniform concealing much of his white blue coat.

A breeze went by, sweeping Spitfire's and Soarin's manes.

Then, it stopped.

Soarin sighed, observing the carriages. "Wanna call them out again? Bring them inside to take a look and learn already?"

Spitfire looked at a clock standing beside a cloud path. It was five minutes past ten. "We have to. There's not much time."

"I'll guide the movers," Soarin said as he spread his wings and went out in an instant.

Spitfire smiled as she cleared her throat, covering her mouth with a wing.

---

The barracks was a one-room building. However, that one room consisted of so many furnishings all at once: a black and blue carpet from the entrance all the way to the end, culminating in a golden statue of some old-time Wonderbolt in flight and wearing goggles; a trophy case where a variety of trophies—all gold or silver, never a bronze—were all encased behind glass, to look on but to not touch; two rows of beds, one on each side of the carpet, of the same specifications (blue mattress and blanket, yellow frame, a cloud pillow, a night light, and a miniscule Wonderbolt shield) and with the same locked wooden case at the foot of each; portraits of various important figures of Wonderbolt history, whether painted or photographed, all on the stone walls between the tall windows that let in so much sunlight; banners sporting Wonderbolt colors and symbols hanging from the roof, and there were lots of them.

However, most of the Wonderbolts there, fully-fledged or reservist, were not admiring any one of those beautiful features of the barracks. Instead, they were standing or flying around a big table with lots of boxes and parcels all tied up in string ribbons.

Crafty Crate, the only non-Wonderbolt present—for he was not wearing anything that had the colors blue or yellow but
only a black cap—took a receipt and hoofed it to Soarin who was right beside him. Then, he grabbed a ballpen from his ear and hoofed that to him as well.

All eyes were on the two.

"I don't think I should be doing this," Crafty Crate said in his gruff voice, "but I still have to make sure the purchase happened."

"You're the one who owns the business, right?" Soarin said before signing the receipt with the ballpen by holding it with his mouth.

"I have to keep a good record of things."

Then, Crafty Crate grabbed both the receipt and the ballpen, and flew out of the barracks.

A lone Wonderbolt reservist flew to close the door. Then, he went back to the table.

Spitfire groaned, her face showing impatience. "Let's make this short."

She grabbed a box and ripped it open with her hooves.

Then, all, except for Spitfire and Soarin, voiced their awe as they beheld what Spitfire held.

"OK, if you want to take a better look—"

She took to the air and held the uniform there, for all to see.

It was bulkier, heavier even. Metal plates of armor were on the torso and on the legs. Artificial plastic joints connected each separate part of the suit together, what with all the armor weighing down on it. Then, beside the suit was the helmet—hard, solid, and dense. Even with the visor up, one would only see a pony's eyes and what surrounded them—nothing more of their face.

They were all blue but not as blue as the uniforms the Wonderbolts were all now wearing.

"It's a definite upgrade from the previous fighting suits," Spitfire said as she floated down to the floor, all still looking at her with bated breath. "We've been sending out some representatives to various institutes around Equestria to build this specifically for us. The problem was, of course, nopony thought that there would be a serious conflict that would require us anyway; so, it took some time. Good thing that we were able to get this one out at the last minute."

A reservist raised a hoof; he had hair that looked like fluffy clouds. "But, how are we going to wear that?!"

"You're going to wear it just like your usual," Spitfire said. "The armor was made to be lightweight yet durable."

"So, I'm not going to get hurt?"

"You're gonna get hurt!" Spitfire snapped. Then, calming down: "Not that much, though."

The reservist let out a sigh. "Wow! I...I thought I was going to be slow on my way to...uh, what are we supposed to do with these again?"

"Have you been listening, Fluffy Clouds?"

"I've been listening!" though he took a step back, stepping away from the rest of his Wonderbolt friends and fellow trainees.

Spitfire shook her head. Looking at the rest of the audience, she said, "Anything else you would want to say? Questions? Some pointing out? Anything?"

Another hoof was raised. "Do we have enough of those to go around?"

"We have enough and back-ups, Pizelle," Spitfire said.

She slammed a hoof on the table.

Everyone was looking at her with awake faces.

"Anything else?" Spitfire said.

One more hoof went to the air.

"Yes?"

"How long will we be out?" the mare asked.

Spitfire took a deep breath. "Sunshower, nopony really knows how long we'll be out. If you were in the guard, you might face rotations and some well-deserved time-off. But, you are training to be part of an elite aerial squad; we don't have that many ponies although we're all talented in what we do."

"Any...estimate? Like, when we'll be relieved or something like that?"

Spitfire raised an eyebrow.

All eyes were on her once again.

"Don't ask me," Spitfire replied.

Sunshower's face dampened at that, any semblance of a smile disappearing.

The rest followed suit, the full-on members more so than the trainees.

Spitfire went silent, too.

Some seconds passed by.

Then, she spoke: "We're moving the training to now."

And everyone else headed out the door.

---

Spitfire and Soarin stood on the grass plateau.

Pegasi in their new armored suits were flying about on a certain path through the clouds. More pegasi were dashing from one cloud to the next, making sure that they turned just right to get to the next cloud in time. Still more pegasi were in line for a strange training contraption: a wooden circle with a green and purple swirl and two gears, the bigger one having a metal handlebar.

Spitfire and Soarin walked over to the Dizzitron—that contraption.

The pegasus in front went over to the handlebar, held on to it, and wore her goggles.

The mustached officer pulled a lever connected by wire to the Dizzitron.

It spun.

Faster and faster it spun.

Then, the pegasus became a blur—a mist in their eyes.

"Release!" Spitfire shouted.

Then, the pegasus was off, hurtling and spinning in the air.

Everyone there looked at her.

Spinning and spinning she went. Then, shaking her head.

Stabilizing.

On her way to the runway—though still disoriented, still tilting or leaning to one side.

Then, landing—a rough landing, though, but she hopped to a halt and smiled.

Soarin held a watch in his hooves. "Ten seconds," he muttered.

Spitfire kept a stern, unfeeling face. "Above average?" She faced the happy pegasus on the pavement. "Don't count on it, kid. That might just be beginner's luck."

The pegasus's smile was wiped away at that as she flew back to the line in a dejected manner.

"Next!" Spitfire yelled.

And another pegasus went to the Dizzitron and strapped himself up.

---

It was sunset. The sun was now far away, over there in the horizon. The sky was an orange pink.

On the bleachers was a mass of pegasi—none of them Wonderbolts. They were diverse: aside from the variety of colors of coat and hair they had, there was a few pegasi wearing formal suits and a few with unkempt facial hair; there were some who had showy hair all wrapped up in all kinds of decorations, there were those who kept it at a strict level and nothing more, nothing less; there were those who brought tons of food to the event and there were those who did not bring any yet kept gobbling up some of the food; there were those who looked bored—one was even constantly checking his watch—and there were those who had excited smiles.

Those like Bow Hothoof and Windy Whistles.

They wore blue and yellow shirts. They wore fake manes that resembled Rainbow Dash's colors. They wore rainbow-colored scarves. They wore Rainbow Dash hats—all in her colors, of course. On the small empty space beside Bow Hothoof was a bunch of flags all having Rainbow Dash's cutie mark. And, they were shouting "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!"

This irked some of the ponies there, so they inched away from them.

The two parents were shouting at Rainbow Dash—who was far away, almost at the other end of the plateau along with the rest of her squad buddies. In front of them were the recruits—a larger group. All of them were wearing the new armored suits.

Spitfire then flew out of the squad and to the podium placed right across the runway's width.

The only thing that separated Spitfire and her audience was that piece of pavement.

"I do not want to waste much of your time," Spitfire began. "I know that most of you are working hard to keep Equestria safe in your own ways. But, I would like to tell you something.

"This is the first time that the Wonderbolts have gone to war in generations. Centuries. Some of you think that we're incapable to fight anymore because of that—that we've grown soft.

"No, we haven't.

"In fact, we have bolstered ourselves with better techniques and tactics, with better equipment and materials through the years. Rest assured that these pegasi—your sons and daughters, your brothers and sisters, your fathers and mothers, your friends—they will not be doing something insignificant. If they will come home, they will come home as veterans. If they don't..."

Silence. She glanced down.

"...it won't be in vain."

Spitfire flew away to her place in the squad over there.

The parade started.

First were the reservists in their few files. The ones in front spread their wings, then the ones behind them, then the ones after them. Slow at the beginning—picking up the pace next. Twirls, twists, loop-de-loops—speed as fast as lightning—here one moment, there the next. All moved in such a coordinated way, the reservists flying about as if in a rapid dance of flight tricks, knowing when one would do this and when one would do that, when one would rise up in the air, to reply with a nosedive down to the ground. Then, it all ended with them flying through a rainbow fall. They soaked themselves wet with liquid color—not paint, pure liquid color. Their suits were now coated in vibrant hues, astounding the audience even further as they opened their mouths, apprehended by what was being done before them.

Not a shriek, not yet.

They all landed on the runway and shook themselves off of their rainbow.

The audience was stomping their hooves in joy.

But, it was not over.

The Wonderbolt squad itself came flying by, spreading their wings first and then engaging in stunts and maneuvers that were more creative and more dangerous than their trainees': close fly-by's with each other that it looked like they were about to crash, speeding so close to the audience while creating a wind worthy of a tornado or a hurricane (and a few hats went flying off), and creating lightning storms with minimal cloud usage—to name a few.

All the while, the incessant screaming and shrieking of Rainbow Dash's parents resounded, causing the same ponies to inch farther away from them.

It all ended the same, too—they flew through a rainbow fall, soaked themselves in rainbow, and landed on the runway, shaking the rainbow off of them.

Spitfire walked back up to the podium and cleared her throat.

"What you have just witnessed were the finest pegasi troops that Equestria has produced. Those moves are great for peacetime performances, but even they have their usage in war. Don't be afraid—your lives, your homes, and all of Equestria are in capable hooves.

"We're the Wonderbolts. This is our final night here before we go to the front."

And with that, she walked down the podium.

---

The two pegasi descended, all pushed and budged and turned by the rest of the pegasi crowding and moving around them—all in search of that family member, that relative, that friend of theirs in uniform, that pony about to go to war in some far-off place that, perhaps, none of them has ever seen.

Bow and Windy walked, then brisk walked. Flew above to see over the mass of ponies, but several pegasi had that idea as well, blocking a good view, a good vantage point. Then, they called out her name: "Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash! Where are you?!"

Then, a rainbow blur arrived.

A hug for the both of them.

There she was, all dressed up in her clothes that had cumbersome yet thin armor and bulky helmet.

Windy sniffed.

Bow said nothing.

The words that surrounded them—of names, of wishes, of congratulations, of farewells, of hopes:

"You be careful out there, Fleetfoot!"

"Soarin, come home soon, OK?"

"Don't forget to write home, High Winds!"

"Warm Front, just remember that we'll be here for you."

These words were drowned out from their ears as, under the final minutes of the sun in its setting—as the rays were, more than ever, sharper and more visible to all who would just look up to see a wonderful display of light past the clouds—they hugged.

Bow Hothoof picked up his daughter, carrying him. "And...to think that you were a tiny foal all those years ago. A pony full of energy—and you'll use all that energy to take down the bad guys!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Windy spoke up, able to stifle her tears for mere moments, "but you're...the best soldier you'll ever be! You'll have a great job at, uh, keeping all of us safe and sound under our roofs!" She added a sweep of a hoof to that.

"You're going to get lots of honor, lots of fame when we win," Bow continued, still holding his daughter up high. "But, more importantly, you're going to make us proud that we've raised up a pony like you."

Rainbow Dash smiled.

Her smile quivered.

Eyes shaky.

A tear trickled down.

And she hugged her parents again.

As they were surrounded by hugs, waves, cries all on that plateau, the sun was on the verge of finally disappearing for the night to come over.

---

Once again, it was nighttime—the second night of the Great Crystal War. The stars once more twinkled above in their places, all overshadowed by the bright full moon emanating its soft light on to the houses of Cloudsdale.

A short brick-cloud house was among them, just one of the many houses although it was still unique, still distinct from the rest of the residences: two short columns rose up from the cloud "lawn", cloud bushes and shrubs abounded there on that same "lawn", a column protruded from the side of the house. Its design, however, was similar to the buildings around it—uneven floor levels, and floors and roofs made of clouds.

The yellow lights of this house were on, so radiant that they went as far as the street.

Inside, there was a red plastic table with matching chairs—those chairs being cushioned with clouds. On the table was some food: lettuce, cabbages, potatoes, and a few muffins. The smell of apple pie was there but it was hidden underneath a cardboard box sitting on a wooden cabinet close to the sink.

Bow and Windy were sitting on the chairs, sitting across another couple: a mustached sea green stallion of curled white mane and a bright yellow mare of curled raspberry mane—she was wearing thick-rimmed glasses. These two were known to some as Mr. and Mrs. Shy.

"I...I don't know what to tell you," the glasses-donning mare said, reaching out to hold Windy's hoof.

The food was getting cold, though the aroma lingered.

Bow grabbed for himself a few cabbages and potatoes and one lonely muffin for his plate.

Mr. Shy saw it and looked on at the solemn parent with his lousy state of food. Then, he looked down on his own plate of cabbages and potatoes—two muffins, though.

Windy sniffed, revealing her red eyes behind a covering hoof.

Mrs. Shy brought out a box of tissues and laid it on the table.

Windy took some and blew her nose on the tissues.

Bow ate silently, munching and munching and munching—only after a minute had passed did he finally swallow.

Mr. Shy observed all of this happening and did nothing but look on at the three ponies there. Then, he sighed.

"B-But...she's our one and only Rainbow!" Windy said, her voice smothered in whimpers. "She has no siblings! We have no other children! Even if she doesn't perish—what if she gets disabled in battle? Like, losing her sight? Or, losing a wing? Or, losing both her wings? The humiliation..." and she held up a hoof to her face.

Bow reached out to her, giving her a comforting pull as his head touched hers. "She won't be injured that easily. She's a Wonderbolt, remember?"

Windy sniffed, taking another tissue and wiping her face with it.

"I didn't ask for our only foal to leave us with an uncertain future!" Windy spoke, almost screaming. "We thought of the Wonderbolts as the perfect group for Rainbow to join so that she can show Equestria—the world!—how awesome she is! Then, when they—and then he—and then she—and then everyone else—"

Hyperventilating.

Bow got out of his seat and pulled her closer to him.

Mrs. Shy stood up. "Do you need some medicine? I have an encyclopedia about it—I'm sorry but I don't know how..."

"N-No!" Windy said as she slumped on her chair. "I'm...I'm alright. I've done this before—always fine."

The Shys looked at her—cautious in their eyes.

Then, some shambling and thumps from the backyard.

All their ears perked up at that and all, except Windy, turned their heads toward the opposite side of the house.

Mr. Shy flapped his wings. "I'll see what Zephyr's doing now."

---

Mr. Shy opened the door leading out to the backyard.

Under the night, it was a quiet place to be in. The "lawn" was still made of clouds although, upon closer inspection, there were faint reflections of the moonlight on them—silver linings, maybe. Flat rocks formed a path to a tiny building.

This building had brick walls, stone floor, and cloud roof/ceiling. All its windows were on one half of the circular structure, under those windows being a cute patch of flowers—dandelions, tulips, sunflowers, roses. The other half contained shelves where glass cases were sitting on while holding clouds of various kinds—simple white clouds, rough gray clouds, stormy black clouds, damp rainclouds pouring out rain while not filling up the case with water and cold snowclouds pouring out snowflakes while not filling up the case with snow.

And there was Zephyr Breeze—sea green but slightly bluer, yellow mane in a beehive fashion and yellow tail in a plain way, stubble under his mouth. His cutie mark was an orange feather and two thick and curved lines.

"Uh, Zephyr?" Mr. Shy said as he poked his head into the building. "Wh-What are you doing?"

Zephyr wiped the sweat off of his face and then pointed at the wooden counter in progress under the shelves. "Don't you see what I'm doing, dad? I'm building myself a coffee shop!"

"A what, again?"

"You know, dad, those coffee establishments where they brew coffee!" Zephyr said.

"But, I thought you were, uh, trying to get into mane therapy for the eleventh time, son," Mr. Shy said, his voice becoming softer.

"You've got to face the truth, dad," Zephyr said, picking up a screwdriver. "Whoever's running the show there—they're entrenched in old traditions and they're deep-seated there. If I can't convince them that a new sensation is arriving, a revolution that will stir up stylists to revolt against the current order, then nopony else can!"

"Uh, but why...this?"

"Anypony can make a cup of coffee and slap a price on it!" Zephyr said. "Easy, affordable, and I like coffee. This is going to be my windfall season!"

Zephyr was silent as he looked around inside the room, seeing the wooden planks and boxes of nails and screws. He looked at Zephyr—"I almost forgot to tell you, Zephyr: Rainbow Dash's parents are here. You could talk to them—if that's what you want because I wouldn't want to, uh, interrupt your work."

"Huh?" Zephyr took a step closer, peeking at the house with its lights. "Why?"

"They're quite sad over Rainbow Dash leaving for the battle at—"

"Rainbow Dash left?!" Zephyr shouted, a hoof on the wall. "She's not here?! In Cloudsdale?!"

Mr. Shy nodded sheepishly.

"How come you didn't tell me sooner, dad? I've gotten my love letters and love poems ready for the occasion!"

"It was on, uh, short notice."

Zephyr tapped his hoof. "I don't blame you. It's just Rainbow Dash—" a sigh "—she's just a mare who's looking for any excuse to hide her love for me." He turned his head up. "She would want to be anywhere else but here, wherever I am—not because she hates me, but because...well, it's a love that goes beyond mere friendship."

"That's...nice," Mr. Shy uttered as he stepped to the side. "Now, I guess you are leaving, right? Taking a break? Your mom made some cooked—"

"Actually," Zephyr said, raising a hoof, "tell her that I'm going out for the night. The sudden news of Rainbow Dash leaving—I need to talk to a few respectable colleagues of mine to sort the next few days out."

Zephyr then flew past his father and around the house.

Mr. Shy stretched a hoof out, about to say something to him.

But, he was out.

Comments

[Sir Budginton]

Hold on, zephyr is going to see a few colleagues about rainbow, I'm assuming to learn of where she went right? God if he goes to the front lines in an attempt to find her, I can officially say he is as stupid (if not more so) than I thought. If he does go to the front lines though he'll be in for one hell of a surprise. None of the equestrians really know the horrors of war yet, they may think it to be glorious or adventurous or something like the world just before WW1. And when he tries to leave like in everything else he fails out, he can't. He'll get sent back because if he leaves, that's desertion, he's only going home on leave, on a stretcher, or in a coffin. I really hate zephyr.

Also I'm trying to imagine what era pony society is in. They have giant skyscrapers, so that puts them in at least the 1920s, and in this chapter you said they have plastic furniture, which puts them in the 50s. This means they should have lots of large factories producing a lot of goods, and these can be converted into military factories, so in a few years of fighting and the full war economy has kicked in, the production will be extreme, especially if equestria is similar in production power to the US.

In the grand galloping gala episode we see fireworks, which means they have gun powder (there's also the party cannon but you can never be too sure with pinkie). Obviously weapons are far behind, but that's due to a lack of war. How would weapons develop, since they already have gun powder, and at least a moderate amount is already being produced to make fireworks and the like.

We know they have cannons thanks to pinkie, not muskets and rifles though. And how good would these weapons be? An earth pony may choose to use muskets, but probably not unicorns and definitely not pegasi. Unicorns already have ranged capabilities in the form of their magic, and maybe whilst not as powerful a musket, it will have a far superior rate of fire and possibly accuracy, though that depends on how accurate you believe unicorns to be.

But pegasi will never use muskets because good luck reloading one of those things whilst flying. They likely won't even use guns at all until either you can load a bullet/shell straight into the chamber (I think that's the right term, I'm not a gun expert) like those double barrel shotguns from the old west. Or until bolt action rifles are developed. Only then will reloading be quick and easy enough to be viable in combat.

I'm really liking this story so far, can't wait to see how it continues.

[Comma Typer]

8619422
Before I address the contents of your comment: Wow. When I was asking for detailed feedback, I wasn't expecting that much detail. All the better!

Regarding Zephyr: I won't say anything much about him because I don't want to spoil. All I'd say about Zephyr is that I actually like him as a character. And that's all.

Considering the technological era that ponies live in: It's not that simple. Someone who watches the show will get a late 19thcentury/early 20th century feel—but that's only because the main setting of the show is in Ponyville which certainly looks like a typical village during those times. As you've mentioned, the presence of skyscrapers brings Equestria up to at least the 20's (although I did not expect plastic furniture being an indicator of the 50's). However, one could go even further. Pinkie Pie mentions lasers (indicating that, if they're not invented yet, the idea exists), Vinyl Scratch has a disco jockey that can turn into a vehicle alongside appropriate music, and, if you want to stretch the boundaries, Discord used a smartphone at least once. To put it simply, Equestria's tech age is bizzare—which is to be expected from a cartoon setting that takes cues from popular Western culture, but, nonetheless, I plan to integrate that bizzareness as realistically as I could without straying from the feel of the show.

About weaponry, specifically rifles: As cool as it sounds to picture ponies using firearms, I don't think it would happen so easily. Ponies would have to get to being good with cannons first before theorizing and experimenting about smaller cannons—which would become the rifles we know today.

Thanks for your detailed post.

[Sir Budginton]

8620373

The reason I said plastic was from the 50s was that while there were plastic products well before this, like combs, it wasn't in a very large scale production for an extremely wide variety of products until the 50s and 60s I believe.

[Pun System]

"I don't blame you. It's just Rainbow Dash—" a sigh "—she's just a mare who's looking for any excuse to hide her love for me."

I may not be a Zephyr fan, but I feel you handled this well.