Forward and upward

by Solntsepek

New Commander

The sun, which mercilessly scorched everything below it with its fire kiss a couple of minutes ago, dimmed considerably in the passing time. Not having finished smoking his cigarette, Chkalov raised his head and opened his mouth in surprise at what he saw. Just a few hundred meters from the ground, pegasi pulled small clouds into one large mass over the fields. They did it so quickly and skillfully that the fluffy mass, under the bucking onslaught of the pegasus, began to change its color from snow white to a depressing gray, transforming into a massive storm cloud.

“It’s most likely going to rain buckets any moment now.” Chkalov grimaced, taking one last drag before throwing the cigarette to the dirt and stopping it.

And with an impeccable sense of comedic timing, the pilot’s intuition turned out to be correct. The pegasi finished connecting the clouds and compressing them, flying away as the strange irrigation system started working. The first large drops fell, followed closely by a heavy downpour, limiting the visible view of the road ahead.

Chkalov cursed under his breath, raising an arm over his head as he ran up to the driver lying under the car. "Well, are you done yet?" Chkalov asked, trying to shout over the noise of the rain.

"Everything will be fine soon, Comrade Brigade Commander- I'm almost finished. Wait a couple more minutes." the driver under the car answered him in an irritated tone.

The pilot had been soaked to the bone but didn't care about his damped clothing. He was not afraid of the idea of looking unpresentable in front of the Red Army and the commanders of Ponyville. But what bothered the pilot was the car stranded on the roadside itself, which could sink and get trapped in the slowly forming mud.

Standing at the edge of the road, Chkalov peered into the distance, trying to see cars or, at least, carts, but, as luck would have it, it was impossible to see something behind the white, foggy veil of rain. If a group of tanks was coming from Canterlot now, the tankers simply wouldn’t have time to notice the obstacle in the form of a black emka. And after that, the tank will easily overturn it into a ditch, having crushed the car’s body like nothing.

Suddenly the rain began to weaken rapidly. After a few minutes, only a few drops remained — the cloud had exhausted its supply. The Pegasus turned out to be very prudent, and more than the required rain for irrigation of the fields did not pour out on the heads of two people. Soon, the remnants of the clouds disappeared, and the Sun appeared with a clear sky once again. It gently warmed the soaked pilot, and the road also became visible: the carts the Emka had overtaken had climbed the hill, large umbrellas attached to the shafts.

Seeing the incident ahead, the ponies wasted no time bringing their carts to the side of the road and, removing their harness, hurried to the people.

"What's wrong, mister?" The first earth pony ran up a little out of breath. He had a blue coat with an ash-colored mane and tail; green eyes looked up at him with concern.

"Do you need help?" said the second, a white mare with a lime-green mane and tail; and sky-blue eyes.

Chkalov examined the two Earth ponies until he gave a confident smile with a thumbs up, "Don't worry, it's all right, just a little breakdown. You see, we jumped up on the pit here. The car turned around. Some parts flew off; that's the main problem here." He sighed, pointing to the car behind him with his thumb. To which they nodded understandingly.

"This hole has not been repaired for a month.” The blue stallion grumbled. “Can’t say I misunderstand your situation. Everyone here’s miffed about the lack of work in this town." He explained.

Just before Chkalov responded, the driver crawled out from under the car, "Comrade Brigade Commander. Done. We can leave right now." He said, whipping off the oil and grime from his hands with a rag.

The pilot and the pony turned to the car. "Good. Drive the car to the side of the road and put yourself in proper shape." Chkalov ordered.

"Hear you loud and clear, Comrade Brigade Commander!" the driver cheerfully replied, turning to the car.

Looking away from the retreating driver, Chkalov looked down at the blue stallion with a friendly grin. "Thank you for deciding to help." the pilot thanked.

"What are you... we didn't do anything. The blue stallion replied, confused.

"Even so. You offered help, and that's the most important thing. Therefore, thank you, comrades." Chkalov said insistently with a half-smile on his face. He did not even notice how out of the norm an unfamiliar word- in this land -escaped from him. The ponies returned with their own smiles, said goodbye, and went back to their carts.

The driver started the truck shortly after and finally put it at the curb without interfering with traffic. With a bit of thought, the pilot stayed in the fresh air to dry out while the driver brought himself to a relatively clean appearance.

***

Having overcome the rest of the way, the black emka drove into the city. Ponyville lived a measured and quiet life. The ponies watched curiously as the car drove past them. It can be seen that this is not just a replenishment and soon something will happen to people living in Ponyville.

On the outskirts of the town, the road was unpaved upon approaching the quaint area, but it changed as soon as the density of houses and buildings increased. Here it turned into a pavement paved with well-treated gray cobblestones.

The town itself was very different from the city of Canterlot Chkalov had left: the two-story houses were, while simple, expertly constructed out of wood and painted in two colors- one of which was necessarily white, the pilot saw in passing. There were also cafes with small terraces. They came across less often but always had visitors. Shops like grocery stores, household goods, and furniture, even if they did not have frills similar to Canterlot, were determined only by inconspicuous signs. But the confidence that prices for working people here were much lower was great. Otherwise, why save on appearance?

Emka drove another kilometer along the main streets and stopped in front of a three-story building. Chkalov took the suitcase next to him and opened the door, only stopping with one foot out the door as he turned to the driver.

"Be here. You may also have to go to the airfield." He cautioned, pushing the door fully outward.

"I understand you, Comrade Brigade Commander." The driver nodded.

Hearing the driver's affirmative answer, Chkalov nodded and, ducking his head, got out of the car. A white town hall with a tall and blunt spire appeared before him, dressed in elegant tiles and plastered with small flags. Not far from the eye-catching building, onlookers sat on benches and, not without interest, looked at the visiting guest. But the tension at the same time was not felt by the pilot's surroundings at all. This meant only one thing: the ponies welcomed the Soviet soldier with cordiality, without feeling any fear, hatred, or irritation in front of him. And unlike an unnamed part of the Canterlot nobility, they did not have the arrogance characteristic of other aristocrats.

Having adjusted his cap and straightened his tunic, slightly darkened and heavy from the rain, Chkalov climbed three steps of the building before him and opened the door.

The spacious room was illuminated by natural light from small windows on the right side of the building, opposite the entrance. In a line, standing just in front of one of three doors, ponies waited with a variety of patience- some more than others. Passing along the corridor further, the pilot noticed that each door had a sign. The first was the office of the mayor of Ponyville, the second turned out to be the deputy mayor, and only the third, the most recent, was the senior battalion commissar Belov.

After knocking, the pilot entered a small room that had clearly been hastily converted into an office, as indicated by the lack of proper office wares. In the far back of Belov's room, a plump, middle-aged man was sitting alone at a wide table, Belov himself. A newspaper and a glass of cold tea were on the table in front of him- one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. Several books with green, gray, and red spines lay flat on the edge of the table.

"Hello, Comrade Brigade Commander. With what did you come to our modest town?" asked Belov in a hoarse voice, smiling slightly.

His head was cursed with a glaring bald patch with sparse black hair failing to cover the spot with its strands. Through the thick glasses of the commissar, gray eyes with a sly sparkle looked at Chkalov. His face was decorated with a long, narrow scar on his right cheek.

"Hello." Chkalov responded simply with a nod, taking a document out of his inner pocket. "I have been appointed commander of the two hundred and forty-third fighter brigade."

The pilot placed the assignment document on the cluttered table and retreated a few steps to not overshadow the staff worker. Belov unfolded the sheet, closely studying it with an eagle's eyes, followed by him looking back at the standing Chkalov with an unreadable expression.

But the pilot's worries were quelled when a slight smile lit up Belov’s face, pointing to a sofa against the wall with his left hand. "You must be tired from the road, Valery Pavlovich. Sit down, rest." He offered.

"No, but thank you. I already sat in the car on the way here." Chkalov refused.

Belov shrugged off the refusal, “As you know. My business is to offer. Then..." he paused and took out a pen with a piece of paper, "Then I can offer you to live in a local hotel that stands at twenty Apple Street. Everything is already paid for, and the airfield is located outside the city, in the eastern district. And you will find a local princess in a large castle; she is the only one here, you can't go wrong. Some issues are solved only through it. I'll give you an advance of three hundred bits right now. Questions? Wishes?"

"Wishes?" the pilot asked again, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

The commissar, confused and hesitant, averted his gaze. After seconds of tense silence, he put his thoughts in order and answered the pilot’s sensitive question. "Yes, Valery Pavlovich, wishes. After all, you are a hero of the Soviet Union, a test pilot..."

“And Comrade Stalin's favorite.” Chkalov added with a hint of annoyance. He is primarily a military pilot, not… Someone to curry favor with. "No, I don't need anything, Comrade senior battalion Commissar." the pilot answered formally.

It seemed to Chkalov that the commissar breathed a sigh of relief, rejoicing at the closure of this topic. Belov nodded in agreement and opened a drawer. Shortly after rummaging through the contents, he took a small bag and put it closer to the table’s edge, where its contents tinkled softly. The pilot took the money, his appointment sheet, and a receipt for hotel accommodation.

After saying goodbye, Chkalov went out into the corridor. The ponies standing in line had already disappeared, and the room became deserted and quiet. There was no rustling of papers, sighs, or hoofbeats, just the good old silence.

“Well, now that’s been dealt with. I need to go to the airfield and inspect everything. Then I can settle down.” Chkalov mentally planned.

Surprisingly, the fresh air evaporated the entirety of the pilot’s foul mood, leaving behind a light, contemptuous feeling. Getting back into the car, the pilot noticed two Red Army soldiers with rifles on their shoulders on the other side of the street.

They were surrounded by five ponies, actively gesticulating and explaining something fervently to the locals. Unfortunately, from such a distance- and because of the street noise -it was difficult to hear what the soldiers and ponies were talking about, but the topic was obviously interesting. Having given up this stupid occupation, Chkalov slammed the door of the EMKI and waved his hand, ordering to go to the airfield. Eavesdropping on other people's conversations is not the business of a Soviet commander.

The car started and turned onto the main street called the Main One.

Chkalov and the driver didn't drive along the Main Road for long- the houses began to thin out, and the emka drove out onto a track road. The bumps embedded into the surface were clearly left by heavy trucks, most likely the same ones that were moving in a continuous stream to the future airfield and air station. The road descended into a wide ravine, and on both sides were fields dotted with wildflowers- the beauty of these places was awe-inspiring.

“If I forgot about this place being in another world, then I might think that I’ve not gone anywhere. It reminds me of the native fields blooming somewhere near Moscow. It won't take long to get used to this place.” Chkalov smiled to himself, continuing to look at the landscapes near Ponyville.

The hollow turned out to be short, and after five hundred meters, a tent city appeared on a field as flat as a table. Nearby was a dug-up runway- on which about thirty people tore and dug away at the ground with shovels. Fighters with red stars were crowded and stood in a row with about twenty brand-new Gulls and Donkeys.

The car stopped at the edge of the sudo-town as several people watched the vehicles approach before they hurried towards it with a brisk pace. Chkalov immediately opened the emka’s passenger door and stepped out, standing halfway out. A few seconds later, the pilot got confronted by a short combatant commander, a foreman with a machine gun resting over their shoulder by a worn strap, and a short construction worker.

When they saw the man with the brigade commander's buttonholes, they abruptly stood at attention and put each right hand to the cap and cap. The first to speak was a construction worker with a high, soft voice.

"I wish you good health, Comrade Brigade commander." They said, Clearly, loudly, with an arrangement, as it should be according to the charter.

"At ease." Chkalov answered the greeting and held out his hand.

The construction worker smiled and happily shook it. "Drill commander Captain Rybochkin."

"Brigade Commander Valery Pavlovich Chkalov. Appointed commander of your brigade." The pilot responded.

"Then why are we standing here? Let's go to our headquarters tent. All the squadron commanders are there right now." Rybochkin turned around and led the guests to the tents.

With a cursory glance, Chkalov examined the location of the brigade and nodded to himself with satisfaction — everyone was busy, and no one was hanging around and lying on the grass.

In the center of the "town" was a headquarters tent, several times larger than the others. Chkalov was the first to enter, followed by the captain. Five commanders were sitting at a large, rough-hewn wooden table. In front of them were all kinds of papers and maps. An unexpected guest interrupted their discussion and they looked curiously in the direction of Chkalov. Seeing him as a senior in rank, they stood up.

"Brigade Commander Chkalov."

Coming close to them, he shook hands with everyone, getting acquainted along the way.

The first was a dark-haired, lean man who looked at least fifty years old started. "Major Kuznetsov. Commander of the two hundred and forty-third Fighter Aviation Brigade of the Ponyville Military District." Kuznetsov said.

"Captain Zubtsov. The commander of the third squadron." a young male with curious blue eyes and a pale face carefully examined Chkalov's face.

"Captain Bogoslovsky. Commander of the first squadron." A tall and thin man, in his late twenties, with a luxurious mustache and curly hair.

"Lieutenant Malov. Adjutant of the brigade." The second young man of the bunch with broad shoulders wearing thin, slightly crooked glasses.

"Captain Kharchenko. The commander of the second squadron." loudly said a man of muscular build with sparse, straight dark blond hair and a broad face.

Chkalov once again examined all those present and nodded. "Good. Sit down." he said after a short pause.

Everyone sat back down. Chkalov removed his cap and left it to hang on a nail sticking out of one of the tent’s inner posts as a make-shift hanger. So, in complete silence, under the gaze of six pairs of eyes, he sat down on a stool kindly provided by one of the junior commanders and, crossing his arms in the lock, fixed his gaze on Major Kuznetsov.

"I think we’ve wasted enough time, no? From now on, I am your brigade commander. And I'll be glad if we get along."

***

"Well, Alexey Valentinovich?"

Commissar Sokolov tired, bloodshot eyes looked up from the archive document for a moment and looked at Chuikov with a flat expression. But instead of responding, he lowered his gaze again, searching for the word on which he had stopped.

"The principle is clear, Vasily Ivanovich. Their policy is similar to the late Middle Ages of our history, albeit with its own subtleties.”

Sokolov sighed heavily and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down on the tip of his nose.

"We need to know all these subtleties. If we fail, the case may go to the tribunal. But the fact that you have very well understood the principle of their future actions is great news. Unfortunately, I cannot fully delve into this matter like you, Alexey Valentinovich. There are cases which they cannot do without my decision."

"Are you leaving?" Sokolov asked with chagrin without looking up.

"Yes. And maybe for a long time."

"Vasily Ivanovich. If it won't be difficult for you, please contact... the Princesses?" the commissioner thought for a moment, but after a second he continued the thought. "The fact is, my dear Vasily Ivanovich, that the copies of files given to us by archivists are not very secret. Those documents were signed a long time- and when I mean long ago: they are at least two centuries old. But later cases, pacts, and agreements of these States are still classified secrets. I am tormented by vague doubts, Vasily Ivanovich. Over these two centuries, everything could have radically changed for the griffins.” Sokolov finished by beating a drum roll with his fingers on the table with documents.

"I understand you, Alexey Valentinovich. But I can't promise we will be allowed to enter the secret vault. Our trust is not strong yet with Equestria- especially with princesses."

Sokolov did not want to say anything after the Commander’s speech. And on a sad note, Chuikov left the center archive of Canterlot and Sokolov behind, heading straight to the dining room of the princesses — where Princess Celestia should be eating at this time.

It may be indecent, but he doesn't have time for a special reception. Another person in Chuikov's place would have gone first to the ministers and then to Her Highness, but the military attache did not have good relations with the ministers. Yes, there's nothing to hide: he was strongly disliked by most of the main officials and several families of hereditary aristocrats. There were- of course -good and noble, with whom it was a pleasure to have a conversation, but not everyone liked the Soviet general and the son of a simple peasant.

Greeting all acquaintances and strangers on his way, he finally reached the cherished door. But just as he was about to push the dual doors away, a pair of solar guards blocked his path with their sharp spears.

"Princess Celestia is not receiving visitors right now.” one of them said impassively

"Inform the princess of General Chuikov’s presence." The second one ordered his partner.

Following a quick exchange of glances, the guard standing to the right of the door knocked on his side and entered the hall. There was no conversation from the other side for a handful of minutes, and it was only possible to guess what conversation was being held on the other side of the wooden barrier. Half a minute later, the guardsman emerged from the room and nodded his head towards the man, silently allowing him to enter, which Chuikov gladly accepted.

The hall was a large dining room flooded with schemes of white and golden tones on every corner. Intricate stained-glass windows nearly covered the left wall of the room, flooding it with the warm afternoon sun. The rounded table, covered with a stainless, snow-white tablecloth, was fully covered by various kinds of expensive, beautiful food and drink. Behind the mountain of culinary delights, Celestia’s towering figure sat comfortably, a golden salad fork levitating in her warm yellow-colored magic. At the sight of Chuikov, she smiled affably.

"Good afternoon, Vasily Ivanovich. What brings you to me at such a time? Has something happened?" Celestia asked, lowering the utensil in her magical grasp.

Chuikov lowered his head as a sign of respect for the princess, but nothing more.

"Hello, Princess Celestia. I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I couldn't help but turn to you for assistance in preparing a diplomatic mission to Griffonstone." He looked into the large lilac eyes of the princess but did not find a shadow of reproach, only the interest of his request. So you can continue. "The fact is that to fully understand the situation, we need documents classified as secret. I understand that this is arrogant of me, but without your help, we will not be able to conclude agreements and a non-aggression pact with favorable conditions for each side, including yours, and you know this better than me.” Chuikov spoke out with open pressure, but immediately noticing his blunder in this, he added, bowing his head in apology, "I apologize for my assertiveness, Princess Celestia."

Celestia smiled knowingly, "Don't worry, dear Vasily Ivanovich, I don't hold a grudge against you for this." she reassured the man. "And I'll think about your request. And I hope you understand that access to secret documents is a big responsibility." She said.

"I understand, Princess Celestia," Chuikov agreed with a drooping head, straightening up again, and standing at attention. "Permission to go?"

"Go, dear Vasily Ivanovich, have a rest."

"There is no time to rest. It is necessary to work.” Chuikov answered her with a grin and turned around, walking out the door.

Celestia looked at the place where Chuikov had recently stood, sadly shook her head, and whispered, "So, don't take care of yourself?" She mumbled with a sigh.

Meanwhile, Chuikov hurried to his office full of papers with unsigned orders and unresolved cases.

***

After Chkalov's words, a heavy silence hung, broken only by muffled sounds behind the staff tent. "Let's get along, Valery Pavlovich." Major Kuznetsov, now a former commander of the fighter aviation brigade, expressed his thoughts.

"That's good." Chkalov smiled sincerely.

The major's words defused the situation, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Many people knew Chkalov as an excellent pilot but not as a person. He accepted the first meeting with dignity with the Soviet commander. And now, only time will show him in this position.

"Comrade Commander, we were invited to a small "tea party" at the Princess Twilight Sparkle. Before you, we decided not to reject the offer and go. But since you are our commander now, the word remains with you." Major Kuznetsov spoke out.

Chkalov thought on the matter, only speaking up following a brief period of silence. “Since this ‘tea party’ would likely establish a mutual relationship for us, I’ll decide not to decline Princess Twilight’s offer.” He said.

Getting unspoken approval from the staff. Chkalov then left the tent and returned to the car, where the driver waited. After opening the door, he reached in and re-obtained his suitcase, to which he pulled out of the emka and shut the car’s door. "You're free. You can go back to Canterlot." Chkalov answered the driver's questioning look.

"That's right, Comrade Brigade Commander." the driver replied nodding.

The engine started, and the black emka turned around and started its long journey back to Canterlot. Chkalov took out the paper with the check-in at the hotel and tore it into small pieces with an indifferent face, letting them fall to the moist grass. What kind of commander lives three miles away from his brigade?

The wind picked up the pieces of paper with letters, numbers, and some seals, carrying them in an unknown direction.

Author's Note:

This is how the same "Emka" (GAZ m1) looks like

Comments

[shining paladin]

nice chapter mate keep it up mate cant wait for the next chapter

[Solntsepek]

11441640
She's ready. The chapter only needs to be edited for the English type of dialogues and conducted through a translator.