Under Free Flag

by twillale

Chapter 5

CHAPTER V

Leave a way of escape to a surrounded enemy, and do not press a desperate enemy too hard. Such is the art of employing troops.

—Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The rays of Celestia’s sun have just started warming the clearing as the break for the team comes to an end. Wing sergeant Mountain Gale finishes the last scraps of his sorry field breakfast and stretches his white wings with a series of loud cracks and pops. By Luna, but this night has felt long!

Pegasi weren’t meant for ground stationing, he decides as he tries to shake the kinks out of his body.

Pegasi were meant to fly, to observe from the air: to use their natural advantages! Not that he would have had a better idea of what in Tartarus they were observing, but at least he wouldn’t have to wake up with his body aching all over. Grumbling, he starts stalking around the edge of the clearing, taking stock of his flight team.

“All right, break’s over, up an’ at ‘em! You’ve time to feel sorry for yourselves once our shift is over.”

A grumpy chorus of affirmatives floats from the team as they get up from under their assorted shrubs and trees, checking pieces of equipment and stowing away whatever scraps they have left from their respective meals. Sergeant Gale quickly inspects all four present members of his wing, turning to the final and further removed member of the group after concluding the round to his satisfaction.

“Chaser! Any movement on the target?”

Outside the edge of the woods, perched on top of a large boulder lies a lone winged mare, pressed as flat as possible against the rocky slab with a pair of matte-painted binoculars in her hooves. She clears her throat before answering, voice raspy from hours of hugging cold rock.

“Same as before, sarge. Some kind of tall creatures bumbling about the object; doing what, I can’t tell. They seem hesitant to leave the immediate vicinity of it.”

Mountain Gale nods to himself before casting an apprehensive glance towards the slowly rising orb of the sun on the horizon.

“Good work. Start getting down from there, sun’s being raised in a few minutes.”

“Got it.”

The mare starts scooting backwards, careful not to damage her equipment, but comes to a sudden stop before reaching the lip of the stone.

“Hang on... Sarge! Something’s going on.”

Chaser quickly shimmies back to her original position, aiming the binoculars over the treetops. The pegasus team, now alert to the new situation, spread out flexing wings and neck muscles. Sergeant Gale trots closer, taking care to stay within the cover offered by the trees.

“What do you see? Report.”

“I’m not sure. It looks like... some kind of hatch? A hatch just opened on the object.”

“What, like the one the creatures disembarked from?”

“No, bigger. And on top. Something’s... Whoa! Single airborne, just popped out of there!”

Mountain Gale feels his heartbeat quicken—so far the interlopers have shown no capacity of flight. Had they seen them? No, Chaser is good, she would’ve noticed. Tense, he listens as the mare on the rock continues her rapidly spoken report.

“No visible wings, flier seems to use some kind of magic. Rapidly ascending, estimated altitude two thousand wingspan and counting. I think it’s... shit! Heads up! It’s coming this way!”

Sergeant Gale turns in place as Chaser unceremoniously slides over the edge of the boulder, catching her fall with her wings and making a mad dash for the woodline with a few powerful flaps. Trusting his subordinate to manage herself, Gale begins barking orders, the assembled guardspegasi leaping to action with trained ease.

“Cover, now! Weapons out! Make sure that you can clear the canopy if you have to!”

Tasting dusty jute cord in his mouth, the sergeant draws his short scimitar out of the saddle scabbard secured to his barding. Vocal orders are unnecessary at this point. A Guard wing trains together for years before being eligible for field operations: every pony in the group knows their own role and that of their wingmates by heart. Glancing to his left to make sure Chaser has gotten safely out of the open, Mountain Gale flutters up into a gnarled tree, finding a solid branch to stand on and brushing leafy foliage to the side in an attempt to keep his view of the sky clear.

Agonizingly long seconds tick by, marked only by the occasional scrape of armour on wood or rustle of wing.

His ear twitches at an unfamiliar sound.

Far away, from the general direction of the strange object comes an insistent droning noise, like the rush of a distant river and growing steadily louder. The guardspony finally catches a glimpse of its source as the strange flier banks into view, flying fairly low. He warily follows the flying magical contraption with his gaze, its turns unhurried and wide, not unlike the careening motions of a bird of prey.

Keeping a watchful eye on the dark shape silhouetted against the brightening sky, the sergeant grabs the dull back of his blade with a hoof to free his jaws.

“It’s a scout,” he remarks at conversational volume, confident that the distance will mask his voice from the flying object but carry to his nearby subordinates.

“Think it’s looking for us, specifically?” A quiet voice comes from the tree to his right. Blitz, maybe?

“No idea. If it gets too close, we pounce it and rally at the command post. Clean retreat, no heroics. Everyone get that?”

A chorus of affirmatory grunts and ‘yes sir’s muffled by mouth-held objects stem from nearby trees.

“Good. Now shut up and stay sharp,” the sergeant growls and hefts his scimitar anew.

For a few seconds the strange flying object seems to just weave around, swinging back and forth in an aimless searching pattern, before suddenly decelerating to a hovering halt. The sergeant squints his eyes against the sky, trying to make out the way the object is facing, when it suddenly emits a series of short, angry pulses of blue-white light and jerks into rapid movement.

Mountain Gale feels his mouth go dry around the handle of the sword as he realized the flier is rapidly dropping altitude, now clearly headed towards the clearing where his wing had been camped during the night. Forcibly keeping his breathing level, he plays through the standard E&E drill in his mind.

Just like training. Fly-by, strike the target, hard loop. Then go low and sprint for the rally point. Pass, whack, loop and sprint.

All the while, a treacherous voice of doubt whispers away at the back of his mind. Although well trained, neither Mountain Gale nor his wing have seen any seriously dangerous duty. Sure, there’ve been some minor criminal incidents and some patrols in bad storms, but that has all been familiar ground, it’s normal. This is a completely unknown opponent, with unknown intentions, and using strange magic to boot.

This will be the real test.

Swallowing, sergeant Gale shifts the grip in his mouth and tenses himself for kick-off, his face screwing up in determination. The flying... thing is now getting close enough to make out in more detail, and Mountain Gale takes an involuntary breath when he let his eyes pass over the... carapace of the strange creature.

A flat, rounded square, it mostly resembles a giant insect, with four glowing legs on each corner turning and jerking to balance the beast, whatever it is.

No, not a beast, the pegasus realises with a touch of wonder, a machine of some kind.

Lensed tubes resembling large, black telescopes and smaller, sleeker camera-like devices rotate and pan on a number of multi-jointed limbs, scanning a dozen directions at once. Coloured with mottled greens and greys on top, the opposite side of the boxy shape exactly mirrors the hue of the sky. The rushing sound is now accompanied by a loud, high-pitched whine, and Mountain Gale instinctively flattens his ears against his skull in discomfort. He observes the floating shape hovering some three hundred wingspan in the air, his heart hammering in his chest.

The flying thing seems to pay particular interest to the boulder in the clearing, training several of the eye-like appendages on the rocky outcropping, as well as waving several antennae-like stalks at it, the purpose of which elude the observing pegasus pony.

Carefully not to disturb the tree he is perched in, Mountain Gale slowly shifts his gaze to the boulder, and feels his breath stick in his throat.

Celestia damn it, that fool!

There, in the tall grass at the base of the rock, glints the metal clasp of a Royal Guard issue saddlebag.

The binocular bag! It must have fallen when she rolled off the boulder! Sun and moon, Chaser, such a rookie mistake!

He continues cursing silently under his breath. Quickly weighing the options of him and his squad, Mountain Gale comes to a decision. Tensing into a low crouch, breathing fast but controlled, the Guard sergeant blinks a drop of sweat out of his left eye, bites down hard on the handle of his sword and leaps into the air with an inarticulate cry of challenge.

*

I’m still staring at the monitors in disbelief as the first of the flying horses— no, pegasi? Isn’t that what flying horses are called? ...anyway, as the first pegasus, the sword-bearing one, tackles the Sparrow. The cameras jolt as the controller takes evasive action with equipment arms retracting as fast as possible to protect the valuable optics.

Several of the other winged creatures pass the Sparrow by, flitting past at enough of a distance to be out of reach for simple melee weapons. I’m transfixed, fascinated by the creatures in their quaint little armour, cameras barely swiveling fast enough to track the impressive aerial maneuvers. The first attacker—the one with the sword—disappears into the forest in a blur before the next one has even reached the drone. As a not-too-shabby pilot myself, I have to admit: that was some damn snazzy flying.

While I’m standing there staring at the unfolding spectacle, however, the controller of the drone is not. Must be Meifen, I swear that woman is a wizard behind the stick. No dirty pun intended. With a deft horizontal flip, she foils the next two would-be optics vandals, unfortunately bringing the machine right into the path of the final winged menace bursting out of the foliage.

“Fuck!” I comment in a totally calm and collected manner as a camera feed explodes into a fair simulacrum of a carnival, four-digit sums for optical repairs flashing in front of my mind’s eye.

Well, at least I’m not alone with my anguish.

At roughly the same moment that the hideously expensive hardware gets busted all to hell, Meifen triggers the Sparrow’s automated proximity defenses.

Lucky for the winged equine, the APD is designed to keep big birds from getting too curious about the shiny flying things, so it has non-lethal loadout. Unlucky for the winged equine, the birds it was designed for have a wingspan of five meters, give or take.

I wince in sympathy—that’s regular old sympathy, not the ‘mind-magic’ kind—as the hyper-viscous slugs of cellulose pelt the poor bastard. Taking a clean hit to the base of the skull, it drops like a rock and disappears into the trees. Aw, fuck, I hope it’s alive.

Visualising a sheet of stark blue followed by the bold, white numeral ‘1’, I lightly pinch my left ear.

“Abebe, go,” a heavily accented voice answers.

“It’s Eris. You’ve got ground teams out, correct?”

“Affirmative.”

“Scramble a team on skimmers, the drone took down a hostile flier about two clicks southwest of your position. I’d like you to check it out.”

“Your word is law. Abebe, out.”

I smirk at the antics of my second platoon leader as I go through the motions for a bridge connection.

“Drone control here.”

“Meifen, it’s Eris. Can you see the rest of the fliers?”

“Negative, I could see them weave away between the trees. Those horse-birds fly like nobody’s business.”

“Roger. Try to spot the one that fell, and stay on site. Abebe is putting out a ground team.”

“Míngbái, chuánzhǎng. Anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good. And don’t call me captain. Eris, out.”

Back to the feeds, lessee. I think I’ll need a few... how the hell was that done again?

“Ace, could you pull up head cams for the skimmer team?”

“Done... and done.”

“Thanks.”

I watch the forest roll on by as the small, open-topped hovercraft steadily approach the radio beacon of the Sparrow. The projections of the drone’s optics now showcase the immobile body of the fallen pegasus, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I see the telltale signs of both lungs working and a pulse on the psychedelic colour-sprayed image of the motion highlight display. The more I look at the creature, the more intrigued I become. It’s really magnificent, a perfect hybrid of bird and... well, it’s not really large enough to be called a horse. A pony, perhaps? I wonder how those wings are constructed...

Okay, I need to get down there and see this myself, hostile environment or no.

“I’m going there.”

“I don’t think that’s the best possible idea...” Ace begins, then sighs deeply and rubs the bridge of his nose with a resigned expression.

“—but you don’t care a figs toss about what I think, do you?”

“Captain’s privilege!” I trill at him, happily skipping out the door of the observation deck.

*

These new quick-lock environmental suits are really handy. The click-clack of a few magnetic latches later, I’m running start-up checks through the interface of a skimmer, feeling the powerful omnidirectional turbine hum inside its stiff carbon-weave chassis. I let the skimmer buck and swerve a few times, revving the engine as I hover into one of the the claustrophobic single-vehicle airlocks, the hiss of the pressure seals almost inaudible as the room adjusts to the near-identical atmospheric conditions on the outside of the ship. Orange attention lights flash as the outer doors open, revealing the narrow ramp pressed into the trampled earth below.

Adjusting my hands inside the clumsy suit—one size fits all, my ass—I pull the handles to my shoulders and kick the accelerators back. The skimmer responds with a satisfying roar, rearing as the thruster catapults the whole vehicle into a high arc, blasting rotting leaves and charred swamp grass to the sides with a splash of displaced air as it comes down to a hover above the forest floor. Grinning, I let the machine dance in a skittish circle as I take stock of the scene.

Crash pad and technical crew, check. Engineers stalking about the hull, freaky, living bundles of cables and universal joints caressing twisted metal. The picket line of black armour, moving about in pairs and small groups or reclining on standby in the seats of idling vehicles. And, of course, the science teams flitting around with scanners, collecting water samples from nearby sinkholes, animatedly gesturing at some plant or another and just generally behaving like little children suddenly thrust into a cake buffet. Well, seems we have a fairly representative sample of the whole family out today.

As I finish my parade turn, I come face to face with two sleek skimmers not unlike the one I’m riding. Well, except for the colours. Normally the active optical camouflage automatically tries to mimic the general hues of the surrounding terrain, gathering data over time to refine its ability to blend into the background. That’s ‘normally’, as in ‘not manually overridden because you like flashy colours’.

Sasha and Kolya are lounging on their skimmers, one leaning back against the canary yellow seat with his hands clasped behind his head, the other leaning over the electric blue-and-green front hood, arms crossed. They grin at me through transparent full-face visors.

“Privet, Eris. We heard you need babysitter, da?”

Sasha’s baryton sounds tinny and flat through the helmet speaker, but the bemusement is clear in his voice.

Spinning around in my seat, my visor automatically magnifies the view in response to my squinting eyes and craned neck. Ace waves at me with a smirk from the observation window. I empathically give him the finger before turning back to the horror of primary colours that simultaneously constitute some of my dearest friends and the cause of nine out of ten headaches during port stay.

“Why he would give the responsibility to you, I have no idea.”

Kolya chuckles.

“Maybe he want you dead so he can be kapitan, eh?”

“Sure looks like it. Come on then, you oafs, let’s get going before it’s night again.”

Without further comment, I flex my fingers—damn these gloves to hell—and gun the skimmer in the direction of the turquoise half-circle dancing in my visor, rear view camera showing flashing colours falling in behind me.

*

“How the bloody hell does it fly with that body-to-wing ratio?”

“Faith?”

“Hot air?”

“Hidden engine?”

“Har har, very fucking funny. How’s the damage look?”

“Not bad, as far as I can tell. I’d say the hind leg is the worst off, broken at worst, and I don’t think that wing’s meant to bend that way, but superficially it seems fine. I’m not a vet, though, so the best I can do is straighten it out and splint the leg. It was lucky to fall into a tree.”

“Just do what you can, okay?”

“Will do.”

I turn the pegasus’ metal helmet around in my hands.

It’s really very nice, ornate but light, and with a wide field of vision. Perfect for a flying creature.

“Eris.”

“Yeah?”

“Check this out.”

Are those... broken binoculars?

“Jesus, someone really put down a whole shitload of money on these things.”

“You think it’s gen-engineered?”

“Well, what the hell else would they be? Heavily smartboosted, too, if they can be trusted to carry such delicate equipment.”

“Carry... or use?”

I cast a skeptical eye at my escort, leaning against the engine block of his grounded skimmer.

“You mean that they’d be smart enough to deliver a report? I highly doubt it, there are only a handful of enhanced animals that can talk enough to do that, and those cost several fortunes to have made.”

“So you mean it was just carrying the optics?”

“Well, it’s the only reasonable explanation I can—”

“Chuánzhǎng, you’ve got four fliers incoming,” Meifen’s cool voice breaks into my ear. Abebe’s team immediately fans out, barrels rising to cover overlapping firing sectors. Sasha and Kolya smoothly vault onto their skimmers, gun racks swiveling towards the clear sky. I touch the helmet over my ear, focusing on the comlink to the bridge.

“Understood. Get some distance and mark them as they come in. Keep me posted on their movements.”

“Roger. They’re on low approach now, ETA to you one hundred and twenty seconds or less.”

Four fliers. They’re missing a number, if I remember the feed right. If this was a military opponent, I’d say they sent one to report and get backup, but that’s stupid.

Right?

And why are they coming back? I guess they realized that a member of the... pack? swarm? flock? Whatever, that one of them is missing. Fairly unusual herd behaviour, that, usually animals just leave the fallen behind.

Eh, I guess we’ll see what’s up in a minute.

I’d say Meifen was right within a margin of ten seconds. The group of four expertly lands on the other side of the clearing in a loose diamond formation. And I say formation, because that’s exactly what it is. Weapons out, scanning different directions and moving carefully to stay close to ground cover at all times. I look into the enormous eyes of the one in the lead and, incredulously but undeniably, come to a highly disturbing conclusion:

“Well, fuck me and call me captain. These things are intelligent.”

*

Well fuck me and call me princess. Those things are big up close.

Pulse hammering, Mountain Gale looks at the strange bipedal creatures across the clearing. Carefully scanning the interlopers, he counts at least five identical googly-eyed creatures spread out into the shadows of the forest, poorly trying to hide behind trunks and rocks.

No, not hide. They’re looking for cover.

“I fhink lhey are shome kinge of foldiersh,” he slurs quietly around the handle in his mouth.

“What about the ones in the middle?” asks Blitz, equally quiet but speech far clearer, mouth unobstructed by his saddle-mounted spear.

“Dungno. Lheagher?”

“Look, it’s Chaser!”

Mountain Gale tenses up as he spots the prone form of his squad member behind the garishly painted yellow-and-red machine, idling at a hover with the same grating high-frequency whine as the earlier flying box. Carefully closing some distance to the silent creatures, he lifts a foreleg and points at Chaser. The tall alien with a large, bubble-shaped and glass-like head steps forward, holding up both front legs, hooves terminating in thick, stubby tentacles like blunt claws.

*

“Be advised, tiny pegasus is okhuitelno adorable, over,” notes the voice over the crisp comlink.

“Shut the fuck up, Sasha.”

He’s right, though. With those huge eyes and tiny little scowl, the winged, white leader—I’m going to call it Grumpy—is almost ridiculously saccharine. The only way it would look more like a stuffed toy would be if it was pink. Grumpy very carefully stalks forward, making noises too quiet to be properly heard. I surreptitiously glance at the small fork-and-oval icon on my visor, press my pinkie to my palm and rub my thumb and index finger together as if turning a volume knob. The helmet microphones instantly amplify the surrounding soundscape, and I listen in as one of the other pegasi opens its mouth. It’s gibberish to me, of course, but the structural patterns of language are clearly there. The pattern analyser of the ship’s translation software pulls its straw to the stack by informing me that, yes, it is indeed nonsense to us.

Well, I take back everything my stupid mouth said about them being animals.

“Orders, ma’am?” queries a rough female voice in my ear.

“Hold for now, let’s see what they want.”

Suddenly one of the quadrupeds spots something, and loudly exclaims it's surprise. Ow, my ears. I key back the volume as I follow the gaze of the group, now focused behind us. Right, there’s the little issue of the one we shot down. Grumpy points at the shape on the ground.

Hm. This is certainly going to be a hard one to explain. How do you pronounce ‘self-defense’ in Pegasish? I turn to the men behind me.

“Sasha, Kolya: back off, slowly. They only want the one behind us. And take those cannons off them.”

“I am not certain is very—”

“They have spears, Kolya, for God’s sake. Abebe’s team’s got high-powered rifles trained on them. Back off. And get out your stretcher.”

“All right, all right, lyuboi. But is own stretcher, you compensate for this later, yes?”

“Yes, sure, just get on with it,” I reply absentmindedly before stepping forward and showing the equines my empty hands, fervently hoping that my Sympathy will be efficient across species.

Small, luminous letters spell out ‘ARMED’ in the center of my vision. Hey, I prefer a peaceful solution, but I’m not stupid.

*

The bubble-headed one briefly turns to the two creatures on the active flying contraptions, and though it’s body language looks as if it is talking, no sounds emerge. As it turns back to face the pegasus team, still displaying its empty appendages, the slender tubes on top of the colourful chariots turn back to the front with a hum and partially lower out of sight. With a gust of wind and a slight increase of noise the flashy devices float back, leaving only the creature extending its front legs towards the pegasi.

It’s trying to show us it’s not hostile, Mountain Gale realises.

Slowly, not taking his eyes off the still interloper, he sheathes his scimitar.

“Sarge?”

“Stay alert. I think it wants to communicate.”

He takes a tentative step towards the creature, gaze flicking between the stranger and Chaser all the while.

She’s breathing. Thank Celestia.

With deliberately slow movements, the bipedal alien brings one of its appendages to its head, touches the shiny surface of the glass bubble and draws upwards. The sergeant tenses involuntarily as the opaque surface of the bubble turns entirely translucent in the wake of the multi-digited hoof, revealing a strangely distorted face underneath. Two small, amber eyes stare back at Mountain Gale, set over a strangely compressed muzzle, leaving the face rather flat in the eyes of the pony.

Several seconds pass with the representatives of the two species simply looking at each other.

Keying the fabric at its throat, the taller of the odd pair coughs loudly, before stepping to the side and gesturing towards the pegasus on the ground. Backing towards one of the flying contraptions, the biped receives a tall object of metal and cloth, and gestures at the wounded pegasus again, making sounds which remind Gale of a scratched gramophone record being reversed.

Eagerly, the pegasi trot to their comrade, still maintaining rough formation but slightly less on edge now that the situation seems stable, fear of the unknown making way for worry about their wounded friend.

“Blitz? How bad is it?” asks the sergeant, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the strangers.

“Bad bruising, wing’s sprained but whole. She’ll fly.”

Mountain Gale lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“...leg’s worse, though. I gather it’s broken. It’s been splinted.”

“Splinted?” the sergeant risks a glance at the kneeling Blitz.

“By these... creatures?”

“I’d guess so. It’s made in a highly unusual manner, and it’s not something Chaser would’ve managed on her own.”

“Will it hold?”

“Yeah, at least for now. It’ll be a right load o’ trouble carrying her, though.”

“Well, horseshit.”

“Sarge, I think that one wants something.”

The glass-helmeted alien is waving its front leg at the pegasi surrounding the unconscious Chaser. When it has ascertained that Gale has given it his attention, it lowers the long bundle of metal onto the ground and locks it open with a quick snap, then nudges the now flat object towards the ponies and steps back into a waiting position.

Mountain Gale looks up curiously as he realises what the thing is that’s been presented to the squad.

“Blitz.”

“Yeah?”

“Would a stretcher help?”

“Sure, but where did you plan to find a— oh.”

The pegasi glance at each other uncertainly, before Mountain Gale resolutely steps forward, grabs one of the handles in his teeth and hauls the stretcher up alongside Chaser.

“Strap her in and let’s get out of here.”

“Right you are, sarge.”

The process is quick, once the guardsponies get to it, the large latches on the holding straps making securing the unconscious pony to the carrying device an easy task, even lacking magic and opposable thumbs. While half the squad takes off from the clearing, stretcher held fast between saddle straps and teeth, Mountain Gale takes a long, final look at the foremost alien, trying to scry the emotions behind that inexpressive face. Finally he sighs, and nods towards the strange group and their strange equipment.

“Thank you.”

Then he turns and flies away, Chaser’s helmet held in his mouth.

*

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse,” I venture as the group leader disappears over the trees.

I conduct a short and wordless dialogue with Abebe’s squad leader, primarily involving the hand signals for ‘saddle up’ and ‘understood’, as I walk back to my vehicle.

“Was very good first contact, very little casualties,” Sasha nods sagely.

“Da, and is refreshing to meet species that does not try to shoot us on sight,” supplies Kolya.

The two idiots keep their poker face for several seconds before bursting into raucous laughter, slapping each other on their backs. I can’t help a wry smile as I get on my skimmer and visualise a circle of golden yellow.

“Tell me I didn’t just hallucinate that whole episode.”

“It’s you and me both, if that’s the case,” Ace answers from the bridge.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think, though I can say with certainty that I’ll need a few stiff drinks to cope with it.”

“You and me both, brother,” I reply as I rev the engine and angle my hovercraft back towards the ship.

*

---

Legal disclaimer: I obviously don't own My Little Pony (trademark of Hasbro) or this would be canon. All likeness to real people or characters created by other authors is entirely unintentional.

Comments

[Lackluster]

Wow, nice! Featured!

[twillale]

A small note (that I've moved here because of my obsession with layout standardisation):

The original formatting of the text differs little from what you see below. If you want to read the story in the form it was written, please follow the link below:
This way to delicious formatting.

[John Avery]

that was awesome hopes it gets even better!

[Stainless Steel Fox]

So what happened to 'maintain a perimeter? That Pegasus was a moron who was doing his best to start a war.