The crew of an RAN Destroyer begin to notice that one of their pilots is developing some odd quirks, to say the least. Wings, hooves and a cutie mark, just to name a few...
While on deployment to the Arabian Sea, the crew of a Royal Australian Navy Destroyer begin to notice that one of their helicopter pilots is starting to develop some rather odd quirks, both mentally and physically. A cutie mark, wings, hooves, and a knack for treasure-hunting, just to name a few...
[May 8th, 2020] [Around fifty miles off the coast of Iran, in the mouth of the Persian Gulf]
It seemed as if Mother Nature would be kind to them this evening. The sun was lazily dropping into the horizon, creating a piercing glare which reflected off the water, and at the same time still possessed plenty ample strength to keep them warm. A refreshing breeze lazily swirled about, balancing out the heat and keeping their heads cool. The ocean was relatively calm this evening, and it was a fantastic opportunity to go fishing.
The relaxed weather was kind of handy really, since it all made clinging for dear life to a floating plank of wood that much easier.
That was all that was left of a small fishing skiff which had succumbed to a leak in the hull, which had gone unnoticed until it was too late, leaving four Iranian men stranded in the middle of the ocean and clinging to floating debris for buoyancy. One of the planks had a lit flare precariously balanced on top of it to prevent it from tipping over into the water, as the bright red smokescreen it cast drifted into the wind.
“I warned you that if you buy cheap, you get cheap!” a voice shouted angrily, “But would you listen? Noooo!”
“How could I know it was going to suddenly rupture like that? Look, I said I was sorry, alright? I sent out a distress signal, before the radio went under, so it’s highly likely that someone is going to pick it up. What, with all these NATO warships running around and all...”
“I hope they don’t take too long,” the third voice complained, “I’d rather die of old age than hypothermia.”
“Really? You’re freezing already?” the owner of first voice turned about with an irritated tone, “We’ve only been in the drink for fifteen minutes!”
“Yeah well, fifteen minutes tends to feel like thirty when you’re gradually turning into an icicle!”
“And you think you’re the only one suffering here? We’re all in the same boat, dude. You’re not special!”
“Aww, mom always told me that I’m special...” the forth voice cracked in a mocking tone, drawing several stifled chuckles from the others.
“Of course she did,” came the sarcastic reply.
“Hey look! A helicopter! Someone’s found us!”
Their attention was drawn to the distinct thwok-thwok of rotor blades as the lone MH-60R Seahawk approached, lowering its altitude to around only forty feet about the waves. The breeze rapidly turned into a small gale as the chopper slowed to a snail-paced hover directly above them. Although their English wasn’t very good, they had quickly learned to recognise the word ‘NAVY’ that was emblazoned on the tail shaft, indicating that this aircraft was probably operating from a nearby warship.
For several moments, the chopper held its position as the side door slid open, revealing two airmen standing in the doorway, one of which was strapped to a rescue winch via a safety harness. He stepped out of the aircraft and was slowly rappelled down towards the water.
In just a few short moments, the airman was strapping a survivor into the second harness, before glancing up at the chopper and giving a wave with his free hand, signalling the second airman to winch him back up. When they reached the top, the fisherman was unstrapped, handed a towel, and ushered into a seat as the airman was rappelled back down to rescue someone else. The roar of the turboshaft engines made it very difficult to communicate without a radio head-set, on top of the potential language barrier to boot.
This steady, methodical process continued unabated for around ten minutes, as the aircrew worked frantically to pluck the others from the drink. Before long, there were four shivering Iranians strapped in and dripping water everywhere as the pilot banked the Seahawk around to return to its home ship. Fortunately, there appeared to be no serious injuries amongst them.
The four men glanced warily between the four crew members on board; all were clad in olive-green flight suits and white aviation helmets. Unit Identification Patches adorned their upper sleeves like Scout Badges.
While the two pilots up front were mostly obscured from view, the two cabin crew members were easily identifiable as Australian, as indicated by the flag patches on their left shoulders. The top halves of their faces were obscured by the tinted sun visors on their helmets.
“Can you speak English?” one of them crouched down in front of them and shifted his mic piece away from his mouth as he shouted over the engine.
The first Iranian nodded in response and shouted back, “A little bit!”
“What happened to your boat?”
“Eh, we sprung a leak and sank!” the man replied simply.
“And what’s your name, sir?”
“Sorry?”
“What’s your name?”
“Yousef!”
“Alright Yousef, what we’re going to do is take you back to our ship, get you and your mates cleaned up while we refuel the helicopter, and then we’ll fly you all the rest of the way home, okay?” the airman explained, “Which city are you from?”
“Bandar Beheshti!” Yousef answered.
The airman readjusted his mic back in place and turned about slightly towards the pilots, “Bandar Beheshti, they say they’re from”.
The pilot sitting in the left gave a thumbs-up, “Copy that.”
Yousef glanced out of the glazed window, staring apprehensively at the warship beneath them as they passed around to land on the helipad, located at the stern of the ship. He was amazed at how smooth the approach was, considering that they were trying to land on a moving vessel in a shifting ocean.
As the helicopter touched down, the cabin crew gestured for them to step out, calling out after them, “Welcome aboard HMAS Brisbane.”
-----
Lieutenant Mark Sheffield gave a sigh of relief as he flicked through the engine shut-down procedure and glanced across at his co-pilot and observer, Lieutenant Laura Donaldson.
“Another textbook search-and-rescue op and another happy customer,” He grinned, removing his helmet, “You know, I think I’m getting good at this.”
“Well, we’ve been out here for two months,” replied Laura with a sly smirk, “It seemed all those hours we thought were wasted on you are finally paying off.”
“And a rather nice way to spend my twenty-fifth birthday if I say so myself,” he remarked as he hauled himself out of the cockpit and stepped aside to let the deck crew do their usual post-flight maintenance.
“Not quite the damsels in distress I had in mind, but they’ll have to do,” He murmured off-handedly as he briefly glanced across at the Iranians, who were huddling around a sailor offering them a round of hot beverages.
“Imagine that: a quarter of your life gone already!” Laura followed him as they walked into the hangar bay, “Time really does fly, doesn’t it?”
So it would seem. It felt like it was only yesterday he signed up for the Royal Australian Navy, fresh-faced and straight out of school. And now, five years later, he was serving as a pilot in the Australian Defence Force, flying forty million dollar helicopters from one and a half billion dollar warships for a living. To say he felt he was living the dream was an understatement.
The HMAS Brisbane, a state-of-the-art Hobart-class Destroyer, had been commissioned into the Royal Australian Navy a little over two years ago. She had completed her training and exercise drills with flying colours, and was now on her second operational deployment, travelling to the Arabian Sea on anti-pirate patrol. The crew of two hundred and four men and women were ready and eager to prove themselves as part of a large multi-national task force, dedicated to keeping the ocean free of criminals and terrorists alike.
Mark, Laura, and their radar operator, Lieutenant Martin Craig, were assigned as part of Brisbane’s flight crew, and they took turns on a rotational basis with two other teams to keep the Seahawk available for use. The dedicated technicians and mechanics worked tirelessly around the clock to keep the chopper in top condition, and there was always a fresh aircrew team on standby, ready to take off at a moment’s notice if need be.
Today was no different, with the chopper scrambling a total of six times over the course of the day for one reason or another, whether it be to get a closer look at a suspicious-looking skiff, or to even rescue people from sinking vessels, as the most recent venture turned out.
“Brisbane to Lieutenant Sheffield!” Laura’s voice snapped his train of thought.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Just lost myself in thought for a few moments there,” he smiled apologetically, “What’s happening?”
“A few moments?” She raised an eyebrow, “You were zoned out for like a whole minute there. For a second, I thought you’d entered some sort of strange, prophetic trance. Anyway, we’ve been ordered to report to the Ops Room for a debriefing. Let’s go.”
“Right,” he quickened his walk to a brisk march as their replacement flight crew readied their gear for their late-evening flight across the other side of the hanger. He gave them a quick wave, and followed Laura into a bulkhead door, closing it behind him.
-----
Once they had been debriefed for the evening, Mark dashed back to the hanger to relieve himself of any unnecessary flight gear, before stopping past the Officer’s Wardroom for something to eat.
The Wardroom was rather busy at this time of the evening, with at least a dozen other officers sitting around at the tables eating their dinner and conversing with each other.
Several crewmembers turned about to face him, giving up a small cheer. “Hey hey, it’s the birthday boy!”
“Fellas,” he gave a curt nod towards them as he picked out his meal from the canteen.
“Nice save with those Arabs there, Shef,” an officer spoke up, addressing Him by his nickname. Mark recognised him as the squad leader of the Alpha Team, a section of Clearance Divers posted onboard Brisbane for the duration of her deployment. The man’s nametag read ‘Chappell’.
“Hey, you should’ve seen the news report just a moment ago,” another officer spoke up, pointing at the TV perched on the wall, which was currently set to some American news program, broadcasted via satellite. Mark recognised him as Brisbane’s Deputy Supply Officer, and his occasional morning-coffee buddy, Lieutenant Greg Marshal. “Your brother would’ve loved it.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” He sat down in an empty seat across from them and began eating his meal.
“They were saying that there have been heaps of reported sightings in America of -would you believe it- real-life versions of characters from the cartoon show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic,” Marshal grinned, “They reckon that people have been coming in saying, ‘Omigod! Rainbow Dash is real! I saw her with my own eyes!’ and heaps of other crazy shit like that. There hasn’t been anything official yet such as photos or video clips, but it’s all a full-on phenomenon over there at the moment regardless. I’ll give you a shout when it next comes on, it’s crazy stuff.”
Huh, that did sound like something that his brother would be interested in.
Mark’s younger brother Chris, who was serving as a Boatswain’s Mate on Brisbane’s sister ship HMAS Sydney, was a die-hard fan of that show, carrying around a small photo of the Mane Six in his pocket more often than not, and had a habit of dropping Rainbow Dash’s ‘Twenty Percent’ phrase into any conversation wherever appropriately possible. If he was watching this news report, he'd probably hand in his resignation and pack up for an 'early retirement' to America.
Mark had to grudgingly acknowledge that he himself was probably a bigger fan of the show than he would openly like to admit, and would sometimes browse YouTube during shore-leave in Australia for music videos made by the Brony Community whenever he thought no-one was looking. Living with a Brony for a brother during the latter half of your adolescence tended to rub off on you.
In fact, it was thanks to Chris that He probably knew the names and faces of at least half of the entire character roster just off the top of his head.
“So, do they just like... appear out of the blue, or what?” He asked through a mouthful of pasta, quirking an eyebrow in amusement.
“They don’t know,” Marshal shrugged, “No-one’s really confirmed anything yet, but it all just kind-of... exploded onto the scene, y'know? It’s all just eye-witness reports so far. Who knows, it’ll probably just turn out to be some big hoax”.
Mark's mind drifted to a news report he had seen just a few days prior, about how a mysterious explosion heavily damaged a book store in the American city of Seattle. Rumours were abound about who was responsible, and what their motive could've been, but so far, nothing solid had turned up.
"Do they know if there's any connection to that terrorist attack in Seattle?" He asked. Perhaps something had new had cropped up in the news report.
“You know, it wasn't even mentioned. Besides, ya can’t seriously believe everything you see on TV,” Chappell glanced across at them, “Remember that crazy bastard last year who tried to revive the whole ‘Bigfoot’ legend? Look how that turned out. I've seen the news-os come out with some pretty crazy stuff in my time, but this seriously takes the cake”.
“Well, I’ll only believe it when I see it, I assure you that,” Marshall took the last sip from his coffee, before standing up, “Well, I hate to love you and leave you, but my next shift is starting soon. Oh, and Happy Birthday as well, Shef. I would’ve gotten you presents, but next shore leave isn’t for a few weeks.”
“No worries,” Mark smiled as the Lieutenant briskly washed his cup in the sink and walked out.
“Real-life cartoon ponies,” Chappell scoffed, “What’ll they think of next?”
-----
After finishing up dinner, Mark returned to his cabin, which he shared with his fellow flight team member, Lieutenant Craig.
The room wasn’t really all that large space-wise, with two bunks one on top of the other built into the wall, a small desk which they had to share, and a locker for each occupant. Martin was standing near his bunk, with a worried expression on his face. He turned about as he heard Mark’s footsteps enter the room.
“Hey Shef, you haven’t seen where I put my watch, have you?”
Mark frowned in concern. The watch in question was a very expensive Rolex that Martin’s fiancé bought for him before he left on deployment, and it was an item of great value for him, both sentimentally as well as financially. Martin often wore it whenever he wasn’t flying, ritually taking it off before each flight, leaving it in a box under his bunk in the cabin, and putting it back on when he returned. For him to just up and lose it like this was very troubling indeed.
“No, not since you were wearing it last. Where did you last put it?”
“I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, I can’t remember,” Martin shrugged sheepishly.
“Well, it couldn’t have gone far,” Mark started looking about the cabin, opening up desk drawers and scrimmaging through them, “Check to make sure you didn’t accidentally drop it down the side of the bed or anything like that.”
“No, I looked down there before, and the gap simply isn’t big enough for anything to fall through,” Martin scratched the back of his neck.
“You didn’t accidentally leave it in the gym during that exercise session we had before our last flight, did you?” Mark ran through a mental checklist of possibilities.
Martin paused briefly, before slightly shifting about, “... Possibly. I don’t know. We should check it out just in case”.
“You keep searching in here, and I’ll dash down to the hanger and see if anyone ever found it,” Mark pointed at his roommate and walked out the door.
As he maintained a brisk pace as he navigated his way through Brisbane’s maze of corridors, bulkheads and sailors, a strange, tugging sensation began developing at the back of his head, which seemed to grow slightly stronger with each passing step, dragging him in the right direction. Having been aboard the vessel for two months now, he had the ship's layout memorised like the back of his hand, but he was curious to see if this unconsciously-controlled urge somehow knew its way around as well. He was unsure of what this nagging feeling was, and came to the conclusion that he was finally experiencing that thing people talked about called a ‘hunch’.
As he approached the hanger, where the gym was located, the strange sensation only seemed to intensify. The entrance to the facility was located on the right side of the hanger,
The gym aboard Brisbane was a fairly simple one, with several weight racks, three cycling machines, three treadmills and a rowing bench. The ‘hunch’, as he officially decided to call it, persistently dragged him towards a rest-bench at the back of the room. Initially unsure of its importance, he nevertheless gave the bench a once-over search, and a glint of metal caught his eye from underneath it.
Reaching down, he felt around with his arm until his hand resting on something solid. He pulled it out from underneath, and indeed, he identified it as Martin’s missing Rolex. The moment he placed it in his pocket, the ‘hunch’ sensation completely disappeared.
He paused and glanced around warily, “... Huh. That was weird. I’ve never felt that before.”
After several seconds, he shrugged and thought little more of it, “Ah well. It turned out to be useful in the end anyway, so I can’t complain...”
-----
“I found it,” He announced as he re-entered the cabin.
Martin’s face lit up with joy, “Oh thank God! I thought I’d lost it for a moment there! Where was it?”
“Under the bench in the gym,” Mark replied off-handedly as he handed the watch back to its rightful owner. “You must’ve accidentally dropped it or something”.
He decided it was a good chance for a quick shower to clean himself up before bed, unbuttoning and stepping his five-foot-nine frame out of his olive-green overalls, stripping down to the simple white t-shirt and blue shorts he had on underneath.
Grabbing a towel off the rack and a fresh change of clothes, he made his way for the officer’s shower. Fortunately, it was currently unoccupied.
Ah good. The plumber had fixed the leak in the hot water system, so it seemed. Now he could have a scrub and keep warm at the same time. A nice little convenience to have around if he said so himse-
Wait.
Hang on a minute...
He didn’t recall getting tattoos inked on his thighs, and they certainly weren’t there this morning.
What in the fuck...? Brisbane didn’t even have a tattooist on board! And here, as plain as the nose on his face, were two identical tramp-stamps on either side of his hips, both looking like some sort of directional compass that you’d expect to see on a pirate’s treasure map.
"What a strange conundrum..." He mused, and then shook his head.
'Let's go through a process of elimination here. Number One: Brisbane does not have a tatooist on board that I know of, so there is no way anyone could possibly handle a tattoo machine with that level of skill and precision. There aren't even any tell-tale signs of redness around them to indicate that they were inked recently, so that rules out any possibility for that idea'.
'Number Two: I am certain that I haven't touched any alcohol recently, nor have I taken my flightsuit off all day. So that rules out some dickhead drugging me and drawing explicitives all over me. Plus, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't draw something as tame as this anyway.'
'Number Three (and to sink this idea for good): No-one on board this vessel possesses textas of those exact colours.'
'What else is there...?'
'...'
'...'
'...'
'Nope. I've got nothing.'
He grimaced in discomfort.
'Come on brain, THINK! There must be SOMETHING which can explain this...'
Marshall's words from their conversation earlier drifted back to mind.
“They were saying that there have been heaps of reported sightings in America of -would you believe it- real-life versions of characters from the cartoon show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.”
"...reported sightings...real-life versions... Friendship is Magic."
"My God, it all makes sense," He whispered, "Magic. It has to be magic! Unless the good Lord is playing a trick on me..."
"But... I don't understand," He frowned, "Magic isn't real, right? It can't be real! It violates everything that is the laws of science and physics! Unless it's an optical illusion, which in this case it isn't... And I can't be on drugs either, because I haven't lost any cohesion or ability to think straight. None of the signs are there..."
"Have I gone mad, maybe? Am I just delusional? Hmm... maybe I'll ask Martin. If he can see the picture as well, then I'm definitely not imagining it."
"I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this somewhere... but I have a suspicion that the supposed sightings of ponies on the news might well indeed have something to do with it. It has to be connected somehow."
"Perhaps... this is a sign that another pony is about to appear...?"
His eyes widened. "Oh! Now that I think about it, it almost looks like one of those butt-pictures... oh, what did Chris call them?'
He scratched his head and stared at the faucet in thought. "'Cutie marks', or some shit like that?"
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
"I need more solid evidence," He shook his head, "Simply guessing my way around is like a blind man without his dog."
"There could be worse ways to sour someone's birthday, I suppose," He sighed reluctantly, "If I end up turning into a friggin’ pony, I might as well do a bit of research on who lucked out on landing me as their host."
He figured that the next forty-eight hours were probably going to be the worst of his life, considering that he was trapped on a tight-knit boat in the middle of the Arabian Sea, where everybody knew everybody else on board, and trying to hide the fact that you're transforming into a character from a children’s show was going to be borderline impossible.
Not without wasting a large supply of chloroform, anyway.
He could at least attempt to hide away during the transformation process, depending on how long it took...
Eh, but then no-one would believe him when he finally reappeared as someone, or in this case somepony else.
Goodness, that didn’t roll off the tongue very well. How on earth were they able use ‘somepony’ so fluidly in a sentence? The muscle-memory just didn’t sit right with him.
There was a sudden rap on the door, snapping him back into reality.
"Don't take too long in there dude," a voice grunted, "You're not the only person who needs to use that, y'know."
"Oh, right. Sorry," He quickly turned off the faucets and stepped out of the shower. Drying himself off, he made one last glance at the strange new additions to his legs before slipping into a fresh set of clothing.
The first thing he did upon entering his cabin was open his laptop and open up a Google tab. While Brisbane had its own Wi-Fi set up, the reception out in the middle of the ocean was a little unsatisfactory at the best of times, and there wasn't generally much time available to bother with YouTube or anything like that until they were back in port. Martin wasn’t in the room anymore, probably having dinner of his own.
'Let’s see now... Who would have a cutie mark like this one...?'
“Here we go. ‘List of Cutie Marks’, on the MLP Wiki...” He quickly glanced through the list, trying to find one which matched the picture on his thighs.
“Ah, here we go. One compass butt-picture belonging to... ‘Daring Do’?”
What? That couldn’t be right.
He clicked on the link of her name anyway, just to be certain, and sure enough, the photo of her cutie mark was completely identical to the one he now sported, right down to the last detail.
“So I’m actually turning into the ponies’ answer to Indiana Jones?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “Oh, this is going to be just brilliant when word of this gets around...”
He closed the browser and shut down the laptop with a huff, with a feeling of anxious uncertainty for what the future held in store.
The voice of the ship’s second-in-command, Commander Paul Cruze, briefly caught Mark’s attention as the former poked his head inside the cabin. “Just letting you know that I’ll be coming through for inspection rounds in about half an hour, so just be sure to have everything in order by then, okay?”
“Righto,” Mark gave a nod in his direction. The XO smiled cheerfully and retreated back into the hallway.
He sighed in reluctant acceptance. Tomorrow was going to be a long day indeed...
[May 9th, 2020] [Somewhere in the middle of the Arabian Sea]
If spending five years in the Navy had ever taught Mark anything about life in the military, it was that experiencing sleepless nights were bound to happen eventually. It was never a matter of if, but when.
Tonight just happened to be what he feared to be the first of many, as he lay on his back in his bunk, with only the soothing sound of the ocean surging around them, and the deep rumble of Brisbane’s engines to provide any company for his restless mind. Perhaps the only thing of interest was that the Seahawk helicopter returned from its trip to Bandar Beheshti at some point around 12:30 in the morning.
The onslaught of thoughts and potential outcomes for his current predicament never seemed to cease, and several times he glanced across at his digital clock embedded in the wall, to find that another whole hour or two had drifted by without any success for sleep.
At this rate, he was going to need a rather strong shot of coffee to keep him awake tomorrow. Or rather, later on this morning, if the clock was anything to go by.
To his annoyance, nothing really happened throughout the night as far as he was aware, and on one occasion, he thought that the cutie mark might not be as dangerously foreshadowing as he made it out to be.
There was always the possibility that it had even disappeared overnight, and it would all turn out to be a strange hallucination.
But alas, reality is a harsh mistress, and shining a small flashlight upon his leg at around 3am revealed that the cutie mark was indeed still there and was very much real. A silent, mocking omen of impending doom, as far as he was aware.
‘Well, let’s try look at this from a positive perspective,’ He thought with a grimace, in an attempt to keep himself from blowing this all out of proportion, ‘There are worse things which could’ve happened to me in this lifetime. If the reports in America are true, and people really are turning into ponies as I suspect, they obviously went through what I’m about to go through right now, and at least I’m not the only poor sod that has to endure this...’
He stifled a chuckle as a thought came to mind, ‘I’d almost feel sorry if some poor bastard ends up as Diamond Tiara...’
‘That’s right. Think positive, happy thoughts. Who knows? Turning into a fictional character from a supposedly fictional universe might just end up being the best thing that ever happened to you... and at least you’ll be able to fly without the assistance of the chopper.’
‘But then on the other hand... there’s too much to lose in my life right now. I have a flourishing career, great family and friends, and ‘dextrous’ is the last word I’d use to describe hooves...’
“Agh. I’ll never get to sleep at this rate. There’s probably at least someone still awake at this hour...”
He hauled himself out of his bunk and slipped into his standard Disruptive-Pattern Uniform, a two-piece outfit which was standard-issue for sailors on deployment, which consisted of slate-grey, fire-retardant shirt and slacks, peppered from neck to ankles in a camouflage pattern of various, darker shades of grey and blue blotches. There was a reflective, white band around each arm, just above the elbow, to assist for visibility when in low-light conditions. The top of the shirt’s shoulders each had a patch to indicate his rank of Lieutenant; the upper right sleeve had a patch to indicate he was a member of HMAS Brisbane; the upper left sleeve had an Australian flag, coloured with blue stars on a white background, rather than the normal white stars on a blue background; the right side of the chest was emblazoned with the emblem of the Royal Australian Navy, and the left side had a simple black nametag with the word ‘Sheffield’ in yellow. Completing the outfit was a pair of tough black work boots, all spiffed-up and clean from regular polishing.
He muttered incoherently under his breath all the while, and was careful to open and close the cabin door as quietly as possible.
The corridors were almost completely vacant, and he encountered only two other sailors as he paced to the Wardroom.
To his surprise, the kettle was still boiled. 'Now, where did they leave those double-shot expresso satchels...?'
'Ah, there they are, in behind the cappuccinos. What a funny place to put them... Usually they’re wedged in between the normal expressos and the lattés... Eh, whatever.'
'Oh, some bright spark has gone and moved the sugar container again. Why is it that there’s always that one bloody moron who can’t leave shit where he found it...?'
'What the hell is it doing all the way over there? Idiot can’t seem to connect that the sugar stays next to the Tea and the Milo, not left lying around on the bloody front bench.'
He sat down at a table, slowly stirring his freshly-poured expresso, deep in contemplation about how to approach his current situation.
'Maybe I should just keep this all confidential. No-one really needs to know right off the bat, except for maybe Marty, Loz, and the Skipper...'
'I’ll have to request that we’re de-rostered from the flight schedule, but they’ll be able to understand, right? And then, I can just camp out in the cabin until the transformation blows over...'
“Oh, Shef!” a voice broke his train of thought, “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Lieutenant Marshall wandering towards the coffee bench.
“What’s happening, man?” Mark gave a tired smile.
“I’m finished up for the night now,” Marshall idly placed a teabag into a fresh mug, “I’ll probably have one last drink and then hit the sack. Naval Stores is going to be busy today, what with the Replenishment-at-Sea exercise today...”
Oh yeah. Today had been scheduled to be the day they’d link up with the replenishment oiler HMAS Sirius, to stock up on fuel, fresh water, and other vital supplies.
“What time was that supposed to be, again?” asked Mark.
“I think it’s some point around three PM, give or take, so we’ve still got ages until then,” Marshall replied off-handedly, concentrating on his tea.
'Right, so I have a little under eleven hours to come up with a way to deal with this little issue,' thought Mark, 'I have no clue as to if or when the transformation will actually kick in, nor whether I will actually feel anything beyond a new physical form.'
'Argh, I hate going into situations like this! Far too many unknown variables for my liking, and little to no time to identify them. Unknowns such as... why me? Why Daring Do? We don’t really have anything in common, maybe apart from a love for flying, but she’s a Pegasus. They’re born to soar with the wind.'
'Let’s see: she’s adventurous, cunning and witty, possesses a broad knowledge of geography and archaeology; she can keep her cool under pressure, and can handle herself well in a pinch. I should probably re-watch the Daring Do episodes to confirm my facts though...'
'For my part, I enjoy a fun adventure as much as the next guy. Hell, this deployment is an adventure unto itself. My grades in geography were fairly good, although not the greatest; Archaeology isn’t really my strong point, but it’s interesting nevertheless...'
'Alright, so we might have a little more in common than I thought, but that still doesn’t explain why this is happening...'
“Are you alright, mate?” Marshall sat down beside him, “You look like you’re under a bit of stress. What’s on your mind?”
'Heh, understatement of the week'.
“Well...” Mark furrowed his brow, unsure of how to approach this, “... you know how there have been reports of characters from My Little Pony popping up alive and well in America?”
“Yeah?”
Mark quickly turned about, checking that the Wardroom was completely empty, and took a deep breath.
'Here goes nothing.'
“I think I have some evidence... that the claims are based on truth."
“Pfft,” Marshall smirked amusedly, “Righteo, this I gotta see."
“Alright then, what do you suppose this means then?” Mark stood up and dragged the right side of his trousers down, completely exposing the cutie mark for Marshall to see.
“Well fuck me,” Marshall’s eyes widened, “That’s some pretty fancy ink-work there mate. Who drew that?”
“No-one! That’s what worries me,” Mark pulled his trousers back up and sat down, “It just appeared out of the blue!”
“Righto, pull the other one,” Marshall dismissed with a shake of his head, “Tats like that don’t just appear. Someone obviously put in the hard yards to get that little puppy right.”
“Dude, we’ve been on this boat for two months now. These weren’t there when we left Australia, and I didn’t first see them until I went to take a shower last night,” Mark frowned, “I also do believe that I told you I wasn’t one for getting tattoos."
“What do you mean ‘these’?”
“There’s another, completely identical one on my other thigh as well,” replied Mark.
Marshall heaved a sigh, “... Alright Shef, I’ll humour you. Let’s say that we are dealing with a force beyond nature here, and that those little tramp-stamps of yours really are magical in nature. What on earth does it have to do with the reports of ponies in America?”
“This is the emblem of a character named 'Daring Do'. Just look that name up, and the pretty little picture on her arse is exactly the same as this! So based on the news reports, and the very-recent appearance of these images on my legs, my current theory is, and I hope to God above that I’m wrong, that the so-called ‘ponies’ are actually people that have turned into ponies from the show, by some unknown force of nature!”
There was a very awkward moment of silence hanging in the Wardroom.
“Rrriiiight,” Marshall frowned and slowly took a slurp from his tea, “So what you’re saying is... that God is actually a brony, and is now amusing himself by turning people into his favourite characters?”
“What? No, don’t bring theology into this. Where’d you get that idea from?” Mark exclaimed a little louder than he intended, “I wouldn’t pin this on the Good Lord just yet, but there certainly is something supernatural going on here, and it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to call it Magic."
“And I suppose you’re going to blame your new contact lenses on ‘Magic’ as well, then?” Marshall quirked an eyebrow.
Mark frowned in puzzlement. “...What?"
“Because last time I checked, I’m pretty sure purple is against Navy regulations.”
“What are you...?”
“Why’d you wait until now to reveal you need contacts, anyway? And in a rather girly colour, as well. No wonder you don’t wear ‘em during the day. Maybe you have two pairs...”
“... I don’t have contacts,” He mumbled.
“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” Marshall shrugged and took another sip from his drink.
“Excuse me for a second,” Mark skulled the rest of his coffee down in one swig and dashed out the door.
Marshall blinked in confusion. “... He’s off his rocker.”
-----
Mark stared vacantly in the bathroom mirror, dumbstruck by the sight before him. His eyes, which were normally hazel-green in colour, were now a vibrant shade of magenta.
'This is really happening. I really am slowly turning into Daring Do, aren’t I? First, her butt-picture, and now her eye colour. Next thing you know, I’m sprouting fuckin’ wings like in that Red Bull ad and flying off to South America to fight Nazis for God-knows-why.'
'And when that ‘next thing’ comes, what are the odds that it’ll pick the most inappropriate time to do so?'
-----
Breakfast time on HMAS Brisbane was usually around 6am, and the Wardroom bustled with activity as a flowing stream of officers filtered through to get some morning grub before they started work for the day.
Mark wisely decided to wear a pair of sunglasses in public as he sat down at an empty table.
“Too bright indoors for you, is it Shef?”
He remained silent, focusing on eating his bacon and eggs as Lieutenant Donaldson sat down across from him.
“Lieutenant Daniels’ team scored the morning warm-up run in the ’Hawk, so if things remain quiet for the morning, we’ll be the ones flying the afternoon shift."
“I am aware,” came his mumbled reply through a mouthful of bacon.
“You alright, dude?” she inquired, leaning in slightly, “You’re rather quiet this morning”.
“Laura, just a quick question... What would you do if you found out that the past twenty five years of your life might just be on the verge of being undone and rendered completely pointless?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked, “Well... I dunno. Why? What’s going on?”
He sighed and removed his sunglasses, allowing her a look at his newly-recoloured eyes.
She stifled a giggle, “Goodness Shef, what the heck’s going on there? You look like something out of an anime movie!”
“Oh, but wait there’s more!” He muttered, “There are now two completely identical tramp-stamps permanently etched into my thighs to go with the new eye colour."
“Well... I suppose I wouldn’t exactly call that the manliest decision you’ve ever made...” She murmured, “But that’s no reason for alarm or concern. Nobody will notice if they’re hidden by your uniform”.
“I didn’t get tattoos! They just appeared! My concern is that it all might be connected with the news reports of ponies appearing in America recently,” He said matter-of-factly.
“Aaaannd now you’ve lost me,” she frowned.
“The thing is, my hypothesis is that the ‘ponies’ they claim that they’re seeing are actually ex-humans, who have turned into ponies,” He kept his voice low, “The only unknown I can’t identify is why this is all happening...”
Laura blinked blankly. “... What?”
“Laura, I’m not wearing contacts here! My eye-colour really has changed! And it’s probably only the beginning of something bigger here,” He hissed.
“I’m still lost here. Quit beating around the bush and tell it to me straight”.
“Laura,” He looked her straight in the eye with deadly seriousness, “With all the evidence presented so far, it all adds up to one thing: I think I’m turning into a pony.”
“Pfft, alright. And what am I supposed to do about it?” she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head skeptically, “And how come it’s only you who’s being affected?”
“I’m obviously not the only one,” Mark rolled his eyes, “I’m telling you, the ponies in America are ex-people who probably underwent the exact same process as I am right now. I guess there isn’t really much you can do, to be honest”.
She sighed and leaned her forehead against her hand, with her elbow resting on the table, “Well... in the worst-case scenario that you’re correct in your assumption, and no-one can put a stop to this, why are you approaching me about it?”
“Because you’re the leader of the flight team, and one of the closest friends I can rely on aboard this boat. I feel you need to be informed about this, and what I’m going through,” Mark shrugged, “So far, the only other person I’ve told is Lieutenant Marshall from Naval Stores, and he probably thought I was nuts.”
“... Whelp, I might as well humour you for the time being, as long as you’re not trying to pull off the world’s greatest prank on us,” Laura shrugged, “If there is anything you need from me for your little gig, just ask."
“Glad to know,” He grumbled.
“Now come on, eat up. We need to make sure the chopper’s all in one piece for this arvo. As far as I’m aware, you’re still a human at the moment, and as long as that’s the case, you’re still expected to do as you’re told!”
“Yes ma’am,” he smirked.
“Just for the record, if you ever feel the urge to give free rides to children, please don’t come to me,” She grinned, “I don’t quite know how to help you there.”
“Hardy-ha ha,” he pouted and placed his glasses back on his face, “You wouldn’t be saying that if it was happening to you...”
“Maybe not, but it’s still funny regardless. I’ll see you at Briefing, Black Caviar.”
“‘Black Caviar’? What...?” the joke fell on confused ears as Laura exited the Wardroom.
“Black Caviar was a racehorse, not a pony. If you're gonna make a reference, get it right for goodness'...” He muttered, shaking his head and eating his breakfast in silence.
-----
Fortunately, the morning routine was reasonably smooth and quiet, or at least as far as life on a Navy Destroyer would get anyway. The weather was calm again today, making for optimal flying conditions.
As Brisbane lazily pulled alongside the supply ship HMAS Sirius. Mark quickly gave the ’Hawk a once-over, now fully kitted out in his flight suit with his sun visor down, as it sat patiently on the flight deck, eager to take off and take control of the domain it was built for. Laura idly sat in the left-hand seat in the cockpit, glancing from a notepad in her hand to the centre console, running through their pre-flight checklist. If ever they were to be needed on station in case something went wrong, they would be ready.
He glanced across at the Sirius, making out several figures on the deck stacking crates into an orderly fashion for pick-up.
At just over four hundred and eighty feet in length and sixty one feet wide at her thickest point, Brisbane was by no means a small vessel, but even she seemed small when placed in comparison with the six hundred and thirty foot-long ex-commerce tanker Sirius, as the latter extended a long boom stick across the gap between them with two hoses attached, one above the other; one for fuel and the other for fresh water.
Both vessels had to synchronise their speeds at around 15 knots in order for this to work, at a distance of less than forty metres apart. The most dangerous part of the replenishment procedure was that as the ocean water was constantly being forced to travel in between the two vessels, it created an area of low pressure in between them. If the pressure dropped too far, a suction-effect would take hold, created by the higher pressure surrounding them cramming in to fill the void, and there was a very real possibility that Brisbane could collide with Sirius in the process, with disastrous consequences for everyone involved. Bridge crews on both ships had to stay on their toes throughout the entire operation, regardless of how long it might take.
With trained professionalism, the boom connected and plugged in cleanly, allowing a steady stream of diesel fuel to pump through at around sixteen tonnes per minute. Meanwhile, another boom was set up so that the crates on the deck could be easily winched across, one at a time. All in all, the entire process could take anywhere from half an hour to half the day, depending on the circumstances.
Mark clambered into the pilot’s seat, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft clunk.
He gave a soft sigh. As far as he was aware, this would probably be the last time he flew... well anything, be it helicopter or even just a generic aeroplane. If they were even needed, at that.
'Better savour the moment.'
“Alright, let’s go. Master Switch is ‘on’; batteries are ‘green’; radio is ‘on’ and set to the right frequency; all avionics are operational; wind is flowing east-south-east, at about ten knots; altimeter is set; wheel brakes are locked; rotor pitch is... set; throttle is at 10 percent for ignition; all clear on deck?” He glanced out at the deck hand, who gave him a thumbs-up to indicate they were ready to go.
“Ignition primed, start-up commencing.”
A low whine slowly started building up at the flick of a switch. As the whine steadily increased, the long, lanky rotor blades above them slowly started shifting. Within a few moments, the engines were idling smoothly to the distinctive, rhythmic tune of the rotors slicing the air with a loud thwok heralding each rotation.
“We are cleared for take-off, throttle set to 80 percent; releasing brake locks."
With a surge of power, the large ’Hawk gently drifted into the air, before settling into a crawling hover around ninety meters above and slightly behind the warship. From their vantage point, they could see Brisbane and Sirius almost directly side-by-side, ready to begin the replenishment procedure.
“Charlie-Two, this is Hotel Actual, operation is a-go,” a voice spoke over the radio, “If we need you for anything, we'll let you know, over.”
Mark shifted the stick forward and gradually opened the throttle, prompting the Seahawk forward with trained precision and grace, gently easing the ’Hawk into a stand-by postion above and astern of the two vessels. It only required small adjustments of the control sticks to make the ’Hawk go where he wanted, and it always seemed to respond well to his touch.
"Hotel Actual to Charlie Two, man in the water, man in the water!" The radio suddenly exclaimed, "Sector two-one-zero!"
"I see him," Laura pointed down near Sirius' aft, "Marty, get the rescue winch ready!"
The Seahawk responded fluidly and obediently to Mark’s touch as he gently caressed her into a hover above the swimmer, who was struggling to keep himself out of Sirius' wake.
“Almost... there... got it!” Martin called out, "Lowering the winch!"
The swimmer desperately reached for the rescue line being lowered, and was all-too-eager to strap himself in.
"Swimmer retrieved and secured," Martin called out, "Retracting rescue line."
Within moments, the sailor was on board, and shivered as Martin guided him into the cabin bay.
"What happened?" he asked.
The sailor grinned sheepishly in embarrassment. "I wasn't watching where I was going and tripped."
"Charlie Two to Hotel Actual, swimmer retrieved," Laura stated into the radio, "Where do you want him?"
“Charlie-Two, drop him off back on Sirius, and then return to station," the radio replied, "Good catch."
-----
Mark and his team remained on station for almost an hour. Fortunately, nothing else of interest took place, and besides the one sailor falling overboard, the replenishment turned out to be pretty routine.
"Hotel Actual to Charlie-Two, replenishment operation is complete,” the radio squawked, “Flight deck is clear, you are cleared to land when you’re ready.”
Mark glanced down at the warship with a sigh, “Probably the last time I look at her from this angle...”
'Where’s a camera when you need it...?'
The Seahawk hesitantly inched closer to the deck, before touching down with a solid thump.
“Wheel brakes locked,” Mark breathed out resignedly, “Initiating shut-down procedure...”
“And we’re home,” Laura smiled, “Nice work, BC.”
“‘BC’?” Martin’s confused voice spoke up, “Where’d that one come from?”
“Oh, it’s an inside joke between him and I,” she replied dismissively.
Mark silently flicked off every power switch within arm’s reach as the whine of the turbine engines gradually reduced to a low, hushed whisper, before silencing altogether.
'And thus, my last flight from the pilot’s seat of a Seahawk is over,' He grimaced, 'And what a short career that turned out to be.'
-----
“Hey Shef!” a voice called out as He entered the hangar, which was bustling with activity as sailors scrambled to unload the supply crates.
“Hmm?” He glanced at the source of the voice. Marshall approached him with a small brown box.
“There’s a package here addressed specifically for you,” Marshall held it out, “It seems mailing things the old fashioned way isn’t quite dead yet.”
He blinked in confusion as he accepted the parcel, “That’s odd. Why would anyone send me stuff? Must be a birthday present from someone... Thanks Marshall.” He gave the man a wave and continued his walk towards the equipment racks.
The small parcel didn’t have any outstanding features, other than his name, an address directly to HMAS Brisbane, a packaging stamp displaying Ayers Rock, and a stamp to indicate it passed through Customs without a hitch.
“Huh. No reply address,” He murmured, tearing the wrapping off, revealing a small white box inside.
“Must be a birthday present from Mum or something like... a Daring Do plushie?”
He frowned as he held the small toy up in his hand, “Oh, now that’s just cruel. Not funny, man. Not funny at all.”
“Aww, that’s cute!” Laura cooed with a grin, “I didn’t know you were that attached to the idea of becoming a pony.”
“It just arrived in the mail now!” He defended, “This can’t be a coincidence. Whoever sent it obviously either knew I was going to morph into her, or just had a really lucky guess.”
“What do you mean, ‘morph into her’?”
“I’m not just turning into a generic My Little Pony version of myself here! By the time this ordeal is over, this is what I’ll be looking like, minus the hat and shirt.” He held it up for her to see.
“What, some kid’s toy made in China?” she furrowed her brow skeptically.
“No, the colours and the general physique,” He clarified, “I’ll be a full-sized, living breathing version of this.”
“Interesting. Well, you’re already 5 percent on the way there, so it’ll be interesting to see you once you’re all complete.”
“The problem is, I don’t know how to break this to the rest of the ship,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “It’s going to be rather awkward to just up and say ‘Hey, look everyone! I can’t do my job anymore because apparently my body’s having a bit of an aesthetical crisis!’”
“Maybe if we discuss this with the Skipper, maybe he’ll be able to find a way to help you through this,” Laura offered, “I mean, he’s going to have to know that one of his pilots is going to be indisposed sooner or later.”
“Probably,” he sighed and took off his flight helmet, “And then... we’ll have to improvise from there.” He turned about to see Laura staring at him with a dumbstruck expression.
“...What?”
“Your hair’s changed colour,” she pointed out, “Here, pass me the plushie...”
She held it up against his head for comparison, “You’ve gone grey, Mark”.
“What...?” A quick glance in a nearby reflective surface revealed that his hair was indeed changing colour, with three thick bands of differing shades running through his hair, mimicking the style of the monochromatic rainbow that was Daring Do’s mane.
He ran a hand across the back of his head. His hair had grown several centimetres during the flight, and was now sitting just above his collar. Navy Regulations would chuck a fit if they saw him like this.
“I guess that’s the last sign I need to be convinced,” Laura murmured, “This really is happening, isn’t it?”
An unsettling silence momentarily settled in between them.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” He looked her in the eye, “All we can do is sit out the ride and see where it goes from there.”
“You seem to be taking this all rather well,” she remarked, concentrating on unbuckling her flight gear, “If I found out I was turning into a creature from a kid’s show, I’d be more than a little flustered and confused. I'd be asking a lot of questions about a lot of things.”
“Oh trust me, I’m confused by this as much as you are,” Mark shrugged, “But I at least have evidence here about about what’s going on. All I need to figure out now is why. Why there are people turning into ponies, and why this is happening to me? Was it by random chance? Or is there really such a thing called ‘destiny’? I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“And another thing...” Laura murmured, “Is perpetually standing on your toes part of the process?”
“Hmm? What are you... oh,” He glanced down at his feet, which were indeed raised up at the heels.
“I didn’t even notice that,” he admitted, trying to force himself back down. Frustratingly, the posture with his feet flat on the ground no longer felt comfortable.
“And so it begins,” she breathed out, “I suppose we should inform the Skipper about this, just so that he’s in the know.”
Mark grimaced with tense apprehension. It was going to be rather awkward explaining something like this to your boss.
“Ugh, we might as well organise a good moment with him now and get it over with,” His shoulders sagged slightly in defeat.
-----
[2030 Hours, May 9th]
A soft rapping sound at the door drew the man’s attention away from his laptop. “Come in,” he called out.
The door opened, and two neatly dressed officers stepped inside, one of which had the strange idea to wear sunglasses indoors at eight thirty in the evening, closing the door behind them. The office was quite spacious, as far as cabins on board a warship went, with a decent-sized work desk, a rather comfy-looking lounge area.
“Ah, Leftenant Sheffield and Leftenant Donaldson. Please, take a seat,” the man offered, placing the laptop aside. Emblazoned on the screen was a news tabloid website, with a silhouette of what appeared to be Twilight Sparkle stamped with a large white question mark, and the headline ‘Are the claims legit, or just horsing around?’
“Thank you for taking time out of your schedule for us, Captain Stevenson,” Laura nodded.
“Nah, not to worry,” Brisbane’s Commanding Officer, Captain John Stevenson shrugged, “You said you have something important on your mind, and I’m always here for anyone on my ship, so... what’s up?”
“Sir, we’d like you to take another look at that article there,” Mark gestured.
“I know what it said; I just finished reading it a few moments ago. Why?”
“I... believe I have evidence that those claims are based on truth, and that there is something big going on here.”
Stevenson narrowed his eyes with an amused smirk, “... Go on...”
“You might want to get comfy sir, this may or may not take a while...”
Earning Wings of a Different Nature By Strayan Phoenix Chapter Three
[0625 Hours, May 10th, 2020]
Mark slowly sat up in his bunk with a soft sigh as the memories of last night’s meeting with the Skipper flashed through his mind.
Upon requesting the Skipper hear him out, he had shown off his new eye colour and the new hairstyle, which by then was not only completely saturated in monochromatic colours of Daring’s mane, but had also grown to roughly the same length, the back of it settling mid-way down the back of his shoulders, hidden from view underneath his collar and shirt.
When he decided to reveal to them the cutie marks, he also inadvertently discovered (much to his eternal chagrin and embarrassment) that he had started growing a tail as well, in the same colours as his hairstyle.
Captain Stevenson, for his part, was initially highly skeptical of it all, and very nearly dismissed Mark as an insane brony that’d finally cracked, right until he saw the tail, which was very much mobile and real to the touch.
The Skipper shook his head in confusion and sat back in his chair, utterly befuddled as to what in the heck was happening to his pilot. The instructors certainly never told him about what to do in a situation like THIS back at Cerberus.
Mark had been anxious and twitchy about what sort of response the Skipper would give, and breathed out in relief when the verdict was a mere shrug and that he would be assigned Brisbane’s Medical Officer to keep an eye on him for any further changes in physical anatomy. Unsurprisingly, the Skipper did admit however that Mark’s flying days were effectively over until further notice, leaving the other members of his team grounded until a replacement pilot could be acquired and transferred from Australia.
The Skipper’s final word was that Mark would be detained on board Brisbane until an appropriate plan of action could be determined. Considering that this was a completely new phenomenon that was previously scoffed at, it was very likely that if Mark were to completely transform into a Pony, regardless of whether it was from a children’s cartoon or not, they would be the only ones with an official specimen, alive or otherwise, that was actually a human within forty eight hours prior.
The implications and possibilities for this kind of scenario were staggering, and Captain Stevenson simply couldn’t comprehend it all at once. He needed more time to think on this, and that while he couldn’t think of any immediate solutions to the problem at hand, he promised Mark that if he ever needed anything to help him cope, He would personally see to it that Naval Stores would obtain the necessary supplies and equipment.
Until then, all they could do was watch and wait to see what happens.
Mark slowly stood up and stretched himself out, glancing over himself to check if anything else had decided to change overnight. A quick glance in the mirror had revealed that his ears now sat higher up on his head, and were more equine in shape. Moving about the cabin was made difficult by his feet now resembling hooves rather than actual feet, forcing a rather odd posture for balance while walking.
While on the mental topic of physical changes, a more dire and horrifying realisation crossed his mind.
‘Daring Do is a female... and I’m turning into Daring Do, then...’
A quick grab at his crotch confirmed his new worst nightmare of the past three seconds, prompting his face to distort in sheer terror.
“Ffffffuuuuuuuuu...”
Martin groggily sat up with a jolt, “What? What’s going on?”
“...ck!” Mark cringed as he completed his exclamation, “Uh... nothing, I just had a rather... nasty wake-up call. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll be fine.”
Martin frowned skeptically, before rolling about in his bunk to try and get a few more winks of sleep before breakfast, blissfully (and surprisingly) ignorant of his roommate’s current crisis.
A sharp rap on the door caught their attention.
“Shef, your presence is required in the Medical Bay as soon as possible,” a disembodied voice spoke from the other side.
“Righto, I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Mark replied in a rather sheepish tone.
“What’s up, man?” Martin called out in concern, still with his face to the wall as Mark hastily dressed himself, “You coming down with something there?”
“Uh... yeah, let’s call it that,” He shuddered.
“Oh. It’s not contagious, is it?”
“I bloody hope not,” He muttered as his mind scrambled to find a solution to the problem that his work boots barely fit his feet properly.
‘Fuck it, I’ll just have to make do as it is...’
He paused momentarily.
‘Heh heh... make do... Geddit? ‘Cause I’m turning into... actually no, that’s terrible. Your jokes are terrible, and you should feel terrible for making them.’
He carefully hid his new ears under his officer’s cap, slid on his sunnies and discretely slipped out the door.
The corridors were surprisingly busy as he navigated his way to the Medical Bay, a reasonably-sized room with several bunks and numerous shelves stacked with equipment, located near the Officer’s Wardroom. Several sailors cast strange glares in his direction as he briskly jogged past, trying to limit his exposure time in public to as little as possible. Upon reaching the Med Bay, he stepped inside and hastily closed the door, locking it shut behind him.
“Ah, Sheffield, good to see you,” a soft voice behind him spoke up. He turned around to face his addressor: a short-statured, red-haired Able Seaman with a Red Cross band around her upper arm, and a nametag that read ‘Harris’. “Just take a seat on the bench, the Doc’s gone to grab a few things, and he’ll be back any moment now... Ah, there he is!”
Brisbane’s Medical Officer, a middle-aged bespectacled man named Lieutenant Commander Geoff Rogers sidled out of his office, located off to the side of the room. He also wore a Red Cross patch on his arm.
“Righto Shef, I’ve been told by the Skipper that we have a rather... unusual case on our hands, am I right?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Mark shrugged, taking off his hat and sunnies for them to see.
“Oh-ho, shit!” Rogers gawked in surprise, while Harris stared in morbid, wide-eyed fascination, “What in the blazes have we got here?!”
“A fuckin’ nightmare, that’s what,” Mark muttered in reply, “Or from an alternate perspective, every rabid brony’s wet dream.”
“... What?”
“I’m turning into a character from MLP here!” He hissed.
“... Right,” Rogers circled about, eyeing him from head-to-toe with suspicion, “Alright, well if you’re going Phar Lap on us here, we might as well make a proper assessment of your current progress. We’ll just start off with the usual round of Twenty Questions, if you don’t mind. Firstly, what changes have you noticed thus far?”
“Well, I have two identical tramp-stamps on my legs; my hair is now black and white; my ears are different; my feet don’t fit my shoes; my eyes are purple; I’m growing a tail; and just ten minutes ago, I discovered that I’m now officially a sheila,” came the toneless reply.
“Oh God...” Rogers’ face fell in a mixture of shock and pity as he jotted down his notes, “You poor soul... Alright, what other symptoms have you identified? Tiredness, insomnia, irritableness or anything like that?”
“Not really,” Mark shrugged, “I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I’m pretty hungry right now”.
“Oop, hang on a minute,” Rogers held up his hand, squinting his eyes, “Shef, could you just open yer mouth wide for a bit...?”
“Erm...” a drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he complied.
“Mate, your teeth have changed,” Rogers commented in a serious tone, “I’m no vet, so I don’t know what a horse’s choppers look like, but your teeth don’t look anything like they belong in a normal human’s mouth.”
“Not surprising,” He rolled his eyes.
Rogers reached his hand forward, “Do you mind...?”
“Uh...”
Rogers ruffled his hand through Mark’s hair, murmuring under his breath as he gave it a gentle tug, “Shit, this ain’t no wig...”
He retracted his hand and continued his notes, “Right, that mane is certainly real enough. Now, you said something about a tail? Would you mind letting us have a look at that?”
“Erm...”
He hesitantly lowered his trousers just enough to let the new appendage hang free and swish about reflexively.
“Bloo-dy-hell!” Rogers accentuated each syllable, “Now that’s something I’m not going to forget in a while... Is that controlled by voluntary movement, or what?”
“I... suppose it is,” Mark shrugged, unsure of what to put it down as. It was certainly sensitive to the touch, but he couldn’t really tell how it was moving, or what he was doing to move it. “I don’t know.”
“And would you also mind showing us these new feet you mentioned?”
He sat down and removed his left boot, allowing them a close look at his new hooves.
“My goodness...” Harris murmured, “This is the real deal...”
"And, what was that about turning into a 'sheila'?" Rogers probed cautiously, "You seriously mean... you're a female now?"
Mark nodded his head in shame, blushing profusely.
“Well, the evidence is otherwise undisputable, Sheffield,” Rogers shrugged, “Turns out you were right in your observations. I don’t need to state the obvious and tell you what you already know, so...”
Mark placed his boot back on, tucked the tail away and straightened up, “Well, if you need me for anything else, I’ll be in my cabin, riding this little shitstorm out in silence.”
“It’ll be interesting to see how this develops,” Rogers raised an eyebrow, “We’ll inform the Skipper of this, and I’d like you to keep us posted on any other changes that occur, alright?”
“I suppose so,” Mark shrugged in a fatalistic fashion, placed his cap back on and turned for the door. As he exited the Med Bay, he could hear his stomach growling at him.
“Probably should get some brekkie first...” He murmured off-handedly, “I wonder if they do alfalfa pellets...”
He blinked in shock as he caught his own words, “Fuckin’ oath, and now I’m starting to think like a pony as well! This whole ‘transformation’ deal is going to be one hell of a ride at this rate...”
As he left the room, Rogers turned to Harris. "Whelp, now I've seen everything. Gonna take a while to get this little episode out of my head."
"You're telling me," Harris murmured in agreement.
-----
Mark sat in silence as he ate through a rather conservative portion of cornflakes, cramming himself as close to the corner and as out-of-sight as possible. The less attention he received, the better. It still didn’t stop several sailors from casting odd stares in his direction, though.
Practically breathing down his meal, he dumped his bowl at the dishes rack and bolted for the door.
Fortunately, no-one bothered to get in his way as he hurriedly scrambled back to the relative safety of his cabin.
Martin was fully awake now, and was about to walk out the door himself.
“Oh hey Shef. How’d the Medical g- Sweet Jesus, what happened to your eyes?!”
“Oh erm... it turns out I’m turning into a My Little Pony,” Mark replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.
“You’re turning into a what?!” Martin squinted in shock, and quickly scratched the inside of his ear.
Mark hurriedly ushered the confused airman back inside the room, “I said I’m turning into a character from Friendship is Magic here! Fucked if I know why, or even how, but that’s what’s happening!”
Martin blinked incredulously and slowly turned about back towards his bunk, “What kind of screwed-up dream sequence is this..? I need to stop taking those vitamins before bed, I think...”
“Marty, this isn’t a dream sequence!” He urged, “It really is happening!”
“Dude... what the hell is going on? That sounds like something some brony with a little too much free time would write as a plot for his shitty fanfiction novel!”
“Yeah, well I’m living that shitty plot right now!” Mark hissed, trying to keep his voice low, “Point is, that’s what’s going on, and right now I’m stuck on a boat with two hundred and three other people and no-where to hide! The moment I step back out that door, they’re gonna do more than just notice one of Albert Wesker’s test-tube failures prowling the decks!”
“Who else knows about this?” Martin frowned.
“Laura, the Skipper, the Medic and his assistant, anyone who paid more than twenty seconds of attention towards me in the hallway, and Marshall from Naval Stores,” Mark ran through the list off the top of his head.
“Ugh, that guy from Naval Stores?” Martin’s shoulders drooped, “Shit, everyone on board’s gonna know within twenty four hours if he knows. That guy’s a friggin chatterbox with all the gossip...”
“... And he’s probably going to be telling everyone that I’ve gone nuts,” Mark realised, “Agh shit...”
He glanced across at the clock on the wall, which read 7:14 AM.
“Well, if you’re going to be camping in here out of shame,” Martin breathed and turned for the door, “I’ll go have breakfast, and then maybe wander around aimlessly while at least looking like I have a job to do.”
“Have fun,” Mark tilted forward and landed face-first on his bunk with a sigh.
-----
[0830 Hours] [Captain’s Cabin]
Captain Stevenson flipped through the notes taken by Lieutenant Commander Rogers, as the man in question stood in front of him. Also standing in the room next to him was Brisbane’s XO, Commander Cruze.
“From what I can tell, Lieutenant Sheffield’s assumption is correct: He really is turning into a pony,” Rogers stated in a professional tone, “The lengths he’d have to go to in order set this up as a prank in these current circumstances are simply too great. The tattoos on his legs bear no mark of being recently inked, that hairstyle is simply too natural, and also grew at an abnormally rapid rate. Nor is it a wig of any kind, because A) no such items were brought aboard the ship, and B) we gave it a tug just to be sure. They would’ve shown up on the baggage scanner, otherwise.
“The tail is as real as they come, probably with fully functioning muscles, nerve-endings and everything. Also of particularly outstanding note is the fact that Lieutenant Sheffield says he isn't even male anymore, implying he had developed a fully-functioning female reproductive system pretty much overnight”.
“Wow, for real?!” the Skipper’s eyes widened.
“That’s what he, or rather she said,” Rogers replied, nodding his head, “Or at least it was something to that effect, anyway”.
He paused to chuckle at his own joke, “Heh, that’s what she said...”
“Yeah yeah, it’s hilarious,” the Skipper rolled his eyes and waved dismissively, “Now, what do you suggest we do about this?”
“My thoughts are the same as yours: that we just keep an eye on her for the moment and see what becomes of it. If something big pops up in America relating to the appearance of all these ponies, we’ll at least be able to raise our hands and say ‘We’ve got a live one over here!’”
“And then what? Just dump her with the Yanks on a whim?” Stevenson snorted, “I don’t think so. Human or otherwise, she’s still a member of my ship under my care, and only God knows what those crazy morons will do if they get their hands on her. They’ll probably experiment on her until the cows come home, under the guise of ‘scientific research’ for all we know!”
“So what do you propose then? We don’t have the resources to provide for a fully-grown pony’s eating habits, nor will we be able to guarantee the proper health-care for him,” Cruze spoke up.
“I’ll have a chat with Naval Stores and have them ship something in,” Stevenson answered dismissively, “I promised Sheffield that he... err, she will have everything she needs, and that includes the appropriate food stock. Come on, ponies eat the same stuff as horses, don’t they? It shouldn’t be that hard. And provided that Sheffield keeps his... erm, her sapience intact, she should be able to take care of herself just fine”.
“Well, I’ll take your word on it,” Rogers shrugged.
“Now, the trick is... how are we going to break this to the rest of the ship?” Stevenson scratched his chin, “It’ll be pretty obvious that something’s up, so... I suppose this is what we’ll do...”
-----
[1130 Hours]
“I still can’t believe he actually said ‘Yes’ to this,” Cruze murmured under his breath as nearly the entirety of Brisbane’s Company of two hundred and three men and women, aviation crews included, assembled before them on the flight deck, meandering around idly while they waited for their Captain to address them on a ‘sudden issue of importance’. Only a token handful couldn’t turn up, needing to remain on station on the Bridge and in the Radar Control Room out of necessity.
“He also knew that everyone would know within a matter of time,” Stevenson replied with a casual shrug, “It’s no use beating around the bush”.
When it seemed everyone had assembled, Stevenson raised his voice, “Alright Brisbane, listen up!”
The chattering voices all stopped within seconds of each other, as two hundred pairs of eyes turned their attention towards him.
“I’m not sure how many of you are aware, but it has recently come to light that one of our Seahawk pilots is currently going through... a bit of a crisis at the moment,” He said grimly, “And I’m not going to sugar-coat this at all. I’ve assembled you all here this morning to release an official statement... that neither your eyes nor your ears are deceiving you. Pilot Leftenant Mark Sheffield, as we speak, really is gradually transforming into something out of a kid’s cartoon show.”
Several voices could be heard mumbling to each other in confusion.
“Out of respect to the last shred of the Leftenant’s pride and humanity, I am ordering you all to turn off any cameras, and swear an oath of silence on this matter. Leftenant Sheffield, if you could please step forward,” He stepped aside.
Mark grimaced as he slowly plodded out of the hangar and into view for all to see, wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts, and drawing a wide plethora of mixed reactions from the stunned crowd. It was clearly visible that a scruff of mustard-yellow fur had started growing around his feet, and were slowly inching their way up his legs, currently sitting about a quarter of the way up his shin.
For several moments, there was complete silence, which was broken by a voice up the back.
“So uh, what the actual fuck is going on?”
“Erm... I believe I've been hit by some kind of magical curse, and am now turning into a character out of My Little Pony. Please don’t ask why, or how, because I don’t have the slightest bloody clue myself. I do believe however that this is linked to the reports of people claiming that they saw real-life ponies in America,” Mark replied, holding his hand over his eyes to block out the sharp glare of the sun, “I think that the ‘ponies’ they claimed to have seen were all actually ex-humans, much like I’m about to be, and they all went through the exact same process I am”.
“What’s up with your voice?”
“I don’t know what--”
Mark stopped himself and frowned. His voice had indeed raised an octave or two, sounding far more feminine in tone than it was this morning.
‘Oh God, I hope I don’t start talking in an American accent as well!’
“Brisbane, we’re not going to ask much of you here,” Stevenson spoke up again, “All we ask is for you to support Sheffield through this... situation. As far as I’m aware, he’s still a part of this team, human or not, and I expect you to treat him as such. Once his transformation is complete, we will simply find some other way to make use of him until further notice.
“Leftenant Marshall, I’ll be having a chat with you later about your next supply order. Ponies don’t exactly eat the same stuff as we do, so we’re going to have to cater for a possible change in dietary needs.
“Leftenant Daniels and Leftenant Fredrickson, you and your flight teams are going to have to work overtime from now on. And Leftenants Donaldson and Craig, you’ll be assigned other duties until further notice. Does everyone understand?”
He was answered with a chorus of “Yes sir!”
“Dismissed, and as you were”.
-----
[1425 Hours]
Mark sat propped up against the wall on his bunk in his cabin, staring intently at his legs. In the past hour or so, the fur around his shins had gained around three whole inches in the dash up his legs. It was a morbidly fascinating thing to watch, as genuine fur seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
In his current state, a bipedal standing position was becoming increasingly difficult to hold as his hips started shifting to a more equine posture, and his fingers had started becoming rather difficult to use effectively.
He could feel the tiny stubs on his back which he assumed would eventually grow into full-fledged wings. They were currently too small and underdeveloped to be able to even move.
The cutie marks were still there, currently hidden behind his shorts. They were probably where this mess all started, those blasted things. He hadn’t yet experienced another ‘hunch’ sensation, and he was wondering whether that was a one-off thing, or only activated under certain circumstances. It partially explained what made Daring Do a successful explorer though. It’s kind-of handy when you have a mysterious, magical force guiding you from the back of your head.
And while he sat alone, feeling rather useless, the rest of the ship continued on with life as usual, like nothing was happening. They couldn’t just postpone their duties while on deployment over one pilot. They still had a job to do here, and they would see to it that they did their job properly and professionally, with or without his help.
-----
[1845 Hours]
“Shef,” a knock at the door interrupted his afternoon snooze, “Shef, are you awake in there?”
He groggily sat up, “Hmm?”
“It's the XO. Mind if I come in?”
“... Sure,” he waved a hand dismissively, “It’s open”.
“Alright,” Cruze closed the door behind him and sat down on the desk chair, “Just so you know, the Skipper has had a meeting with Naval Stores, and we’re ready to send off an order for the necessary supplies to keep you in good care, specifically the correct food and medication. Since you’re technically still a member of the Navy, we’re also considering having a DPU custom-made specifically for you. All we need is to wait until you’ve completed... transforming and we’ll take your dimensions then send it off. How does that sound?”
A mental image of Daring Do in a Navy Uniform flashed through his mind.
“Sounds good,” He smiled softly, “I appreciate your efforts, support and concerns. I really do.”
“You’re still one of us in spirit,” Cruze shook his head and stood back up, “We’d do the exact same if it were anyone else. Dinner is being served at the moment, if you’re still interested in eating your last human meal.”
“I think I can wait a few extra hours for some pony food,” Mark smirked, “Roast Ham just doesn’t cut the mustard like it used to anymore...”
“Suit yourself. It’s your loss,” Cruze chuckled, and stepped out the door, closing it behind him, “See you tomorrow then, Makybe Diva.”
“... What is with all these racehorse references?” He frowned in confusion, “If you’re going to nickname me after famous equines, at least make them characters from MLP...!”
He rolled back over and attempted to resume his afternoon nap in peace.
Earning Wings of a Different Nature By Strayan Phoenix Chapter Four
[Time and Date Unknown] [Canterlot Castle]
“What the heck have you done, Discord?!” an angry voice shouted venomously, echoing throughout the great hall of marble walls.
“Oh, nothing much,” came the flippant reply, “Just plunging the world into chaos again, nothing out of the ordinary. I got bored with the lame old ‘sky blue’ theme you see, so I decided to add a splash of extra colour to the place, to spice it up a bit! See, I even threw in the chocolate rainclouds for good measure, because let’s face it: Those things are a classic that’ll never get old. So, what do you think of it?”
“You know what I’m talking about, you in-bred chimera! Where is everypony and what have you done with the Elements of Harmony?!”
“In-bred, huh? That’s a new one. I’ve been called all sorts of weird and wonderful names in my time, but I’ve never been called that before...” Discord mused, “Well, if you’re that worried about the Elements, you’re wasting your energy. They’re a little... occupied at the moment, but I don’t really feel like boring you with such whimsical things as details. In fact, you’re starting to grow a little boring too, so if you don’t hurry up and state your contention, I just might feel like turning your wings into bacon strips. How does that sound?”
“Alright then, my contention is that--”
“You think you can somehow find a replacement for the Elements and attempt to upstart me? Pfft, a snowball’s chance in Tartarus!” Discord interrupted, waving a hand dismissively, “The only thing that stands any real chance against me are the Elements of Harmony, accept no substitutes. If you’re here just to make that little declaration, you’ve been wasting both your time and mine, and frankly I don’t like my time being wasted on blathering idiots stuck in the past like you, so if you don’t mind, kindly run along and let me run amok in peace.”
The Pegasus stared the Draconequus in the eye as she shouted defiantly, “You know, the only reason chaos takes hold in the first place is because the good ponies don’t do anything to stop it, so I’m not going to simply let you walk over Equestria without a fight first!”
Discord smirked in amusement, “Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. While I admit that your little performance against the Griffon cultists in Zebrica was pretty impressive, you’re still far out of your league against me, Dee-Dee. You probably haven’t done field work for a long time now; what with all those trashy, ego-inflating paperweights you call books that you’ve been pumping out as of late, so before you end up killing yourself, I’m going to show you a bit of grace here. Now, how did that little jig go again? Oh, right... *Ahem*...
“Five Score, Divide--”
“Oh no you don’t!” She charged forward.
*FZZZT!*
A bright blue aura froze the explorer in her tracks.
“Woah-woah-woah! Easy there tiger, settle down! I’m not finished yet, don’t get ahead of me! Now where was I...?”
“Hnnng...” the explorer grimaced as she struggled against the tight grip of the telekinetic hold, “T-This isn’t going to end here, y-you know! A c-curse only lasts so long b-before it wears off! And when it does...”
“Don’t worry, you will have plenty of time to amuse yourself while you wait. Not that you’ll remember anything from this anyway. Now, don’t distract me this time.
“Five Score, Divided By Four,”
“For the record, your chocolate clouds both look and taste like something out of a cow’s arse,” She taunted.
“HEY!! NO-PONY DISSES THE CHOCOLATE RAIN!!” Discord suddenly snarled, “You’re testing my patience featherbrain, so shut up before I make this worse for you!”
“Meh, your grandma could come up with better threats than you,” she scoffed dismissively.
“I’ll have you know that my grandmother was the number one freestyle rapper in Equestria back in her day,” Discord countered smoothly, “Frigid bitch, she is. One news tabloid even joked that she’s half-Windigo. Where do you think I get the sweet rhymes from?”
“Well now you’re tarnishing her good name,” the Pegasus smirked, “I’m sure she’s rolling in her grave at your lameness!”
“Hey, my Gran is still alive and kicking, thank you very much!” Discord sneered, “Unlike a certain somepony’s...”
“That’s a bit below the belt, don’t you think?” Daring frowned.
“You started it! I’m just cleaning up your mess!” Discord shrugged, “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my chant! Now, where was I...?
“Five Score Divided by Four--”
“Look! Flying Doritos!” Daring suddenly pointed out the window with one hoof, and reached for her hat with the other.
“What? Where?” Discord glanced out the window in confusion, “What are you talking about, I don’t see no--”
*CRACK!*
Discord reeled backwards under a heavy blow to the head. “What the...”
Daring held an uncharacteristically malicious grin as her eyes radiated with a deep red glow. A rather familiar amulet had appeared around her neck, as all four of her hooves and both of her wings had started seeping with a thick, red magical aura.
‘Good ol’ pith hat, able to hide things underneath in case of emergencies like this.’
“Fight fire with fire, I always say.”
“What... oh, I see. That’s your little ace-in-the-hole, is it? You think you can confront me with a dash of impulsiveness and the Alicorn Amulet?” Discord raised an eyebrow in an unamused fashion, “I must admit, no-pony’s tried that before, so bonus points for ingenuity, but I’m afraid that’s where your little charade ends.”
“If it’s never been done, how do we know if it works or not?” Daring’s voice sounded slightly off-key, “There’s only one way to find out.”
“No, I know for a fact that it won’t work, because I’ve seen that thing in act--”
*CRACK-CRACK*
Daring Do had never felt so quick on her hooves in her life as she literally ran circles around the befuddled Draconequus, little more than a monochromatic blur as she launched a flurry of powerful jabs and kicks from multiple alternating angles, spurred on by the influence of the Alicorn Amulet she had ‘borrowed temporarily’.
The surge of energy felt more than just empowering. She felt like she could take on the gods as the Amulet channelled her normally-latent magical energy into her wings and hooves, effectively tripling her speed, agility and strength, which were by no means laughable to begin with.
“Ugh, sit still, you little--” Discord snapped, clicking his fingers.
At once, Daring lost control of her flight, and met the near wall shoulder-first with a heavy crunch, knocking the wind out of her. There was an audible crackling noise as several bones in her right wing were crushed under the force of the impact, and she dropped to the floor with a thump.
“That’s more like it,” Discord casually brushed himself off, straightening out some ruffled fur.
Daring grunted as she suddenly struggled to even lift herself off the floor. She felt increasingly exhausted and very physically drained with each passing second. Even simply breathing was becoming a taxing effort. Her shoulder was probably dislocated, and the roaring blaze of pain across her sensitive wing didn’t help things either.
“What the heck...”
“You should’ve read the product label before you started swinging that thing around, Dee-Dee. In case you’re wondering, the Alicorn Amulet comes with a magically-triggered switch, and all I’ve done is flicked that switch, altering the effects of the Amulet accordingly,” Discord remarked off-handedly, “Now you’ll find that it drains your energy rather than channel it, so you’re better off without it.
She dragged her left hoof across to remove the encumbering item, and found that it wouldn’t come off.
“That is, if you can muster enough stamina to do so...”
“What? I don’t remember anything about a switch...” she frowned in confusion.
“Of course you don’t remember anything, because nopony born in this century knows about it! The Alicorn Amulet is a very old device, and very few completely know its workings inside and out. I should know, I was one of the ones who helped make the blasted thing. The switch isn’t visible because it’s a magical switch. You just need to know the right spell to trigger it. Unfortunately, the spell hasn’t been used for so long that no-pony born in this day and age even knows what it is.”
Her face distorted into a snarling glare of defiance as the Draconequus stood over her with his arms crossed and a triumphant grin on his face.
“I told you that only the Elements of Harmony could ever challenge me. Kudos for trying, but as they say... ‘So close, but no cigar’. Now, once more from the top, and sing it with me now...!”
"Five Score, Divided by Four! Your memories removed, your body confused!
For your quest to end in such a serious blunder, Your punishment is to be cast to a land Down Under!
Your mind shall be weak, your outlook be bleak! Forgetting everything and living like a fool, The adventuress has lost, and there is nopony left to stop my rule!"
Discord cackled gleefully, and as he clicked his talons, everything went black with a loud crack.
-----
[May 11th, 2020]
Mark awoke with a start, nearly banging her head against the bunk above her.
“Woah... what a crazy dream that was...” She whispered under her breath as she glanced at the clock.
5:21 AM
“Let’s see what’s new about me today...” she mumbled, dragging herself off the bunk, landing face-first on the deck with a thud.
“...Ow,” she winced. ‘We’re off to a great start.’
Upon waiting for her head to stop swimming, she steadily hauled herself up, leaning against the bunk for support with her arm.
No, wait. Make that foreleg.
She gazed up and down the length of her limbs, finding them to be much different than they were yesterday, bending in rather unusual places and covered in a fine layer of mustard-yellow fur. Her hands were completely gone, leaving a pair of thick hooves in their place. A glance over her shoulder revealed a pair of wings hanging limply by her sides.
“The transformation must’ve completed itself last night,” she murmured.
A plethora of new sensory information assaulted her mind as she attempted to find her new bearings. The majority of the basic motor controls were still in place: Legs, arms forelegs, neck, mouth and eyes, all with a few according modifications; as well as a range of new sensations she had yet to identify.
She blinked several times, finding that her new eyes seemed to hold their focus much better than her human eyes, as well as in much greater detail, even in the almost pitch-black conditions. Not only that, but her field of vision had also expanded, almost as if it were widescreen compared to a human's.
“Much larger irises allow for more light to enter the eye, allowing for improved eyesight in low-light conditions,” she murmured off-handedly, glancing around the room with a new sense of clarity, “Considering that ponies from MLP have eyes half the size of their head, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised...”
The rumble of Brisbane’s engines seemed to be a little louder and clearer than it was yesterday. Her ears reflexively twitched as a sailor walked past the door, automatically pivoting about on top of her head for a better hearing angle.
“My sense of hearing has improved,” she made a mental note, “I’ll have to be more careful to wear ear protection around loud noises.”
‘On that note...’
“Testing, testing. One, two, three...” she spoke out loud, listening carefully to the sound of her own voice.
Oddly enough, her voice sounded nothing like what it did in her dream. Beforehand, Daring Do spoke with an accent which sounded vaguely Canadian (Or possibly American. Mark always struggled to distinguish the two, considering he didn’t really know what quirks to listen for unless they were blatantly obvious and/or exaggerated), whereas her voice now carried a smooth, feminine version of Human-Mark’s Australian accent.
To be honest, she was rather relieved that she didn’t turn out sounding like a butchered mix between the two, and was overall satisfied with the new vocal sound.
She gingerly stood up straight, finding a suitable standing posture, and considered her next venture of exploration in her new form. With a twitch of her back muscles, she was able to make her wings briefly flap about.
“Oh man, this is awesome!” she giggled, “I can actually fly with my own wings! Once I figure out how to work them... maybe when I’m in a less-confined space. Let’s try and get walking down-pat first. It can’t be that hard. It’d be kind-of like crawling, except now it’s my only option of locomotion on foot.”
She started off rather awkwardly at first, nearly tripping over her own feet several times as she paced back and forth across the cabin floor, quickly getting a feel for the new posture. It was disturbingly easier to learn than she thought it would be.
'It's as if the muscle memory was already there and learned,' She pondered as her hooves made a distinct clip-clop sound against the hard metal deck, 'It just feels... natural. There's no other way to describe it.'
“My goodness, that noise is so clichéd,” she muttered, “Now, let’s see if I can still open bulkhead doors...”
She reared up on her hind legs and attempted to grip the handle of the lock. She had to push with all her weight against it, precariously balancing with her wings for stability, but the lock gradually unravelled and clicked open, releasing the door, which gently swung open on its hinges with the gentle sway of the ship.
“That’s great, now how do I close it again?” she scratched her head.
An idea came to mind, and she clamped her teeth around a control rod for the lock, pulling it backwards and shutting the door, being mindful that the door was raised at least half a dozen inches off the deck, requiring her to step over the small strip of bulkhead jutting out from the floor.
“Just can’t lock it again, that’s all,” she hesitantly turned and walked away, whistling a soft tune and gently fluttering her wings about as she went.
She quickly stepped inside the bathroom and flicked on the light, took one glance at the vanity mirror and nearly screamed in terror.
Staring back was a completely real and very-much alive version of Daring Do. The TV show was never really intricately detailed when it came to fur or feathers, so to see a live specimen was... surreal. The very first thing she noticed were her eyes, which took up the majority of either side of her face, much like their cartoon counterparts. Her magenta irises shone with a freakish vividness that temporarily scared her witless. It was understandable that a cartoon character would have large eyes, to but to see them in real life was just down-right freaky.
“Holy crap, my eyes are huge!” She finally murmured, watching her over-sized pupils dilate under the new lighting conditions with strange fascination, “No wonder I can pretty much see in the dark! These puppies must be at least the size of a dinner plate...”
She ran a hoof through her mane, ruffling it up to give it a bit more of a ‘wild’ look, “What a shame it doesn’t come with the hat or shirt.”
She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head, “Meh, the suit doesn’t make the man anyway.”
“... Wait. On second thoughts, in this case it does... Eh, whatever. I’ll fill that void later.”
She experimentally flexed her wings about, making sure to memorise the required muscle movement. They were slightly bigger in proportion to her body than she anticipated, and it was probably the largest wingspan she had ever seen on a living creature, a thought which she smirked with pride at. There were visible, traceable lines at the bases where fur met feathers.
The sheer amount of feathers was astonishing as well. The show’s animators clearly went with simplicity in mind for their character designs, because whereas Human-Mark could probably count the total amount of the feathers on any given MLP:FiM Pegasus wing on both hands, Daring-Mark figured she wouldn’t be able to tell the ones on her back apart from a wing of a generic bird at a quick glance. The largest primary she could find on short notice was truly a monster of a feather, which she estimated to be at least a foot long, and shimmered with a slick, golden gleam under the light.
As she continued to admire her new form, her gaze travelled past her wings and towards her flank, where the compass cutie mark was proudly emblazoned for all to see. There were no hard lines to her form, with soft, graceful curves at every turn.
“I could’ve sworn that Daring Do was in better shape than this...” she couldn’t help but frown critically, “You’d think that an archaeologist who spends all her time running, jumping and kicking arse would have a bit more tone to her physique.”
With a nonchalant shrug, she turned and flicked off the light, shutting the bulkhead door behind her as she trotted off.
The sound of her hooves against the deck echoed up and down the steel corridor as she wandered around aimlessly, before finding her way to the aircraft hangar. Several pairs of eyes immediately became transfixed on her as she approached the Seahawk, which had its propellers and tail shaft folded up for compact storage.
“Fuckin’ hell, is that you Shef?!” a technician exclaimed incredulously.
“The one and only,” she grinned, flexing her new wings.
“You didn’t mention anything about being a Pegasus,” the sailor remarked with an impressed tone, “Can you fly?”
“I dunno, that’s why I’m here to find out,” She glanced upwards, stretching her wings out to their full length, “How hard can it be?”
‘Let’s see, angle the wings like so... raised up and tense for down-stroke... I’d say we’re ready for a maiden flight.’
Everyone’s eyes were trained on her as she gradually began flapping her wings to a steady rhythm. In the dull silence of the hangar, each flap reported with a loud whoosh, which slowly began to increase with intensity as she steadily applied more and more force in her strokes and adjusted the angle of her wings.
After a few moments, she slowly inched off the deck, immediately beginning to drift forward.
There were several gasps of surprise and awe as Daring Do meandered about above their heads, with her face contorted in concentration. For the first several hair-raising seconds, she struggled to keep herself from swaying too far in one direction, and several times nearly crashed into something, whether it be the bulkhead, the ceiling, or the Seahawk.
After a few moments of hectic adjustments, Daring was able to start reeling in her erratic sway, settling down into an almost-completely still hover several feet above the Seahawk, slightly bobbing up and down with each pump of her wings.
“I’ve gotta get this on camera!” a technician dashed out of the hangar.
“Alert the CO while you’re out, too!” another sailor called out behind him.
‘Just like flying a helicopter,’ her lips curled into a wide grin from ear to ear in ecstasy as she glanced around the hangar, ‘No wonder Rainbow Dash expresses such a passion for this!’
Through careful experimentation and manipulation, Daring found that she could adjust her speed and direction simply by tilting the angle of her wings forwards or backwards and applying more force, while banking slightly from side to side could control her left-to-right movements.
‘Maybe even more akin to a Sea Harrier,’ she thought gleefully.
As she loitered around near the roof, another thought occurred to her.
'This was almost as easy to learn as walking...' She mused, 'I wonder why that is...'
After ten minutes of blissful airtime, she decided to cut her maiden flight short and gently decreased her altitude by easing up the force in her strokes, landing with a soft thud on top of the Seahawk.
“Phew!” she breathed out rather heavily before loudly exclaiming, “That... was... AWESOME!”
“We’re happy for you too, but keep yer voice down Shef! Half the ship is still asleep!” a sailor called out anxiously.
She had a goofy grin perpetually plastered on her face as she spread her wings and glided the rest of the way down to the deck, “Not bad for a first flight if I say so myself! I’d keep going, but just hovering around is an inefficient use of my energy. I need more space to really stretch my wings out and get some speed going.”
She tucked her wings neatly up against her side and practically pranced out of the hangar with her head held high in beaming pride.
-----
[0847 Hours, Brisbane’s Flight Deck]
Captain Stevenson blinked incredulously at the sight before him. Lieutenant Mark Sheffield, who was now insisting on going by the name of ‘Daring Do’ for some reason, was blissfully sauntering about in the breeze overhead. Standing with the Skipper watching the display were XO Paul Cruze, Lieutenant Commander Rogers, Laura, Martin, and several deck hands. Cruze held up a video camera in his hand, making sure to film the Pegasus’ first outdoor flight.
“And so you can see,” Daring called out to them, “That I can make for an additional search unit for emergencies on short notice. All I’d need is a radio and a purpose-made headset, and you’d have for yourself a new aerial unit. Imagine that! A living, breathing Pegasus at your disposal!”
“It’d certainly be handy to increase our air wing’s flexibility,” Cruze glanced across at them, “If we use Sheffield to work as an independent operator, we could have her work in tandem with the Seahawk to provide an extra viewpoint for aerial surveillance; and if necessary, she could be trained up to potentially pluck shipwreck survivors from the drink.”
“I like where this train of thought is going,” Stevenson nodded with a smirk, “She’d certainly be a very special asset to the team, that’s for sure. Perhaps this little shift in physique could be worked to our advantage. You keep working on that one, Cruze, I like it.”
“Skipper,” a voice called from inside the Hangar. He turned about to see Lieutenant Marshall approaching him, “I’ve got the list finalised, and all we’re waiting on are the dimensions for Shef’s new DPU. The suppliers are going to be in for a heck of a surprise when this turns up in their inbox...”
“Alright,” Stevenson nodded and turned towards the Pilot-turned-Pegasus, “Hey Shef! You can come down now! We have a few things to sort out!”
Daring Do drifted down towards the deck, landing beside them, “What’s up?”
“Rogers, take Shef and measure her up for a new suit. You can file a full medical report as well if you want, while you’re at it,” Stevenson glanced across.
“On it boss,” Rogers nodded, beginning his walk into the hangar, with Daring following close behind.
“So... how’s it feel to fly under your own power like a bird?” He glanced down at her.
“Never felt more alive in my life!” she grinned, “I think it rather nicely balances out the fact that I’m now confounded by simple things like doors for a few moments, don’t you?”
‘I’ve never seen Shef carry this much child-like enthusiasm,’ Rogers thought to himself, glancing down at the ex-pilot, ‘Even though he’s just had all sense of normality wrenched from his life, he’s prancing about like he just won the lottery.’
“Well, I’m just worried about how you’re going to hold up once the novelty of it all wears off,” Rogers warned, “That tail and gender-swap looked pretty permanent to me. I’m not too sure how your family and friends will react to this either.”
“Of course, my family is going to be a bit weirded-out by all this, but they’re probably some of the most supportive people I know, and I’m sure that there’s an explanation for it all,” Daring shrugged, “I’m obviously not going to find any answers within the confines of the ship, but maybe those ponies in America would have more of a clue than I do. I mean, they’ve been stuck in their forms a bit longer than I have, so you’d think they have a head-start on the update.”
“What do you plan to do, then?” Rogers raised an eyebrow, “Since you’re no longer capable of flying a chopper, what are you going to do in the meantime?”
“The Skipper’s a top bloke Rodge,” Daring nodded with a confident smile, “I know we’ll sort something out.”
“I suppose as long as you remain optimistic about all this...” Rogers shrugged dismissively and opened the door to the Medical Bay, gesturing for his client to enter first. Once inside, Daring noticed Able Seaman Harris with a pen in one hand and a clipboard in the other standing off to the side, watching intently. Several other sailors paced in and around the Med Bay, going about their own business with professional indifference towards the technicolour Pegasus invading their territory.
With a flutter of her wings, Daring Do sat down on top of a bunk, which audibly creaked under her weight.
“Alright Shef,” Rogers pulled a tape measure and a set of electronic weight scales from a cupboard, “Just stand here in the centre of the room for me, if you will. Now, just give me a few moments...”
He began holding the measuring tape at various angles across Daring’s body, measuring her height, length, width, the circumference of her neck, chest and legs, and finally her wingspan, while Harris wrote down the numbers called out to her.
“Alright, now just stand on these scales for us please...” Rogers gestured.
Daring was forced to keep her hooves as close as possible in order to stand on the scales, which obviously weren’t designed with quadrupeds in mind, as the number on the monitor jumped about erratically, before settling on fifty four point eight kilograms.
“So, we have dimensions and weight done,” Rogers placed the scales and the tape measure on the bench, “Harris, send those figures to Naval Stores. The sooner we send that email off, the better.”
Harris gave a quick nod and briskly walked out the door.
“Hey Vinny, are you ready in there for the sampling?” Rogers glanced over his shoulder towards another sailor nearby.
“Yep,” the sailor responded, “Just in through here if you will, Shef.”
Daring frowned as she passed through a vacant doorframe to the second half of the Med Bay. This area was usually reserved for the more serious cases of injuries, and was the closest thing Brisbane had to a hospital room.
The main workbench was obscured by a view of Vinny’s back as he seemingly fiddled about with something metallic in front of him, before he turned about wielding a blank syringe. Daring’s stomach instantly felt like it plunged through the deck and through the hull of the ship, figuratively creating an enormous flood of seawater and sinking the ship in seconds.
“Hold the phone right there, mate! What the hell are you doing with that thing?!” She quickly shuffled backwards in a panic.
“We need a blood sample, of course,” Vinny looked confused, “You didn’t have issues with this last time, so it’s nothing you haven’t done before. So if you’ll please just hold out your foreleg like so, and it’ll be over before you know it”.
Vinny had a point. Last time when Human-Mark had to take a blood test, he didn’t so much as make a noise throughout the entire process. So why was Daring Do having such a negative reaction? It didn’t make sense in her head. She grimaced and collected her nerves, holding her left foreleg out ramrod straight.
There was a sharp pinprick as the syringe pierced the top layer of skin and slowly filled up with the red, life-giving liquid. Yep, it still wasn't as bad as she thought, like she remembered it to be.
Vinny retracted the syringe and quickly clamped a sterilised cotton bud over the wound, handing the syringe off to another sailor.
“There we are. That will give us a perspective of how healthy your new body is,” he smiled encouragingly, handing the syringe off to Harris, “Of course, we expect nothing less than for you to be in good condition, considering that it’s a new body and all.”
“And Skipper was worried about the Yanks performing ‘scientific experiments’...” Rogers murmured under his breath.
Daring’s head swivelled about, “What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Rogers waved defensively, “Just a little inside comment to myself.”
“Something about ‘Yanks’ and ‘experiments’?” Daring pressed with a suspicious tone.
“Uh, yesterday the Skipper was worried of the potential outcomes if we transferred you to American possession, that’s all,” the Medic explained, “And it’s ironic that we’re the ones taking samples and performing tests.”
She opened her mouth to speak, before reconsidering and turning her attention back to Vinny.
“Alright Shef, just give us a few hours to run the sample through the machine and finalise the details, and we’ll be able to give you a rough idea of where your physical health is, okay?” Vinny smiled, “We’ll send someone to fetch you when the results are ready.”
He gave the wound one last dab with a cotton bud before throwing it in the bin, “That’s it, mate. You’re free to go now. Have a nice day.”
Daring gingerly rubbed at her foreleg, slightly wincing with every step she took.
“Not as bad as I made it out to be, but still annoying nevertheless,” Daring murmured, “New pony-brain might have to make a few other readjustments as well, if that’s any indication...”
“So overall, how are you honestly feeling about this whole ‘transformation’?” asked Rogers.
Daring shrugged nonchalantly, “I don’t really know yet. As I said, the answers aren’t going to crop up immediately, and there’s no turning back the clock now, so I might as well get used to it. For now, I’ll try to form an exercise routine to improve my fitness. I noticed my stamina drained quicker while I was hovering, so I want to improve on that, starting today.”
A low growling sound resonated throughout the Med Bay. Everyone turned towards Daring, who blushed with a sheepish grin.
“... Maybe after I actually have something to eat...” She casually wandered out the door, forgetting to shut it behind her, “I wonder if I can at least down some bread rolls while I wait for the supplies...”
-----
[Naval Stores]
“So Marshall, run the list by me again one more time,” Captain Stevenson glanced over the Supply Officer’s shoulder at the laptop screen.
“Alright, so we need: -About two weeks’ worth of feeding stock, consisting of a mix of proper food pellets and simple hay; -Equine Influenza, Tetanus, and Encephalitis Vaccinations; -A DPU with the dimensions listed in the attached document; -A portable two-way radio with an accompanying headset; -A multi-function wrist-watch; -And if possible, a Vet which specialises in equine healthcare, preferably one who works with the Army Cavalry.
“Is that everything, sir?” Marshall twisted about slightly.
“They’re going to be rather puzzled by this request, so we’re gonna have to keep this confidential,” Stevenson turned about, “Cruze, how did that video recording come up?”
“Looks good,” the XO removed a small black SD card from the camera and handed it to Marshall, “I think it turned out alright.”
“Good. Attach it to the email with the sub-heading ‘Our New Mascot’,” the Skipper smirked, “That way we’ll at least have some proper evidence.”
“Did you want me to forward that message you wrote for Top Brass as well?” Marshall twisted to glance over his shoulder.
“Affirmative, along with the vid-clip. They’re going to go off their tree when they see it,” He chuckled softly, “That’ll be something worth submitting to Funniest Home Videos...”
“Skipper,” Rogers’ voice caught their attention, “We have an almost-complete physiological report. We’re just waiting on the blood sample test, now.”
“That was quick. What’s the news?”
“As far as we can tell, Shef’s new body is in pretty good condition,” the Medic nodded, “We’re not exactly experts on the physiologies of cartoon characters, but we have a pretty good idea of where he... erm she is at. I still can’t believe Shef’s a ‘she’ now. Poor guy must be crushed inside about that. Anyway, we printed off a report card, if you want to have a look.”
The Skipper accepted the sheet, glancing over the details.
Subject: Lieutenant Mark Sheffield Species: Pegasus Gender: Female D.O.B: 8th May, 1995 Hometown: Warrnambool, VIC Height: 132 cm Length: 127 cm Weight: 54.8 kg Wingspan: 165 cm from tip-to-tip Blood Type: N/A
Medical Officer’s Notes: Subject’s incredible transformation appears to have gone smoothly. No physiological backlash observed so far; at this stage, we’re far more concerned for any accompanying psychological changes. I.e.: personality reformation. For example, the subject prefers to go by the name ‘Daring Do’ when appropriate, after the fictional cartoon character for which the subject’s physiology is modelled. Subject outwardly shows relatively fatalistic acceptance of the transformation, and even expressed a desire to improve physical fitness, but whether they are simply putting up a facade is unknown. Will observe the subject over the next few days for any further lingering side-effects.
“Is that everything?” Stevenson glanced up.
“There isn’t really much else to say at this point. It’s just too early for that,” Rogers shrugged apologetically.
“Alright then. Marshall, scan this and attach it to the email as well. The higher-ups are going to be in for a pretty big surprise when they read this...”
-----
[1756 Hours, Brisbane’s Hangar]
Martin sat on the bench in silence, watching with curiosity as his Pegasus friend strained in a tight battle of tug-o-war against gravity, the figurative ‘prize’ being a twenty kilogram weight taken from the rack and left hanging by rope tied around Daring’s midsection. The Pegasus would try to hover in one spot around four feet off the deck with the extra weight attached for around fifteen seconds, before landing for a one minute breather. The idea was that by repeating this exercise several times a day, six days a week, would improve the muscle strength and stamina in her wings.
The plan was that while she was resting up her wings, she would exercise the rest of her body the old-fashioned way, with push-ups, sit-ups and a run on the treadmill. She had little else to do while she waited for the supplies to arrive, so the continuous and rather lengthy routine would at least keep her occupied for the time being, and help work on her cardiovascular system.
Putting that plan into action though, was easier said than done. While she possessed a mean kick with her back legs (something the destroyed punching bag in the corner could testify to, much to the chagrin of several other crew members), her stamina whilst hovering idly left a little to be desired. Being little more than a palette-swap of Rainbow Dash, Mark assumed that Daring Do was a show-pony built for speed and agility, rather than a workhorse of stamina and heavy lifting. By week’s end, she planned to perform two separate ‘sprint runs’ to test her top speed; once while flying ‘clean’, with no excess clothing or equipment for minimum weight and drag, and the second time flying ‘loaded’ with everything she would be expected to carry into an operational situation, whether it be the DPU and communication equipment, or even a rescue harness and potentially a full-grown human being.
The wing exercises would also, in a way, prepare her for those long, strenuous and ponderous flights where she would be expected to loiter for up to seven hours at a time, loaded down with at least twenty kilos of gear. In an emergency situation, she would need to really push herself to her physical limits, and she intended to find out what those limits were before such a situation arose.
While everything was still only hypothetical for the moment, Daring had no intention to wait sooner rather than later to start making her preparations.
She dropped the weight to the deck with a clunk, gently massaging her right wing, “Phew, my wings are officially all burnt-out for the day. I think it’s time to call it a night, get something to eat, and retire early”.
That was another thing she would have to learn how to do. She had no idea how to preen these things and keep them in good condition. It didn’t take a genius to know that overworking them was going to cause muscle strain, and that would be a spanner in the works before she could even resume operations.
Fortunately, while her dietary options were severely limited, simple slices of buttered toast were found to be an effective stop-gap until the supplies arrived, and that’s what she ended up having not only for breakfast, but lunch and dinner as well. For a pony of her size, she certainly had a rather insatiable appetite, and could single-handedly consume two entire loaves of bread in a single sitting.
Because she suddenly had so much free time on her hooves, Daring had plenty of opportunity to simply take a breather and reflect on her situation. While the crew members of HMAS Brisbane who came into regular contact with her, such as the aircraft technicians, Naval Stores sailors and the occasional visitor to the gym, were slowly adjusting to their pilot’s sudden change of species and gender (albeit with hesitant acceptance), they were still rather stunned and incredulous that it was all even happening in the first place, generally preferring to keep their distance and otherwise keep to themselves.
Occasionally throughout the day, the Seahawk was scrambled for one reason or another. Daring was relieved that the other flight teams were able to take up the loose slack, although because she effectively disengaged herself from the ship’s operations, she no longer received information about where the ‘Hawk was going, or for how long they would be gone for.
There was simply no reason for her to be informed anymore. Even in the tight confines of the warship and her crew of over two hundred people, Daring felt isolated and alone. The exercise routine she made for herself would keep her occupied, temporarily, but there was no-one who she could effectively talk to, or who could relate to her predicament. She was the only pony in a sea of humans who could do little but pity, sympathise or just stare and walk away.
She was a cog in a larger machine of teamwork that could no longer serve its function, and as she drifted off to sleep that night, it dawned on her just exactly how lonely she was.
Daring stared into the vast black expanse, unsure of where she was, which way was up or down, or why she could only see her own body, but absolutely nothing else.
She could feel some sort of solid surface underneath her hooves, but it lacked any distinguishing texture, void and indescribable.
“The hell is this place?” she murmured, glancing around anxiously.
She spotted a door standing at a distance of around ten metres away. There was nothing outrageously spectacular about this door (apart from the fact that it was standing completely upright without anything supporting it). It was brown and simple in design and appearance, save for its horizontal lever-like doorknob, which looked out of place on such a drab-looking entrance way. As she hesitantly approached it, a sharp rapping sound echoed throughout the expanse.
She frowned as she purposefully circled around the door at a lax pace as the rapping sound rang out in a second and third salvo. Clearly, it was coming from the door, but a quick look confirmed that there was no-one on either side of it, save for herself.
Deciding that there was probably going to be someone on the other side regardless of which way she opened it, she cautiously pulled the lever and let it slide open. To her lack of surprise, there was a person standing in the doorway to greet her. Wait, make that two people.
Both were tall men with rather plain haircuts, and clad in black suits with sunglasses. In fact, they looked pretty much identical. Their intimidating size and no-nonsense demeanours unsettled her, which quickly developed into fear as one of the figures produced a silver handgun from within its blazer.
“Mr Sheffield, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” one of them spoke in a deep, monotone voice (which sounded suspiciously akin to a stereotypical Italian-American mobster) as it levelled its gun at Daring’s face, “Your man-card. Hand it over.”
“My what?” she squinted in puzzlement.
“Don’t play games with us Sheffield,” they forcefully barged through the doorway, forcing her to scramble backwards several paces, “We know what you have done, and there is no denying it, so you must now face the consequences for your actions.”
Daring’s confusion was swept aside by a fierce irritation, “Now hang on a minute, I don’t even-”
“You have committed a grave sin, Mr Sheffield,” the second figure spoke up, its voice almost identical to its partner’s, “You have defiled the most precious law known to masculinity and all that it stands for: You went and lost the most precious thing a man could ever have. You had but one job, and you fucked it up.”
“What the hell are you talking about?!” Daring spat, her irritation developing into an impatient fury.
“Are you that ignorant of your sin? May Hefner have mercy on your soul...” they shook their heads in unison. Whether it was sadness, anger or disappointment, she couldn’t tell.
“Your Y-Chromosome, Sheffield. Your only task in life was to cherish it and utilise it to its full potential. And now you’ve lost it for good. Your punishment is that your man-card be rescinded, permanently cancelling your free membership with male-kind, to be paid in full with interest.”
“Wait, what do you mean ‘with interest’? And where the hell did you get that thing?!” she pointed at the strange device the second figure was now wielding, having seemingly grabbed it out of hammerspace from behind its back. It looked vaguely like a large toy water-gun, except it was made of metal and had a small red plunger seemingly wedged into the nozzle.
“That’s simple, Sheffield. By forsaking your Y-Chromosome, you have also forsaken your dignity and worthiness as a living being. It was a gift, a novelty, a blessing. And you have turned and rejected it. Therefore, you will now live the rest of your days in shame and guilt for what you have done,” the figures took an ominous step closer.
Daring’s gut knotted up so tightly it nearly tore itself to pieces, “I have no bloody clue as to what’s going on, so I’m just going to see what’s over there now.” She pointed in a random direction opposite from the thugs and rapidly backed away.
She jumped in surprise when her back met a solid object, and a glance over her shoulder revealed it to be another thug. In fact, there were at least a dozen of them now, surrounding her on all sides. Wherever the hell they came from was anyone’s guess.
“As I said before Sheffield, we can do this the easy way... or the hard way. It’s your choice.”
“Nah, I’d rather take a third option,” she frowned, flaring her wings out and rocketing upwards with a single flap, easily escaping the grasp of the goons beneath her.
“The hard way it is then,” one of the only two thugs with a voice said with an expressionless tone.
Daring frowned in annoyance and pumped her wings to their maximum energy. Surely a Rainbow Dash palette-swap could turn-and-burn just like the speedster as well. Rather than make a quick get-a-way, she slammed into another solid object at full force, causing her snout to ignite with blazing irritation.
“What-” her eyes widened in shock upon seeing several more thugs, seemingly standing on the vertical axis.
“This is your last chance Sheffield,” the voiced one had somehow joined them.
Daring opened her mouth to protest the absurdity of where they were standing, before she was suddenly dragged to her left, landing on her face against the unseen standing surface.
‘Did gravity just flip on me?’ she hurriedly hauled herself back up as the thugs closed in with their arms outstretched, ‘What the hell is going on with this place?!’
She snarled defiantly at her aggressors, “Look mate, I don’t know what the heck you fuckwits are trying to pull, but there’s no way in Tartarus you can simply take what you like if I have anything to say about it!”
‘Did I seriously just say “Tartarus”?!’ she stopped herself with a frown.
She had no chance to further ponder her exclamation as several burly hands reached out at once. She sprung into action, launching upwards and avoiding their grasp by mere inches, before swinging her back legs around with as much force as she could muster, slamming several thugs across the face in one sweep with a kick which vaguely resembled a roundhouse in execution. The thugs toppled over under their own weight and lay in an imperfect semi-circle.
For each thug she knocked down, a dozen more took its place as an entire swarm of these bland, identical things all rushed towards her as one unit.
She wisely decided to turn tail and flee, but no matter where she went, no matter which direction she flew in, no matter how many she beat down, they were always within her field of vision, closing in like jackals for the kill.
Adrenaline surged through her veins as she desperately searched for an escape route, only finding more and more of these mobsters. Before long, they were all she could see in any given direction.
A large hand clasped itself over her mouth, startling her and causing her to lash out reflexively, her back right hoof meeting the thug’s shin in a sickening crunch. Her efforts to shrug the figure off were in vain, as she quickly found herself rendered immobile, a vice-like pair of arms gripping each and every one of her limbs. Her sensitive wings roared their protest to their being strong-armed with a wave of pain, causing her face to distort in a grimace.
Predictably, the thug with the weird metal water gun stepped forward and rammed its fist into her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her with a loud and forced gasp. The arms suddenly all released her, and she slumped to the deck in a doubled-over position, taking heavy laboured breaths. For the first few moments, she felt nothing, when suddenly her entire gut opened up the flood-gates, releasing a tidal-wave of pure, unadulterated agony, the likes of which Daring had never felt before.
It effectively reduced the once valiantly defiant and fiery Pegasus to a weeping, gasping, huddled heap on the floor in one go as the thug reached behind her left ear.
“I’ll be taking this,” it withdrew, holding a small black card with a blue symbol. It was a circle with a short arrow sticking out of the top right hand edge, the universal icon for a male.
“Now Miss Sheffield,” it casually brushed away her front bangs and placed the plunger-end of its water-gun type device against her forehead, “This might hurt a little bit.”
There was a soft hum as the plunger became enveloped in a bright red glow.
Daring screamed as something forcefully barged its way into her consciousness with the grace of a raging bull in a china shop, ransacking her very mind and leaving no stone unturned, creating a migraine of unimaginable proportions. ‘Hurt a little bit’ was officially the biggest lie she had ever heard.
After several long minutes of what seemed like pure hell, the plunger receded, having taken what it wanted. The thugs gave a dismissive wave, and just as quickly as they all randomly appeared, they were all gone, leaving the shattered mess of a Pegasus alone in the black silence, clutching her head.
What was left still functioning of Daring’s mind urgently clicked into damage-control, desperately trying to organise the cyclone of information bombarding her senses all at once into a coherent train of thought.
“What... the fuck... just happened?!” the pathetic heap finally found her voice, which spluttered out amidst the choking sobs.
Her gut felt like someone had stabbed her through with a white-hot poker; her head felt like it was about to rip in two, her migraine was that bad; her wings and legs loudly attempted to voice their opinions on the forceful manner in which they were handled, on top of the uproar emanating from of the rest of her body. She felt like every ounce of her energy was sucked dry, leaving her feeling lethargic and unmotivated to even cry, let alone reorganise her consciousness. And to round it all off, she simply felt dreadful. Not in the physical-pain kind of dreadful, but in a what-the-hell-have-I-done-type dreadful. All of her cheer and optimism had been drained flat, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of depression and hopelessness.
“Fucker wasn’t kidding when he said 'living in shame and without dignity',” she muttered miserably.
She could feel that the left side of her face was drenched in a small puddle of moisture. A quick swipe across her face quickly revealed the moisture to be a mixture of tears, that strange slimy muck that inexplicitly runs from one’s nose when they’re reduced to such a sobbing state, and small splatters of red which indicated she had probably coughed up blood at some point.
The surface beneath her suddenly gave way, releasing her into a state of limbo freefall. She gave no resistance, falling into gravity’s embrace with a deflated indifference. She lazily twirled about and opened up her wings in a vain attempt to slow her descent. Across to her left, seemingly falling alongside her was an image; a ghostly, slightly faded image of three people in disturbingly familiar uniforms. She rubbed her eyes, and stared into the faces of three Royal Australian Navy sailors. None of them were faces she immediately recognised, but she certainly didn’t like the way they were scowling with contempt.
‘Look at you,’ one of the sailors remarked disdainfully in a distorted voice, ‘You must think you’re so fucking special, turning into a fucking pony of all things. Must be living the dream there pony boy, turning into a magical fucking horse from a little girl’s cartoon. Well listen here cunt, and listen good. Just because we are ordered to help you out of your own mess, doesn’t mean we actually give a fuck about your little conundrum. You’re not the only one with problems, you know! Show some fucking consideration for once, and just remember that you’re not the only person on board this tin-can’.
“I... what... of course I know that, but... it wasn’t my choice to become like this... I... I don’t even...” she managed to splutter in soft protest, pitifully dragging her left foreleg about as if trying to reach for something, “I didn’t ask for this to happen. I didn’t want this to happen... I ... I just don’t know what went wrong!”
The sailors snorted in disgust, ‘You’ve done nothing but create interruptions and hassles for us! We have a job, a mission, and your fucking around has inhibited us from performing a task for which other people rely on us! Just fuck off and be someone else’s problem!’
“But...”
Her protest was ignored as their image dispersed into mist, reorganising a few moments later into a picture of the Skipper, and she did not like the look of his fierce glare.
‘What the hell am I going to do with you?! I’m a busy man you know, and I have better things to do with my time than fuck around with something which is completely irrelevant and useless to me. So get your arse the hell off my ship, you freak! Go on, scram!’
With a frightened whimper, she scrambled against the breeze, finally remembering to flap her wings. Unfortunately, her lethargy was crippling, her body doing little but helplessly flail about as the ghostly Skipper finished his tirade, ‘I said, fuck off!’
A heavy blunt force rammed itself into her backside, launching her forwards at an incredible speed.
She landed in a heap against a soft surface, before sliding to a halt with half of her face feeling like it was on fire.
A sharp shriek pierced the air, causing her ears to flatten. She glanced up to see a middle-aged woman staring at her from on top of a couch.
It took Daring several moments to piece together where she was. She could feel the soft blue carpet beneath her (which explained the carpet-burn from the landing), and glanced about at the white walls, which where dotted with old photo-frames. She recognised this place as one of the houses she lived in as a child.
“... Mum?”
‘What the hell are you?!’ the image of Human-Mark’s mother jumped backwards in fright, exclaiming in a shrill voice that Daring did not remember her to have, ‘Go on, shoo! Get out of our house!’
“Mum, it’s me! Mark!” she pleaded desperately, reaching out with a hoof, “Please... help me! I don’t know what’s going on...”
For a moment, the woman stared incredulously, ‘... Markie? W-What the heck happened to you?!’
“I-I don’t know!” she sagged pathetically, “I-I’ve been robbed of my life, my dreams, and my family! I just don’t know what to do anymore!”
Her mother’s eyes widened as she started hyperventilating, ‘Markie... I... I can’t... I don’t even... what...’
She briskly turned about and ran off in a flustered state, rambling incoherently under her breath.
“Mum... don’t leave me...” Daring sobbed into her foreleg, “Please...”
‘Son...’ a second voice drew her attention. She dragged her head further across to her left, spotting a tall man, possibly in his late forties with a stern frown adorning his face, ‘I am disappoint’.
That was all he said, before turning and walking away.
“Dad... no, not you too!” she wailed helplessly.
The world of her old living room faded to black, with Daring’s limp form still lying outstretched. Between her pounding headache and other physical torments, having just been grilled out not only by some complete strangers, but the Skipper as well, and now being disregarded by her own parents, Daring’s grip on her sanity was quickly slipping.
A droning, mournful wail resounded throughout the expanse.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?!” Daring screamed in frustration, pounding her hoof against the floor, “SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER ME!!”
A bright flash off to her right attracted her attention, and through gluggy, tear-stained eyes, she turned about to face the source.
Several more flashes went off in a sporadic pattern from all around her. And slowly but surely, she began to hear a steadily-increasing drone. A drone which began to take the form of some twisted kind of demonic, high-pitched laughter. With each bright flash, there was a loud click, like a camera going off.
Amongst the cameras and the laughter, all of which Daring quickly assessed were directed at her, she could start to see a misty haze forming around her. A haze which morphed into a dense crowd of... well she couldn’t quite tell what. They seemed to be crudely drawn, stick-figure esque creatures, all with demented smiles on their otherwise blank faces, and bright yellow, pupil-less eyes. All pointing and laughing at her and the miserable state she was in.
She instinctively curled up into a ball, “G-Go away! I’ve had enough of this nightmare! Just... FUCK OFF!!”
Her desperate and pitiful exclamations did little but cause the raucous laughter to increase.
She clamped her hooves over her ears in an attempt to block out the cacophony, with no success.
'Look at you. The great adventuress Daring Do... turns out to be nothing but a blubbering little foal that cries for mommy when she’s scared and afraid!’ a harsh, grating voice sneered, ‘You are nothing but a weakling! Consumed by your own fears and anxieties... for which your little facade lasted all of just a few measly days! You worthless piece of shit! Go crawl under a rock and just die already!’
“N-no... I... I just...”
‘You just what?’ a creature leaned into her face with an agitated scowl, ‘You’ve been saying that a lot now, and frankly we’re all sick of your whinging. Shut up already! No-one cares about you!’
“No... you’re wrong!” she attempted feebly, “My friends... aboard Brisbane...”
‘They don’t give a shit! They’re just trying to make it look like they care, but when you think they have your back, they’re really just going to hand you off at the next convenient moment!’ the creature growled, ‘You’re just an inconvenience to them all, and they’ll be better off when you become someone else’s problem!’
“N...” she began to protest, before sighing and slumping over limply. The last of her willpower faltered. The Pegasus simply wept, rendered down to a truly shattered and broken train-wreck.
----
“How long has she been like this?” a voice spoke up, its tone deadly serious with worry and concern.
“I don’t know. I only just found her like this myself. I literally walked in and straight back out to find you,” Martin shrugged apologetically, “Judging by how restless she is, I’d say this has been going for a while now.”
Rogers sighed. He had a feeling that something wasn’t right when Mark dismissed the whole transformation so casually yesterday.
And now, the Pilot-turned-Pegasus was writhing like a restless worm in her bunk, tossing and turning about and moaning in a rather distressing way under her breath at around two o’clock in the morning. Her pillow was damp with drool, sweat and tears, and her bed sheets had been kicked to the far end of the bunk. Her wings twitched, flapping about in a rather pitiful fashion.
He just shook his head, “She’s obviously experiencing a nightmare, so there’s nothing we can do other than wait until it wears off and she wakes up. We’ll talk her through it then.”
“We can’t just leave her like this!” Martin hissed frantically.
“Marty,” The Medic cast him a tired glare, “Just... no. I’m worried too, but if we wake her up as she is now... goodness knows what’ll happen. I’m a physician, not a psychiatrist. I’ll keep an eye on her, and if something happens, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
Martin huffed in annoyance, but otherwise nodded and briskly exited the cabin.
Rogers took a seat and turned his gaze back to the mustard-yellow Pegasus, “... Poor bastard.”
----
Something inside of her snapped. There was an audible crackling noise to accentuate the dangerous fragmenting of her willpower. She gave a low howl, and all at once, her body shuddered. The cacophonic jeering and cameras never ceased or let up; an endless source of painful irritation, like an itch that just couldn’t be reached. A chilly breeze wafted through the expanse as Daring shakily stood up on all fours, clenching her eyes shut and ignoring the woes of her body, switching to her reserve stores of energy for one last ditch effort.
“Get... out...of... MY... HEAD!!” she roared, taking a swipe at the creature in front of her.
‘Missed me,’ the creature blew a raspberry, much to the amusement of its compatriots.
She gave an animalistic snarl and took another swipe, much more feebly this time as her energy and stamina reached critical levels, now running on fumes.
“Just... leave me alone...” she grimaced with a loud *sniff*. Her eyelids grew heavy, and with the last remaining step, she toppled over in defeat.
“Leave... me... alone...” a barely audible whisper repeated itself as she blankly stared off into space.
‘Well that certainly lasted long,’ the creatures jeered, their tones dripping with liquid sarcasm, 'And for a moment, we were about to think you had finally grown a pair! ... Again.'
“Go... away...”
‘Or what? What are ya gonna do, eh? Chuck a little hissy fit and maybe spit the dummy? Go ahead! Make us all happy, why don’t ya?!’
The last thing she needed were these annoying pests poking her with their trolling, but with her energy effectively gone, there was nothing she could offer up as a defence. She was left at her most vulnerable, and these pests were obviously relishing in their torment of the Pegasus.
A loud *pew* sound, a noise akin to a laser gun from a sci-fi movie, suddenly erupted from somewhere off to the left, and a creature’s head exploded into a fine mist, before the rest of its body dissolved altogether.
“Boom, headshot,” a new voice spoke up as a tall and graceful form wandered into view, with a deep scowl adorning its facial features.
‘Eh?’
‘What the-’
Daring barely paid any attention as a loud cacophony of noise and bright lights suddenly erupted around her.
“Leave... me... alone...” she continued her soft chant.
After several moments of what seemed like frantic activity, the noise and lights died down. There was a loud sigh of relief.
“My word, this one was a doozy to crack open!” the voice murmured off-handedly.
Daring’s ear twitched to the sound of hooves against the floor, the familiar *clip-clop* growing in intensity until the source was nearly right on top of her. She paid the source no attention; all spark of life void from her eyes.
Something grappled her around her shoulders, and she made no move to resist as she was drawn up and into a...
Hug?
After what seemed like a roller coaster from Hell, now she was being shown some semblance of acceptance?
“Shh, it’s alright,” the voice whispered gently into her ear, “It’s all over, now. I’m here for you”.
She felt herself sag in relief, lost herself in the warm embrace of her saviour, not even finding the energy to identify who this mystery pony was. The pony was incredibly warm and soft to the touch, like a soft blanket that had come straight out of the drying machine.
A gentle breeze rustled through her mane. Ever so slightly, she felt her lethargy start to slip away. The warmth of this pony’s embrace was energising as her hopefulness gradually returned, and slowly, she opened her eyes. A large navy-blue wing obscured her vision. She turned her head about.
“It’s a long story,” Luna exhaled, releasing Daring from the hug, “But the short version is that I’m a human who-”
“-turned into the Princess of Night herself?” Daring finished the sentence in realisation, and sighed in relief, “Oh thank God! Maybe you can help me! Just what the hell is going on with us? Why are we all turning into ponies?!”
Luna regarded Daring with a serious expression, “Basically, Discord happened. To be honest, I haven’t been able to figure out all that much myself yet. But I assure you that we’ve been working on it, and for the last week or two, we’ve been trying to identify and locate as many of our fellow ponies as we can”.
“We?” Daring murmured curiously.
“As in, Princess Celestia and I,” Luna clarified, “My real name as a human was John Sappington, but you may address me as simply ‘Luna’ if you wish.”
“Mark,” Daring nodded weakly, “Mark Sheffield. Otherwise known as Daring Do, apparently”.
Luna coughed loudly to suppress a *squee* at the name ‘Daring Do’, “Right. Anyway, you should find you’ll be able to sleep better now. It took a while, but I was finally able to clean up your nightmare. I don’t think you’ll be experiencing anything like that again. I don't think I've ever met a person or a pony with so much anxiety stashed away! Would you care to talk with me about it? That is, if you don’t mind...”
Daring took a deep breath and exhaled, “... Yes. Yes I’m anxious about this. I haven’t got the foggiest clue as to why my life has been ripped from me like this. My sense of pride, my friends, my family. They’ve all been alienated me now that... this has happened. I don’t even know how many of us there are, or how I can get in touch with them. I’ve got nothing to work with to answer my questions or to quell my concerns. Nothing.”
“That’s not true,” Luna frowned, “What about your comrades on board that warship with you? Don’t they count for something?”
“Well, yes in a sense, but they can’t really relate to what we’re going through. The best they can do is pat me on the back and sing ‘Soft Kitty’”.
“Maybe so, but that’s still more than what some ponies will ever receive throughout this troubling ordeal,” Luna shrugged, “I’m pretty sure there’s one poor soul out in the Middle East who is up to her neck in Arabs who have never seen an episode of My Little Pony in their entire lives.”
“...Wow. Sucks to be them,” Daring’s right eye twitched.
“What I’m saying is that you just need to remember that despite your circumstances, you never need to look far for support. Your crew members might still be only human, but they’re more help than you might realise, even if they’re only able to offer a compassionate ear who is willing to listen. When the time is right, we will sort out a way to get back home.”
“What do you mean, ‘home’?” Daring scowled.
“This might be difficult to grasp, but you really are Daring Do,” explained Luna.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Tell me, when did this all start for you?” Luna questioned.
“When these damn cutie marks appeared. They were the first thing I noticed,” Daring replied.
“M-hmm, and on what day did they appear?” The Princess pressed.
“Just over four days ago, probably on my birthday. Why?”
“Daring, listen to what I’m about to say very carefully. Does the phrase ‘Five Score Divided by Four’ ring any bells for you?” Luna leaned in slightly.
“Five Score...” Daring’s eyes widened, “Yes... yes it does actually. Just the other night, I had a dream where Discord used that phrase. I have no clue as to what he was going on about.”
Luna’s face broke into a wide grin, “Oh? Tell me more about this ‘dream’!”
“Well, Daring Do was facing off against Discord with the Alicorn Amulet, and unfortunately lost. Discord stands over her and prepares to fire a spell, and then after that, the dream ends,” she shrugged.
Luna gently lay a hoof on her shoulder, “Daring, what you saw there was not a dream, but a flashback. That Daring Do, fighting with everything she had left, with her back against the wall? That was you! ‘Five Score Divided by Four’ is just a fancy way of saying ‘twenty five’, is it not? How old are you now?”
“... Twenty five,” Daring blinked incredulously.
“What we do know is that Discord has put a curse on us all to be trapped as humans for a quarter of a century, and now that the curse is wearing off, all of the affected ponies are slowly returning to their old forms again! Once we’re all back to normal, the problem from there is simply finding a way back to Equestria, locating the Elements and overthrowing Discord once and for all.”
“But... the Daring Do in my dream spoke with a completely different accent to me. That couldn’t have been me,” she frowned.
“One of the quirks of having fresh new bodies,” Luna waved dismissively, “New vocal cords means a new voice. Just listen to me! I don’t sound anything like the ‘Princess Luna’ from the show, either!”
“Come to think of it...” Daring hadn’t really been paying much attention to how the Princess’s voice sounded, aside from dismissing her accent as American.
“I suppose I shouldn’t really hang around for much longer, but before I leave, I just want you to remember that no matter how difficult things may seem, no matter how depressed you might become, just remember that I’m always around, searching the dreamscape for other ponies. If you need anything, just give me a holler, and I’ll be sure to lend a welcome ear.
“You’re a fighter, Daring Do. A pillar of hope: strong, crafty and resilient to the bitter end, no matter the odds. And it’d do nopony any good if you’re giving up on us now. I implore you to remain firm in your resolution, and have faith that we will work through this together. That’s all I have to say. Farewell.”
Luna’s figure gradually dispersed into mist, before fading from sight altogether.
Daring took a deep breath. Her energy felt revitalised from just that one five minute interaction with the Princess of the Night, although her limbs still felt stiff and sore. She looked about, to find that she was in the middle of a lush green pasture. White fluffy clouds adorned the bright blue sky. It seems she was too distracted by her conversation to even notice the change of scenery.
She gingerly stretched out her wings, relieved to find that they were without any complaints at all. A wide grin broke out across her face.
“I suppose the Princess really does possess the ability to cure nightmares,” she remarked, “I guess I should thank her later in person when I get the chance.”
Feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination for the future, she pumped her wings with as much force as she could muster, launching off into the blue expanse.
----
Rogers sighed in relief when Daring’s unconscious thrashing gradually reduced, before stopping altogether, the only sound coming from her limp form being the soft sound of her snoring. The pained expression across her features relaxed into a more neutral expression of contentment.
Rogers whipped a pen and a small notepad from his pocket and quickly scribbled down what he had witnessed, and made a mental note to talk with the Pegasus about it at a more convenient time later on.
He slowly stood up and walked out the door, the latch locking into place with a soft *clunk*.
Daring’s eyes shot open as a loud, muffled *crack* resounded about the ship.
She sat up in her bunk and warily looked about for the source of the noise. Aside from the usual rumble of Brisbane’s engines, and the constant sloshing of the churning ocean around them, she could hear the rapid-fire tap-tap of rain thumping against Brisbane’s hull. Dismissing the sound which woke her as thunder, she plopped her head back down on the pillow.
A sharp pain in her back finally drew her attention across both of her wings, which looked more than a little dishevelled. She gingerly stretched them out, noting that they were still tense and sore from yesterday afternoon’s exercises.
‘Maybe I just slept on them wrong,’ a possibility crossed her train of thought.
A powerful jolt snapped her attention back to reality as the ship suddenly seemed to drop from beneath her, before suddenly surging back up again.
‘Must be rough weather out there,’ she thought with a frown.
Another range of sounds attracted her attention, from the other side of the cabin door. A muffled voice alerted her to the presence of sailors loitering in the hallway.
She carefully shuffled herself off her bunk and tip-toed her way to press her ear against the door. Well, she did the pony-equivalent to tip-toeing anyway, while being careful not to slip over as Brisbane powered on heedlessly through the rough seas.
“... dunno what you think, but I don’t reckon things look too good at the moment. The weather’s just too shit for the chopper, so we’ve got no eye in the sky until it blows over,” one of the voices said. Daring identified him as XO Cruze. “We’re not confident Shef’s flying abilities at their full potential yet, and on top of that, it’d be just too bloody cold and windy for her to cope with as well, so we simply can’t risk asking her to play the role of stop-gap. She’d just get smashed out there. Speaking of which, how long has she been asleep anyway?”
“Since about twenty-two thirty last night,” the other voice replied, Medic Rogers by the sounds of it, “She looked completely knackered when she went to bed. She must’ve created quite an exhaustive work-out for herself. And then she was tossing and turning all night as well, which we noticed stopped at around oh-two forty-five this morning. Symptoms included murmuring incoherently under her breath, and looking to be in a lot of pain at several stages.”
‘Oh yeah, the nightmare,’ Daring frowned, ‘They’re probably going to be asking me questions now, by the sounds of it. Wait a minute... they were watching me sleep?! That’s just a little bit of a breach in privacy!’
She scowled indignantly as she reached up and pulled the lever, letting the door swing open with the sway of the ship. Both officers instantly jerked their heads in her direction, blinking in surprise.
“Oh Shef, you’re awake!” Cruze shuffled about to face her, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“A little stiff, actually,” Daring murmured, stretching her neck about. Her entire body visibly tensed up as she struggled to hold her grip on the bare metal deck with the ship’s movement. “I must’ve slept wrong or something.”
“Sandman didn’t decide to pay you a visit or anything?” Rogers asked casually, “No nightmares or anything like that?”
‘Real smooth way to try and pry what you already know, Rodge. Real smooth,’ Daring thought.
She shrugged, “Not really. I had a dream where this one guy single-handedly killed a heap of weirdos with a laser gun, and then I had a dream I was practising flying off cliff-tops all day, but that’s about it.”
Well, that was partly true. Hopefully Rogers wouldn’t notice that he only got less than fifteen percent of it.
Rogers folded his arms across his chest while raising an eyebrow suspiciously, “Yeah? And tell us a bit more about this ‘guy with a laser gun’.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” Daring shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, “A guy with a laser gun. Nothing else needs to be said.”
“...Alright,” Rogers didn’t seem convinced, but otherwise let the matter drop, “You missed breakfast, by the way. The mess hall is still open if you want a bite to eat before lunch, though. If you ever want to talk to me about anything, I’ll be at my usual post in the Medical Station.”
Daring gave the Medic a nod as he turned and walked off up the hallway, disappearing around a corner. Daring then turned her attention to XO Cruze, who was still standing there, waiting for an opportunity to speak.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely.
“Well, I was having a chat with the Skipper last night, and we’ve received a reply from Top Brass about a message we sent them regarding your little aesthetical crisis,” Cruze gestured, “and frankly, to say that they’re in disbelief is like saying this rain is just a bit of a drizzle. And who can blame them, really? The video footage we sent them was probably a little confronting, and they said they’ll need time to stew it over and digest it.”
“What else is there?” Daring’s head tilted slightly to the right.
“I guess that’s it really. The order for your supplies is due to arrive within the next few days, and both Laura and Martin have been assigned duties helping out the engineers keeping the chopper in order, so that’s them covered for the time being. I’ve been mulling over a few ideas about what we could do with you, and I’ve even thought of potentially requesting that you get an entire sub-unit all to yourself. How does that sound?”
Daring’s ears perked slightly, “How would that work?”
“It’s simple. Since you’re no longer functional as a pilot, we can use you as the basis for a section in the Navy Air Arm entirely for yourself. An extraordinary unit for an extraordinary case,” Cruze explained with a grin, “So that way, whenever you’re on station as an operational unit, you at least can have something to identify yourself as.”
“Do you think they’d accept it?” Daring’s head tilted back across to the left. This was sounding a little too good to be true. “The amount of paperwork and resources required for all of that would be a little much for something which might turn out to be only a temporary thing. I don’t plan on just living my days out as a pony, you know. I want to get to the bottom of all this as soon as possible.”
“Hmm,” Cruze visibly deflated slightly, “I s’pose you’re right... Look, at the end of the day, you also have a big say in what we’re going to do with you, and if you’re happy to stay attached to your current squadron for now, then I guess that works too.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” Daring nodded with an apologetic smile, “I really do, but I think that giving me my own niche out of the blue is jumping the gun a little bit here. My main focus is to first come to grips with my current situation, and THEN we’ll figure out what to do from there. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop serving Brisbane the best way I can, there’s no doubt about that. But sorting out my place in the Navy isn’t that high on my priorities list.”
“No, no, you’re right. I just got off onto a bit of a tangent with that train of thought,” Cruze shrugged, “That makes our job a little bit easier, I guess.”
A loud voice resounded over the ship’s intercom system, “Could XO Cruze please report to the Ops Room? XO Cruze to the Ops Room.”
“Ergh, I better go see what’s up,” Cruze shook his head, turning about to leave, “In the meantime, you’re free to do whatever you want, within reason. As always, the gym and its facilities are all yours to use as you see fit.”
Daring stared blankly up and down the now-vacant hallway.
‘Cruze did raise a valid point, I suppose. It could be quite some time before this whole ‘pony’ ordeal comes to a head, so we’ll need to figure out how this will impact my place in the Navy,’ she sat down on her haunches, slightly leaning her left side against the wall.
‘Add that to a long list of other problems. I need to re-learn how to live, for one thing, which is going to be a pain in the flank. Pegasi require different lifestyles to humans, with plenty of exercise and flying-time, which is going to be easy enough, but I have no idea how to even keep myself hygienic, beyond a basic scrub-down with water and maybe some proper cleaning stuff. I’ll have to do a bit of Googling later on about how to preen these wings and keep them clean. MLP Pegasi seem to place great emphasis on keeping their wings in top condition, and I can kind-of understand why. I never knew having six limbs would be so complicated! It’s like having a second pair of arms attached to my back! It’s a very intriguing sensation, to say the least.’
She glanced over her right shoulder, absent-mindedly flexing her wings up and down independently of each other, before shifting them back into their folded storage positions across her sides.
‘What else is there...?’ she furrowed her brow in deep concentration, ‘The issue of food is being sorted out, and I have all the muscle movements and patterns memorised, so finding my way around is no longer an issue.
‘I haven’t experienced another hunch-sensation yet, but I have a feeling that that is triggered whenever I intentionally go looking for things of high value. I’ll have to put that to the test later on.
‘New physical body, and a female one no less, is going to have some rather... interesting quirks and side-effects. I’m certainly not too keen on finding out if getting kicked below the belt is any less painful for females, so we can definitely cross that one off the list.
‘Female hormones in humans typically follow a predictable monthly cycle, but what’s the case for ponies? Some of the fanfics that I spotted Chris reading theorise that they have the same seasonal routine as normal ponies, coming into heat every couple of weeks throughout the year and all that crap, but I guess we’ll never know unless it actually happens. I for one sincerely hope they’re wrong. I don’t exactly want to be caught strutting around with an ice pack jammed between my legs for several days just to keep my cool. Damn, that’s going to be so awkward.
‘And what about sex in general? Shit, I wasn’t even able to score as a human! I suppose it’s my own fault, considering I was concentrating more on getting my life in order than anything else. So now that my first time will be as Daring Do...’
“Ergh,” She visibly shuddered, “Let’s just leave that can of worms alone for the time being.”
‘I have to think of a way to break this to my family! How are they going to react to all of this? Chris will probably be over the moon, having a genuine Pegasus for an older sister. I mean, who doesn’t think that Daring Do is awesome? Any brony worth his salt would be half smiling like a Cheshire cat, half gobsmacked by the fact that Pegasi are real.’
She audibly sighed, ‘Mum and Dad will probably flip their shit, so I’ll have to tread carefully with them. That’ll be the hardest part, I suppose.’
She blinked as a low growling sound resonated up and down the hallway.
“Alright, alright,” she grumbled as she glanced down at her tummy, which was angrily reminding her that she not only missed breakfast, but was about to miss lunch as well. “I’ll feed you, just hold your horses for a minute. One problem at a time. First, I need to think a few things through...”
She swore she could hear a little voice inside her shout “No!”
“Argh, fine!” She started pacing at a brisk trot, heading for the mess hall, “Have it your way then.”
-----
As Daring set about to prepare some lunch for herself, she realised that it was times like these when she kind-of wished she had been transformed into a Unicorn like Twilight or Trixie, so that way she could at least use her telekinetic magic to make up for the severe loss of dexterity in her limbs.
Wielding a simple thing like a butter knife was never a more challenging task in her life. She had to hold it between her teeth in a rather awkward fashion, and it was more like watching a disabled child trying to make their own meal than anything else.
Removing toast from the toaster was a two-hoofed effort, and finding the right balance whilst carrying the loaded plate between her teeth was quite a strain on her neck and jaw muscles. The rough seas meant that keeping her balance was incredibly difficult. The flat soles of her hooves provided very little in the way of grip, and it was a game of hit-or-miss to not to slip over as the deck moved about beneath her hooves.
Her wings flared out on either side of her in a feeble attempt to help, by leaning them against the cupboards, the walls, and basically anything solid enough to support her weight.
Several sailors sitting at a table closest to the door were all watching the spectacle with curious amusement, and in one voice, they all gave a gruff cheer as Daring’s sense of grip failed her, sending her head-over-heels just short of the table. The hapless Pegasus found her snout jamming into the seat on the way down, causing her to drop the plate, nearly breaking it, and dropping the slices of toast in all directions.
A rather lengthy string of vulgar and somewhat crudely-assembled profanity escaped Daring’s mouth as she clutched her now-bleeding face in pain with a hoof, and at the same time used her other foreleg to save what toast she could by flipping it back onto the plate, which now had a serious crack on the underside and several chips here and there.
In all honesty, the mess floor was routinely scrubbed to borderline-OCD standards, and was probably sanitary enough to eat off of without any side-effects, but it still didn’t stop her from acting like the five-second-rule still applied.
She scowled in frustration at her salvage attempt, judging less than a third of her original plateful as still edible, still swearing like a sailor under her breath as she discarded the rejects in the nearest rubbish bin.
“That’s the SECOND time that’s happened!” She sat down to eat what was left of her lunch. She glanced up towards the sailors in the corner, who all quickly turned their heads to look at something else, chuckling quietly amongst themselves.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you wankers,” she added for good measure in a hushed mutter, more-so out of irritation than anything else, “Let’s see any of you lot do better when you’ve got no hands and about the same level of traction as a car driving through a fucking oil slick.”
Apparently she had said that a little louder than she intended, and the raucous laughter from the back corner significantly increased in volume.
“That’s why we love you Shef,” one of the sailors chortled, “You’re like a walking highlight reel!”
Deciding that responding would only make things worse, she wisely kept her mouth shut as she ate the rest of her meal in silence, being careful not to drip blood on her toast. She would wipe her face with the back of her foreleg from time to time, which after a short while created a rather sizable collection of red smears along her arm.
-----
[1410 Hours]
Despite a rather disappointing lunch which still left her feeling peckish for more, Daring decided to continue her strenuous exercise routine from yesterday, taking up a considerable portion of the small gym area for herself.
The extra space was handy, and it gave her plenty of room to move about. Anything less and she’d start feeling claustrophobic, which after some thought struck her as odd, because Mark as a human never had an issue with cramped spaces. She shrugged and dismissed it as one of Daring Do’s traits brought on by the transformation.
With hindsight, she came to the realisation that Pegasi are creatures of the air, and their mentality being to be free to do as they pleased with unrestricted access to their vast airspace, their natural element.
With that thought in mind, she wasn’t really surprised that the small confines of a Navy warship such as HMAS Brisbane would cause some issues to arise within that regard. After all, it was designed partly with space efficiency in mind, cramming as much technical equipment, weapons, armour and mechanical gear as the designers could fit within a four hundred and eighty by sixty-one foot hull of solid steel. It was to be expected that even breathing room would be a little hard to come by in some places, let alone enough space to stretch one’s wings.
Then again, it was never designed with Pegasus crewmembers in mind, was it?
The hangar had become Daring’s favourite place on the entire ship, and she had a feeling that it had something to do with all the free space she had to play with while the Seahawk was out on a sortie.
It was the largest available area where she could practice her flying and hovering, short of opening up the hangar door and letting her loose outside. Unfortunately, due to the current poor weather, the crew refused to do anything of the sort today, out of the concern that #1) If something went wrong, they had no means of safely retrieving her if need be; and #2) It’d let far too much rainwater and potentially seawater in for their liking.
So, without anything else to do with herself, Daring spent her afternoon pumping weights and slowly trying to coax some semblance of physical strength into her limbs. Her muscles were adamantly clear that they didn’t take too kindly to being worked so hard, and before long, she was collapsed in a heap on the rest bench, with a range of muscles she didn’t even know existed crying out in agony.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, she gazed about the gym. Sharing the space with her were several sailors which she recognised as members of the Clearance Divers, the Australian Navy’s rough equivalent to the US Navy Seals. For the most part, they paid her no more attention than they did before she had turned into a monochrome-maned, dull yellow-coated Pegasus, regarding her with little more than professional indifference as they went about their business.
Besides, it was rather bad taste to simply stare at someone whilst in a gym, the reason being that it sometimes gave rather bad impressions whenever you spotted someone gawking at you while you exercised.
At least, that’s how Daring felt about it anyway. It made her feel more self-conscious than she’d like.
Even as a human, she never really enjoyed an audience whenever she hit the gym, not that there was much to gawk at anyway. Mark was never exactly tall per say, standing at around five-foot-nine, and he felt himself to be pretty average in the way of muscle build, even for someone in the military. He was certainly a solid bloke, by no means lanky and underweight or anything, but he just didn’t quite have that vibe of physical intimidation about him.
That little memoir triggered Daring’s train of thought to drift back to her life before that fateful event of May 8th. The last time she saw her parents was when HMAS Brisbane was departing from Fleet Base West, in Perth. They had flown across the entire country from their home in Melbourne and booked a hotel just so that they could be there to see him off in person. God bless them both. Chris was on board HMAS Sydney out on exercise near East Timor, so naturally he couldn't make it.
Now that she thought about it, Sydney had been selected to take part in RIMPAC 2020, over in Hawaii. They'd probably be pretty busy getting ready for that right about now.
With unwieldy hooves like these, she’d never be able to grip a video game controller again, much to her dismay, amongst a growing mental list of other distressing inhibitions. She’d forever have hassles trying to press the tiny buttons on the remote control to the TV; she’d never be able to turn a circular door knob again; she’d never be able to so much as hold a pencil to draw with; she’d never be able to hold a pool cue properly again (Chris always beat her at pool anyway, so nothing was really changing there); She’d never be able to hold a gun properly (not without a brace to support herself with); She’d never- -
“Are you alright there, Shef?” a voice derailed her train of thought. She glanced up at one of the Clearance Divers, Lieutenant Chappell she realised, who was standing over her with a concerned look on his face, “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”
She blinked and hastily reorganised her thoughts into a more professional state of mind. She had been standing in front of the weight rack, staring vacantly at the twenty five kilo weight for quite some time.
“Sorry, got lost in my own thoughts for a moment there,” she gripped the weight in between her teeth, beginning to delicately drag it off the rack. At the rate she was going, her neck and shoulders were getting far more exercise just hauling the things around than any other muscle in her body. They certainly seemed to scream for respite more than any other place, anyway.
She paused to gingerly rub the back of her neck, before reconsidering and replacing the weight to its original position.
“I think some cool-off stretches are in order, and then I’ll finish up for the day,” Daring stepped across to an exercise mat on the floor, easing herself into a stretching pattern she picked up during her training days at HMAS Cerberus, and modified accordingly to suit her new physiology. She started out by gently stretching out the muscles in her neck, moving her way backwards to her shoulders and forelegs, then her back and wings, before finishing up with her hind legs.
Another loud crack of thunder from outside the ship caught Daring’s attention, and her mind drifted back to how Princess Luna in the TV show seemed to be able to control lightning simply through her emotions alone on a whim.
It was the only major Luna-centred episode Mark had watched, but her intimidating presence was well-rounded off and memorable to watch, as the Princess of the Night nearly ruined a Halloween rip-off celebration through her sheer social awkwardness. Just a few months isn’t really much time to reassociate oneself with the current times after spending a millennium on the Moon, and Luna’s characterisation portrayed her as the very embodiment of ‘old school’.
It was curious as to how the fanfiction often mentioned Luna’s ability to ‘traverse the dreamscape’, for a lack of a better term, using her Magic to enter a pony’s dream at will, because Mark had never actually seen an episode where she utilised such a skill, and in the episodes he had seen where she made an appearance, it was never mentioned.
Granted, he hadn’t actually seen every single episode, so it was likely that he had just missed the ones which expanded on that.
Experiencing the Princess’s ability at work firsthand for herself however set the fan-base’s theories in solid concrete.
She initially had doubts about whether this Princess Luna was the real deal, or just a figment of her imagination.
In the heat of the moment, it hadn't really clicked in her head that it was Princess-fucking-Luna giving her a get-better hug. If Chris ever learned about that, he'd be shattered that it wasn't him on the receiving end.
After a few moments of thought, she realised that her turning into Daring Do was in and of itself just as mind-shattering and outlandish, so ANYTHING could be possible at this point.
In hindsight, the Lunar Princess held an aura about her as someone... erm, somepony who could play the role of mother/mentor figure just as proficiently as her older sister Celestia.
That was another thing which Daring was uncertain about. Sure, the Lunar Sibling was the younger of the two, but the show never specifically stated how big their age difference was. In fact... they didn't even look remotely related at all. The colour palettes were too different and contrasting. Whatever the case, Daring theorised that Luna had much more wisdom and experience under her belt than the show let on. Everyone makes mistakes from time to time, and letting her jealousy get the better of her was probably not the worst mistake she ever made in her existence.
Of course, turning into Nightmare Moon was a pretty terrible thing to happen, but everyone loses their grip on things at least once in a while. As far as she knew, the transformation wasn't really voluntary, and that the Nightmare entity was a seperate being born out of her anguish, so technically Luna couldn't really be held accountable for whatever atrocity took place between then and her banishment, due to a slight case of Split-Personality Disorder.
If that excuse could work for some of the complete dropkicks that went through the Judicial System these days, then by golly it'd be appropriate for Luna too.
Daring personally felt that an entire millennium in the time-out zone was probably overkill reaction from Celestia, considering that in the show’s second episode, the Elements of Harmony simply separated and destroyed Nightmare Moon as an entity, restoring Luna to her former state. A much more efficient method than having to re-banish Luna to the moon for another millennium, if she thought so herself.
In all seriousness, couldn’t Celestia have done that the first time around when she held the Elements of Harmony at her disposal, rather than go through the pain and agony of being alone for a thousand years?
It made no sense.
Recognising her thoughts were getting off-track, Daring refocused her frame of mind back solely on Princess Luna.
The Princess had explained to her towards the end of the dream that at her core, she really was the brave, adventurous explorer and archaeologist Daring Do, who had simply been transformed into a human and had her memory wiped clean. When she gave the conversation some thought, it actually made sense.
'It might also explain why I was able to learn to adjust to my new body,' She realised, 'I wasn't really learning... I was remembering.'
Even before the transformation, Mark always seemed to have a sharp wit about him, often the go-to person when it came to solving practical problems such as team tactics in a sports game, a trait that Daring Do was depicted with within the show.
During school, he was convinced he had read nearly every history book in the school library at least twice, whether it be Medieval or Twentieth Century. Not out of necessity, but rather out of trivial interest. It was that love of knowledge which also must’ve survived the transformation and the memory-wipe.
It was evident that they shared a love for adventure. The whole reason Mark joined the Navy was to get out and do something exciting with his life. Much of his inspiration to become a pilot stemmed from watching too many documentaries about American aircraft carriers, and how naval air power had the power to potentially change the balance of an entire war.
Unfortunately, the closest thing Australia had to aircraft carriers were perhaps the Canberra class Landing Helicopter Docks (LHD), which technically were small-scale aircraft carriers, but were unsuitable for taking anything other than rotor-wing helicopters as the title implied, or perhaps the V-TOL variant of the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning. Much to Mark’s chagrin, the Australian Defence Force neither possessed the latter nor did they entertain any plan to, which was a shame really.
Mark himself never got a chance to operate from an LHD, since all the available spots were taken by other aircrews in the squadron, leaving him with the only remaining vacancy left on HMAS Brisbane.
But again, Daring’s thought train was digressing.
She had a sneaking suspicion that her love for the air was an unconscious reaction, a latent spark reignited by a simple childhood passion; that inner Pegasus beginning to stir within.
Or it could be just a coincidence that they both loved flying, one of the two.
Her new accent and mannerisms were entirely Mark’s. Her time as a human had given her a new life and a new set of memories to live with. A new life of ambitions, mistakes and ideals. A fresh perspective on life.
The sudden claustrophobia was definitely Daring Do’s, that much she was certain of, as was the strange knack for finding lost objects of interest. She had a feeling that had the cutie mark appeared a day later, she wouldn’t have been able to find Martin’s watch so quickly.
That reminded her, she had made a mental note earlier to test out what triggered that ‘hunch’ sensation, and whether it is triggered manually or automatically.
So, on a rainy day with nothing else to do with the rest of an afternoon, that’s what she would do.
Packing away the gym equipment she used, she made haste back to her cabin and began rummaging through her belongings for anything of any particular value.
The only things of any true interest to her were her wallet, her mobile phone, an iPod, and the Daring Do plushie she received in the mail from the creepy anonymous person.
Gathering up these items under her wing, she trotted back across the ship to the hangar, searching intently for a particular person who could provide assistance. Standing amongst five aircraft mechanics next to the Seahawk was the exact person she was looking for.
“Hey Laura!” Daring called out to grab her attention, above the rain tapping loudly on the roof, “Could I borrow you for a second?”
“Sure, what’s up Seabiscuit?” Laura looked rather relieved for the distraction. Technical mechanical details were becoming boring for her anyway.
“Number one: enough of the racehorse references. Not only are they not funny, but they’re also out of context. I’m a pony. There’s a big difference,” Daring frowned, “Number two: I want to try out a little experiment, but I need an assistant to help me.”
“Sure thing, Red Rum. What do you need a hand with?” Laura smirked.
“Daring Do is supposedly a world-renowned treasure hunter, the Indiana Jones of My Little Pony if you will. I want to see if any of those skills have survived my time as a human and carried over into my transformation,” she explained, purposefully ignoring the airwoman’s playful jabs, “I’m going to close my eyes and count to sixty, and all you have to do is hide these items from me.”
She crouched down and unfurled her wing, gently letting the items drop to the floor. “My task will be to find them as quickly as possible.”
Laura picked the items off the floor, briefly examining each of them individually.
Daring turned about and pressed her face against the wall, “Your time starts now.”
“So... where do I hide them, exactly?” Laura asked.
“Anywhere within this hangar,” came the simple reply, “Just don’t tell me where or it will ruin the experiment.”
Glancing about uncertainly, Laura wandered off to find some hiding spots as Daring began counting under her breath.
“One, two, three, four...”
-----
“...fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine, sixty!” Daring about-faced, glancing around the hangar.
Laura was standing back in her original position with the aircraft mechanics. She cast the Pegasus a sly smirk, indicating that the game was afoot.
Daring blinked and glanced beyond the grinning airwoman. When beforehand, she counted five technicians, now there were only four.
“One of ‘em must’ve gone to grab a snack,” she rationalised.
Daring shut her eyes and began concentrating on everything which had happened the first time the hunch was triggered.
#1: An important item had gone missing. #2: She knew that she had at least seen the item firsthand at some point. #3: She began thinking of all the possible places it could’ve possibly gone missing. #4: Voila, the hunch mysteriously appeared to guide her in the right direction; an unseen force of magical proportions.
In an attempt to replicate the process, she began by first concentrating on her wallet: a rather small thing made of vinyl with only a handful of card slots and not much room for particularly large amounts of money. While it was rubbish for holding gold coins, what made it special to her was that it was emblazoned with the emblem of the Hylian Knights from the Legend of Zelda series. Mark had bought it from a merchandise store in Melbourne several years ago, and he hadn’t replaced it since.
The only things she kept inside it were a small wad of cash (which was useless outside of Australia anyway), her driver’s licence, her official military ID card, a credit card to access her bank account with, and her EB Games membership card.
Upon opening her eyes and glancing about the hangar once more, she immediately recognised numerous places where any one of her items could be easily hidden out of sight.
Potential places just off the top of her head included in amongst the mechanic’s tool box; inside one of the numerous drawers allocated for spare nuts, bolts, and other tidbits; under the mechanic’s workbench; inside a mechanic’s pocket; in Laura’s own pocket; somewhere inside the Seahawk; somewhere inside the gym; somewhere amongst the large rack allocated for the Seahawk’s spare parts; on top of the Seahawk, where a mechanic had left the primary maintenance hatch open; the list went on and on.
And then she felt it. Faintly at first, but as she tentatively took several steps forward, she could feel a tugging sensation developing at the back of her head. She experimentally began walking in the direction of the hangar door. To her annoyance, the hunch sensation subsided. Turning forty five degrees to her right, she began walking towards the Seahawk.
Circling the helicopter like a small fighter would circle its mother ship, Daring warily searched the external surface of the ‘Hawk from top to bottom, giving her wings a powerful flap to give her the height to scan the aircraft from above.
Satisfied that there was nothing on the outside surface, she hopped back down to the deck, landing on her hooves with a loud clack. She decided not to bother searching the interior, since she never heard any of the doors open or close.
By feeling her way around, she was able to narrow down her hunch’s general direction, directing her to one of the large set of drawers, made from aluminium and used by the mechanics for storing their tools and gadgets.
With her facial features locked in a frown of concentration, she opened up the bottom-most drawer and thoroughly scrimmaged through it before moving onto the next. She was still tall enough to be comfortably able to reach into the middle drawer, which again turned up nothing of interest; however accessing the contents of the top-most drawer required her to stand up on her hind legs in order to get a view inside.
She shut the top drawer with an unsatisfied grunt. Her hunch was definitely leading her to this spot, but that was about it. The drawer frame was dead bolted to the deck, so there was no gap underneath to stash anything, which left the only other possible place...
“Up top,” she murmured aloud, flapping her wings to get an aerial view. Sure enough, there was her wallet, lying out of sight just beyond the edge of the frame. She leaned forward, scooped it up in her mouth with a content smile, and the hunch disappeared within seconds. One item down, three more to go.
After handing her wallet back to Laura for safe-keeping, she returned to the hunt for her other valuables. The next item Daring concentrated on was her mobile phone; an older model of the Samsung Galaxy, which she used as little more than a three hundred dollar alarm clock, and rarely for its intended purpose. Now that she had these big clumsy hooves, it was useless to her anyway.
The only reason Mark had bought it was so that people could have a method of contacting him, and not very often would he actually call anyone. Granted, his contacts list was limited to just relatives and close friends who he could just contact over the Internet, but still.
Daring Do began her quest for the missing phone by thinking of all the possible places Laura could’ve placed it, starting by searching around the mechanic’s workbench. She fumbled her way through the drawers, scanned through the cluttered mess of tools and bits of machinery on the bench top, and even ducked her head under the table.
Just as the hunch sensation started to kick in again, she found her phone inside a mechanic’s tool box, underneath a spanner. Shifting the spanner aside, she collected the phone in her mouth and triumphantly passed it to Laura.
Laura cast an uncertain glance at the Lead Technician, “It’s like watching a bomb-squad dog play ‘Fetch’.”
The technician, whose nametag read ‘Griffiths’ (but everyone just him called ‘Grizzly’ instead), didn’t really seem to pay her much heed as he concentrated on watching Daring Do resume her quest. It was rather awkward for Griffiths, keeping in mind that just a few days ago, this Pegasus was one of their pilots, and now that ‘he’ was a ‘she’, the technician couldn’t help but feel slightly flustered about the whole situation.
No-one, to his knowledge, had ever just up and turned into a technicolour horse out of the blue before, and now suddenly here was one of his own comrades and honorary shipmates fluttering around on wings of dull yellow feathers like nothing life-changingly drastic had ever happened. To be that calm and rational about it was just not normal.
Daring probably never gave this much consideration herself, but what made this whole ordeal worse for the other crewmembers was that, because she wasn’t wearing any clothing, pretty much anyone who stared at her from behind for more than thirty seconds had an off-chance of being greeted by the sight of her tail inadvertently swishing just that little bit too far to the side for the viewer’s comfort.
During the lunchbreak, shortly after Daring had left the mess hall, it was mutually agreed by those gathered that whenever she was around, the new unwritten rule was that whatever you do, don’t look at her anywhere other than her face. For the love of God and all things modest, just stare at her face and anything else other than her backside.
The message had spread about the ship rather quickly, and amazingly enough, Daring was none the wiser as people began regarding her with a new sense of caution and wariness.
On any other occasion, Griffiths would have no problem calling out issues he had with someone or something, but the problem was that he rarely had anything nice to say. He was blunt with his words, and seemed to be perpetually infected with foot-in-mouth disease. The other sailors knew him far too well, and warned him that if anyone were to ever alert Shef to the issue, he would be the last person on Earth to do it.
So, with a discontented sigh, Griffiths purposefully turned his attention back to the Seahawk to take his mind off the distraction.
Daring Do, oblivious to the technician’s worries, pursued untiringly for the next item on her list: her iPod.
The device in question had been in her possession since she was fifteen, and it was one of the last models to come out before the introduction of the touch screen to the global market. Its eighty gigabyte capacity was by no means outstanding by today’s standards, but for Mark’s purposes, it was absolutely fine. Even after all these years, she still had at least fifty five gigs of memory space still unfilled.
Since the buttons were all located around a circular, touch-sensitive ‘slider’, she could still use the device to a degree, and it was the most frequently-used of Mark’s hand-held electronic devices. She hadn’t been using it as of late, due to unforeseen circumstances, but she intended to overcome the difficulty of navigating the menus with her new appendages in the near future.
After such a long period of service however, the iPod was starting to show its age. Numerous chips and nicks were evident along the edges, from countless times of being accidentally dropped. The back of the iPod was adorned with a faded sticker of a generic cartoon character, which Daring no longer remembered the name of.
Sometimes, the music randomly decided to pause itself, even when the device was ‘locked’ and Mark wasn’t even touching the button. He had a suspicion that it was because the head-phones plug was slightly out of whack, and didn't always connect properly. It was by no means in sellable condition, but it had doggedly soldiered on for this long, and as long as it still functioned properly, Daring was adamant that she wouldn’t upgrade anytime soon.
The hunch sensation finally kicked in for the third time in ten minutes, pointing Daring in the direction of a cluster of rucksacks placed haphazardly outside the gym door. Splitting them apart revealed the glint of metal, and Laura was soon in possession of the third item.
Daring pumped her wings to boost her leap towards the roof of the Seahawk, sitting on her haunches directly above the cockpit and scanning around the room for where Laura had potentially placed the plushie.
The strange little plush toy from an unknown sender was probably the only other thing of any worth that Daring had on this ship, aside from clothing and uniforms. There wasn’t anything particularly outstanding about the plushie, other than the fact that it was almost identical to the full-sized Pegasus it was based on, with the addition of Daring’s default shirt and hat ensemble.
Having searched the workbench, the large of stack of drawers, the cluster of rucksacks, and the toolbox, that left only a handful of places within the hangar where Laura could’ve been able to hide it without it being too obvious.
She frowned. After around eight minutes of waiting, and the hunch still hadn’t kicked in, Daring sighed and dismounted the Seahawk to find it the old-fashioned manual way.
“So it’s rather picky as to when it wants to work or not. That’s just perfect,” she muttered under her breath as she scrimmaged through the spare parts rack, hoping to spot the elusive glimmer of yellow and green.
The spare parts rack didn’t turn up anything of interest, so with a frown, Daring slowly milled around the edge of the hangar, carefully scanning each and every object she came across for any potential sign of the plushie. She searched high, and she searched low; inside nearly every conceivable drawer, and even poking her snout inside some of the rucksacks, much to their owners’ disdain.
There was an audible huff of agitation as Daring reached the end of her circuit. Every possible place had been searched, and nothing new had been found. There was no trace of the plushie, and Daring had to grudgingly applaud Laura for actually making this one difficult.
The airwoman had a large grin from ear to ear as the Pegasus briskly trotted about to and fro, slowly getting more frustrated by the minute with her lack of success.
“Where the hell could you have put it?!” Daring muttered, glancing about to every possible place she had searched, “There’s no spot I haven’t checked, and it still hasn’t turned up!”
Her ear perked up as the bulkhead door in the back wall opened up, allowing one of the technicians into the hangar.
“She wouldn’t possibly...” a thought crossed her mind.
Daring broke into a sprint, charging through the open door just before the sailor had a chance to close it again, “Scuse me Shark, coming through!”
The sailor glanced down, surprised by her sudden speed, and held the door open long enough for the Pegasus to exit.
“Alright you mongrel, where did you put it?” she glanced around the corridor, murmuring aloud as the door locked behind her with a solid clunk, “Unless she threw it overboard, it must be somewhere within these walls.”
Daring grunted in a very unladylike fashion as she stormed up and down the maze of corridors, scanning every possible crevice where it could’ve been placed.
“There’s no way in hell Laura was able to find a spot all the way out here AND still find a suitable place for the other three items within just sixty seconds. She must’ve had help,” Daring mused, “Let’s see, who else was in the hangar at the time? There was me, Laura, Grizzly, Shark, Hotrod, Sketch and Condor. When I turned around... there was no sign of Shark.”
Now that she thought about it, the mechanic was gone a little too long just for a usual snack run. And then when Shark finally returned, he didn't have anything with him. He must’ve taken the plushie and hidden it somewhere! There was no alternate explanation.
One of the most frequented places on the ship was probably the Junior Sailor’s Mess Hall, where the non-commissioned sailors ate their lunch separate from the officers, located not all that far from the hangar. If Laura had given the plushie to Shark for him to hide, one of the first places to look was the lunchroom. The Mess Hall was Shark’s favourite place on the ship, because that’s where the pool table was located, which in turn explained where his nickname originated from.
With a scowl locked on her face, she marched her way towards the Sailor’s Mess Hall, determined to find the plushie, and then wring Laura’s neck later on. Daring had specifically told her to hide it somewhere in the hangar! Not give it off to some random so they could take it who-knows-where! She wouldn’t have a clue as to the plushie’s exact location, now that her hunch wasn’t co-operating anymore.
To her relief, the lock to the Mess Hall door opened up quite smoothly, and she quickly gazed about the area with a sharp glare.
Around a dozen sailors briefly returned her glance, before returning back to whatever they were doing.
“*Ahem*, Excuse me,” she cleared her throat and asked aloud, “Did anyone see Shark come in here a few minutes ago?”
Three sailors in the back corner glanced at each other, before speaking up, “Why? Who wants to know?”
“No reason,” Daring shook her head, “I’m just looking for something of mine, that’s all.”
The sailors looked at each other again, this time with wry smiles on their faces. One of them turned about to face her properly, reaching inside his pocket, “Oh, what kind of ‘something’?”
“... That doesn’t matter,” she turned her head slightly to avoid their gaze, “But it’s important that I find it as soon as possible.”
“That depends,” the sailor smirked.
‘This guy obviously knows something, and he’s clearly not going to co-operate with me on my terms,’ Daring inwardly scowled, ‘I don’t have time for this! I need that plushie back before too many people know I even have it!’
“Look mate, it’s not a difficult question,” Daring urged testily, “Was he in here or not?”
“What is the object yer looking for? Maybe we can be of assistance,” the sailor shrugged, not budging an inch.
“I gave something important to Laura, but she went and handed it off to Shark. Since he had it last, I want to know what he did with it, now cough up! Was he here or not?” Daring demanded, taking a step forward.
“Would that ‘something’... happen to be this?” the sailor removed his hand from his pocket, holding up something for everyone to see. Daring’s eyes widened at the sight of the plushie, and the other sailors all chortled in amusement.
“Yes! That’s mine! Could you give it back, please?” she pleaded.
“That’s funny, I didn’t know you still enjoyed playing with children’s toys, Shef,” the sailor gave the plushie a once over, “It’s a bit below your age, isn’t it?”
Several voices in the background audibly chuckled.
“It arrived in the mail last week, now give it back! It’s mine!” her tone was almost turning into a snarl.
“Alright, here. You want it?” the sailor held it out towards her, “Come and take it.”
With a hasty pace, Daring trotted forward and held out her hoof to take the plushie back.
The sailor suddenly flung the plushie out of her reach across the room, where another sailor on the far side caught it, “It’s over there now.”
“That’s not funny! Give it back!” she glared warningly.
“I don’t have it,” the sailor raised his hands defensively, “He does.”
With several sharp wing flaps, Daring quickly cleared the cluster of tables and landed on the other side of the room, surprising everyone present. She stood up on her hind legs, pressing herself against the man's chest with her forehooves and shoved her face into that of the sailor now in possession of the toy, flatly demanding, “Give it.”
The man reeled back slightly, stunned by how scary those damn eyes looked up close. It was like staring into a pair of black holes, that sucked you in to never let you see the light of day again.
“What’s the big deal about this thing anyway?” he collected himself with a shrug, “It’s not that important, is it? It’s just a miniature version of you, after all.”
“That thing isn’t even supposed to be here in this Mess Hall, now give it back, before I take it back!” she growled.
“Settle down there, Shef,” the sailor stepped back slightly, letting her drop to the floor as he offered her the plushie, “Fine, have your damn kiddie toy back.”
She swiped the toy from the sailor’s hand with a frown.
Or, she would have, if the sailor didn’t jerk his hand back at the last second, in a classic bait-and-switch gag. With a playful wink, he held the toy back out. “What are you waiting for? Take it already.”
‘Oh, you are NOT playing that game with me!’
The sailor’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as Daring suddenly jabbed her foreleg in between his legs, her aim lethally accurate as he doubled over in agony, dropping the toy in the process.
Several sailors all jumped up at once in alarm as Daring gave the man a verbal spray. “When I ask you to give my stuff back, it’s not a fucking question of whether you want to or not! You give my damn stuff back!”
A loud cacophony of noise quickly rose up as the sailors all grappled to restrain the furious Pegasus from clocking the man across the face for good measure.
“Hey, just cool it, Shef! We’re only messing around with ya, man! Settle down!” they pleaded, “Take it easy! Jesus, do you wanna get us all booked or something?!”
She shrugged them off as their grips loosened, casting them all a venomous glare as she exited the Mess Hall, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Since when did Shef have such a stick up his arse like that?” they frowned worriedly, murmuring amongst each other, “He nearly looked ready to take it out and start hitting people with it!”
“Well to be honest, I suppose I kind-of deserved that,” the sailor still lying injured on the floor chuckled sheepishly.
“Walk it off, Dennis. You’ll live,” they all crowed without compassion.
“That still doesn’t explain why Shef was so high-strung just now though. Usually it’s almost impossible to get a reaction out of him,” another man spoke up.
“Maybe the whole pony-thing is getting to his head,” someone else chuckled, “Perhaps turning into a female also came with PMS.”
Several voices cracked up laughing at once.
-----
‘That could’ve gone much better,’ Daring shook her head angrily as the plushie dangled from her mouth, ‘I shouldn’t have gotten so upset so easily like that! What’s gotten into me?!’
“Oh, there you are Shef,” Laura’s voice called out, “I was wondering where you went--”
“What the hell, Lozz?! I thought I asked you to hide the items in the hangar!” Daring angrily lashed out, “Not pass them off to the morons from Engineering! You know they can’t be trusted with personal stuff!”
“Don’t yell at me like that,” Laura retorted indignantly, “I thought it would be amusing if Shark hid it in the Mess Room. Make a nice challenge from the simple and easy hangar locations. Because in all seriousness, there weren’t very many decent hiding places there.”
“There were HEAPS of spots!” the Pegasus gestured wildly with a foreleg, “If I wanted you to hide it around the ship, that’s what I would’ve asked!”
“Alright, sorry!” the airwoman rolled her eyes, “I’ll keep that in mind for next time then.”
“Fortunately, there doesn’t need to be a next time,” Daring sighed, settling down slightly. The experiment was a success. The hunch kicked in pretty much on demand, with one exception, so why should she have to do it all again?
“So, what were you ‘experimenting’, anyway?” Laura inquired.
“Sometimes when I’m looking for something of importance, I get this nagging sensation at the back of my head,” Daring explained offhandedly, “It grows in intensity when I’m going in the right direction, and simmers down or disappears altogether when I’m either going the wrong way, or I’ve found the object.”
“So, it’s like a built-in metal detector?” Laura guessed.
“Kind-of. It would explain why Daring Do is so capable as a treasure hunter,” she wing-shrugged, “Although, it’s never mentioned in the books in the TV show... maybe it’s just her little secret. Her overall screen-time on My Little Pony isn’t actually all that much, so pretty much nothing about her is actually known.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never watched that show,” Laura scratched the back of her head in confusion, “Who IS Daring Do, exactly?”
“Daring Do is one of the lesser characters on the show,” the Pegasus explained, “Throughout all five seasons, she only has three major appearances. The first time around, she’s little more than a book character that acts as a plot device for Rainbow Dash, who is recovering in a hospital and with nothing to do. The second time she appears is in Season Four, where she is introduced as a living pony, who just writes books about her adventures, and so of course, Rainbow Dash fangirls all over her, unwittingly getting them all into trouble in the process. To be honest, I didn't like that episode all that much. The third and final time is supposedly during the second episode planned for Season Six, but since the show was cancelled at the end of Season Five, the episode was never released.”
“If the episode wasn’t released, how do you know about it?” Laura raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“Because my brother’s a nutter that has no sense of ‘spoiler alert’,” Daring deadpanned, “He’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel for any news of a potential renewal for the series, and one day he happened to come across some leaked footage while the episode was still in the development stage, shortly before Hasbro confirmed the cancellation and shut it down.”
“Huh. Go figure,” Laura murmured. She reached into her pocket and held out Daring’s other items from the experiment, “Here’s yer stuff back, by the way.”
“Oh,” the Pegasus slightly curled her right wing, creating a small gap between the wing and her body, “Just slot them in there, please.”
After some initial difficulty, the phone, the iPod and the wallet were tucked away nicely amongst Daring’s feathers. Her body involuntarily shivered in response to the cold metal of the iPod pressing against a rather sensitive spot in her wing, however.
“Thank you for helping out with the experiment, by the way,” Daring nodded, “I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Laura smiled slightly, “It’s not like I had anything interesting to do anyway.”
Daring glanced up at a clock on the nearby wall.
4:56 PM
With a deep sigh, she turned about and headed back for her cabin. Dinner was still a while off yet.
Curiously, the storm outside seemed to have calmed down. The ship wasn’t moving about as much as it was a few hours ago, although the rain was still maintaining a consistently heavy downpour.
“So... what’s next on the to-do list?” She breathed softly, placing her things next to her on the bunk. “I s’pose I could call it a day and figure out how to use this iPod again...”
“Could Leftenant Sheffield please report to the Ops Room?” the warbled voice with access to the loudspeaker system suddenly proclaimed, “Leftenant Sheffield to the Ops Room.”
“... Well, there goes that idea.”
-----
The Operations Room, or just ‘the Ops Room’ for simplicity, was located a level beneath the Bridge, and was Brisbane’s literal nerve centre. The majority of the planning, thinking, number-crunching and directing took place here, in amongst the organised mess of the high-tech computers which made up Brisbane’s Aegis Combat System.
Radar, Sonar, Communications, Tracking, Electronic Warfare and of course the ship’s Weapons were all either controlled or directed from this one room, run by a crack team of sailors working around the clock to routinely maintain a vigilant eye on the world around them within a two hundred kilometre radius.
Anything identified as ‘hostile’ could expect a world of hurt to come crashing down and ruining their day very quickly indeed, and not even necessarily from Brisbane either.
Since anti-piracy patrol was a multi-national team effort, all it would take was a single urgent distress beacon to ring the bell for dinner, and nearly every NATO ship operating within the Arabian Sea would be swarming the area like flies, eager to get a piece of the action.
Of course, trying to prove yourself as a proficient and competent team player is rather difficult when your competition for the goodies includes a sizable US Navy Strike Group, centred around the aircraft carrier USS George H.W. Bush and her flotilla of escorting destroyers, prowling the seas like wolves for misfits and potential terrorist threats alike. The carrier’s mobile air power gave the Strike Group a very wide arc of influence, but fortunately it was very rare that the Combat Air Patrols were ever actually needed.
It was amazing piracy in general hadn’t been eradicated yet, since it was nearly impossible to go out on even a simple fishing cruise on a jury-rigged sail boat and not get pulled over by at least two or three different NATO warships searching for potential contraband.
Granted, the Allies’ highly cautious behaviour was often justified, with nearly one in ten searches resulting in a positive find for drugs and narcotics or something illegal like that.
The bulkhead door opened up, and several heads turned as a dull yellow Pegasus briskly scanned the room, and trotted up to a sailor who was waving her over.
“You rang, XO?” She snapped to attention.
“Yes I did, and I have good news,” Cruze turned about to face her properly with a grin on his face. In his hands, he carried a clipboard and a pen. “I think we’ve found something for you to do.”
“Oh? What’s up?” she tilted her head.
“Just a few minutes ago, we received a distress signal from a capsized dhow, just over twenty kilometres away to the southwest of us,” Cruze explained, “There are two other NATO warships on hand to provide assistance, however we're the closest ones to the scene, AND they also have to go through the time-consuming process of prepping their choppers first. Since you’re ready to go within minutes... how fast do you think you can fly twenty k’s with a bit of extra weight?”
“What happened to ‘Her flying abilities aren’t at their full potential yet’?” Daring quirked her eyebrow skeptically.
“When did I... oh. You heard that, did you?” the XO visibly deflated, slightly embarrassed, “Look, the weather has calmed down since then, and the only real problem you’ll have is the rain, so we’re willing to go out on a limb here and field-test whether you’re up to the task. Just keep this to yourself though; Top Brass will probably have my head if they find out about this.”
“Meh, screw ‘em,” Daring grinned, “Just point me in the right direction.”
-----
There was the high-pitched whirring of electric motors as the hangar door slowly rose up off the deck, locking into the ‘Open’ position with a click. The rain was still pelting down, but the wind seemed to be rather passive this late afternoon.
Several figures dressed for the weather stood in the hangar doorway as the Pegasus, wearing a bright red harness which felt rather tight around her chest, sauntered out onto the deck.
Clipped to the harness, resting on top of her left shoulder, was a small hand-held radio, with earphones reaching up and wedged into her ears. A small microphone had been tapped to the earphone’s cord, and was activated by holding down the trigger on the left side of the radio.
Attached to the back of the harness and sitting in between her wings was a small tracking device so that Brisbane could keep tabs on her location at any given time. It also served as a positive IFF beacon for any other NATO vessel in the vicinity, to avoid any misidentification and possible friendly fire.
The crew had given her the largest pair of snow-goggles they could find, borrowed from the Clearance Divers, to help keep the wind and rain out of her eyes. The dark tint made it a little hard to see in the cloudy conditions, but the difference was not that much of a hindrance.
A large, folded up, self-inflating life-raft was securely clipped to the bottom of the harness by a quick-release mechanism, and was crammed in between her legs. This raft could inflate itself within fifteen seconds at the pull of a chord. It was usually reserved for emergencies only, when the crew had to abandon ship, but it had now been repurposed as a rescue tool, with Daring Do as the method of delivery.
Wrapped around her right wrist was a jury-rigged compass watch, a temporary stop-gap until the proper one arrived in the mail, to help her keep her direction.
“South-by-southwest,” she mumbled to herself as she lined up her watch to the horizon. The compass slowly settled in between the letters ‘S’ and “SW”.
With a deep breath of air, she opened up her wings and pumped them with all the energy she could muster, launching off the deck and into the air.
The extra weight required more effort than usual, but she was confident that the difference wasn’t all that great.
It was definitely rather cold outside, but she found that whereas her human body would be shivering like an icicle, her new Pegasus form was much more tolerant for the low temperature.
“Let’s see how fast this puppy can go,” she stretched her limbs out to a more aerodynamic, Superman-esque posture and opened up the figurative throttle, her wings pumping with considerable exertion.
She could feel herself accelerating at a rapid rate, and the rushing wind bit into whatever part of her which wasn’t protected by the goggles. Even with the encumbering package slowing her down considerably, she was confident that she could maintain her pace.
The XO’s final words to her before she left rang through her head.
‘Don’t worry about having to fly back home. Lieutenant Daniels’ team will be following you in the Seahawk, so all you have to do is make sure those people aren’t drowning anytime soon. Godspeed, and good luck Shef’.
She decided to test the radio, reaching across and pressing the trigger, “Hotel Actual, this is Papa Two. Just doing a radio check, over”.
“Papa Two, this is Hotel Actual, radio check confirmed. We read you, but at your current velocity, the wind interference is causing some static on our end. Your current air speed is three-two-five knots, heading two-three-two degrees. At your current velocity, we estimate ETA to be two minutes, over”.
‘Three hundred and twenty five knots?! That’s like... around six hundred k’s an hour!’ Daring’s eyes widened with glee, ‘And I’m not even giving it everything I’ve got!’
With a rush of confidence, she began putting slightly more power into her flaps, as well as increasing their frequency, increasing her speed considerably.
“Come on Daring, let’s see if we can get there in a minute flat!” she smirked.
The radio squawked again moments later. “Hotel Actual to Papa Two, Charlie One is in the air, and will be on station in twenty minutes. Be advised, friendly NATO ships report sighting of a bogey fishing vessel in the vicinity of the sinking ship, and they don't trust its intentions, so watch yourself out there. Hotel Actual will be in suitable support range in one hour, over”.
“Papa Two to Hotel Actual, Copy your last,” Daring replied.
Far off in the distance, she could make out two distinct shapes on the horizon. Off to her right was possibly the ‘bogey’ that they mentioned, slowly inching its way across her field of view towards the capsized dhow, which she spotted directly ahead of her.
She had all the time in the world to swoop in and beat them!
The sinking dhow was still some way off, maybe just under a kilometre away, but she was still close enough to make out figures in the water, clinging to floating debris for dear life. The bogey vessel off to her right, which looked like an unassuming fishing boat from this distance, had noticeably picked up speed, and it was quickly becoming a race to the finish, with Daring Do holding the clear advantage in speed and relative position.
Nearly everyone in the water looked up at her in wonder and awe as she flared out her wings to slow down, entering a final approach. The rush of wind pushing against her helped slow her down considerably.
She quickly reached across and simultaneously pulled two separate release handles. She almost jumped upwards at the sudden drop in weight as the life raft dropped around twenty feet to the ocean beneath them.
The raft, which could probably be more aptly described as a floating, conical tent with a large tube around it, inflated to its full size of around four metres squared. Its bright orange colouration made it impossible to miss for miles around, and a ring of hand-hold ropes around the edge made it easier to cling to.
She counted around a dozen individuals in the water, desperately trying to swim across to the life raft. Some of them didn’t even have life jackets, and all were poorly dressed for an afternoon swim in a deluge of rain.
'Some of these guys are gonna drown before they reach the raft,' Daring realised as she watched them flail about in the water.
"Papa Two, sitrep," Cruze requested.
"Uh, Hotel Actual, I count at least twelve individuals in the water," She replied, "I'll see what I can do to help."
"Copy that, Papa Two. But watch yourself; that bogey FFV is nearly on top of you."
Deciding to lend them a hoof, she hovered around a foot off the water and offered out her hind legs to the nearest straggler, a middle-aged man who looked to be rather poor at swimming in torrential conditions. The man desperately grappled around her limbs, wildly kicking about and rapidly blabbering something in his own language which Daring couldn’t understand, nearly dragging her into the water with him in the process. She yelped in surprise as her lower torso briefly dunked into the freezing seawater, only being held up by her pure wing power alone.
“Woah!” she exclaimed, nearly burning herself out in one go in an effort to haul the man across to the life raft. He reached out and grabbed the hand-holds, releasing her in the process. Landing and balancing herself on the tube, she leaned down and bit onto the metal zip, dragging it up to open up the conical cover, which was made from the same material as a tarpaulin.
The man raggedly hauled himself into the raft, graciously offering his thanks to her in his own language. Seawater was quickly pouring in, and it would be a long wait in the bitter cold, but it at least wouldn't sink anytime soon, and that was what mattered.
"That wasn't too bad," Daring assured herself, "Just be ready with the afterburners so that way they don't drag me down with them."
She immediately made for the next swimmer which was furthest away from the life raft. Some of the people were likely able to reach the raft under their own accord, whether it was by swimming or using bits of debris as floating kickboards, however the majority of them were having difficulty, struggling against the power of the surging waves.
One by one, Daring would reach down with her legs for them to hold on to, and forecefully drag them through the angry gale and swirling ocean towards the life raft in a frantic back-and-forth relay. Some of them were heavier or more twitchy than others, and Daring herself was stunned by how much effort she was having to put in.
"I can do this!" She grunted determinedly, "No-one is drowning on my watch!"
Her expression gradually twisted into a frown though, as her wings started aching from the exertion she was placing on them.
‘No, not now!’ she grit her teeth, urging herself on despite the growing aches across her back. She could feel herself gradually slowing down, fighting against the weather and her own fatigue, which was creeping up on her.
Daring mentally shoved the pain in her body to a disused corner of her mind, and set about assisting the last remaining swimmer. It was then that she noticed just how ragged her own breathing was. Her chest was visibly heaving in and out as she panted like a dog. The tendons across her back screamed fire and brimstone upon her, a heat which not even the freezing rainwater could sate. Her fur and feathers were soaked to the skin, and she was sure that by all means, she probably shouldn’t be considered flight-worthy in her current state.
She looked over her shoulder for the other dhow, which was just under a hundred metres away.
The screaming for help was indistinguishable though, no matter what language it was in, and that was something she couldn’t just ignore.
"One more to go," she murmured to herself, "Just one more."
So, against the will of her body, she dragged herself away from the safety of the raft and flew out to the last person. The man, looking to be around thirty to thirty five years old, visibly perked up as the Pegasus approached him, calling out to her.
With a resignated sigh, she took a deep breath and turned about, offering the man her back leg to hold onto.
Again, she was nearly dragged down into the water, but by now she was ready with the figurative afterburners, slowly but surely dragging the man, who assisted by kicking with his back legs, all the way to the raft. Daring made sure she was the last person/pony to enter the raft and collapsed in the middle, a tattered, wheezing wreck.
"There..." she exhaled, "That's the last of 'em."
The stranded people all murmured amongst themselves in shock and awe at their saviour’s appearance. Daring lazily looked out the raft’s entrance as the unidentified vessel pulled alongside. She sighed in relief as she sluggishly sat up and leaned her head out.
Several men of African appearance stood about on the deck, watching them all carefully. The Arabs sitting with her in the raft didn’t seem all that pleased that these people were here, and that mutual feeling of wariness amongst them caused Daring to frown in worry. The Arabs’ concerns were justified when one of the ‘rescuers’, produced a glint of metal from his pocket and pointed it at Daring’s face with an audible click.
“Charlie One, this is Hotel Actual, we’ve just lost contact with Papa Two, and radio isn’t responding, presumed lost. Ship is at Action Stations, and Status is Red. We repeat: Status is Red, over!”
“Hotel Actual, this is Charlie One, copy that. What is the recommended plan of action, over?”
“Charlie One, chase down that rogue FFV and shadow them. Suspect vessel has been upgraded to ‘Hostile’, but it’s recommended you don’t get too close. Fire Support is a negative; they have Papa Two and twelve other confirmed hostages. Hostiles are armed and dangerous, but exact numbers and weapon types are unknown. Boarding Teams Alpha and Bravo are preparing to intercept, and we are on course to provide close-range fire support, ETA twelve minutes, over.”
“Copy your last, Hotel Actual. We’re shadowing the hostile vessel; will update if any changes to the situation occur, over.”
“Roger that Charlie One. Hotel out.”
-----
Daring Do stared down the muzzle of what at a glance looked to be a generic Colt M1911, the wielder staring at her with about as much shock and surprise as that of his hostage.
She urgently begged her body to do something in response to the situation.
Catch them off guard; crotch-shot this bastard; clock them all in rapid succession like a true ninja and beat a hasty retreat while they were all stunned; take off and simply fly away and hope for the best; anything.
Her body stubbornly defied its owner’s pleas however, simply having nothing left in the figurative tank, barely running on fumes.
Her exhaustion had caught up to her in full force, and was determined to make her suffer the consequences for her neglect, to be paid with interest, GST, and just about every other form of tax imaginable.
And so, the pirates had all the time in the world they needed to overcome their initial shock and herd their hostages out of the raft and down below deck at gunpoint.
Well, their human hostages, anyway.
The pirates gathered on the deck formed an intimidating circle around the Pegasus, chattering excitedly in their strange tongue as they forcefully removed her harness with a knife and smashed the IFF beacon with a hammer.
The pilot of the boat remained at the controls, opening up the throttle and causing the boat to surge as it accelerated to its top speed. After a few moments, Daring came to the conclusion that the engine on this thing was definitely crammed with aftermarket upgrades up the wazoo.
One of the pirates, whom Daring judged to be their leader by the way he dressed and carried himself, approached her with a rather carefree bravado. He was dressed from head to toe in rather light clothing, considering that it was pouring rain and bitterly cold, with a running theme of olive-green and blue in his mix-n-match ensemble.
She made no movement as the man simply picked up the radio from the harness and removed the headphones from the jack.
“—a Two, this is Hotel Actual! Please respond!” a voice suddenly blared, “Papa Two, are you still with us?!”
‘The Chief’, as Daring decided to nickname him in her head, had a grin from ear to ear as he shifted his posture to face the Destroyer far off in the distance and raised the radio to his mouth, speaking in a deep, guttural accent which hindered his English, “... You will listen to what I have to say, and listen close. Unless you pay up a ransom of... three billion US dollars, leave this ocean and go back to whatever shithole you came from, never to return... you will never see your little pet horse alive again. Am I clear?”
There was the sound of frantic shuffling about from the other end of the radio.
“Alright, listen here mate. This is Australian Warship Brisbane,” a new voice spoke up. Daring’s ears twitched as she identified it as XO Cruze.
“If you do not release your prisoners unharmed and surrender quietly, you will find that your day will be ruined exponentially, no questions asked. Are we clear?”
“I do not think you are in a position to be making threats, Kangaroo Jack,” Chief growled, “We are the ones with the prisoners now, not you”.
“I agree to disagree,” the XO retorted.
“If you think so,” the pirate shrugged nonchalantly, “Of course, we’d be more than happy to just give them back... no skin off our backs when we hand you their corpses!! So, we shall repeat the conditions: You pay us three billion dollars, take your NATO ships and leave this ocean, and promise to never come back, and we might consider giving back your pet horse. How does that sound, eh?”
The pirates all grinned as they waited around for Brisbane’s response.
“Have it your way. Give the Devil our regards”.
“You think you won’t take us seriously, eh?” Chief waved his hand gun around in Daring’s general direction, causing her to flinch as he spoke wildly into the radio, “I hope that million-dollar tin-can of yours has some binoculars on it, ‘cause you most likely ain’t never gonna get a chance to see your pet again!”
The unmistakable sound of the rapid-fire thwok-thwok alerted everyone to the presence of the Seahawk, lingering some distance away at medium-to-low altitude. The right-side sliding door was open, and an airman was standing in the doorway, watching them closely.
“And another thing,” the Chief added, “You tell your helicopter to piss off, or else we’ll start killing hostages, starting with the multicoloured horse!”
For several moments, there was no response, until the Seahawk hesitantly started drifting away to a higher altitude, still watching them.
“As in, I want that thing gone completely!” the Chief growled.
The Seahawk disappeared amongst the clouds.
With a satisfied grin, the Chief dropped the radio to the deck and crushed it under his boot.
“Now,” He turned his attention to the Pegasus, “What have we got here?”
Daring swallowed audibly as she glanced from pirate to pirate in silence, visibly shivering as she took deep, heavy breaths. Each and every exhale resulted in a fine spray of condensation as her warm breath conflicted with the cold air, and her mane seemed to gleam with the copious amounts of light-reflective rain water drenching her scalp.
“A magical flying horse! That’s just what we needed to brighten up our day,” the Chief glanced incredulously across her features, mesmerized by her brilliantly vivid magenta eyes in particular.
“You obviously understand English, yes?” He gestured, “Why else would you have a radio in your ears, connected directly to a NATO warship? So come on, tell us a bit about yourself, why don’t you?”
Daring remained silent, her eyes transfixed on the gun in the his hand.
“... Hellooooo?” He waved his hand in front of her face, “Anyone home in there?”
Her pupils followed his hand about, but the veil of silence was still maintained.
“Maybe your ability to talk is conditional then?” the Chief shrugged, “Alright. I can work around that”.
He levelled the gun at her face, clicking the safety to ‘Off’, “Talk, you fucking nag!”
Her pupils dilated as she backed away slightly, but still no verbal response was offered.
*Crack!*
“I said speak! Say something! Anything!” the Chief was now becoming frustrated as he pistol-whipped her across the face, eliciting little more than a soft grunt. After a few seconds, the left side of her muzzle visibly turned a light shade of red.
“...”
“Fine. Be that way. Maybe you’ll be feeling more talkative later,” the Chief scowled and turned to his crewmembers, speaking in a language Daring couldn’t identify.
A heavy blunt force suddenly rammed into the back of her head, and everything went black.
-----
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
“...Urgh...” Daring’s eyelids fluttered.
For a few moments, her world was entirely blurry and numb. Her limbs were stiff and unresponsive, and the only audible sound was that of her own heartbeat thumping in her chest.
And then all at once, all of her senses decided to wake up within the same instant.
“Hrrnnng!” she clenched her teeth as a wave of agony erupted from the back of her head and resonated several times throughout her body like a pinball, setting off hot-spots of pain wherever it went. The left side of her face still stung from where the Chief had struck her, and she had a feeling that she hadn’t been out cold for long.
The second thing she became aware of was that there was a coarse rope tied up so excruciatingly tight around her midsection that it was digging into her flesh, pinning her wings in place by her sides. The pirates were obviously smart enough to realise that she could potentially just fly off if allowed the opportunity, and had taken a precaution to prevent that.
What they didn’t realise was that a Pegasus’ wings were probably the most sensitive spots on their whole body, and Daring did little to suppress her facial expression from distorting into an agitated grimace of discomfort.
The third thing she noticed was that the boat’s owner obviously never bothered to put a proper muffling system on his motor, despite all the other tid-bits and modifications, and her ears flattened from the blaring whine blasting from the other side of the room.
Her heart rate rapidly increased to cope with her body’s surging demand for energy, but with so little left to give, lying there helplessly like a wheezing animal was about the only thing she could do.
A jolt up her spine triggered her back to spasm uncontrollably for a brief moment. Her left wing, which was lying in an uncomfortable position trapped between her and the rope, was angrily reminding her of its existence with every passing moment, a painful thorn in her side.
Every wave the vessel encountered caused it to jump slightly, and she found that the constant movement was doing nothing to help her sore limbs in any way as the wooden deck violently jerked about beneath her.
She had a feeling that by the end of it all, she would have several painful splinters lodged in her skin.
Experiencing pain in a dream just wasn’t the same as the real thing. In the real world, there was no Princess Luna to come bursting in to give her a get-better hug and say that it’s all in her head.
Instead, there were around a dozen Arabs and a handful of armed pirates who probably didn’t speak a sliver of English between them, all staring awkwardly at her as she lay limply on the hardwood deck, sluggishly twitching and moaning in agony.
As Daring’s vision gradually cleared, directly in her line of sight was a pirate, dressed with yellow and blue as the theme for his clothing. His expression was blank and unreadable as he sat on top of a long, rectangular wooden crate, cradling an old AK-47 assault rifle in his arms like a small child. She instantly labelled him with the nickname ‘Chuckles’, in irony and spite of his stern, no-nonsense demeanour.
She frowned slightly. Why couldn’t these guys come up with something original to arm themselves with? AK-47s were classics, sure, but surely there were much better weapons out there on the black market available for purchase than them.
For around thirty seconds, the pirate and the Pegasus had a stare-off, with the latter giving the former the most pitiful and emotion-stirring expression she could, with no visible response.
She was adamant that any normal person in their right minds would get up and at least offer her something comfortable to lean on.
She broke the stare and gingerly moved her head about to observe her surroundings, desperately trying to ignore the torrent of negative backlash from her neck.
She was obviously in some sort of cargo hold, what with all the miscellaneous crates lying around. A ladder which led up to a hatch to the top deck stood in the middle of the hold, and all of the other hostages were clustered around the edges of the room, huddling together in an effort to fight the cold.
For a moment, she was puzzled as to how the pirates were keeping themselves warm, when she noticed that they were all standing around the boat’s engine, which was probably the warmest spot on this crate.
Turning her head the other way brought her face to face with a wooden wall, presumably dividing the lower deck into two separate halves.
Reaching up to rub the back of her head with her hoof revealed the presence of dry crusted blood; the sign of a cut which was finally scabbing over.
A secondary glance across the room revealed a head-count of just five guards, although all of them were armed with guns.
'There must be a way to get us out of here,' She thought, 'To do that, we need to take out those guards... but how?'
Between her and twelve miserable Arabs, an idea started taking shape in her mind.
'Alright... we have the numbers, but with those guns... we'll need to catch them off-guard somehow... we need a suitable distraction...'
Another glimpse around the hold didn't really give her much hope.
'The crates probably could be used to hide a sneak attack, but it'd take too long... We'd need to take them all out at once.'
'Maybe if I can get these Arabs to co-operate, we'd be able to pull it off, but with my current condition, I suppose that means I have to be the bait.'
‘Let's see... In order to draw their attention entirely to me, I need to make them angry enough that they’ll only be concentrating on me, and I can only think of one sure-fire way to do that off the top of my head.’
'I'm going to have to do something religiously offensive, I think. That seems to get people fired up very quickly.'
Chuckles blinked and watched with curiosity as the Pegasus slowly rose to her hooves, a little wobbly at first, before eventually finding her balance. She seemed to have a slight limp on her left shoulder as she gingerly approached the crowd of Arabs on the starboard side of the skiff.
“Hey,” she whispered, attracting their attention, “Does anyone here speak English?”
An older man, possibly one of the ones she rescued personally, raised his hand slightly.
“Alright,” she whispered in a barely audible voice, sitting down on her haunches with her back to the pirates to avoid any potential lip-readers, “I have an idea to get us all out of here, but I need the help of you and your friends to pull it off. It’s going to take some courage on your part, but I promise that you’ll have the easy bit. Are you with me?”
The man cringed hesitantly.
“You’ll get an opportunity to bash these pricks,” she gestured slightly in the direction of Chuckles, “The plan is really simple. I’ll create a distraction, and you and your friends all mob them from behind, alright?”
“But... they have guns... what do we do about them?” the man asked.
“They'll be distracted by me, and you'll be able to sneak up on them,” Daring answered, “If you catch them by surprise, the guns won’t mean jack-shit.”
“Alright, what about others up top?” the man asked.
“Simple, we’ll take the guns off these wankers and turn them against the others,” Daring explained, “We’ll have the element of surprise and shock value.”
The man looked unconvinced, but otherwise nodded.
“Please don’t let me down. I’m about to do something I’m probably going to regret later, and I don’t want to look like an idiot because no-one else participated,” Daring shot them all a pleading look, “Alright?”
“You saved our lives,” the man shrugged, “I think we can return favour.”
“That’s the spirit!” Daring grinned, straightening up, “Now, pass the word around. The signal will be rather obvious when it happens. You understand?”
The man nodded and quickly started explaining the plan in a hushed voice to his friends. Several of them started grinning broadly.
"And one more thing," she added.
"Yes?" He smiled widely.
"If you find what I'm about to do offensive or confronting, please block your ears".
"Why?"
"The best distraction is to make people flustered and angry, so to do that, I'm going to get a bit religious in here, and if you get offended by that, please just ignore me".
The man's smile distorted into a frown, but he otherwise slowly nodded, "I understand".
He turned to the men close to him, translating the plan into their own language. After several minutes of hushed Arabic whispering, they gave Daring a curt nod, and she drew a deep breath, stood up and stepped forward, standing ramrod straight in the middle of the room.
‘Here goes nothing.’
In a clear, surprisingly harmonious voice, Daring Do, the Navy Pilot-turned-Pegasus, began to sing.
“The Splendor of the King, Clothed in Majesty, Let all the Earth Rejoice, Let all the Earth Rejoice”.
The pirates, as well as several of the Arabs, all frowned in annoyance upon recognition of the lyrics.
“He wraps Himself in Light, and Darkness tries to Hide. It trembles at His Voice, Trembles at His Voice”.
“Hey! Cut that out!” a pirate yelled angrily. Several other voices murmured their agreement.
Daring ignored them, concentrating on her performance.
“How Great is our God! Sing with me, How Great is our God! And all will see how great, How Great is our God!”
“Hey!” Chuckles stood up, “I said cut that out!”
“From age to age, He stands, and Time is in His hands. Beginning and the End, Beginning and the End.
The pirates all stood up and formed a rough circle around her.
'That's right... come just a little bit closer...' she mentally grinned.
“The God-Head, Three in One, Father, Spirit, Son, The Lion and the Lamb, the Lion and the Lamb!”
“I swear, if you don’t stop that right now, you’ll find yourself in a whole other world of hurt!” Chuckles raised his assault rifle at the Pegasus.
Daring kept a close eye on the pirate as she blatantly ignored his verbal threats,
“How Great is our God! Sing with me, How Great is our God! And all will see how great, How Great is our God!”
“I warned you!” Chuckles stepped forward, flipping the gun about to hold it by the barrel like a club, aiming to hit her across the head with it.
“And in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Daring suddenly cut her performance short as the makeshift club swung in her direction. She instinctively dropped under the swing and twisted her body about on a dime, “REPENT, MOTHERFUCKER!”
Chuckles never knew what hit him as a well-aimed buck landed right between his legs, causing the man to suddenly howl in pain and drop to his knees in agony.
All at once, everyone sprang into action.
Daring twisted back around and chopped upwards at the man’s wrist with her right hoof, knocking his weapon from his grip. From there, she snapped her arm across in a sweeping back-hoof, whacking the pirate across the face to stun him, before gripping his head in her hooves and slamming it down into the deck several times in rapid succession, shattering his nose and knocking him out.
A vicious kick to her left side knocked her to the deck, causing a fierce pain to swell up across her sensitive wing and eliciting a high-pitched yelp.
As the remaining four pirates all raised their guns towards the Pegasus, they all suddenly found themselves overwhelmed as the Arabs stood up and jumped to her rescue, with several men at once grappling against each of the pirates for control of the weapons.
With three-to-one odds in close quarters, the odds were set in stone from the outset.
Daring grimaced as she clutched at her damaged wing, her chest heaving in and out with heavy breaths, “Damn... talk about taking one... for the team!"
She glanced from the pirates to the Arabs, five of their number now wielding an assault rifle in their hands, and five unconscious pirates spread across the deck where they fell.
She hurriedly gestured an Arab across, pointing at the rope around her midsection, who nodded and picked up a sharp knife from a pirate’s limp body, before slicing at the ropes holding the Pegasus’ wings in place.
The ropes fell to the floor with a thud as Daring stretched her wings out, which eagerly accepted their newly-restored freedom with glee. They were still stiff and sore, particularly on her left side, but the sudden lack of pressure made it a bit more bearable.
The pitter-patter of the rain was joined by the sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above, reminding them of the presence of the other pirates.
She hurriedly directed the Arabs with guns to stand at the foot of the ladder using physical gestures, with the guns pointed up at the hatch.
“If that hatch opens, you blast them to Hell,” she instructed.
The Arabs without guns eagerly began opening up the crates, eager to check the contents inside.
It seemed Lady Luck was shining bright on them this evening for once, as the long rectangular crate Chuckles was sitting on was opened up to reveal a very distinct, tube-shaped weapon inside. Daring’s eyes glistened brightly in the low-light conditions.
“Alright fellers,” she gripped the RPG awkwardly in her forelegs and stood on her hind legs, flapping her wings sporadically for balance, “Let’s rearrange some architecture.”
-----
The Chief and several of his crewmembers stood around the hatch to the cargo hold, beckoning one of them to open it up.
“The fuck is going on down there--”
A resounding explosion from within the skiff suddenly blasted through the hatch, throwing a shower of wood, splinters and flames in every direction.
The pirates were roughly thrown backwards by the force of the explosion, all of them now sporting multiple lacerations across their bodies.
The Chief blinked, his vision blurry and his ears ringing as he stumbled about disorientedly. Daring Do lept out of the gaping hole in the deck, holding the projectile-less RPG awkwardly in her fingerless grip.
"*Ppppbt!*” She tauntingly pulled a face and blew them a raspberry.
“Blast that bitch!” the Chief shakily stood up and awkwardly raised his handgun towards her, firing off several rounds in succession. His sense of co-ordination was less than impressive, however.
“Mate, you’d miss the water if you jumped off this crate!” Daring breathed flippantly, twisting and jumping about erratically to avoid the wide spray of bullets.
A sudden white-hot sensation blazing across her left thigh quickly indicated otherwise, however.
“Argh, crap!” she glanced down to see that a glancing hit had ripped a gash across her leg, stretching from just above of the northwest pointer of her Cutie Mark to barely a milimetre beneath the tip of the east pointer. The injury was bleeding profusely within seconds, forcing her down as she dropped the RPG and clutched her thigh in excruciating pain.
The pirates all unsteadily aimed their weapons towards the injured Pegasus, certain that a hailstorm of lead would overcome any accuracy impediments.
She audibly swallowed, and forced her expression into a defiant glare.
“You’re turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth,” the Chief muttered coldly, “NATO can keep their fucking money. Good night.”
Daring visibly flinched as the gun clicked loudly, indicating it was empty.
“Ergh, hang on a second,” Chief angrily dumped the magazine and inserted a fresh one from his pocket, cocking the slider back to arm it. “Now, this time for sure.”
A loud yell drew the pirates’ attention as the Arabs began surging up the ladder, pointing their assault rifles wildly about, prompting a tense stand-off between them and the pirates. No-one dared make a move, unsure of where to proceed from here.
The Arabs were quickly becoming nervous, because Daring's plan wasn't particularly explained beyond this point, while the pirates were starting to panic, as their 'hostages' were very quickly turning the tables against their favour.
With the pirates distracted, Daring quickly scrambled across to the port side of the deck, out of the way of potential friendly fire, and leaving a slick trail of blood behind her. The torrential rain helped to keep the injury clean, but it made a mess of her leg as precious, life-giving liquids freely flowed down onto the deck.
“Please don’t tell me that fucker clipped an artery!” She pleaded aloud to no-one in particular.
A loud buzzing sound from nearby caught Daring’s attention, and her injury was temporarily forgotten upon the sight of the two Rigid Inflatable Motor Boats (RIMB) of the Clearance Divers pulling up alongside the skiff.
The Chief scowled angrily, “Oh, come on!”
“Drop the weapons and get down on the deck, now!” Lieutenant Chappell screamed as he jumped aboard, wielding a Remington 870 shotgun in his hands, “Move it! Alpha Team, sort the pirates from the hostages! Bravo Team, see to it that no-one tries anything funny!”
Arabs and pirates alike quickly dropped their guns to the deck and raised their hands to the air without hesitation as the Australian Special Forces swarmed onto the skiff, the pirates wisely deciding that their cause was now lost.
The Chief however raised his pistol once more towards Daring, determined to kill her if it was the last thing he did.
“Shef, look out!!” a Diver exclaimed.
Daring's mind was working faster than her body, it seemed. She could see the gun levelling towards her, and didn't need another milisecond to realise where that bullet was going, however her body, battered and exhausted, was sluggish to respond to its owner's demands.
By the time she had started to duck to the side, it was just that little bit too slow, right as the gun went off. An audible thup was heard instantly, followed by a loud, piercing scream.
The Chief grinned widely, and remained smiling even as around a dozen assault rifle rounds and a shotgun blast reduced his chest cavity to Swiss cheese, and he was dead before he even hit the deck.
“Shef!” Chappell rushed across the deck as the Pegasus slumped limply to her side, with her shoulder supporting the bulk of her weight against the deck. Her left hoof was clamped over her right shoulder, which was quickly becoming smeared with red. Her right arm remained limp and motionless against her side as she whimpered in agony.
“Here,” He placed his shotgun on the deck and opened up a pouch on his utility harness with his left hand, producing a large white piece of cotton, a small bottle of antiseptic, and a twisted-up length of thick rubber band.
In a flash, he soaked the cotton bud with the antiseptic and offered the rubber band to Daring. “Bite on this”.
With uncertainty, she complied and grimaced.
The fiery stinging sensation in her shoulder intensified considerably as Chappell held the cotton bud against the bullet wound, eliciting a garbled scream from the Pegasus, muffled by the rubber band in her mouth.
“Oi Snapper, get over here!” Chappell barked at a nearby Diver, “I need some tape to hold this cotton bud in place.”
The Diver whipped a roll of tape from a pocket on his vest and slung his weapon across his back, ripping two short lengths and carefully placing them in an X-pattern across the bud, taping it to Daring’s coat.
“Hnnng!” she clenched her eyes shut, unable to prevent several teardrops from escaping and dripping down her face, although it was rather hard to tell from a glance as they mixed amongst the rainwater.
The blood slowly creeping across the deck caught Chappell's attention. With a frown, he rolled her over onto her right side, locating the offending gash on Daring’s thigh, “Oh shit. Snapper, come ‘round here and give me a hand with this.”
Daring audibly sobbed, causing her to shudder.
“Yeah, I know it stings,” Chappell murmured off-handedly as he dowsed another cotton bud, “But this’ll prevent the injury from becoming infected.”
“Mmmmgh!” another muffled scream emerged from the Pegasus, as the Diver dabbed the cotton bud across the gash, driving it deep into the wound several times. She struggled to restrain herself from accidentally kicking Chappell in the face as she twitched about in discomfort.
"She's going to need medical attention," He muttered, "This is going to get fubar real quick if we don't hurry."
He turned about to the other Divers, "Snapper, you grab her by the legs. Spazmo, get over here and put some pressure on this injury! We're taking the pegasus back to Brisbane. Dingo, you're driving! Everyone else, sit tight until we get back!"
He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and moved about to wrap his arms under Daring's shoulders, while Snapper picked her up by the legs, and Spazmo held a fresh handcloth to her thigh. With a heave, they hauled the wailing Pegasus off the deck.
One by one, they gingerly stepped over the rail into the waiting RIMB, as Dingo commandeered the controls and slammed the throttle forward. The engine kicked up into a loud whine, and boat jerked forward with rapid acceleration, twisting about at the Diver's behest towards Brisbane.
-----
"Clear the Med Bay! We've got a casualty inbound!" Rogers barked, prompting the sailors around him to kick into gear. Within moments, everyone was at the ready in their assigned positions, prepared to deal with whatever case fate would throw at them.
From outside the Med Bay, they heard a gruff voice exclaiming for people to get out of the way. The medical team blinked in surprise as Chappell and his team trudged into the room with the sobbing Pegasus firmly in their grip.
"Place her down on the operating table and we'll take it from here," Rogers beckoned urgently.
As the Divers took a step back, the medical team stepped in, quickly analysing the task before them.
"Good God, what have they done to you?" Rogers frowned, glancing across Daring's shuddering form. "Harris! Anesthetic, now!"
In a flash, Nurse Harris placed a breathing mask over Daring's muzzle, and within seconds, the whimpering Pegasus quietened down, out like a light.
"Check for an exit wound."
"Negative on an exit wound sir."
"That means the bullet must be lodged in her shoulder blade," He mused, "Which in turn means we're going to have to go digging."
He turned about to his team, "Harris, you start patching up that thigh injury. It looks like it was only a glancing shot, so it should be the easier of the two majory injuries to deal with. Blitzer, start running those scanners; we're in for a crash course in Pegasus biology."
He turned about to those on his other side, "Jesse, pass me those foreceps; Tess and Flick, be ready with those stitches."
With a crack of his knuckles, he stepped up towards Daring's shoulder injury, "Let's get to work people!"
-----
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“... She’s coming around.”
“Oi, step back and give her some space.”
Daring cringed as a bright light pierced her eyes. After a few moments however, the light was turned off.
“Yo Sheffield...” a voice asked, “You alright?”
She could hear the heartbeat monitor pick up in pace as she slowly stirred back into the realm of the conscious.
Without even looking around, she could tell that she was lying on her back, wrapped up in some kind of hospital bed. The low rumbling sound in the background indicated that she was in Brisbane’s Medical Bay.
The beeping of the heartbeat monitor beside her picked up in pace as her breathing slowly picked up to a more normalised, relaxed state.
She gingerly opened her eyes and scanned about the room. Standing within the immediate vicinity were the forms of Medic Rogers, Nurse Harris, XO Cruze, and CO Stevenson, identified in that order.
A clock up on the wall read 12:53 AM.
Several places across her body sparked with discomfort, particularly her shoulder, thigh, and wings. A glimpse of white out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to her right shoulder. Her entire arm was wrapped up in a sling, and her shoulder itself was obscured underneath a network of bandages and beige sports tape.
“How are you feeling, Shef?” Rogers asked softly.
“Like a bloody train-wreck,” Daring visibly grimaced. Her voice was a croaky murmur, laced with exhaustion.
“You’re a lucky pegasus, my feathered friend,” The Medic glanced at the clipboard in his hand and placed it in her lap for her to read, “Just get a look at that!”
Major Injuries: -A gunshot wound to the right shoulder; resulting in a torn deltoid muscle and a distorted shoulder blade -A significant gash across the left thigh; caused by a glancing bullet; resulting in two torn quadricep muscles and a damaged hamstring -Evidence of blunt force trauma to the back of the head -Light to Moderate amounts of Blood Loss
Minor Injuries: -A small cut across the left cheekbone -Moderate bruising across both wings -Moderate Damage to several Primary Feathers -Moderate muscle strain and fatigue
Medic’s Notes:
Scans revealed invaluable amounts of information about the Subject's biological structure, and about Pegasus biology in general.
The Subject's entire skeletal structure appears to be made of some kind of cartilage; light enough to allow flight; tough enough to support her frame under normal gravity, and highly flexible to allow for a wide range of movement. The light weight and flexibility however, does not necessarily mean fragility, as the shoulder blade alone was strong enough to stop a direct hit from a low-powered bullet in its tracks, albeit at the cost of severe disfigurement. It is also theorised that the lower jaw bone can be unhinged to allow for an abnormal range of movement, although this has yet to be tested.
The legs are slightly thicker and much more flexible than a normal pony's, much more spring-like and durable to take the stress of hard landings.
The Subject's skull is almost nothing like a normal equine's, being more spherical and humanistic in shape. The eye sockets are enormous, taking up as much as one fifth of the face each, giving the Subject a slightly cartoonish appearance, and we suspect that the Subject has superior eyesight to a human; maybe even on par with a raptor in terms of quality and sharpness. The brain cavity is also quite large and spacious, suggesting a highly complex nervous system and a high level of Intelligence. No official tests have been performed to measure this, but it is most likely that it is at least on par with that of a Human.
The Subject has a highly complex muscular structure, even for an equine, due to the addition of a third pair of limbs. The Patient is slightly bulkier around the abdomen when compared to a normal pony, due to the presence of dense, well-developed flight muscles. It appears these muscles are connected to a second pair of 'shoulders', for a lack of a better term, although these in turn are heavily supported by the subject's spine and sternum, which appear to be much more dense than on a normal equine. The theory behind this is that the spine is what has to support the Patient's entire weight during flight (particularly whilst hovering), and is necessary in order for the Subject to be able to remain airborne for a prolonged period of time.
The Subject has almost a thirty percent larger lung capacity than a normal equine, as well as a heart that is twenty percent larger, suggesting superior stamina to a normal pony. It's theorised that this is partly due to the Subject's semi-avian nature, where larger lungs can provide for the larger oxygen supply necessary for sustained flight.
The Subject's digestive tract is almost identical to that of a normal pony's, however it is suspected that the Subject's dietary tolerances are much higher, capable of consumption of nearly any human food that isn't meat.
Based on prior information from the Internet about these 'My Little Ponies', they can come in pretty much any conceiveable colour configuration. We don't know why this is the case, besides the fact that it is a cartoon, but it's most likely that the coat and mane colours at birth are dictated by the genetics of the parents.
This is all that we have so far. Will update as more information is uncovered.
Final Verdict: -Gunshot wounds required stitches; Wings have been cleaned and preened; Minor Grazes have been taken care of.
Recommended Four Weeks of R&R, to allow the damaged muscles time to recover; Projected Three-to-Four Months before Complete Recovery. Shoulder Blade suspected to be permanently disfigured. It shouldn't hinder recovery of movement, but if problems persist, Surgical Reconstruction will be highly recommended.
During this time, the Patient cannot be allowed to perform heavy lifting under any circumstances. Use of Wings is allowed, but ONLY for self-locomotion in lieu of injured legs, and nothing else.
Daring blinked incredulously, “You actually listed my name as ‘Daring Do’?”
“Well, ‘Mark Sheffield’ just looked weird when coupled with the rest of the details, you see,” Rogers shrugged. He reached across and pulled a small plastic bag off the nearby bench, throwing it into Daring’s lap, “Here, have a look at this little sucker.”
She held the bag up for a closer look, confused by the small, bloodied lump of metal inside. “Is that...?”
“That’s what I pulled from your shoulder, yes,” Rogers smirked, “It’s yours to keep, if you want it. A nice little souvenir for keepsakes.”
Daring grinned in amusement and placed the bag aside.
Rogers gestured to the other people assembled in the room, “Now that that’s sorted, I believe these gents wanted to have a few words with you...”
The Skipper nodded and took a deep breath as Rogers stepped aside, “Leftenant... Daring Do...”
Daring glanced between the CO and the XO uncertainly.
“The Pegasus with a strange name and an even stranger appearance,” the Skipper failed to suppress an amused smirk, “They’re all talking about you you know, in the hangar.”
“Who?” Daring’s ears flattened nervously.
“Those Arabs you rescued,” the Skipper answered, “They say that they all owe you their lives. Your actions in a hostile and stressful environment are commendable, and you managed to overcome a serious blunder from the higher-ups.”
He raised an eyebrow in the direction of XO Cruze, who purposefully turned away sheepishly.
“I don’t get it,” Daring frowned, “What did he do?”
“Shef, as the Officer on Watch at the time of your capture, I am the one who has to take responsibility for putting you in danger like that, without any sort of back-up to support you, resulting in your present injuries and condition,” Cruze murmured, “And for that, I sincerely apologise.”
“Nah, you’re ‘right,” Daring lazily shook her head, “No-one knew that the unknown boat was hostile. Besides, we’re all still alive, aren’t we?”
“You know very well that that could’ve changed in an instant at any moment, so don’t give me that,” Cruze snapped, “The fact that the only death was the pirate captain is a miracle in its own right. Had that bullet in your shoulder struck any further to the left, and it would’ve punched through a major artery, and you’d be bleeding to death by now simply because no-one knows how to operate on such an injury on an equine without potentially fucking it up in the process.
“Had that gash on your leg been any deeper, it too would’ve hit an artery, and you’d have bled to death. The fact that you’re sitting here is a blessing from above in itself! Everyone is just thanking their lucky stars that your capture was the only stroke of bad luck throughout this entire operation.”
Daring stared wide-eyed in shocked silence.
"Well..." she attempted speech, "They seemed to remove the bullet from my shoulder without any problems..."
"Lieutenant, removing a bullet and fixing up a major artery are two different ball-games," Cruze said flatly.
“What interests me though, is what the other hostages had to say about you,” the Skipper interjected, “From the sounds of things, they all had nothing but praise for your inspirational courage and quick-thinking. Distracting the guards by singing a Christian song to a group of Muslims? That takes guts in its own right. With your leadership, the hostages were pretty much able to free themselves. I’d say that kind of performance would warrant a medal, and you can be sure that you’ll be mentioned in the Dispatches.”
Her heart pounded inside her chest as her expression brightened considerably.
“Rest up easy, mate,” the Skipper turned for the door, “Hope you’re feeling better tomorrow.”
“‘Night Shef,” the XO nodded and exited the Med Bay behind him.
“We’re going to have you spend the night in here,” Harris said calmly, “And you’ll be released tomorrow morning once your condition has improved. Be very careful, as you don’t want to aggravate the stitches too much.”
“How long will they be in?” Daring murmured.
“Perhaps a week or two,” Harris shrugged, “Maybe a bit more for your thigh injury. To be honest, we don't know how long it'll take for you to heal."
She waited until Rogers had left the room before flicking off the lights, “Good night, Miss Sheffield.”
The lights shut off with a loud click, blanketing the room in darkness.
Daring Do trudged through the dense jungle at a brisk trot, silently cursing under her breath with each step. Of all the possible times she chose to go treasure hunting deep in the middle of Zebrica, she just had to chose smack-bang in the middle of the Rainy Season. Whenever it wasn’t bitterly cold and raining, it was bright, sunny, and near-boiling hot. The resultant humidity was currently making life unbearable, with the only relief coming from the broad flat leaves of the tropical trees above each providing a welcome spot of shade, helping to keep her cool under the harsh sun.
Her iconic pith hat sat snugly on her head, the brim serving to provide her eyes some relief from rain and sunlight. Her olive-green shirt clung to her fur like a wet rag, slick and sticky with a mixture of mud and river water. Several buttons were missing, and the Pegasus, who never really cared for her personal appearance even at the best of times, simply left the entire shirt unbuttoned, letting it hang limply from her shoulders. The right sleeve had been mostly torn clean off, having been repurposed as a bandage for a wound across her right wing which rendered her flightless until she could get proper medical attention. The left sleeve had been rolled up to sit just above her elbow. A well-used, brown leather satchel was tied up around her midsection, with the strap sitting just forward of her wings. Completing her rather rough-and-tumble ensemble (which would probably make a certain well-known fashionista faint with horror) was the large, dangerously-sharp Bowie knife clenched between her teeth.
Daring herself was lathered from snout to tail in a slick layer of moisture, which invited nearly all manners of dust and grim to stubbornly cling to her fur, giving her a wild, filthy appearance. Several nicks and grazes from thorns and falls peppered the length of her legs, each stinging with an irritation on the level of a paper cut. Her breathing came in heavy, ragged gasps as her lungs worked overtime to satisfy her body’s greedy energy consumption from the strenuous regime of climbing up and down hills, swimming through rivers and hurriedly trotting over long distances at a brisk canter. Her facial expression was locked into a determined scowl as she stubbornly pushed herself onwards towards her goal.
The corners of her mouth twisted upwards into a wry smile. If only Father could see her now! And to think that he thought science and archaeology were all about boring desk-jobs, droning professors and digging up old bones in the sandpit!
‘Ignorant jarhead.’
With a grunt of exertion, she leap-frogged over a fallen tree in her path. A sudden pin-prick sensation surfaced in her shoulder, and in an instant, she slapped her hoof against it. A quick glance at the bottom of her hoof confirmed that that mosquito wasn’t going to be bothering anypony anymore.
A glance at the tree tops obscuring most of the direct sunlight reminded her of part of the reason why she was slogging it on hoof in the first place.
‘Can’t see the blasted thing if it’s underneath all this greenery.’
The cheerful calls of the tropical birds in the treetops never seemed to cease, and after a while, the constant chatter was starting to become repetitive and annoying, as if the same damn bird was following her from a distance, loudly squawking incessantly just to get her attention.
The rustling of leaves off to her right caught her attention, and she snapped her entire posture around on a dime and into a combat stance, ready to face the source of the noise at the drop of a hat. After a few moments of frantic concentration, she could make out the form of a sleek black panther in amongst the bushes, with its predatory gaze set firmly on her.
“Well... crap,” she muttered.
Keeping her eye locked firmly on the big cat, she held her ground. Keeping the panther in her line of sight was the utmost important thing, no matter what. The moment she turns to run, the cat will most likely pounce and make a quick, decisive strike for her neck.
Her ears restlessly twitched, pivoting about to listen for anything potentially approaching her from behind.
A stray drop of sweat dripped down the side of her face. Audibly swallowing, she steeled her resolve and fought the rising instinct to run for the hills, forcing her expression to maintain its perpetual scowl. Her grip around the knife instinctively tightened, the weapon giving her a feeling of security and ability to protect herself. Her left, uninjured wing also flared out, in a dual-purpose of making herself look larger than normal, as well as tensing up for any sudden movement.
The panther made a low growling sound as it shuffled about to reposition, still within the relative cover of its floral camouflage. Daring warily traced the cat’s movements as it circled about amongst the undergrowth.
‘Yeah, I’m watching you, you prick, now come on! Just buzz off and leave me alone!’ Daring made an audible growling sound, ‘Don’t make me do something I don’t want to!’
The big cat seemingly didn’t respond, simply concentrating on Daring with a predatory glare and licking its lips.
Suddenly, the panther made its move, launching forward like a blur. Reflexively, she dug her hooves into the ground and twisted her head about to the left, bringing the sharp blade of the knife to bear.
With claws outstretched and jaws open wide for the kill, the panther lunged for Daring’s head. In the blink of an eye, the Pegasus dropped down slightly and tensed up her leg muscles like coils. The panther collided into the Pegasus, who dug her hooves into the ground resolutely, protecting herself from the cat’s lethal jaws with her broad pith hat, which it snatched up instead of her throat.
As the cat quickly realised it had nothing but a mouthful of fabric, Daring launched a counterattack in a hip-and-shoulder motion, ramming into the panther shoulder-first, knocking it up onto its hind legs, and driving the knife deep under the cat’s armpit.
The panther howled in agony, driving the claws at the end of its good arm into Daring’s shoulder as the Pegasus quickly pressed the advantage, releasing her grip on the knife and shoving her forehooves against the panther’s chest, toppling it over backwards. The cat’s claws however each tore a small gash as they were forcibly ripped from her skin, eliciting a pained yelp from her throat.
With the lithe agility only a big cat could possess, the panther flipped about in mid-air with the flow of the shove, landing perfectly on three feet, albeit facing away from its target.
Both Pegasus and Panther twirled around on the spot. The latter was rather clumsy on three legs, as it gingerly tried to multi-task balancing and nursing its injury. With a brief hop onto its hind legs, it lashed out again with outstretched claws just as Daring coiled up and kicked out with all the force she could muster.
The buck connected with the panther’s jaw with a solid thud, sending it head-over-feet towards a nearby tree. The panther, for its part, managed to snag its claws into Daring’s flesh again, and as it was sent flying, it dragged three long, parallel scratches across her thigh.
“Mother - !” she grimaced, swallowing down the fiery sensation building up in her leg.
Craning her neck around to get a view of her foe, she found the big cat lying in a daze at the base of the tree, trying to shake the stars from its vision.
"Are you gonna leave me alone now or what?!" She glared dangerously over her shoulder.
The panther snarled in anger, its gaze locked onto the Pegasus with a hateful glare.
Not willing for a second round, she backpedaled several paces towards the cat, stopping less than two feet away before coiling up for the knockout blow.
The second buck to the head carried a little more force than she intended, slamming the panther’s skull against the hardwood tree with a bone-shattering crunch, and it promptly slumped over onto its side, never to wake up again. A splatter of bright red blood marked where its head had been forcefully compressed against the tree.
Daring stared at the body for any movement several moments, before finally releasing the breath she had been holding all this time. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, thumping loudly with each beat, and an involuntary shiver caused her entire body to shudder as she absentmindedly shook her back legs one after the other, trying to release some tension.
“I... I can’t believe it... ” she blinked, her brain still struggling to play catch-up. “I... I think I actually killed it...!”
With wide-eyed trepidation, she shakily placed her hat back on her head and reached in under the panther’s foreleg with her snout, withdrawing the knife from under the panther’s shoulder in between her teeth. The blade had become slick with blood and clumps of fur. The cat did not stirr as she did so, and it was ominously limp.
Glancing back across her body, she could see that the injuries the panther inflicted, while highly irritating and uncomfortable, were not immediately serious or life-threatening, and she decided that she had come this far, and it was too late to turn for home now. Simply soldiering on was her only conceivable option.
A soft mewing sound from behind her drew her attention to the bushes behind her. From within the bushes, she could make out the wide-eyed, horrified stare of two small black creatures.
Panther cubs.
“Oh piss off,” Daring grunted through the knife, visibly sagging, “Of COURSE you had a bloody family to feed! They ALWAYS do!”
The cubs rapidly glanced between their fallen mother and the big, off-yellow Pegasus that was responsible. Their comically large eyes were deadly serious with shock and despair, and Daring swore that she could see tears forming. She could feel her resolve crumble and dissipate the longer she stared at them.
“I-I’m sorry!” she quivered, “I know you were only hungry for a meal for your family, but...”
She wiped her eye with the back of her arm, unwittingly making it worse by rubbing in dirt and grit, “... Just not me, alright? I didn’t want to actually... well... I didn’t mean to...”
Alright, that was a blatant lie, and Daring knew it. Her intention was to kill, but it was either the panther, or her. Besides, with a stab-wound like that, it would be nowhere near as an effective hunter anymore, and it’d die anyway if she left it as is. It would’ve been in agony until the last breath as it slowly starved to death from a sudden severe lack of successful hunts. The cubs wouldn’t last that much longer, without their vigilant mom to protect them anymore.
For a moment, she seriously considered simply slitting the cubs throats, and end their suffering right there. However, when she stepped forward to do the deed, the cubs huddled up in fright, frozen with sheer terror.
Her eye twitched, and the last of her resolve shattered like glass. So, with a heavy sense of guilt hanging over her head and ignoring the agony across her body, she jabbed the bloodied knife into the nearest tree before she turned and bolted into the undergrowth.
-----
[0826 Hours, 13th May 2020] [Brisbane’s Operations Room]
The Ops Room was bustling with activity as usual, as Brisbane cautiously settled down to a more calm and collected state, after yesterday’s events. Several Petty Officers were barking amongst each other whilst monitoring a routine fire drill in the Officer’s Wardroom.
Captain Stevenson sat in The Chair, as he simply liked to call it, passively observing the goings-on around him. The Chair was his chair and his chair only, reserved for the ship’s Commanding Officer for whenever he was in the room.
“Skipper!” a voice from off to the side spoke up, “we’ve got two messages for you!”
He blinked and turned about. “Huh? Whatta they say?”
“Dunno about the first one, it’s labelled for your eyes only; but the second one is from our Naval Stores supplier, saying that they’re en-route and estimates the rendezvous with us to be at around Fifteen Hundred Hours tomorrow to air-drop the supplies,” the sailor replied.
“Forward ‘em to my laptop,” the Skipper waved a hand dismissively, “I’ll have a look at ‘em later.”
“Sir, the first one is also labelled as ‘Urgent’,” the sailor added.
“Ugh, of course it is,” the Skipper huffed and shook his head in exasperation. He stood up and turned to XO Cruze, who was standing behind a sailor at a Weather Radar station. “Bridge is yours Commander, while I go sort this out. Don’t go losing any more of our crewmembers to pirates this time, will you?”
“No sir, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Cruze nodded with a sheepish smile.
The Skipper made a satisfied nod in return and briskly marched out of the Ops Room, muttering under his breath. “I really should’ve gone for that Double-Shot Expresso this morning...”
Quickly making his way to his office, Stevenson flipped open his laptop and settled down into his chair, clicking open the message marked ‘Urgent’.
“Whadda these guys want this time, eh? ‘Dear Captain Stevenson, yadda-yadda-yadda, blah-blah-blah...’”
“...”
“Oh."
The Skipper blinked incredulously, “Shef’s not going to be too impressed by that, I don’t think...”
-----
[Brisbane’s Medical Bay]
Nurse Harris glanced from the clipboard in her hand to the sleeping Pegasus nestled up on the bunk. At some point during the night, Daring Do had shifted about from sleeping on her back, to a curled-up position on her stomach, nestling her snout into the pillow.
Earlier that morning, Harris had turned on a small portable heater, keeping the Med Bay to a reasonably warm temperature, and Daring had unconsciously kicked off her blanket, which was now clumped up at the end of the bunk.
The lack of a blanket revealed that the entirety of her left thigh was heavily strapped up in a mixture of white bandages and beige sports tape, much like her shoulder, limiting its range of movement. These served the dual purpose of helping to prevent her from accidentally tearing out the stitches underneath in any way, as well as providing support for her strained and damaged muscles.
Daring’s wings had been cleaned and preened back as close to pristine condition as possible under the circumstances, and Harris smiled in prideful satisfaction at her handiwork. Each wing had taken her around forty minutes to complete, having started shortly after the Medical Team had finished stitching and bandaging her wounds, and completed around ten minutes before Daring first regained consciousness last night.
Daring audibly groaned as she shifted about. The several painful discomforts across her wings, shoulder and hip continued to aggravate her, and finding a comfortable position that could ease pressure on her injuries was a difficult task. Upon opening her eyes, she glanced around the room, seemingly puzzled as to where her blanket had gone, craning her neck around to get a view behind her, being careful not to irritate her shoulder in the process.
“... the hell did it get down there?” she murmured with a frown upon sight of the clump of cotton at the end of the bunk.
Her movements were slow and deliberate as she gingerly shuffled about to turn around to face the end of the bunk, making soft grunting noises under her breath with each exertion.
It was a painstaking process as she reached over and grabbed a portion of the blanket in between her teeth and dragged it back across her prone form. The bunk wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on, no navy beds were, but it would do for now, as she snuggled up into the solitary warm patch created by her own body heat throughout the night.
She was content to just lie there and sleep all day, if it weren’t for the fact that the pain was niggling away at her mind like an annoying fly, preventing such a merciful act from occurring.
“Morning Shef,” Harris smiled, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Hey. Might need Panadol and some morphine over here,” Daring replied groggily.
All of the stress from the events of yesterday was still present, and her brain was slow to warm up into full consciousness.
She frowned in concentration as she recalled the events of the strange dream she was having, shortly before waking up.
The image of the panther-blood splattered haphazardly against the tree stuck out in her mind, alongside the terrified expressions on the faces of the two little kittens, orphaned and without a mother to feed them.
To them, she must’ve looked like the Apocalypse all warmed up and ready to go, what with her scrappy, gritty appearance, and the bloody knife dangling from her mouth. She must’ve looked every bit of a monster to haunt their nightmares for the last precious few hours they had to live.
‘My God, I can’t believe I actually did that...’ she stared off vacantly into space, ‘Taking down a panther with my bare hooves! Who woulda thought...?’
She sighed in annoyance at the sling holding her arm in place.
‘And now look at me. Still getting into do-or-die situations, with a disfigured shoulder blade for my troubles, which is possibly going to be like that for the rest of my life.’ She thought irritably, ‘Nothing’s really changed there.’
The dream was extraordinarily vivid, and she could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, and her heart thumping in her chest. It was very similar to the feeling she had as the Chief pointed the gun at her, ready to end her existence for good.
The sensation of teetering on the brink of death, and the ultra-tense excitement and action. She had never felt so alive in her life. A shiver of giddiness ran up her spine, causing her fur to briefly stand on end.
An image flashed through her mind of the Pirates with their guns all pointed at her face, and how they could have very easily pulled the trigger and ended her right there. And yet, for some reason, they didn’t.
Even when she initiated the fightback, their first response was to kick her down, rather than shoot her. The only Pirate who genuinely attempted to kill her was the Chief, but because of his piss-poor accuracy, none of her wounds were immediately lethal.
‘Perhaps he got his gun-handling certificate from the Stormtroopers’ Academy of Marksmanship,’ Her mouth curled up into a wry grin.
She visualised another image, this time of the hostages standing around in the hangar, chatting with members of the Clearance Divers. The relief etched into their faces that they had been rescued from a potentially life-shattering situation.
Was it worth it in the long run? Putting her life on the line just to save twelve complete strangers?
Probably.
Would she do it again if put through the exact same scenario again?
Without a shadow of a doubt.
They were only out there on an innocent fishing trip. They didn’t deserve to have their fortunes flipped and dumped on their heads like that. It just wasn’t fair.
Perhaps the final part of the transformation had been completed, and she was now even thinking like Daring Do. Mark Sheffield probably wouldn’t have been able to come up with such a hair-brained scheme like that whilst under the lingering threat of certain death, and then actually expect it to work. She had fully acknowledged to herself that this transformation had indeed brought on several psychological changes, some of them more handy than others, and if she were to be honest with herself, she kinda liked Daring Do better than Mark Sheffield.
She glanced back over her right shoulder at the Cutie Mark on her un-bandaged right thigh.
Chris had once mentioned that Cutie Marks represented more than just a pony’s profession. It symbolised who they were as a character, and it could often be interpreted as representing a major characteristic of their personality.
‘What does a compass do?’ She mentally started brainstorming, rubbing her chin with a hoof, ‘A compass is there to help a person know they’re going in the right direction. What could that have to do with staying cool under the pump?’
‘Maybe... it’s the ability to stay straight and true, despite the outside pressure? No... that doesn’t sound right...’
‘The ability... to point other people along the right path? Am I like... a beacon to inspire others to stay true to themselves and follow their dreams? No, that sounds a little corny...’
‘... Or it could be all of those things, I dunno. It’d be sweet if there really was some kind of hidden meaning, beyond me being good at exploration and finding treasure.’
‘Or maybe there might be no hidden meaning at all, and I’m wasting my energy and brainpower trying to interpret something that is as plain as... well, as plain as the Cutie Mark on my arse.’
From her peripheral vision, she noticed her wings were looking much cleaner and more presentable than they were yesterday.
‘Harris must’ve cleaned me up last night. Strange... I didn’t know she knew her way around cleaning up feathers...’
She sighed loudly. Lying here doing nothing because of injuries was becoming boring very quickly. She had a feeling that she’d end up thinking herself to death at this rate.
‘What’s something that MLP ponies seem to like doing for entertainment, that doesn’t involve getting into absurd situations?’ she wondered.
Ironically, an image of a scene from a Pinkie Pie-oriented episode sprung to mind. Specifically the ‘Smile Smile Smile!’ song.
‘Ah, of course. Music. Ponies seem to like their musical numbers.’
‘... Hell, I used one as a distraction tactic myself. Pity there wasn’t any background music to just pop up out of the blue to go with it.’
‘Not that that can’t be rectified for future scenarios.’
“Harris, could you please pass me my iPod?” she turned and asked politely, glancing over her shoulder.
“Uh, sure. Where’d ya put it?” Harris stood up with a nod.
“I think I left it on my bunk in my cabin shortly before I left for yesterday’s sortie,” Daring replied in a murmur, bringing a hoof to her chin, “That’s the last place I remember seeing it.”
“Sure, I’ll be back in a tic,” Harris stepped outside the Med Bay, closing the door behind her.
The Pegasus sighed loudly, glancing around the room. From where her bunk was positioned, against the centre of the back wall, she could see pretty much everything with just a turn of her head.
Harris had left her small laptop open at her workstation, and the screen was filled with medical jargon in tiny writing that Daring couldn’t even begin to decipher. She had a feeling that it was all about her, though.
Several other bunks lined the wall next to Harris’ work desk, empty and disused.
There was little else of any interest in the Med Bay, without even a fancy medical poster adorning the wall to look at.
Eventually, Harris returned and placed Daring’s iPod in her lap.
“Sorry, there was a slight delay. I had to ask Martin to go in and actually get it, since women aren’t allowed in the men’s cabins,” she remarked off-handedly.
“Thank you very much,” the Pegasus nodded politely as she fiddled the earbuds into her ears.
‘Wait... women aren’t allowed in the men’s cabins...’ Daring’s smile faltered, ‘What about me? Since I’m female now, does that mean I have to change cabins?’
“Something on your mind, Shef?” Harris asked, snapping the Pegasus’ train of thought. “You look like you’re worried about something.”
“Huh? Oh. I was just thinking that, since I’m a female now, do I have to change cabins now?” she explained.
“... Probably,” Harris shrugged, after some thought, “You’ll have to ask the Skipper about that.”
There was a moment of silence as Daring flippantly flicked through her iPod’s playlist.
“Switching to another topic, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Daring murmured aloud, “I was wondering... how do you know how to preen wings and stuff?”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you? My old man works as an ornithologist at Australia Zoo,” Harris replied with a beaming smile, “I grew up on the Gold Coast you see, and most of my pocket money as a kid stemmed from helping him out with the animals during my spare time. Keeping the birds healthy and clean whenever they were sick was just one of my tasks.”
“Righto.”
“He was my inspiration to enter the medical field in fact” Harris explained, “Joining the Navy was my own decision, because I wanted to get out, travel and see the world.”
“Fair enough,” Daring shrugged.
She exhaled softly, grateful that the touch-sensitive slider recognised hooves. Upon selecting a song, she shuffled about slightly to find a more comfortable sitting position.
Harris turned about slightly in curiosity as Daring started singing softly in a barely audible voice to the song she had selected.
“I left my heart to the sappers ‘round Khe Sanh,
And I sold my soul with my cigarettes
to the black market man.
I’ve had to Vietnam cold-turkey
from the ocean to the silver city,
and its only other vets could understand.
“About the long-forgotten dockside guarantees,
there were no V-Day heroes
in nineteen seventy-three.
And how we sailed into Sydney Harbour,
I saw an old friend, but I couldn’t kiss her.
She was lined and I was home to Lucky Land.”
“I didn’t know Shef could sing,” Harris whispered under her breath. She turned her chair around completely, listening carefully to Daring’s little performance.
“She was like so many more from that time on.
Their lives were all so empty
until they found their chosen one.
Their legs were often open,
but their minds were always closed,
and their hearts were held in fast suburban chains."
“And the legal pads were yellow,
hours long, pay packets lean.
The telex writers clatter
where the gunships once had been.
An’ carparks make me jumpy,
and I’ve never stopped the dreams,
or the growing need for speed and novacaine.”
“So I worked across the country from end to end,
and tried to find a place to settle down
where my mixed-up life could end.
I held a job on an oil-rig
flyin’ choppers when I could,
but the nightlife nearly drove me ‘round the bend.”
“And I travelled ‘round the world from year to year,
but each one found me aimless,
one more year the worse for wear.
So I’ve been back to South-East Asia,
y’know the answer sure ain’t there,
but I’m driftin’ north to check things out again!”
“She can even hit the high notes without a problem, too,” Harris observed, and Daring whistled the song’s brief instrumental solo.
“Well, the last plane outta Sydney’s almost gone.
In only seven flyin’ hours, I’ll be landing in Hong Kong.
And there ain’t nothin’ like the kisses
from a jaded Chinese princess.
I’m gonna hit some Hong Kong mattress all night long.”
“If your doors swing that way,” Harris snickered under her breath. Those lines of the song were rather awkward to hear coming from a female singer.
“Well the last plane outta Sydney’s almost gone.
Y’know the last plane outta Sydney’s almost go-o-one.
And it’s really got me worried.
I’m goin’ nowhere and I’m in a hurry.
Y’know the last plane outta Sydney’s almost gone.”
“Well the last plane outta Sydney’s almost gone.
Y’know the last plane outta Sydney’s almost go-o-one.
And it’s really got me worried,
I’m goin’ nowhere and I’m in a hurry.
Y’know the last plane outta Sydney’s almost go-o-ooone!”
“You have a nice voice there, Shef,” Harris encouraged, “Didn’t quite imagine you to be a fan of Cold Chisel, but still a great performance nevertheless.”
“Ah-w-well, it’s a great song,” Daring stammered sheepishly, pausing the music and removing her headphones, rather embarrassed by the praise, “They hardly play it on the radio anymore, which is a shame really.”
“Well, it is an old one,” Harris shrugged.
“Old, but gold,” Daring pointed out sternly.
“Come on, sing something else for us then!” Harris grinned, “That obviously isn’t the only song you have stashed away in there, is it?”
“Erm...” the Pegasus glanced at the screen, flicking through the list, “I dunno...”
A loud beeping sound interrupted her train of thought however, as the Skipper’s voice spoke up over the loudspeaker system.
“Attention all crewmembers, this is the Captain speaking. I’ve just got word from Top Brass that as of tomorrow, we’ll be rotating into the American Carrier Battle Group in the Persian Gulf, led by the USS George H.W. Bush, to take part in a short collaborative exercise. Now, to be honest, I only just got this message recently myself, so I’m as surprised by how short-noticed this is as much as you are, but... that’s just the way it is. Just thought I’d let you all know. As you were.”
“Tomorrow? That is a very short notice span,” Daring frowned, “Why are they only telling us now?”
“Question of the day,” Harris murmured, idly glancing across at the Pegasus, “Wouldn’t be the first time HQ has given us orders with short notice. So anyway, now that you’re fully awake, how are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m all sunshine and roses over here,” Daring huffed with a dry grin, “Never been better in my life.”
“Be serious, Shef,” Harris frowned, absent-mindedly swiping the dark brown hair on the left side of her face behind her ear.
“Same as last night,” the Pegasus grunted, “Can’t move my shoulder or my leg without ‘em hurting like all hell.”
She blinked and glanced around as the ship started tilting slightly to the right, indicating that Brisbane had started turning around.
Her ear twitched from the sound of movement outside, and they both turned about as the door opened.
“Morning Harris,” the Skipper briefly nodded in greeting towards the nurse as he meandered across and took a seat, exhaling heavily as he sat down, “Mind if I have a word in private with the patient?”
“Sure thing Skip,” Harris shrugged, closing up her laptop, “I think I needed a good excuse for a meal break anyway. If you need me, I’ll be in the Mess Hall.”
Once Harris had left the Med Bay, the Skipper met Daring’s concerned gaze with a weary smile, “Alright Shef, I’ve got some good news, and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”
“Well, it’s sort-of good news, but anyway, as you know, we got a message from Top Brass to rotate into the American Carrier Group. What I didn’t say on the loudspeaker was the full reason why.”
“Dee Dee, if you don’t mind me calling you that, Top Brass has informed me that they went and forwarded our video footage of you to the Americans, to see what they thought of it, and they confirmed that there is indeed highly confidential confirmations that people are mysteriously turning into these... ponies. You’re not the only one who’s wound up like this, it seems, Shef.”
“Aaaand, let me guess? There’s a pony or two on board the US aircraft carrier, and they want to set up a little play date with me?” Daring raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“You catch on quick,” the Skipper nodded with an affirmative grin, “Apparently his name’s Lucas Ferguson, and he used to be a backseat driver in an F-18 Super Hornet. We weren’t given a photo of him though, so we don’t know what he looks like. That’s the good news. The bad news is... we’re rather uncertain if you’re actually coming back with us.”
Her eyes widened, “... Whadda you mean?”
“Top Brass is looking at discharging you from the Navy,” Stevenson sighed softly, “And transferring you to the care of the Americans.”
“...What?” her voice dropped to a soft volume as her face distorted into a frown, “W-why would they do that?!”
“Simple. They don’t know what to do with you, Dee Dee,” the Skipper shrugged apologetically, “They figured that if there are any other people who have ended up like this, they’d all be Yanks, and that it’d kind-of makes sense if you go hang out with them from now on. The only problem is, once you’re transferred to the Americans, that’s it. There’s no guarantee you’ll ever return home to Australia.”
“W-well, i-if that’s going to be the case...” Daring’s expression softened as she swallowed audibly, “Do I at least get to say a last goodbye to my family?”
“...” The Skipper’s expression dropped like a stone, “...Erm...”
“Don’t tell me...” Her ears flattened.
“I s’pose there’s no easy way to put this... ” the Skipper grimaced apologetically, “I’ve been told that they’re not supposed to ever know. It’ll be like Mark Sheffield just disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
“WHAT-- Argh, friggit!” the Pegasus snapped upwards, flinging the blanket across in the process, and then immediately regretting it as her shoulder angrily protested against the sudden exertive movement. Meanwhile, the Destroyer finally reached the end of its u-turn, and evened out again.
“Hey, don’t go shooting the messenger, Leftenant. It wasn’t my idea,” the Skipper frowned sternly.
Daring sat back against the pillow and figuratively bored a hole through the solid steel bulkhead in her field of view with her agitated glare alone, otherwise silent as the intensity of her breathing increased.
“I’m sorry to just up and drop that bombshell on you like that, but... I wasn’t originally going to tell you that until you asked,” the Skipper said resignedly.
“...” Daring hung her head in silence, obscuring her face with the shadows cast by her bangs. Her body shivered with tense energy.
A brief image flashed through her mind, picturing the potential scenario of her parents receiving the letter. That one letter of doom that all parents with kids in the military dreaded to receive, saying that their child, their own flesh and blood that more than eighteen years of joy, tears, toil and sometimes frustration had gone into, was Missing In Action, potentially dead.
Her mother staring blankly, thunderstruck and grief-stricken at the loss of her child; her father wrapping her mother up in a tight hug, attempting to provide a place of comfort and solace.
The image then switched to that of her parents then going and spreading the news. All of their friends, family and neighbours would be informed. They’d all be up in arms mourning her supposed loss as well.
Her younger brother Chris, hunched over on his bunk aboard HMAS Sydney, with the notice beside him and his head in his hands, supporting his elbows on his knees, gobsmacked and in disbelief.
A surge of anger pulsed through her very being, an overwhelming sense of betrayal that Top Brass could just go behind her back and cause everyone grief like this.
In the back of her mind, a sneering voice spoke up in a ghostly whisper, ‘I told you that they don’t give a shit about you! They’re just handing you off at the next convenient moment, just as I predicted!’
‘T-That’s not true!’ she internally muttered back with a snarl, ‘They’re just... going about this in a very wrong way...’
‘Have you got a better explanation, then?’
‘...I’m sure there is one. Just... shut the fuck up already, I’m not listening to you,’ Daring sniffed loudly, choking back a sob, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be dead already, anyway?’
‘My existence is perpetual,’ the voice seemed to shrug cheerfully, ‘As long as you’re worrying about something, I’ll be there to point out the obvious for you, in case you decide to become too dumb to see it yourself. There’s nothing which can stop me from doing as I like, whether you like it or not.’
Stevenson sighed, “... Is there anything else you want to add before I leave, Dee Dee?”
She looked up at the Skipper with a desperate look on her face, “W-Why would they go behind me like this? P-Please tell me they’re not just passing me off because I’m useless and they hate me, are they?!”
Stevenson blinked incredulously, “Woah-woah-woah! Back up for a minute there, Shef... In what universe did anyone say you were useless?! Just yesterday, you saved twelve people not only from drowning, but from a potentially violent death as a pirate’s hostage! No-one has a reason to hate you! And if anyone does, they can come see me about it.”
He paused, trying to anticipate just what sort of train of thought could possibly make her think such a thing, before walking back, crouching down in front of her and collecting her hoof up in his hands.
“Lieutenant, listen to me. Don’t you dare think for even a second that this ‘transformation’ crap is going to make us think any less of you. You are still a living, sapient being, and a part of this ship’s crew, as far as I’m aware, and you’ll always have a special place reserved just for you with us.”
“The fact that you were willing to put yourself on the line like that for some complete strangers tells me that you are someone who is more than worth keeping, but... Top Brass thinks it’d be better for you if you were hanging around other people like yourself who have been afflicted by this... condition. If I had my way, I’d be keeping you all to myself, to be honest.”
“It’s just that... no-one has ever encountered a situation where anyone has just... physically turned into... well anything, really, much less a flying pony! So... of course Top Brass is a little lost for words at the moment. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet, and they’re just taking action to show that they’re doing... something about this. Alright?”
Daring frowned as she rubbed at her eye with the back of her arm, sniffing loudly again, “So now... they’re just placing me in a box with all the other rejects, eh? That I have some kind of disease that requires quarantine?!”
“I didn’t say that,” Stevenson glared sternly, “So don’t you dare put words in my mouth like that again. The other people who have ended up as ponies are all probably in the same situation as you are: confused and unsure of what to do. By coordinating our efforts with the Americans, we can bring you all together, so that we can keep track of the situation, and then we can work out what’s going on from there.”
“I... Look, I'm sorry for snapping like that, but I just don’t have a full grasp of the picture,” she explained in a soft whisper, “And I don't like it a single bit. My only clues as to what’s going on all come from these strange dreams I’m having, and I don’t know whether I can actually trust them as legitimately useful, or whether they’re just figments of my imagination screwing around with me. It’s weighing down on my mind a lot, even if I don’t show it. There’s just... nothing solid to work with, and it’s all so confusing at the moment. And on top of it all, I have to juggle that with coming to terms that it’s all even happening in the first place! The last thing I really need right now is anyone just throwing me out with the rest of the trash!”
“Lieutenant, listen to me carefully. Did anyone say you were trash?” the Skipper crossed his arms.
“Well no, but-”
“Then shut up. Case dismissed. Now, could you please backtrack for a minute there? I believe you mentioned something about ‘dreams’,” the Skipper leaned in, his curiosity piqued, “Could you just settle down for a bit and care to expand on that for me, please?”
After some hesitation, Daring recounted her supposed ‘flashback’ about her encounter with Discord, about how Princess Luna rescued her from a nightmare, and lastly about her trek through the dangerous jungle looking for some artifact in the middle of God-knows-where, describing all three visions with vivid detail.
The Skipper sat completely still, listening carefully in respectful silence the entire time.
“... and then I woke up,” she finished with a shrug. Her eyes were still glassy, but her overall posture indicated she was much calmer now.
“Well, I must say that this has been very informative,” the Skipper nodded, “I appreciate that you were willing to share this with me.”
“S’alright,” she shrugged numbly.
“Hey, come ‘ere,” the Skipper’s expression softened up as he drew the Pegasus into a hug. Her short, dense fur was surprisingly soft and warm to the touch. “Don’t start up on the waterworks on us here now.”
“Ah! Watch the shoulder!” Daring grimaced and pushed away.
“Oop, sorry,” Stevenson withdrew, standing up properly, “But anyway, just remember that I always have time for my crewmembers. Don’t you ever forget that. If you’re still bothered by anything, just pop into my office and say ‘g’day’, you hear?”
Daring nodded profusely.
“Good,” He smiled warmly as he walked out the door, letting Harris back in on the way through, “I’ll catch ya later.”
“Mess Hall’s chockers. I can’t be bothered waiting in line, so I’ll get something to eat later when there’s less people,” Harris remarked off-handedly, oblivious to the topic of the prior conversation, before noticing the Pegasus’s poor demeanour. “Huh? What’s up?”
“... Don’t worry,” Daring shook her head, reaching her iPod, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Pfft, ‘It’s nothing,’ she says,” Harris smirked, “Seriously, what’s on your mind?”
“NOTHING!” Daring snapped with a snarl, glancing up.
The nurse blinked in shock.
She replaced the earbuds in her ears and lay her head face-down into the pillow. “Just... I-I’m sorry... just... not now. I need some time and space to think.”
Harris frowned in concern, but otherwise nodded and said nothing as she returned to her laptop.
‘Poor thing must be under a lot of stress,’ Harris thought worriedly, ‘I hope she can get to the bottom of it soon...’
“Oh!” Daring’s hoof abruptly met her forehead, “And in all that excitement, I forgot to ask him about the cabins...!”
Harris blinked, then smiled, standing up, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll go see him about it for you.”
Daring opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of it, and just nodded in acceptance.
-----
For mile after treacherous mile, Daring simply ran.
Dodging trees, jumping over pits, swinging on vines over rivers, and putting as much space between her and the shattered family of panthers she left behind. After running aimlessly for who-knows how long, she finally brought herself to a stop, hunching over and gasping for breath, choking back a horrified sob. Her muscles ached, and she was really starting to rue the moment she carelessly injured her wing. Simply flying through all of this mess would be so much easier!
“Celestia give me strength,” she whispered desperately.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she refocused her attention to her surroundings.
There were nothing but trees in every direction.
After a few moments of fruitless searching, she came to the conclusion that Daring Do, the great adventurer extraordinaire, was lost.
With an unladylike grunt, she wrapped her legs around a nearby tree and started climbing, using her good wing for support.
Hanging on to a large branch, she glanced about at her surroundings from a higher perspective.
Daring’s eyes widened as, through the trees far off in the distance, she spotted a glint of metal, with a distinct golden sheen.
“... Hello, what have we got here?”
She jumped from the tree, landing with a soft thud, before sprinting off in the direction of the golden gleam.
“That must be the temple I’m looking for!” her expression brightened considerably as she ran. “I can almost feel the Sapphire Stone in my grip already!”
After running for what seemed like too long, the Pegasus finally charged into a clearing amongst the trees. Smack-bang in the centre of the clearing was a large, ancient-looking temple. It looked vaguely like a four-sided pyramid, adorned with strange paintings and carvings across nearly every square inch of its exterior.
Age had not been kind to the temple, it seemed. Innumerous numbers of cracks and chips peppered the tough stone structure, and there were patches of moss growing in places that it probably shouldn’t be.
She could barely contain her excitement as she reached behind her shoulder and produce a rolled-up scroll from her satchel. Spreading it out on the ground before her revealed it to be a map, showing a vast network of complicated tunnels and corridors, the majority of which were all underground. Around the edges of the map were numerous scribbles and notes of trivial interest made by Daring herself.
“Somewhere in here...” she glanced between the map and the temple, “Is the Sapphire Stone.”
She rolled up the map and placed it back in her satchel, “And today, after nearly seventy freaking days of searching, is the day it finally comes out of hiding!”
With a deep breath of fresh air to clear her head of any troubling thoughts, she took a bold step forwards.
It was a truly intimidating structure as Daring approached it. The numerous carvings and statues of various ponies (or were they zebras? She couldn’t really tell.) all seemed to stare vacantly off into the distance, passively observing the world around them with their stony gazes.
Her fur tingled with excitement as she stepped through the entrance. On the inside, it was rather dark and dusty. As she ventured further into the tunnel, she noticed that the caverns were lit by wooden torches lined up at intervals along the walls.
She trotted up to a torch and cast over it with a scrutinising gaze.
“This wood is fairly fresh and new. It must’ve been replaced recently, which means that there must be somepony moving through here regularly, for whatever reason,” she surmised, “And whoever they are, they really need to catch up with their housekeeping.”
After one last glance at the torch on the wall, Daring Do turned and continued her trek deep into the bowels of the temple.
The tunnel split up in several directions at a plus-shaped intersection. Whipping out the map from her satchel, she quickly assessed the correct route she needed to take.
"So, it's a left here, straight ahead there, right there, another left there... yadda, yadda, yadda... and a left there!"
Her game-plan set in her head, Daring trudged off on her memorised route through the maze of twists, turns and dead-ends. After what seemed like an eternity, Daring passed through an open doorway, into a chamber similar to the previous passage, except this one was much more spacious and well-lit.
Much like outside, numerous paintings and carvings adorned the length of the walls. Mostly depicting strange creatures she had only seen in books, as well as a few of zebras, and even a few that were recognisable as ponies.
“Now...” she glanced around the floor warily, “Apparently, this entire chamber is booby-trapped from one end to the other. Only problem is, nopony actually knows what the traps consist of, or what the triggers are, since nopony who has ever entered here has survived this far to come back and tell the tale.
With an audible gulp, Daring warily started pacing forward into the valley of death.
A loud click drew her attention to her hoof, which was pressing down on a loose stone in the floor.
Her blood froze, “That doesn’t sound good.”
Instinctively, she back-pedalled as quickly as she could as within seconds, hundreds of hatches lining the length of either wall opened up. For several hair-raising moments, both walls pelted each other with a hail storm of arrows and darts, signing the instant death-warrant for any poor soul unfortunate enough to be trapped in the middle.
Once the arrows and poison darts ceased, Daring was finally able to settle down her near-hyperventilation.
“Well, that’s one trap taken care of,” she murmured dryly.
Casting a wary glance from one wall to the other, she briskly trotted through the valley of death, the crossbows mounted in the walls now relieved of their ammunition.
Fully alert and awake, she cast a serious gaze about the hallway as she maintained a brisk canter. The several dozen holes in the floor before her weren’t a very good sign.
Taking a deep breath, she increased her pace to a full sprint, and at the very edge of the holed segment in the floor, she launched up in a running leap.
No sooner had her hoof left the floor, the floor suddenly came alive as large, solid spikes speared up through the holes in the floor, aiming to impale whatever happened to be the way as the Pegasus sailed overhead.
Upon landing, she let her front legs buckle from beneath her, and curled up into a commando-roll, allowing her shoulder to absorb the brunt of the impact.
“Whoa!” Daring dragged herself to a stop, as just a few more feet forward, and she would’ve plunged headlong into a deep hole in the floor, lined with sizzling, burning embers.
She dreaded to think of what would happen if she fell in. Fortunately the gap across was not all that big, and she was able to leap across with relative ease.
“Perhaps its purpose is to catch off ponies who were trying to blitz their way through and couldn’t watch where they were going in time,” she mused aloud, “I must admit, that’s a pretty sneaky little trick.”
A loud growl from above her head caused her to instinctively ducked down and lay down flat on the floor.
Hanging above her head, tied to the roof by their tails, was a line of alligators, all snapping their jaws trying the reach out for the lone Pegasus. After a few moments, Daring’s expression contorted into a confused frown.
“... Who in Tartarus ties an alligator to their roof by the tail?! More to the point... why?! If you're going to use apex predators in your traps, you could at least ensure that they're looked after properly! You can't just leave a 'gator hanging by its tail like that, that's just cruel!"
Dragging herself along the cold floor on her belly, she was easily able to get past the snappy reptiles and stand up back on her hooves.
Another loud click reverberated through the hallway.
“What? I didn’t even stand on anything this time!” she quickly glanced about.
A low groaning sound brought her attention to the end of the hallway, where, to her horror, the wall was descending down from the roof, threatening to trap her inside the room.
“Ah crap!” she started sprinting for all she was worth again. As she ran, she hardly noticed that the walls on either side of her were now flinging axes and swords at her in an attempt to stop her in her tracks.
She grit her teeth, anxious that she wasn’t going to make it in time.
Just a few meters from safety, and the descending wall just a few feet off the floor, Daring went for broke and ducked down into a slide, sliding along her hip through the shrinking gap. The stone slab hit the ground with a resounding thud, and locked into place. She chuckled nervously, wiping her brow in relief and breathing heavily from exertion.
Shakily, she stood back up to her hooves and dusted herself off.
Glancing once over herself, she noticed that her hip was now sporting a large graze along its side. Amidst all of her other aches and pains, she hardly noticed it was even there.
Bringing her concentration to bear on the chamber she was in, she was immediately drawn to the pedestal at the end of the room, illuminated by a ray of sunlight, poking through a hole in the roof to the outside world.
Her eyes danced between the hole in the roof, and the passage behind her. “Wait...”
“You mean that instead of nearly killing myself by walking through the valley of death, I could’ve just jumped through that hole up there?! Oh... get stuffed!”
Her agitation quickly inverted on its head as her gaze resettled back on the pedestal. Perched on top was the unmistakable figure of the legendary Sapphire Stone.
‘Stone’ probably wasn’t really the most apt word for it, as it was technically a statuette made of sapphire, formed in the likeness of some mythical creature. Regardless, Daring Do’s eyes glistened all the same as she circled the pedestal, occasionally glancing around warily for any more traps.
Satisfied that nothing else was going to come shooting out of the masonry, she focused her full concentration on the statuette. The pedestal itself was probably rigged with another trap, so she knew that subtlety was paramount.
“... Screw it.”
In a single fluid motion, she swiped the Sapphire Stone from its mounting and stashed it under her hat.
The statuette was heavier than it looked, and it took some getting used to the extra weight.
For a few tense moments, everything was completely still and silent, as Daring warily glanced around for any triggers.
When nothing happened, Daring sighed in relief. “Well that was eas--”
*Click!*
“... Ah horseapples.”
The reaction was almost immediate.
From beneath her hooves, Daring noticed the stone floor was quickly becoming unbearably hot. Reflexively, she jumped up on top of the pedestal away from the floor.
“That’s not good,” she quickly reached back across her shoulder and frantically unwrapped her injured wing, discarding the torn sleeve-turned-bandage to the floor. Within seconds, it shriveled up and caught fire.
“This is probably going to come back to bite me later,” she flared her wings to their full length. Immediately, a sharp jolt of pain wracked her feathered appendage.
“Got more important things right now,” she grit her teeth, “Just grin and bear it.”
The floor beneath her started cracking, red-hot as lava started seeping up and into the chamber.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself and launched upwards. Each and every flap of her injured wing resulted in an agonising burst of white-hot pain.
“Ow-fuck-shit-ow-fuck-shit-shit-ow-fuck-fuck-shit-cunt-fuck-ow-Luna-dammit!” she swore vehemently with every down-stroke as she drifted up towards the skylight in a wobbly, awkward flight pattern.
With a desperate push, she reached out and grabbed a dangling weed in between her teeth. Letting her wings relax, she reached up for the edge of the hole with her fore-hooves and hauled herself out.
“Ffffriggin’ hell, I am NEVER doing that again,” she writhed on the ground, clutching at her injured wing, which was pulsing with agony.
“Of course you’re not going to do that again,” a new, gruff voice spoke up, startling her. “Because we’re going to make sure of it!”
It was then that Daring noticed the shadows on the ground beside her being cast by the figures behind her. She slowly turned her head about to face them.
"... Oh... right," Daring's eyes widened in realisation, "This was why I didn’t come this way..."
“... Oh... right. This was why I didn’t come this way...”
Daring Do stared up at the half-dozen figures standing around her. Right in front of her was a light-brown Earth Pony stallion, dressed up in a similar ‘jungle explorer’ type ensemble, with a colour theme of dark green. His Cutie Mark was a simple red ‘X’ and a small shovel.
“Daring Do. I haven’t seen you around for a while,” the stallion sneered in the most pretentious Trottingham accent she’d ever heard. “Tell me, are you still shacked up with that one-bit sleeze-ball from Las Pegasus like I remember?”
“Hey, that one-bit sleeze-ball may only be worth one bit, but even if I used her to purchase you, I’d still get change,” Daring huffed snarkily, “And for the record, no. I’m finally in my own place now.”
“... Ha ha, very funny,” the stallion deadpanned.
“... I must admit, I like what you’ve done with the place, Treasure Hunt,” Daring suddenly changed the topic, gesturing down the gaping hole in the ground, “Only complaint was those alligators you left tied to the ceiling. I doubt they’d appreciate being left up there for too long.”
“Good. That’s what makes them angry and aggressive, to keep out nosey meddlers like you,” he smirked, “Or, rather that’s the idea. But anyway, enough reminiscing. The Sapphire Stone. Hand it over.”
“Pfft, no-pony’s having that thing anymore!” Daring scoffed, “I had to drop it to save weight in order to save myself. It’s gone now.”
“Is that so?” Treasure Hunt looked skeptical, and made a gesture to one of his Zebra companions. The Zebra stepped forward, and in a swift swipe, knocked her hat off her head. The Sapphire Stone clunked to the ground.
“HEY! Don’t touch my hat!” she exclaimed angrily, diving to save it from the dirt.
Treasure Hunt quirked an eyebrow bemusedly, as the Zebra picked the statuette up off the ground and handed it to him. “You were saying?”
With a sly grin, he murmured something incoherently to his lackeys. The zebras promptly swarmed her from both sides, tackling her and pinning her to the ground on her belly.
“Get off me, you--” she struggled to break free in vain.
A heavy blunt force suddenly struck the back of her head, and everything went black.
-----
“Ugh...” Daring moaned as she regained consciousness to a raging headache, “That is the last time we go to town on the supply of hard cider, I think…”
A tight, coarse rope around her midsection prevented her arms and wings from moving anywhere, and the hard, smooth stone surface beneath her was rather uncomfortable to lie on.
“Aw come on, Cherry!” she grumbled, straining against the ropes, “I thought I told you to untie me after we were done with our super-sexy-fun-time…”
She gingerly opened her eyes. Several faces stared at her in vacant shock.
“Wait…” her face went white with horror as she glanced around at her surroundings. The room was rather uninteresting to look at, but going by the altar she had been tied to, and the sunlight peeking through the roof, she figured it was used for occasional sacrificial offerings, for whatever deity and religion the Zebras of old followed. Several levers were mounted along the far wall, safely out of her reach.
“This isn’t Cherry’s place… nor are any of you Cherry…”
“... Go on,” Treasure Hunt grinned widely, “What was that you were saying about ‘super-sexy-fun-time’…?”
She scowled in contempt, blushing profusely. “... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Aw, is our little Dee-Dee into the whole ‘S&M’ scene now, is she?” the stallion smirked wryly, “And with another mare, no less! My my, how the mighty have fallen…”
“Utter another syllable, and when I break free, you’ll be the first on my list,” Daring narrowed her eyes fiercely.
“Pfft. Alright then, good luck with that,” Hunt chuckled dismissively, “Well, I hate to love you and leave you in such a hurry like this, but I’ve got a very important date with a fellow who’s gonna be paying me big bikkies for this here statue.”
“You’d sell your mother for a bit if you could get away with it!” Daring huffed.
“Hey, if it puts food on the table, I’m not complaining,” Hunt shrugged indifferently, “Have fun in Tartarus Dee-Dee, and be sure to say ‘Hi’ to Cerberus for me, will you?”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Daring grunted, struggling against the ropes.
“Well, I would, but I’m not the one dying today, you see,” He snorted, as he turned and trotted for the door, “It was nice knowing you, so ta-ta!”
The Zebras all followed him out as a large stone door slid shut with a heavy thud, leaving the Pegasus alone in the room tied to the table.
“... Okay, so now what?” she glanced around the room, “Is there like, supposed to be some kind of death trap in here or something? Or am I supposed to die from boredom or starvation, whichever comes first?”
A loud click resounded throughout the room, followed by a low rumbling sound as the room started shaking.
“Okay, that’s not ominous at all, is it?” she murmured, warily glancing around for anything changing. After a few moments, she glanced up at the roof, and noticed that a large magnifying glass had been shifted over the hole letting the sunlight in. She traced the sharp, intense beam of light down, to find it was directed squarely onto her belly, and after just a few moments, a fierce burning sensation started building up in her abdomen.
“Alright, death by ancient laser beam it is,” She grunted, writhing about to try and avoid the line of fire. “These bloody ropes! Whoever came up with such a stupid idea should be impaled!”
“Agh! Okay, that is now becoming really irritating! Ow-ow-ow…!” She wriggled about desperately, as a thin trail of smoke started drifting up from the singed fur. “Alright, new plan! Need to redirect that thing onto something else, before I become Roast Pegasus!”
“Perhaps if I can redirect the beam onto the ropes… and knock out two birds with one stone…” she grimaced as her skin started to turn a crimson shade of red from the heat.
She jerked her head forward, causing her hat to flip over onto her chest. Grabbing the brim with her teeth, she violently twisted her neck about to the left with all the force she could muster, releasing the hat at the same time, throwing it up at the magnifying glass. Fortunately, the roof wasn’t all that far up, and the hat struck the side of the glass, knocking it slightly off-balance and disrupting the beam of light.
She sighed in relief as the source of the excruciating heat left her belly, and started concentrating on the rope binding her arms and wings in place.
“Somepony really didn’t think this setup through very well,” she mused, “Then again, they also thought the world was gonna end last week, but needless to say, we’re all still here, so…”
A small flame suddenly flickered to life with a fwoosh, startling her.
“Agh, Sweet Luna, that’s hot!” She yelped, as the flames quickly started eating the ropes, as well as her shirt, evaporating some of the moisture gathered up during her trek, and within a few agonising moments, the rope was weak enough that she could break them, and they cluttered uselessly to the floor, still smoldering.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” she started whapping herself with a hoof to beat out any remaining embers. Taking a deep breath, she was able to bring her nerves back under control, gather up her hat, and focus her attention on the next problem.
“Now how do I get out of here…?” She murmured, “... Those levers over there look pretty important, let’s see what they do…”
With a flick of a switch, the stone door slowly rumbled back open.
“‘Scuse me.” The two Zebras outside blinked in surprise as the Pegasus calmly cantered right up to them and clonked their heads against each other, knocking them both unconscious in a swift strike. “Sorry, gotta catch up with yer boss, so I can’t afford to stay and chat.”
As she rounded a corner, she glanced around at the wall paintings for any indication as to where she was.
“I don’t recognise any of this…” she frowned, “Where the hell could you have gone?”
The adventuress headed up into the corridor on the hunt for where the Earth Pony could have disappeared to.
-----
Treasure Hunt and his Zebra lackey quickly made his way out of the temple, leaving the Pegasus mare to her fate. Once he was standing out in direct sunlight, he came to a stop, sat back on his haunches and stared wide-eyed at the Sapphire Stone with childish glee, as it glistened in the afternoon sun.
“Whoo boy! This little gem is gonna earn me so much money! It’ll be so good to finally pay off my debt to that blasted casino-strutting twat up in Canterlot!”
“... And pay us for our services as well, right?” The Zebra asked skeptically.
“Well, of course,” Hunt nodded matter-of-factly, turning to look the Zebra in the eye, “I’m a stallion of my word, I assure you. You’ll get your reward soon enough.”
He placed the statuette down, reached back into his saddlebags and pulled out a small, flat device with a red button on top, placing it on the ground.
“What’s that?” asked the Zebra.
“Confirmation that Daring Do isn’t getting out alive,” Hunt grinned, “Knowing her, she’s probably already figured a way out of your flimsy, so-called ‘death-ray’ by now. Seriously, a foal could escape that set-up.”
“It’s purpose was to set fire to grain offerings during the Festival of the Sun,” the Zebra deadpanned, “Not sacrifice living creatures. Just what kind of civilisation do you take us for?”
“... Right. Anyway, I decided to take the liberty to go through the place while she was out cold and leave her with a little… surprise. A plan-B, if you will,” Hunt grinned manically.
With that, he pushed the button.
The Zebra glanced around warily. After several moments of waiting nothing happened.
“... I don’t get it,” she frowned, “What was that supposed to--”
“Just give it a moment,” Hunt grinned wickedly, “Also, you may or may not want to take cover…”
Suddenly, the western portion of the temple erupted in a tremendous explosion, kicking up an enormous cloud of choking brown dust and black smoke, followed by a second and third explosion that completely obliterated the temple from the inside out.
The Zebra turned to the Earth Pony with an angry snarl, “What did you do that for?! This is a sacred Heritage Site for Zebras!”
“Not anymore, it isn’t,” He muttered glancing at the ruins with a frown, “... I could’ve sworn I planted four explosives… what happened to the other one?”
-----
Daring Do stumbled about warily, trying to find her bearings. The violence of the explosions had rattled the Pegasus to her core, and her ears rang with that irritating high-pitched whistle.
A heavy rumbling sound shook the foundations of the structure, as part of the temple collapsed in on itself. She glanced around warily, slowly letting her senses return to her.
“That sneaky little bastard,” she grit her teeth, “What a waste of oxygen and space he is! When I get my hooves on him, I’m gonna rip his throat out!”
“I think not,” a voice spoke up from behind her, startling her. A Zebra was approaching her with a small device in between his teeth, which had torn wires hanging off of it.
Daring spun around into an action stance with a determined huff. The Zebra’s eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. “You can have whatever’s left of him once we’re done with him.”
She blinked in confusion. “Wait, what?”
“That heretic has gone and desecrated a sacred site with his explosives!” the Zebra muttered through the device in between his teeth, “Such blasphemy will not be forgiven lightly.”
“Then we share a common goal and a common enemy, and as they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she muttered, “Do you know where he went?”
“No,” He shook his head, “But I do know where an exit is. Follow me, pony. If we hurry, we’ll catch him before he can get too far.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s that in your mouth?” She glanced at the device tentatively.
“I believe it’s the trigger for one of the explosives,” the Zebra answered, spitting it out, “I wasn’t exactly keen on being buried alive in here, you see.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Daring shrugged, “Now, let’s go bash Treasure Hunt, return the Sapphire Stone to its rightful place, and we’ll make it up from there. How does that sound?”
The Zebra grinned wryly, “Sounds good to me. Come, the exit’s this way.”
-----
[0930 Hours, May 15th, 2020] [Off the coast of Iran, in the Persian Gulf]
Daring Do exhaled heavily, as she sat precariously on a small beam right at the very top of Brisbane’s main mast. She had finally been released from the Medical Bay this morning, on the condition that she keep her physical exertion to a bare minimum. Walking on two injured legs was a nightmare, so she had to hover from place to place with her wings. It was a good excuse as any to go outside for a fly, and she was relieved to be finally out of the stuffy confines of the ship.
The mast was erratically swaying about as Brisbane rode up and down the waves, and the wind brought about a refreshing sea-breeze that caused her mane and tail to billow about with the flow.
Her injuries prevented her from doing anything that required any degree of flexible, acrobatic athleticism, but she was still glad to just get out and feel the breeze in her face with the entire sky to herself, and to enjoy some of the more simple, relaxing aspects to flying.
Yesterday had been very boring for the restless Pegasus, who had been trapped inside the Medical Bay all day after she had a bullet surgically removed from her shoulder, as well as a heap of stitches in her thigh.
The only thing that kept her from going insane from the total lack of brain stimulation was her trusty iPod, which loyally continued to play music all throughout the day. In fact, at around lunchtime, Nurse Harris and the other medical team members requested that she sing a few songs for them to break the monotony. Unfortunately, half of the songs they requested, she didn’t have, so the mini-concert didn’t last very long.
The only other interesting event was that the supplies that were ordered for her finally arrived, air-dropped by a passing RAAF C-130 Hercules. Now that she had proper equine food, the first thing she did was chow into her first bowl of alfalfa, just for the sheer novelty of it all. Surprisingly, she had to admit that it didn’t actually taste all that bad.
Also in the package was her brand-new, purpose-made Disruptive-Pattern Uniform, which she required help to put on, due to the encumbering bandages limiting her range of movement.
She glanced at a nearby reflective surface and appraised her altered appearance. For all intents and purposes, it fitted her rather snugly. Her tail looped through the hole in the seat without a hitch, allowing it to freely swish about. At her request, the Australian flag patches that would normally be attached to her arm sleeves were instead permanently sewn into the legs of the pants, right on top of her Cutie Marks.
Squeezing her wings through the holes cut for them was more challenging than she thought, since the holes in question were a little small to comfortably fit the entire wing through. It was a bitter struggle, and the shirt tore slightly at the seams, but she pulled it off in the end. She flexed her wings up and down several times, and was satisfied that their movement wasn’t restricted.
The rest of her afternoon was spent in relative pain and irritation, not just because of her shoulder and hip, but from the multiple immunisations that were promptly pumped into her arm once they were unpacked. On the plus-side, at least she wasn’t getting Tetanus or Pony Flu any time soon.
Today however, promised to be different.
Today was the day HMAS Brisbane was to rendezvous with the Americans, and finally meet this Lucas Ferguson guy. Several assumptions and theories stewed over in her head about this guy, mostly centered around which Pony he had turned into.
The first and foremost idea was that he was a Pegasus of some sort, based on the fact that Mark, a Pilot as a human, had turned into Daring Do. So it made sense to her that this guy, flying F/A-18 Super Hornets, must be a Pegasus as well. Nearly every Pegasus she could think of off the top of her head was filtered through, with major standouts being Wonderbolt superstars Spitfire and Soarin’. Personal hopefuls were Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, or even Flitter or Cloudchaser.
‘Damn, it’s been ages since Chris showed me an episode. I’m sure there were more than just those few...’
‘...’
‘Nope. Brain doesn’t want to work. Ah well, I guess it’ll have to be a surprise.’
A yell from down below drew her attention to XO Cruze, standing at the base of the mast. He pointed out towards the port side of the ship, and she traced his line of sight to a cluster of warships far off in the distance.
“That must be them,” She shuddered in anticipation, snapping her wings open and jumping from her perch.
Cruze watched on as the Pegasus gracefully glided down, circling around the mast to maintain a sense of forward momentum and keep herself from stalling.
“So that’s where you’ve been all morning,” Cruze grinned, “We’ve been looking all over for you! Skipper wants you to be ready to board the chopper in fifteen, so that we can be ready to go by oh-nine-fifty hours. You looking forward to it?”
“Yeah, it should be great!” Daring smiled cheerfully, “I’ve always wanted to see one of these beasts up close!”
“Good, so get down here and start packing up your stuff from your cabin,” Cruze gestured, “If you have anything you don’t want left behind…”
‘Oh… that’s right...’ Her face fell. ‘I’m leaving. Most likely for good.’
“Yes sir,” she murmured softly as she flared open her wings and took off, launching herself in a huge leap towards the flight deck.
As she dragged herself through the narrow corridors towards her cabin, several fond memories from her short time onboard HMAS Brisbane forcefully barged their way to the forefront of her mind.
She had friends here, in Martin, Laura, Skipper, Rogers, Harris, and even Chappell, to an extent. As she thought about it, she owed the Clearance Diver her life, when he and his team made her safety and well-being (in the long run) their top priority.
Skipper had been most supportive for her during the past few days, and really helped ease her nerves, and she was grateful that Brisbane had a person like him in charge.
Loz and Marty had been her mates ever since Training. They had been assigned together as a crew, and had to learn to do everything together. Operating a Seahawk involved more than just a pilot at the controls. Laura’s job as Mission Commander meant that she had the reins on where 'Hawk went and what it did, whereas Mark was just the pilot who kept it aloft. There was no radar or sonar on the flight deck; that was Martin’s job in the passenger bay. He was their eyes and ears, and would occasionally operate the cargo winch when the situation either required or allowed it.
‘... If I leave Brisbane, what do I gain, in all honesty?’ She questioned, ‘All of my friends are here, on board this vessel. The Americans would have ponies, sure, but my friends and my family are here and in Australia respectively. I can’t just up and abandon them… can I?’
‘What’s the alternative? I s’pose it’d be to locate and stick around other ponies while we either try find a way to reverse this curse and turn us back into humans… or we find a way to Equestria. That’s gonna be the real big problem… I don’t suppose anyone has a second-hand TARDIS sitting around that they don’t need anymore, do they?’
She grinned. ‘Heh heh, imagine that. A paddock-bomb TARDIS… Slightly-used; previous owner was an old man who only used it for shopping runs, Sunday drives, and occasionally saving the Universe as we know it. Give to good owner.’
‘Anyhow, joking aside, I don’t like these options. There must be an alternative. If I somehow DO manage to find a way back to Equestria… what’s sitting there waiting for me? A lot can happen in twenty five years. All of Daring Do’s friends and relatives would be gone, or close to it. Her bank account would be cut off, since no-pony’s accessed it in yonks, so I’d effectively be broke. And then there’s the whole deal with Discord running around, fucking everything up, so neither Equestria’s environment nor the economy would be doing too flash.’
A concerned frown formed on her face. ‘In fact… there’d be nothing worth going back to. No friends, no family, no defined possible method of supporting myself, short of going native and slugging it out in the wild like Bear Grylls.’
‘Nothing.’
‘... I may as well be better off staying here.’
Along the way, she stopped at the Mess Hall for a quick drink of water, and spotted the Clearance Divers sitting at their usual table, sharing a coffee and a quiet yarn amongst themselves. One of them had a small, cordless laptop with him, and every now and then, he’d glance down at the screen expectantly. The only other people in the room were several of the ship’s cooks milling around the kitchen.
That was something else she had noticed. Even amongst a (relatively) small crew of just of just over two hundred people, they were all divided up into their own little subgroups. Engineers, Aircraft Mechanics, Bridge Crew, Boatswain’s Mates, Cooks, Clearance Divers, and Seahawk crews all had their own little groups that for the most part, kept to themselves. Even with two months spent on board with this crew, she still didn’t know all of the names or faces, but they all seemed to act like they were all best of mates anyway, even if they didn’t really know that person.
And then there was herself. The lone Pegasus amongst a crowd of humans.
‘Hmph. Should I be lonely here or there? What’s the lesser of two evils…?’
Blinking out of her trance with a shake of her head, she resolutely started making her way towards the Divers, fluttering just a few feet off the deck to avoid placing significant amounts of weight on her injured legs.
The Clearance Divers above all were people she wanted to get to know better. They hardly ever interacted with the other sailors, outside of a professional manner during operations. They had their lunch breaks at different times, and always seemed to be working different shifts from everyone else. They normally kept themselves to either the ship’s armoury, where they seemed to constantly tinker with their weapons and equipment; in the gym, where they trained and sparred; or off in the RIMBs checking fishing boats for contraband.
Their stoic indifference to those around them made them seem cold and distant at times, but having seen them in action first-hand, Chappell seemed to place her safety as their top priority, rather than putting the mission first. So they obviously had something human underneath their tough, reserved exteriors.
‘This’ll probably be the only opportunity I get,’ she thought sadly. The Divers all became quiet and turned about as she approached them.
“Dee-Dee,” Chappell grunted as he sipped his coffee, acknowledging her presence with a simple nod.
“Chappell,” Daring nodded likewise, “I’d like to take the opportunity to thank you and your team for pulling me out of that hostage situation. Your intervention was most timely--”
“There’s no need to thank us,” Chappell interrupted curtly.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Your appreciation is noted, and there’s no need to worry. You did your job and more, so it was our turn to do ours. Those injuries needed immediate treatment, and I made sure you sure as hell got it. It was the least you deserved, for all that you had to endure.”
She blinked expectantly, waiting to see if he had anything else to say.
After a few moments of awkward silence, she sighed in reluctant acceptance. That was probably the best she was ever going to get out of him, so she might as well not press it any further. With a forced smile and a wave, she murmured her goodbyes and fluttered across to the water dispenser mounted on the bench.
As she poured herself a drink, her ears twitched as footsteps approached her from behind.
“What’s hap’ning, Hop-along-Harriet?” Laura asked, reaching into the cupboard for a coffee satchel, “You feelin’ alright?”
“I dunno Loz,” Daring shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at the airwoman, “I’m kind-of in a dilemma here… On one hand, I’m stoked about getting out and meeting a new pony, but on the other… I don’t really want to leave my friends on Brisbane just yet. Or my family in Australia for that matter. If things turn out that the Yanks have something big stewing up for us ponies, then this might be the last day I spend with this ship, and as they say, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow’. I just don’t know what to do…”
Laura furrowed her brow in thought. “Well... when you look at and compare the two scenarios, which one would you think would best benefit you in the grand scheme of things? Staying with us, where your only friends, in all reality, are just Marty, Skipper and myself? Or would you rather go out into the world to potentially meet other ponies like yourself? Ponies who can actually empathise with you, and can provide the support and care that you need? You might find much better friends out there than any of us could ever be, and with a bit of luck, you’ll find yourself that extra-special pony who can provide you with all that, and a little bit more, eh?”
She nudged the Pegasus’ side with a sly wink for emphasis on that last part.
Daring sighed and turned her gaze away. “I s’pose you’re right…”
“Listen, sitting around moping about this isn’t going to do you any good,” Laura paused the creation of her coffee, crouched down to her knees and placed a comforting hand on the Pegasus’ uninjured shoulder.
“I want to help you in any way I can, but... as much as I really want to… the sheer scale of this whole transformation thing has gotten way out of our control. If there is something bigger to it all that this, then this is an issue only you ponies are going to be able to handle, and they’re going to be needing every pony they can get their hooves on. Marty and I won’t be able to keep tabs on you forever, you know. When this new guy comes in to replace you, then that’s it. We’re going to be dragged back into the business and working full-time again.”
The airwoman sighed. “Look… I just want to encourage you that perhaps getting out there and meeting these other ponies is going to be better for you than you might realise. As a familiar species to yourself, I’d understand if being around them would be easier--”
“And what if it isn’t?” Daring interrupted her, “You’re selling yourself short here, Laura! I’m sorry if I don’t really express it much, but as the people I’ve toiled long and hard alongside, you and Marty are my closest friends! Seven whole years, we’ve known each other, and you’re letting a silly little thing like this make you pause to reconsider and decide what’s best for me?”
The Pegasus stiffened up resolutely, “Does seven years of friendship, memories and struggle mean nothing to you?”
“Of course not--” Laura began, before she was cut off.
“Laura, I want to stay here on board Brisbane!” Daring adamantly stomped her hoof, “I want to be able to adjust to this change and simply go with the flow! I want to still belong with the people I’ve known all my life! Ponies or no ponies, you are my family, not them! Think about this for a second, will you? In my new form, I could bring so much to the table!”
“Well, I know that, but--”
“I can get to a scene of distress far quicker than a helicopter,” Daring stated, “If it weren’t for those pirates who turned up, that operation would’ve been a flawless success, and I’d have proven to the XO, as well as Skipper, that I can fill in a niche to keep any people from drowning until the chopper arrives for a proper extraction! I-I’d be able to… uh, provide aerial observation on a suspicious vessel, and free up the chopper for something less menial that keeping tabs on a group of fishos! If it weren’t for these injuries, I’d be able to do so much more than just take up valuable space and oxygen!”
Laura paused for several moments, processing the Pegasus’ words. “Well… at the end of the day, Skipper’s the one you’ll need to convince, not me. If you think that there’s a silver lining to this, then I’m going to trust your word on that.”
Daring exhaled in relief. “It’s going to take a bit of willpower and a bit of persuasion… but I think I can make this work. All I need is time to recover back to ship-shape, and then we can start getting things done. For now… I’m willing to still go ahead with this meeting with the Americans; there’s no backing out of that now. I’ll see how that goes, and what they have in store… and we’ll work out from there. Now if you’ll excuse me… I need to see Harris about getting me cleaned up so I can get ready to go.”
With that, she downed her drink in one go and dumped it in the waste bin, before turning and walking out of the Mess Hall, leaving Laura to her devices.
“... He’s got a resilient mentality, I’ll give him that.” Chappell murmured, “Turning into a goddamned cartoon character, then a near-death experience… I’m not exactly jealous of him right now.”
-----
Time seemed to pass exceptionally quick, and before she knew it, she was sitting in the passenger bay of the Seahawk, amongst the Skipper, Lieutenant Chappell and three other Clearance Divers, whose names she didn’t get. Sitting at her feet was a small duffle-bag filled with all of her possessions. Mark didn’t really pack much when he left Perth, and was generally rather lean in the wardrobe department whenever he packed to travel.
“Don’t take what you’re never even gonna use,” He always said.
She made a quick assessment of her appearance using the light reflecting off the window.
Harris and her team had really gone to town, cleaning up her scruffy, unkempt mane into something presentable, tying the back of it into a bun and neatening up her fringe. Her tail had been given a thorough brushing, the challenging task requiring several sailors working on it at once in order for the Pegasus to be ready on time.
“I always wanted to brush up a pony when I was little,” Harris had remarked, “Didn’t think that it’d have a mane quite like this though.”
Satisfied with her appearance, she stared past her reflection and quickly made a rough assessment of the American Carrier Group before her.
USS George H.W. Bush dominated the center of the group, surrounded by what looked to be three Arleigh-Burke-class Destroyers, a Ticonderoga-class Cruiser, a state-of-the-art and exotic-looking Zumwalt-class Destroyer, and some sort of support ship that she couldn’t identify, most likely a Fleet Replenishment Oiler. At the back of her mind, she also had a feeling that the Carrier Group also contained at least one or two Submarines, but they were almost impossible to spot on short notice amongst the churning waves of the ocean.
She felt a shiver of giddiness jolt her spine as the Seahawk passed over the flight deck. The ‘Hawk touched down on the deck with a solid thud, and the six Australians immediately stepped out. The Pegasus stared at the scenery around her with a humbling sense of awe. An Aircraft Carrier was so much more awesome up close than on a TV screen! The George Bush was truly a grand sight to behold, as deck-hands scurried about like ants, in their brightly coloured vests, and aircraft patiently sat parked on the flight deck in organised rows, almost divided evenly between various models of the F/A-18 Super Hornet, and the Lockheed Martin F-35C Lightning.
The Carrier effortlessly and positively dwarfed the Australian Destroyer joining the formation alongside them as it veered through a right-hand turn onto a southern heading and into formation alongside George Bush’s starboard side, and some distance behind the lone Ticonderoga-class Cruiser, USS Vella Gulf.
A broad, unrestricted grin adorned Daring’s muzzle as she quickly started rattling off every single detail off the top of her head about Nimitz-Class Aircraft Carriers, as an F-35 began warming up on the flight deck. She was talking so quickly that it was near-impossible to understand half of what she was saying, nearly putting a certain hyperactive party pony to shame.
Several deck hands paused what they were doing to regard the Australian Destroyer with brief curiosity, which then turned into surprise once they caught a glimpse of the dull-yellow Pegasus grinning broadly at them from behind at the rear of the flight deck.
“Oi, settle down Shef, you’re scaring them,” Skipper nudged an elbow into her side, “Remember now, we don’t want to make a bad impression on our hosts.”
The excited Pegasus seemed off in another world however, and was far more interested in the Hornets lined up along the deck, as a small welcome party approached them from the Island.
“Hey, look at that one!” She suddenly exclaimed, waltzing right up to several of the aircraft, “This one’s an EA-18G Growler! You can tell by the all Electronic Warfare pods and the lack of a gunport for an internal cannon. Although technically, they basically are Super Hornets, just re-fitted to perform the Electronic Warfare role after the US Navy dropped the Grumman Prowler--”
“Leftenant!” Skipper gruffly interrupted her.
“Hmm?”
“Shut up and get back over here!” He gestured hurriedly, “Show a bit of decorum for God’s sake.”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” she sheepishly strutted back into line.
Both groups gave each other the appropriate salutes.
“Welcome aboard the George H.W. Bush,” the American greeted warmly. He was a short, stocky man who looked very much like a spitting-image of the Sea Captain from The Simpsons, except without the accent, mannerisms, or wooden leg. “I’m Rear Admiral William Del Rio, and I look forward to doing business with you.”
“Captain John Stevenson, of the HMAS Brisbane,” Skipper introduced himself, “It’s a pleasure and an honour, sir.”
“Likewise. This is the pony you were talking about, right?” Del Rio immediately cast his gaze towards the monochrome-maned Pegasus, getting straight to the point. “The radios were buzzing about you, my feathered friend. You’re making news in Yemen, did ya know that? The locals that you rescued have all gone and are trying to spread the word about an ‘Angel sent from God’ or something or rather like that. What’s your name, lieutenant?”
‘... Huh,’ Daring blinked, ‘So that’s where those guys were from… I just passed them off as Arabs, to be honest.’
“Right,” She cleared her throat, “My name’s Daring Do, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The American Commander spent several seconds appraising the Pegasus’ appearance. His gaze drifted with concern towards her arm in a sling and the bandages across her thigh.
“Interesting name... How bad are your injuries, do you know?” he asked suddenly.
“Nothing just a bit of time and rest won’t fix,” she dismissed.
“I see,” Del Rio murmured, stepping aside, “Well… shall we get this over with?”
“By all means, lead the way,” Skipper nodded.
‘He’s not one to piss around, is he?’ Daring wondered.
The Australians followed their hosts into the Island, and into a vast network of electronic systems and operations tables, as sailors scurried about like ants, busily focused on whatever their job at hand was. Such a scene was not unfamiliar to the Pegasus, having served on a Destroyer and all, but the sheer scale of it all in comparison to the Combat Information Center on board Brisbane had a humbling effect on her. She glanced across at a sailor manning a radio, and her ears automatically swiveled about slightly to listen in on his conversation.
“... Lion Nine-One and Lion Nine-Two, permission for Air Support Mission granted,” the sailor spoke in a clear voice, “Heading vector is Three-Two-Five. I repeat, heading vector is Three-Two-Five; Range is approximately one-hundred miles.”
“Copy that, Avenger,” the muffled, barely audible voice on the other end responded, “Vector Three-Two-Five.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many of you there are,” Del Rio spoke up, regaining her attention, “They’re popping up all over the place, like termites from the woodwork! All across the States, Europe, a few in the Middle East. They’re everywhere.”
“So… how many of us are on board this ship?” Daring questioned.
He shook his head, “Just you and Lieutenant Ferguson, but more will be explained to you once you’re introduced, so right this way please, just in here.”
He brought them to a briefing room, typically used by the pilots when planning to go out on a sortie.
“Just wait here a minute, and we’ll call you in,” Del Rio gestured, half-closing the door behind him as he entered.
‘Last-second guess,” she took a deep breath to try and relax her nerves, ‘Spitfire or Soarin’. No, scrap that. Lock in Soarin’.”
“Lieutenant Sheffield,” He opened the door wide and stepped aside, “Meet Lieutenant Lucas Ferguson.”
She stepped into her room, and her eyes widened as they settled on the pony before her. It was not one of the above-mentioned, nor was it a pony she actually considered to be a serious possibility.
The Pegasus stallion’s mane-style looked a little off from what she remembered it to look like, but the dull-yellow coat colour, two-tone electric-blue mane and tail, as well as the distinct Cutie Mark (a yellow lightning bolt on a blue shield) could not be mistaken for anypony else.
The one pony who single-hoofedly managed to polarise the fandom about whether his inclusion in that film series was actually necessary or not. She remembered Chris had slandered him for days after the first one was released.
Just three words managed to escape her mouth in a soft whisper.
“... Flash-fuckin’-Sentry.”
Both Pegasi stared at each other blankly. The awkward silence so tense that a chainsaw would have difficulty cutting through it. She spotted a camera mounted on a tripod at the back of the room, which was being monitored by a US sailor, and the gathered humans didn’t make things any less awkward by standing around, watching them expectantly.
She glanced around the room and made a quick assessment of the other humans in the room. Six figures at the back in particular caught her attention. Two of them were each wearing a simple, stylish tuxedo, and looked to be the ones that did all the talking. The other four, at first glance, looked like Special Forces troopers, with their navy-blue body armour, and the dark sunglasses and face masks obscuring their identities. A closer look at their badges confirmed their identity as a section of an FBI SWAT Team. The four soldiers were each armed with some variant of the M4, each with several different bits and bobs attached here and there.
“Uh… do I… know you?” Flash cringed worriedly, drawing her attention again.
Daring blinked and shook her head. “Oh, no, sorry. I-I don’t know you, but I know of you. Lucas, right? I’m Daring Do; nice to meet you.”
“... What happened to you?” Flash asked concernedly. “You look pretty banged up.”
“Had a run-in with some local thugs,” she shrugged and shook her head, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’ll live.”
“Oh! You were with the Australian Destroyer that apprehended that boat full of armed pirates, right?” Flash sat back on his haunches with realisation, “Congratulations on that haul! I heard they found like, several hundred thousand dollars worth of contraband on that thing! Not to mention rescuing those twelve fishermen! You must be patting yourself on the back about that, eh?”
“What are they saying about me, exactly?” she questioned.
“To be honest, when the official report was released, it never mentioned anything about a pony being amongst the action, so everything about you is just hear-say. I heard, for example, that after you kept the hostages alive long enough to buy time for the Boarding Team, the Boarding Team suddenly just took you away back to your warship for medical attention, and they never saw you again,” Flash explained.
“Well, I think at that point I had passed out from pain and blood loss,” Daring deadpanned dryly, “Can’t really interact with them anymore when I’m incapacitated now, can I?”
Flash suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
She furrowed her brow and glanced across at Del Rio. “... Why was my inclusion censored in the report? I was the entire reason for how they were able to escape in the first place.”
“That will be explained in due time,” Del Rio dodged fluidly.
Daring huffed in slight annoyance, pausing for a moment as she mentally assessed the meeting so far.
“So uh…” Flash shuffled about uncomfortably, “W-What actually happened on the fishing boat? The report I read said that the hostages had simply worked up the courage and muscled their way out by force all on their own, but if you were actually there…”
Out of the corner of her eye, several of the more important-looking American sailors stiffened slightly, which gave her cause for concern, and she subtly shook her head.
“Er, what else is there?” She gestured, changing the topic to something a bit lighter, “I’m from a small town in Australia called Warrnambool, and uh… I’ve been in the Royal Australian Navy for around seven years now. Joined up straight out of school, and managed to get a spot to be trained as a helicopter pilot. You?”
“Wor-nam-bool?” Flash’s tongue nearly stumbled over the strange word, “Where’s that?”
“It’s uh, in the state of Victoria, along the south-east coast,” replied Daring.
“Huh. Well I grew up with my uncle in Milwaukee, Wisconsin,” The stallion explained, “I went straight out of school to the US Naval Academy for four years, and I’ve been in the Navy proper for about three years now. My rank is actually 'Lieutenant Junior Grade', but it's a bit long to say in a normal conversation. This was supposed to be my first deployment with an operational squadron, VFA-213, also known as the Black Lions.”
“Isn’t Milwaukee where all the Harleys come from?” Daring mused curiously.
“That, and the local brewery is pretty famous too,” Flash nodded, with a prideful grin, “My uncle is a pretty avid fan of both of those things. He runs a garage in one of the outer suburbs.”
“Does he make good money?”
“Eh, it’s enough to get by on,” He shrugged, “But enough about him. What happened between you and the pirates? I-If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth! Surely, those bandages each have a tale to tell!”
“Well this one,” she purposefully ignored his use of the phrase ‘horse’s mouth’ and pointed at her shoulder, “Was a direct hit from some generic handgun. Stung worse than a wasp-sting, let me tell ya that. Not something I want to go through again. My leg injury was caused by a glancing bullet that carved a whole bloody trench into me leg.”
“Ouch,” Flash winced, “How long will they take to heal, do they know?”
“The Medic’s given me a bare-minimum time of around a month to recover,” Daring sighed, “The actual time is unknown, but my guess is that we don’t know if ponies naturally heal at a quicker rate than humans or not.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the FBI agents take a step forward. She turned about to properly face them. “And who might you gents be?”
“Lieutenant Sheffield,” the agent on the left greeted with a simple nod. He looked older than his companion, perhaps in his mid-fifties. Both of them flashed her their ID badges from within their blazers. “My name is Carl Wellman, and I’m the Head of the FBI’s Research And Development team.”
“The FBI?” Daring mused, “Things must be pretty serious if you guys are involved.”
“Indeed they are,” Wellman nodded, “Sheffield, Ferguson, what I’m about to tell you must not leave this room unless authorised at a later point. Do you understand?”
Both Pegasi nodded.
“You have my word,” Daring stated solemnly.
“As you’re probably aware by now, this ‘ponification’ epidemic is believed to have spread across the entire planet,” Wellman explained, “The FBI and the CIA have been tasked by the President himself with investigating this phenomenon, and to learn absolutely everything there is to know about everything regarding it. The Internet in particular has been most helpful in that regard. Beyond the physical changes, it has been observed that the affected’s personality alters slightly as well. I assume you already knew that?”
“Correct,” Daring nodded politely.
“We analysed the Medical Report about you sent by your superiors,” Wellman continued, “While it was very interesting at a trivial level, and the CIA’s science team certainly made good use of it, unfortunately it didn’t shed any light on how these transformations came about in the first place.”
“Well, if it’s any use, I’ve been told that this is a curse that’s finally wearing off,” Daring shrugged.
“A curse?” Flash frowned, “What did they mean by that?”
“Exactly that,” she replied, “Apparently the ponies are here on Earth because a magical curse was placed on them, transforming them into humans, and now that the curse is lifting… we’re all turning back into ponies again.”
The Americans all looked at each other with quirked eyebrows.
“So what you’re saying is…” Del Rio spoke up, “That all of these people are turning into ponies… because of some kooky, voodoo witch or something like that?”
“Well, not just any kooky old witch,” Daring shook her head, “Uh… are any of you actaully familiar with My Little Pony?”
“For the past week, I’ve seen nothing but,” Wellman grumbled, “Why?”
“On that show, is a character called ‘Discord’. Do you know about him?” Daring asked.
“I’ve heard that name float around, yes,” the American nodded.
“Well, I’m under the impression that the universe of My Little Pony is actually real, and we have been sent here by a strong magical spell--”
The American snorted. “Right. And tomorrow, a flock of pigs will fly over the deck.”
Daring quirked her eyebrow, “Look at us, mate. Look at us. Knowing that we used to be humans, but are now talking, flying ponies, implies that that could very much be a real possibility. All bets are off now, and everything goes.”
“... Touche,” Wellman admitted.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Skipper asked politely, “Why would the President of the United States be personally invested in this?”
Wellman eyed the Australian captain with a serious expression. “... Because this epidemic has now affected his daughter.”
Daring’s eyes widened in shock.
“She too has become afflicted by this condition,” Wellman muttered, “and so that’s why we’re working our hardest, day and night, to investigate this matter. If there is a way to reverse the transformation and turn them back into humans again, we will find it. Meanwhile, the CIA have been tasked with keeping the information from leaking to the public media, to keep the people from doing anything rash.”
“We have been utilising every relevant resource available we have, and we’ve organised it into a single, entire unit that has been codenamed Project Sagittarius,” the second agent spoke up, “We’ve conducted a joint search with several other allied intelligence agencies, such as MI6 and the GIGN, and we’ve managed to assemble several servicemen and women who have been affected to assist. We’ve discovered at least fifty ponies among all branches of the US military alone. Out there in the civilian world, there could be hundreds or even thousands of ponies.”
“Thousands…” Flash murmured incredulously.
“Now do you see how serious this is?” Wellman pressed, “Our offer for you is to help out a worthy cause, and assist us in finding a way to deal with this issue.”
“... With all due respect sir,” Daring resolutely stared him in the eye, “Perhaps changing back isn’t the hottest idea.”
“Oh? And you think you have a better one?” Wellam asked skeptically, “You actually like being stuck as a garishly-overcolored cartoon horse?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Daring muttered, “My point is that these ponies all have unique and very useful abilities. Unicorns can use Magic. Pegasi can fly for a far cheaper amount than any aeroplane. Earth Ponies are like tanks on legs. Simply squandering such useful, untapped potential would be the dumbest decision Humanity has ever made.”
“So what do you suggest then?” Wellman frowned.
“I’m saying that your R&D team would be better off looking into how people can adjust to the changes, rather than try and wind back the clock,” Daring explained, “Get them working again and try to re-instill a bit of self-worth and pride back into them.”
“Lieutenant, most of the people we’re working with have been in the military their whole lives,” Wellman frowned, “In case you haven’t noticed yet, ponies can’t exactly hold guns or equipment properly anymore.”
“Ponies are also more creative and resourceful than you might realise,” Daring squinted slightly, “It won’t be long before someone figures out a solution for that problem. Like I said, if we can learn to adjust and adapt, life could become so much more interesting!”
A sailor abruptly burst in amongst the group, glancing worriedly at Del Rio. “Sir!”
Everyone turned and stared at the intruder, causing him to suddenly feel a little hot under the collar.
“We have a problem!”
“What’s happening, sailor?” Del Rio frowned in concern.
“We’ve just lost contact with the Hawkeye. The last transmission we received from her was that there were unidentified bogeys approaching her, at speeds of around Mach one point five. Missiles were fired, and we believe that they were shot down.”
Everyone glanced at each other warily.
“How long ago was this?” Del Rio asked flatly.
“Within the last minute, sir.”
He didn’t need another moment to think over these implications. This was an act of war.
“Radio the Fleet. Get every ship to Action Stations, and prep anti-air defences, just in case.” He glanced across Skipper, who was holding up his hand-held radio. “Captain Stevenson--”
“Already done,” Skipper nodded, “You can count on us.”
“Good,” He turned to a nearby officer, as klaxons started blaring and the ambient light of the room turned to an ominous red colour. “Captain, follow me. Everyone else, stay here in this room!”
-----
“Ensign, what’s the status of Air Patrol Alpha?” Del Rio barked as he entered the Combat Information Center.
“Alpha is committed to supporting troops on the ground in Afghanistan, sir,” the man replied.
“What about Bravo?” Del Rio pressed anxiously.
“Bravo is providing air support for friendly vessels in the Gulf of Aden, sir.”
“... Okay, why the hell are both of our CAPs busy at once, and nobody bothered to put aloft a third, just in case?!” Del Rio grit his teeth, “Get a flight of Lightnings into the air and heading towards the Hawkeye’s last known coordinates, on the double! This fleet is now potentially in serious jeopardy! MOVE!”
The CIC suddenly came alive with frantic activity as people moved about in preparation for the worst.
-----
Daring’s pulse elevated with tension as she warily glanced around, unsure of what she should do. On board Brisbane, she knew that her job was to assist the Boatswain’s Mates if required, but here on board George Bush, where she didn’t know whether they would need her or not, she felt out of place, lost and disoriented.
Even from within the ship, she could hear the high-pitched whine of jet engines as the interceptors began warming up.
In spite of the tense atmosphere and warnings of danger, the Pegasus felt a shiver of giddiness jolt her spine as her brain switched into ‘fight-or-flight’ mode, and her muscles reflexively tensed up, ready for anything.
Chappell’s grip on his side-arm noticeably tightened. Both Special Forces teams stared uneasily at each other as they tightened their protective circles around their respective charges.
She glanced at Flash, who wore the same worried expression as her.
She audibly gulped. ‘Really starting to wish I didn’t have these blasted bandages right about now.’
-----
“Captain Stevenson, I want you to be my line of communication to Brisbane,” Del Rio instructed hurriedly, now having to shout over the growing cacophony of noise.
“Yes sir!” The Australian nodded.
Skipper glanced around warily as he followed Del Rio towards a radar screen, keeping his radio handy.
“Sir, all Damage Control Teams are ready and on stand-by,” someone called out.
“Med Bay reports ready,” another sailor shouted.
“Sea Sparrow, Rolling Airframe and Phalanx CIWS Defence Systems are all warmed up and ready to fire,” the Weapons Officer spoke up.
“Vella Gulf reports ready!”
“Zumwalt reports ready!”
“Jason Dunham reports ready!”
“Forrest Sherman reports ready!”
“Truxtun reports ready!”
“Scranton and Montpelier have both dived to combat depth!”
“Brisbane reports ready,” Stevenson nodded.
The whine of jet engines exploded into a loud roar as the interceptors began launching off the flight deck one-by-one.
“Combat Air Patrol Charlie is in the air and on an intercept course,” an air traffic controller reported.
Stevenson approached the radar officer from the side, glancing from around his shoulder at the screen, which showed the relative position of every surface vessel in the fleet. The edges of the screen were marked like a compass, with North and the top, and so on. Four blips representing CAP Charlie, registered on the screen as ‘Felix 91’, ‘Felix 92’, ‘Felix 93’ and ‘Felix 94’ respectively, were slowly drifting towards the right side of the screen to the east, as the fleet slowly budged towards the south.
“The next twenty minutes is going to be absolutely crucial,” Del Rio aloud, attracting everyone’s attention, “We need to stay on our toes and keep a clear head. We don’t know what’s out there, so be ready for anything.”
-----
Felix 91 glanced down warily at his radar screen, as the F-35’s radar maintained a vigilant watch for any blips daring to appear from beyond the horizon.
“Avenger, this is Felix 91, approaching the Hawkeye’s last known location,” He spoke into his radio, “Negative on the hostiles, they got away, but we’ll keep our eyes peeled.”
“Felix 91, acknowledged.”
-----
“We’ve just lost radar contact with Patrol Charlie,” the radar operator spoke up, “Streaming satellite feed and tracking radio signals.”
“We need another Hawkeye in the air once this clears up,” Del Rio spoke into his hand-held radio, “I want them to start preparing now so that it will be ready by then.”
“Yes sir,” the voice on the other end replied.
“Sir, new radar contacts! Eight bogeys, two hundred miles west of our position at Vector two-seven-eight, and approaching fast on a hostile vector!” the radar operator exclaimed anxiously.
Del Rio facepalmed. “And of course Charlie is going in the completely wrong direction. What do the bogey squawk tags say?”
“Squawk tags are blank and unresponsive,” the sailor replied, “Attempts at radio contact are proving futile."
“Brisbane, Zumwalt, Truxtun and Vella Gulf report radar lock, Standard ERAMs are armed and ready to fire,” someone spoke up.
“Fire at will.”
Skipper reached for his radio. “XO, are you there? Weapons free! I repeat, Weapons Free!”
“Roger that, Skip.”
-----
A starboard lookout on board George H.W. Bush was staring vacantly at the Australian Destroyer alongside them, and blinked in surprise as the fore-deck suddenly disappeared amongst an explosion of smoke, and two consecutive missiles blasted from their tubes in the Vertical Launch System, followed closely by six more from the Truxtun, Zumwalt and the Vella Gulf.
The missiles arched gracefully through the air as they hurtled off towards their designated targets.
The lookout chuckled under his breath in awe. “Never gets old, that.”
-----
“Missiles away, sir,” the radar operator confirmed.
“What’s the estimated time for those fighters to be on top of us?” Del Rio asked warily.
“At their current speed, two minutes and twenty seconds,” the sailor reported grimly.
“And how long will Patrol Charlie take to intercept?”
“Four minutes, sir.”
“What about Alpha and Bravo?”
“Alpha and Bravo have been recalled,” the operator nodded, “Alpha’s ETA is seven minutes; Bravo’s is five.”
He exhaled heavily as he glanced over the radar operator’s shoulder at his screen. He unconsciously tapped the console as the blips representing the missiles slowly bleeped towards the approaching hostiles.
An electronic computer spoke up, “Impact on target in three, two, one…”
The hostile blips scattered as the missiles ploughed into the formation.
“Three hits confirmed,” the electronic computer spoke, “Chaff and flares detected.”
“They’re diving on to an attack vector now, sir,” the operator said anxiously.
“Starboard lookouts have a visual! They’re starting their attack run!” someone off to the side shouted.
-----
[HMAS Brisbane, Starboard Lookout Post]
XO Cruze grimaced as the Typhoon Weapons System beside him opened up on the attackers, followed by a salvo of short-range Sea Sparrows from the fore-deck.
The hostile fighters were but specks in the distance, but he could hear the scream of their engines quite clearly as they tore through the sky straight for the large American Carrier. The fighters were almost skimming the wave-tops, too low for Zumwalt and the Arleigh Burkes on the other side of the Carrier to effectively provide a counter attack, leaving the task to just Vella Gulf and Brisbane.
He counted three more hostiles exploding into fireballs, as the withering return fire began finding it mark with ruthless efficiency, and the survivors finally released their deadly payloads no more than a kilometre from their target.
His eyes widened as a spray of guided and unguided missiles quickly crossed the gap in a matter of seconds.
Daring Do crouched down low beside her new Zebra associate at the top of a cliff, her keen eyes scanning the large clearance before her, as the sweltering humidity literally shimmered up from the ground, distorting her vision of anything beyond a few hundred feet.
They watched as a figure they identified as Treasure Hunt, flanked by his own Zebra cronies, approached a large, royal-blue, quadrupedal… thing, surrounded by several large and exotic, predatory cats. Daring’s eyes narrowed in anger.
“Of course Ahuizotl would be involved in this…” She muttered.
They watched as Treasure Hunt produced the Sapphire Stone from his knapsack and offered it up to the mythological creature. “Here is your Sapphire Stone, my good man. Now, about my payment…”
“Ah yes, your payment…” Ahuizotl mused, snatching the statuette from the stallion’s grip and inspecting it closely. “I’m sure the gods will have something you’ll find to your liking.”
“What-” the stallion began in confusion, before he was suddenly tackled from behind with incredible force, knocking the wind out of him.
Daring cringed and turned her head, as a large tiger ripped out the hapless pony’s throat in a single, bone-crunching snap of its jaws.
“Wretched fiend!” the Zebra hissed, “I wanted to do that!”
“Well, that’s what happens when ponies cut queues,” Daring huffed.
The Zebras all chuckled darkly as Ahuizotl turned his attention to them. “Thank you gentlecolts. You can go now.”
The small group turned and wandered off into the dense foliage.
Ahuizotl grinned manically at the statuette. “Oh, the things I’ll be able to do with you, my dear precious…”
“That’s our cue!” Daring spotted an opportunity, slowly creeping forward and opening her wings, “If he were to leave here with the Sapphire Stone in his grimy hands, the world as we know it will be in terrible danger!”
“Well, the heretic is dead, so my purpose here is now defunct,” the Zebra started crawling away, “Good luck with Ahuizotl, and may the gods have mercy on your soul.”
“Wait, weren’t you going to help me get the Sapphire Stone back?” She frowned.
“No, I was going to kill Treasure Hunt,” the Zebra corrected, “Taking on Ahuizotl however… that’s not how I roll. Farewell.”
With that, he disappeared amongst the foliage and was gone.
“Son of a bitch,” she cursed, refocusing her attention back on Ahuizotl, “You can’t rely on anypony, can you?”
The blue demi-god was chuckling madly to himself as he started walking towards the edge of the clearing. Daring took a deep breath and stood up straight once his back was completely turned, locking her eyes on the statuette.
Snapping her wings out, she took several paces backwards, before suddenly sprinting forward for all she was worth, launching herself off the cliff with a bounding leap.
Her focus was locked on that glint of bright blue crystal as she tore towards the large creature, keeping herself silent to retain the element of surprise for as long as possible.
Ahuizotl blinked incredulously as the Sapphire Stone disappeared from his loose grip with a blurry flash of yellow.
“What?!” He exclaimed, tracing the monochromatic trail of light left in the Pegasus’ wake to the famous archaeologist. “Daring Do? What are you doing here?!”
“Same thing you are, Ahuizotl!” She grinned as she came to a stop atop a branch up in a tree, the Sapphire Stone sliding in neatly underneath her hat. “Looking for this.”
Ahuizotl snarled angrily, “Oh, come ON! Is it possible that I can hatch at least ONE devious plot without you interfering?! Is that too much to ask?!”
“Oh Ahui, you know no party has ever truly started until I trot in,” She grinned, “Maybe if your devious plots don’t involve killing all life as we know it in some way or another, then we might actually be able to get along.”
She opened her wings and took off into the sky. “Until next time!”
Ahuizotl growled furiously as the Pegasus disappeared into a black speck in the distance. “Damn her! Damn that bitch to Tartarus! A curse on you, Daring Do!”
-----
[1013 Hours, 15th May 2020] [Persian Gulf]
HMAS Brisbane trembled as several unguided rockets slammed with full force into her starboard side, lighting her up in a series of bright orange fireballs, as shock waves rippled across the water. She was thrown uneasily into a port list, before slowly tilting back to starboard.
An anti-ship missile whizzed past Brisbane’s bridge, missing it by the narrowest of margins. The Phalanx anti-missile systems onboard USS Vella Gulf rapidly twisted about to intercept, spewing white-hot tracer rounds as they vectored for a deflection shot. Sailors aboard Brisbane’s bridge exclaimed loudly and ducked down for their lives, as hundreds of stray rounds raked the ship’s bow from left to right, smashing the windscreens to splinters in the blink of an eye, and leaving a pattern of bullet holes across the bulkheads.
The speeding missile was just that little bit too quick however, and it lodged itself in the starboard side of USS George H.W. Bush, exploding with sufficient violence to wrench apart and disable one of the elevators which carried aircraft up to the flight deck. A subsequent series of catastrophic fireballs tore apart the small collection of F-35 Lightnings that happened to be parked nearby, as well as igniting their weapons and fuel cells, throwing flames, shrapnel and sailors in every direction, and damaging the hydraulics system to the second starboard aircraft elevator in the process.
-----
Somewhere in the world, Michael Bay sneezed.
-----
[Brisbane’s Starboard Lookout]
“Ugh... did anyone get the rego of that bus?”
Executive Officer Paul Cruze groggily shifted his head around, his brain working overtime to try and make some semblance of sense of the information his hazy senses were feeding him.
So far, he had worked out that he was lying on his back in a sitting position, with his head and shoulders resting up against a solid, metal surface. His protective flack jacket and steel helmet, which were clean and pristine just a few moments ago, were now charred, uncomfortably hot, and torn in several places; the former was also feeling agonisingly tight around his chest, making breathing difficult. Lastly, he could feel that there was some sort of liquid dripping down the sides of his face.
The deck beneath him felt… off, like it was on a slant. Before him, the horizon looked a little higher that it probably should be, and the churning ocean twisted about before him in an erratic dance.
A blast of bright yellow and orange off to his right drew his attention to the sudden appearance of bits of shrapnel splashing into the water, and from his raging headache and muscle pains, he had a feeling that his situation was a precarious one. A charred, melted section of Brisbane’s starboard hull just a few metres from him marked where a rocket had struck and knocked him senseless.
Loud groans of twisting metal reverberated throughout the ship, and the muffled cacophony of shouting voices was interrupted by a brief, but loud bang, which the XO reflexively cringed at, shielding his face with his forearm.
The bulkhead door supporting his back suddenly shunted forward, causing him to grimace in agony as he was forcefully moved aside.
“You alright sir?” a voice asked him with a worried tone, and a sailor crouched down in front of him in concern. His name tag read ‘Gilbert’. “Here, lemme help you.”
Cruze groaned as the sailor supported him up onto his feet.
“Sir, you’re burned and bleeding,” Gilbert pointed out, “Let’s get you to the Med Bay.”
“Get this thing off me” Cruze heaved, fumbling with the jacket’s buckles. After a few moments, the now-useless vest hit the deck with a thunk, having done its job.
Finally free to breathe again, Cruze shook his head as he supported himself on the guard rail. “I’m sure there are people who were right in the thick of it, and are in far worse condition than me. See to them first.”
“Everyone else has been accounted for,” Gilbert gestured gently, “At least get something to patch up that head wound!”
“... Fine,” The XO muttered, making an effort to stand up straight and drag himself into the Bridge. Dangerously large shards of glass littered the deck, and several sailors were already carefully going about cleaning them up. He wiped the side of his face with the back of his sleeve, smearing a trail of red across the heat-resistant material.
“Now, what’s the status report so far?”
Another sailor briskly approached him. “The hull was breached in at least seven different places, although most of them are above the waterline; there are spot-fires in Sections Three through Six, minor flooding in Section Five, and the ship is listing ten degrees to starboard. The individual damages were only small, but because there are lots of them spread over a wide area, repair teams are still going to have their hands full patching it all up. The pumps are running, and the fire teams are moving in to deal with them as we speak.”
“Casualties?”
“I don’t know that yet myself,” The sailor admitted, “but someone down in the Med Bay will.”
“Was there any other damage?” Cruze rested his weight on a table of with all sorts of charts and notes strewn about.
“The fighter clipped the main mast with its wing as it blew past, and the navigation radar is cactus,” the sailor stated, “The whole thing is bent in half at an odd angle like a straw, and it’ll have to be replaced once we get back to Australia.”
“That’s gonna be a pain in the arse,” Cruze muttered, “And means a few months laid up in drydock. Are communications and electronics still functional?”
“For the most part, yes,” Armitage nodded, “We’re sending off a message to the Department of Defence about this, and we’ll be waiting on the reply soon.”
Cruze took a deep breath. “We have a lot of work to do. Let’s just patch up the ship as best we can, and we’ll see what happens from here.”
-----
[USS George H.W. Bush]
Daring’s vision swam and her ears rang as she clutched her muzzle with her free hoof, muttering profanity under her breath at the blazing pain across her nose and jaw.
The aircraft carrier had shuddered violently under the impact of a direct hit, and the lights flickered briefly at the moment of impact as both she and Flash Sentry lost their footing, knocking heads before falling to the floor.
A voice blared over the loudspeakers, “Damage Teams Two and Three to the Hangar Bay! I repeat, Damage Teams Two and Three to the Hangar Bay!”
“I’m still breathing,” Flash grunted, hauling himself up and offering her hoof of assistance.
“Same here,” She nodded, accepting the help as she straightened up.
“Captain, this is Alpha Team,” the Diver held up a forefinger to his earpiece, “What’s the situation?”
The other end was muffled and staticky, as klaxons and voices in the background disrupted the microphone’s clarity. “Dunno just ye- … -assive hole blown into the side of the shi- … - so just stay there and keep the Pegasi safe! I’ll k- … -in touch.”
“Copy your last, sir,” Chappell grunted, getting the general gist of Skipper’s garbled message.
“That doesn’t sound good,” another Diver murmured worriedly.
Daring’s ears flattened as another series of explosions rocked the boat, and heavy footsteps rushed about to and fro, along with a lot of indistinct shouting.
“We need to get the Pegasi off this ship,” Wellman stated concernedly, “If this escalates into a full-blown conflict, which I suspect it will, then they’re going to get caught in the cross-fire.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been caught in the line of fire,” Daring muttered grimly.
“The sooner we can get you two stateside, the better,” He grumbled, typing something into his phone.
“Hang on, I never agreed to be a part of your little pet project!” Daring protested.
“Well tough shit buddy, you just got drafted,” Wellman replied indifferently, pressing ‘send’. “Both you and Ferguson will be put on the next plane to Bagram Airfield, and from there you’ll be flown to New York. There will most likely be several stops along the way, but we’ll see.”
“That’s bullshit!” Daring scowled, “You’ll first need to run that past the Australian Department of Defence--”
“Done,” Wellman cut her off, before looking her dead in the eye, “You must understand, Miss Sheffield, that you’re much more valuable to anyone alive than risking your furry, cartoon hide on the front lines. If you want any chance of proper recovery from your injuries, then we must get you out of here, because you’re not going to get any respite in the thick of the action once things start getting more heated up than they already are.”
Another, smaller explosion sounded somewhere in the distance.
“This attack came completely out of the blue!” He continued, “And we don’t know if there’s possibly a ‘wave two’ on its way or not! This might be our only opportunity to get you off this boat in one piece!”
She grit her teeth, glancing down at her bandaged shoulder. He had a point there. With a heavy sigh of reluctant acceptance, she sat back on her haunches in defeat.
“Alpha Team!” Chappell’s radio buzzed, “This is Skipper!”
The background noise wasn’t as chaotic now, and Skipper’s voice was much clearer. “Brisbane was hit hard in the attack, and they’re gonna need a few extra hands over there, if you don’t mind. There’s a chopper up top ready and waiting to ferry you across.”
“On our way,” Chappell acknowledged. He glanced at the SWAT Team Leader. “You mind watching over the Pegasi for us?”
The SWAT Team collectively shrugged indifferently, and the Divers hurriedly exited through the door, locking it shut behind them.
“So, if we join Project Sagittarius, what’s in it for us?” asked Flash concernedly.
“A roof over your head, a place to socialise, and a place to potentially find answers,” Wellman replied off-handedly, fixated with the new message he was writing on his phone, “Plus a free feed.”
“To find answers…” Daring mused, rubbing her chin, “That sounds nice… What’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?” Wellman blinked.
“What do you want out of us joining you?” Daring narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “What’s your angle?”
“All we want is information, and your cooperation,” Wellman replied, “We’ve been asked to find out as much about this condition as possible, and that’s what we’re going to do, to the best of our ability. The President is a worried father, that man, and in a way, I can sympathise with that, so we’re not going to let him down.”
“If we go along with you, where will you take us?” Flash asked.
“That’s classified information that will have to wait,” Wellman dodged, “Sorry.”
A loud *clack* interrupted the moment as the door opened and a sailor leaned her head in. “Director Wellman, the flight you requested has been granted, and the Greyhound will be prepped up and ready to go for you. Just beware that the starboard flight deck elevators have been knocked out, and priority for the port elevator has been allocated for the strike fighters and the returning air patrols. Your flight will have to be delayed until repairs have been completed, and the mess in the Hangar Bay has been cleaned up.”
“Understood. Do they know who it was who attacked us?” Wellman inquired.
“Not yet,” the sailor shook her head, “But apparently the helos from Truxton, Dunham and Sherman are already combing the area for debris, to see if there’s anything left which can help us identify them.”
“Did we get ‘em all?” asked Daring.
“Affirmative,” the sailor nodded, “No survivors.”
She sighed in relief, before furrowing her brow in confusion.
“Who on Earth would have the blatant audacity to assault an American Battle Group? The only people who could legitimately pull this off, and be able to deal with the consequences, are all either America’s ally, or too far away to be bothered launching a strike all the way out into the heart of the Middle East.”
She absent-mindedly scratched behind her ear. “If Russia wanted to strike at America, they would simply do so via the Pacific, same with China and North Korea. So for either of them to attack a Carrier Group out here ju st doesn’t make sense. It’d only be logical if this attack was by an Arab country, who would most likely be supplied with Russian jets and weapons... but who? Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan have all been in wars with the US, and it always ended badly for them in a straight-up, open-field slugfest.”
“Damn straight, it did,” Flash murmured with a smug grin.
“Unless their point is to draw youse guys into another drawn-out, costly goose-chase through the Arabian deserts, which will be far more pointless and expensive for you than it will be for them,” Daring mused.
“What do you mean, ‘more expensive’?” Flash frowned, “We always kill more of them than they do us, so kill-ratio-wise, we win.”
“Maybe, but only Yanks would drop a shit-load of bombs worth just under half a million dollars a pop onto a mud-brick shack that was built for peanuts,” Daring deadpanned.
“Good point,” Flash shrugged.
“What are you getting at here?” Wellman frowned.
“What I’m trying to get at, is that there might be an ulterior motive behind this attack, beyond just trying to sink an American carrier,” Daring explained, “Like it’s a precursor to try and draw us into a trap or something.”
“Like to make us drain our economy funding a war, even with the enormous financial debts that we still have to pay off?” Wellman guessed.
“Exactly,” She nodded.
“Hmm…” Wellman pondered the Pegasus’ words, “It’s certainly a possibility. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So…” Flash glanced around awkwardly, “What do we do now?”
Wellman took a deep breath. “We wait until Del Rio gives the all-clear, and then we can hop on this flight. Other than that… we just sit tight.”
-----
[1450 Hours]
The long wait was beginning to grind on everyone’s nerves as they waited for the green light. The sound of frantic voices and activity outside still had not subsided, and the loud roar of fighter jets landing and taking off carried on like clockwork.
The only thing which really prevented Daring’s mind from going numb from the lack of activity was Flash, who was perpetually asking her questions to keep the silence from becoming too unbearable.
Most of the time, they were questions of trivial matters, mostly about her life in Australia and so on. She had a suspicion however that the only reason the stallion was asking her so much was because he was infatuated with her accent. At one point, she decided to give an answer about a completely different topic to the question asked, to make sure he was paying attention. To her relief, he gave her an odd look of confusion.
She also pretended not to notice that he had been staring at her bandages with wary curiosity for an awful long time now, keeping a healthy distance from her as if she was a delicate, fractured jewel that would shatter if he so much as breathed on her.
His relentless stare was starting to make her confused and uncomfortable. It bothered her to think that he had found her so interesting to look at for the past three and a half hours. She wasn’t even all that much to look at anyway, in her opinion.
Her colour pallet wasn’t particularly bright or eye-catching; she was in a military uniform which wasn’t exactly eye candy in any way; and while her bandages were mostly hidden underneath her uniform, it didn’t hide the fact that she was walking with a limp.
Flash’s bright blue eyes seemed to flicker and dance, absorbed in studying every tiny detail about her appearance. Enough so that when she turned about to face him properly, it took him a full ten seconds to realise his stare was being returned.
He blinked and turned away abashedly, mumbling something of an apology in a barely audible voice.
And thus, an awkward silence ensued.
Wellman blinked as his phone buzzed in his pocket. After briefly glancing at what the message entailed, he turned towards Daring. “Well, it’s confirmed. Your Government has granted your release from the Australian Navy, and you’re coming with us back to the US.”
She blinked, an uncomfortable feeling of disappointment rising in her chest as she digested his words, before exhaling. “... So be it.”
“You don’t need to worry about the paperwork either,” He assured her, “That’s all being taken care of as well.”
“Attention all crew, attention all crew!” the loudspeaker suddenly buzzed, “All Clear. I repeat, All Clear! Stand Down from General Quarters!”
Everyone collectively sighed in relief and relaxed.
Daring straightened back up and started walking towards the door, formulating a plan of action in her head. The sound of an extra set of hoofsteps on the bare metal floor alerted her to Flash following her.
“Where are you going?” He asked, as she hauled herself up a ladder. It was rather difficult and slow-going, since two of her limbs were still sore and sensitive.
She answered his question with a question of her own. “I need a laminator, a video camera, and a disposable USB. Do you know of any on board this ship?”
“Er, I think there are both a laminator and an old USB in Administration,” replied Flash, rubbing his chin in thought, “It’s a deck below here and on the other side of the ship, I think. As for a video camera, I think my pilot Donnie has one. Why?”
"... No reason. Just need to borrow them for a quick second, that’s all.”
-----
Martin wiped his brow in relief as he sat back against the Helicopter Bay’s port deckhead. The past few hours had been a harrowing experience for the Seahawk Loadmaster, as he had been tasked with assisting the Boatswain’s Mates keep an electrical fire under control, and then patching up the damage it caused as best as they could.
The Hangar’s roller-door was wide open, and he could still see wisps of smoke trailing from the ship’s battered starboard side.
He blinked in surprise as he spotted a familiar bandaged-up Pegasus flutter gently down onto the flight deck, glancing around with concern. She was followed shortly afterwards by a second golden-yellow Pegasus, who wore the same expression of uncertainty as his associate.
He sighed in relief, satisfied that at least she was safe and in one piece.
Martin frowned. If she was back here already, then something must be up. “We were hit pretty hard, but she’ll be right. What are you doing here?”
“I need you do me one last favour, before I go Stateside,” she said, reaching into her shirt and pulling out a small yellow envelope in between her teeth. “Next time you shee Chrish, could you pleashe gi’e thish to ‘im? It’sh very important.”
“What’s in it, if you don’t mind my asking?” Martin murmured, glancing over the envelope as he accepted it, rubbing his fingers over it to try and get a feel for the shape of the contents.
“It’s personal, between family,” she replied somberly, “Keep this on your person at all times, just in case you see him and you don’t have it. I cannot stress enough how vital it is that he gets this as soon as possible, and from someone we both know and trust.”
Martin furrowed his brow into a serious expression, placing the envelope in a pocket on the inside of his shirt. “I understand. Next time I see him, I’ll be sure to give it to him.”
“Thank you,” the mare nodded, “That’s a weight off my shoulders.”
Martin blinked in surprise glanced at Flash. “Is this that ‘Lucas Ferguson’ guy they were talking about?”
“A friend of Shef’s is a friend of mine,” Martin shrugged with a smile.
“Where’s Loz?” Daring looked about.
“She’s helping Rodge and Harris in the Med Bay,” Martin gestured towards the general direction of the ship’s bow with his thumb, “It’s chock-a-block in there, so dropping in to say ‘hi’ probably isn’t the best of ideas right now.”
“What are the casualties?” Daring asked quietly.
“So far, we’re looking at at least eight dead and more than a dozen others wounded. Most of the others just have minor injuries that won’t hinder them too much. I myself knocked my head on a bulkhead. It was my own bloody fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gave me quite the headache.”
“Sounds like you had it rough then,” Flash murmured sympathetically.
“Got that right,” Martin huffed bitterly. He studied the stallion’s appearance for several moments, before leaning into Daring’s ear, talking loudly enough on purpose so that Flash could hear him as well. “Now just so ya know, if this guy gives you any trouble, you just call up your buddy Marty, and I don’t care how far I have to fly; I will come over there and drop-kick his sorry arse into the next week.”
“Nah, there’s no need for that,” Daring grinned, “There’d be nothing left of him worth kicking once I’m done with him, if it comes to that.”
Martin chuckled, as Flash swallowed nervously. “Strangely, I don’t find that hard to believe.”
“So, can I count on you to deliver that letter?” Her gaze returned to one of seriousness.
Martin scratched his chin in thought. “How did that lil’ chant of yours go…? Cross my heart…?”
“... and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” Daring finished for him, showing him the appropriate actions.
“Why a cupcake?” Martin asked in puzzlement.
“It’s My Little Pony,” Daring shrugged, “It sounds a little nicer than putting a knife in your eye or something like that.”
Martin frowned in confusion, before shrugging it off. “I s’pose that makes sense.”
“Anyway, I hate to love you and leave you like this, but this will probably be the last time you see me,” She lamented.
“Aw,” the Loadmaster murmured softly, his expression visibly sagging. They stared at each other for several moments, before he spoke up again. “Well… it was a nice run while it lasted.”
He straightened up and gave her a salute. “It was a pleasure serving alongside you, Shef.”
“Likewise Marty,” She returned the gesture with her free hoof, “Be sure to give Laura my regards, and my thanks, for being my friend. Both of you, actually. I couldn’t have been with a better flight team.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Martin,” Flash nodded, “I promise you that I’ll take good care of her.”
“You bloody well better, mate,” Martin muttered, “Treat hi-- er, her, with the respect she deserves, or she will make you think you were better off in Hell.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Flash smirked dryly as Daring turned around and started back for the hangar door.
Without another word, her wings flashed open, and she tore off into the afternoon sky back towards the aircraft carrier, with Flash close behind.
-----
Daring Do glanced out of the glazed window, as the Grumman Greyhound transport slowly taxied towards the launch catapult. Her quadrupedal frame made sitting in the upright seats rather awkward, so to solve this, she simply shifted the armrests up, and took up both seats on her side of the small row, with her duffle bag with all of her stuff tucked neatly under the chair in front of her. Her limited field of view allowed her a glimpse of the aircraft’s starboard side Allison turboprop engine, and a view of the cruiser Vella Gulf.
The aircraft briefly came to a stop, as the deck crew attached a small rod to the nose wheels, a pull-back bar to allow the pilot reach full throttle without prematurely launching the plane off the deck without the catapult’s say-so.
The engines roared as the pilot slammed the throttles forward, and Daring’s spine tingled as the aircraft shuddered violently, desperately pulling and tugging at its restraint.
Without warning, the rod suddenly released, and the aircraft surged forward, dragged along with rapid acceleration by the catapult. Before she knew it, the Greyhound was airborne and climbing for altitude.
Flash giggled like a child. “Not quite the same as from the seat of a Hornet, but I’ll still never get over that!”
Despite herself, Daring couldn’t help but grin, the energy rush of the launch contaigous.
-----
Bagram Airfield, the largest US Military base in Afghanistan, teemed with life and activity, as the unassuming Greyhound touched down on the runway. Very few people paid it any attention as it taxied across the bitumen to a small, unassuming parking bay.
As the ground mechanics went about refuelling the aircraft, the passengers on board discretely dismounted, a technician hurriedly directing them towards another, much larger aircraft across the strip.
A C-17 Globemaster was to be their courier to America, with stops at Ramstein Air Base in Germany, and London, England.
Both Daring and Flash were honestly surprised that they would not be alone for this trip. Already on the plane and waiting for them were several other ponies. Nearly all of them were ones she didn’t recognise, bar from at least one that she was able to identify from the TV show.
A mare with a coat whiter than snow and a light-pink mane with an expression of weary exhaustion on her face was lying down, taking up two seats. Most of her form, much like Daring, was obscured by a last-minute, patchwork uniform. The insignias roughly sewn to her shoulder identified her as a US Navy Hospital Corpsman.
Redheart spared them little more than a quick glance and a slight nod. She seemed drowsy and unfocused, more than in need of a decent night’s sleep.
“Are you alright?” Daring asked concernedly, placing her bag underneath the seat across from her and sitting down, “You look wrecked.”
“I’ve been up for the last thirty hours,” Redheart mumbled, “Tending to both people and ponies injured amongst all the street violence and riots in the city.”
Daring blinked incredulously as Redheart looked her in the eye. “It’s Hell down there. So many people are doing it tough, and as much as we try to help those who need it most… the line for medical aid just never seems to stop coming.”
“How many other ponies are there?” Flash asked gently, sitting down next to Daring.
“Just all that you see here,” Redheart replied, gesturing towards the other ponies in the cabin with a nod of her head. “Some of these were military personnel, and the rest are the ones that we were able to save.”
“Save? From what?” Daring asked warily.
Redheart took a deep breath, trembling slightly. “There weren’t many ponies at all, but we could see people just... tying them up and making them work slave labor like any other common farm animal! I can’t tell you how many we had to leave behind, due to our abruptly short schedule.”
She shuddered. “T-There was even one pony that we had to take by force; a unicorn.”
Daring frowned, “Why by force? Was she pressed into it against her will?”
“No, not at all,” Redheart shook her head, “The locals wanted to execute her… as a witch. It was a big clusterfuck trying to rescue her from certain death amidst a crowd of angry Arabs trying to stone her to death, lemme tell you that.”
“You said she was a unicorn?” Daring’s eyes dilated, “They must’ve seen her do Magic or something!”
“Either way, she was all too grateful as we hauled her out of there,” the nurse continued, “But there were several other ponies who turned up just as we were driving off for the airport, a few hours ago. The look of forlorn hopelessness on their faces as we abandoned them to an ambiguous fate… It was heartbreaking, and that’ll haunt me as long as I live, knowing that we could have done something, anything, to help them… but didn’t.”
“That’s tough man,” Flash murmured sympathetically, glancing towards the other ponies.
Redheart rested her head against the back of the seat with a yawn. “I just hope that… whatever the FBI, or the CIA, have in store for us will be worth the cost.”
“Oh, it will be,” Wellman sat down next to Flash, “Don’t you worry about that.”
“So… what are we doing?” Redheart asked, “My briefing on this was rather brief indeed.”
“We’re taking you to a research facility, where you’ll help us find out everything there is to know about everything regarding this ‘pony’ thing,” Wellman explained in a nutshell, “It’ll all be discussed in finer detail once we get there.”
A rising whine and a shudder throughout the plane indicated they were moving. The aircraft pitched around at the end of the runway, the pilot jammed the throttle forward, and before too long, the Globemaster was airborne, heading for the States, via Europe.
-----
[Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean]
Daring Do stretched out her stiff limbs, yawning loudly as the bumps and jolts of the aircraft perpetually kept her awake.
A pony who they picked up in England, a bright-pink Pegasus mare with a cerulean-blue mane and two blue lightning bolts for a cutie mark, sat across from them, eyeing Daring with curiosity.
Daring felt a bead of sweat drop down the side of her face at the mare’s unflinching gaze. “... You ’right there, mate?”
“Lance Corporal Sean Montgomery, 3rd Commando Brigade, Royal Marines,” the Pegasus grinned broadly, introducing herself, “Although everyone’s calling me ‘Firefly’ for some reason. You’re Australian, aren’t ya? I must admit, I love the Aussie accent! Heh, ‘Throw another shrimp on the barbie, mate!’”
‘Firefly?’ Daring pondered, ‘Where have I heard that name before…? So you’re one of those who think they can speak Strine, eh? Alright. I can play that game for a bit.’
Flash and Redheart both turned about as her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Nah mate, we’ll chuck on a nice big bungarra that we nabbed out in the gidgee! It goes real swell with a flagon o’ woobla and some dead horse, too right!”
Everypony stared at her in silence.
“... A bung-whatta?” Firefly blinked.
“Out in the where?” Flash tilted his head.
“A dead horse?” Redheart’s eye twitched.
“Mind giving us an English translation, please?” Wellman asked, deadpan.
Daring’s grin intensified. “A ‘bungarra’ is a slang term for a goanna, a type of lizard; the ‘gidgee’ is a real tough and rugged, typical-Australian outback landscape; a ‘flagon of woobla’ is a cask of cheap Aussie wine, and ‘dead horse’ is rhyming slang for tomato sauce, or 'ketchup' as some of you like to call it.”
“Then why didn’t you just use the terms ‘goanna’, ‘outback’, ‘wine’ and ‘ketchup’?” asked Flash.
“Because it’s amusing to watch you squirm,” She winked in a cheeky fashion.
“Director Wellman,” a soldier spoke up, a little way up towards the nose of the plane, “There’s a call on the line for you.”
Wellman sighed and stood up straight, supporting himself with the overhead railings. “I better go see what they want this time.”
As he briskly walked up towards the front of the plane, Firefly glanced around with a wary whisper. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“Probably the CIA,” Redheart replied offhandedly.
Firefly frowned. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s rather convenient that the President’s daughter is a pony as well?”
“Not at all,” Flash shrugged, “If anything, it’s great that this issue can be brought straight to his attention!”
“I don’t like it that the FBI and the CIA are involved,” Firefly muttered, “Nothing good ever comes of it.”
“What makes you think that?” Flash asked tersely.
“I’m sorry, do you not pay attention to social media?” she huffed, “The former is Federal Police and the latter is a morally-bankrupt spy network! They’re all about secrecy and cover-ups! They’re the biggest bullshitters on the face of the planet!”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Flash murmured.
“Maybe. Who knows?” Daring stood up, stretching her limbs out.
“Where are you going?” asked Flash, as she limped up the aisle.
“To the little girl’s room,” she replied off-handedly.
As Daring wandered through the Globemaster’s interior towards the aircraft's nose, she kept a close eye on Wellman, as he stood some distance away, dialling a number into his mobile phone. Out of the corner of her eye, several ponies stared at her wide-eyed as she passed by them in the main cabin; most likely ponies who were familiar with the show, she reasoned.
Of course, she didn't really need the toilet, but she had to agree with Firefly that neither the FBI nor the CIA were the most trustworthy of people, and so her instincts told her to go do a bit of spywork of her own.
Eventually, her ears picked up Wellman's indistinct muttering, and she listened in carefully.
“How’s the project coming along?” Wellman asked the person on the other end in a murmur, “... Well, if you guys were actually helping us, then we’d be coming along a lot smoother! But once we get there, we might be finally able to start making some decent progress.”
Daring inched a little closer and sat back on her haunches, resting her back against the interior wall. She kept her gaze levelled at the cabin window in front of her, and subtly pivoted her right ear about for a better hearing angle as the Director continued his conversation.
“The problem is that these ponies are a little more difficult to track down than we anticipated. A lack of data means we have to place ground teams everywhere to find them ourselves, and searching for a brightly-colored horse who’s hiding in the middle of a large city such as LA for example is like finding a needle in a haystack. And don’t get me started on trying to find them in Canada…”
“... I s’pose what we’ve got will have to be sufficient for now. This little group will bring the total up to around sixty subjects, but we will have to start proceeding with the research. We needed that information yesterday. I don’t care what we have to do to find it.”
“... Oh, we’ll find other uses for them after we’re done, don’t you worry about that… Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make another call. Wellman out.”
Daring continued her trek towards the forward cabin, stewing in her mind over what she had just heard. It didn’t initially seem like there was anything to make a fuss about, but his comment about ‘finding use for them once they were done’ didn’t quite sit well with her.
‘I have a feeling that there is an ulterior motive behind this,’ She mused, ‘They must be planning to use the research as a guise, and hide something big behind it! I don’t have anything solid to work with, but I’m going to be keeping a close eye on these guys in the future.’
She briefly glanced at the agent as they passed by each other. His expression was neutral, with no indicative emotion, typical for a person in his line of work.
[2130 Hours, May 15th, 2020] [HMAS Brisbane’s Combat Information Center]
Captain John Stevenson rubbed his temples with a heavy sigh. While he was glad that Brisbane was still mostly in workable condition upon his return, the lack of a navigation radar meant that they would be relying solely on satellite GPS for direction.
Not only that, but their only immediate source of aerial support was in a critical condition, so they were also reliant on the US Air Force and their F-15 Eagles for air cover, which were being drawn from a land base a considerable distance away. Top Brass back home had assured him that back-up was on the way, in the form of Brisbane's sister ship, HMAS Hobart, and the aging Anzac-class frigate HMAS Toowoomba. However, taking into account the time required to prepare the ships and the long distance from their base in Australia to the Middle East, it was going to take them a very long time to get there; two or three weeks, at least.
Considering their situation, Skipper wasn't very optimistic that the reinforcements would arrive in time for whatever grand show was most likely around the corner.
Still, this decision on the behalf of Top Brass took him by surprise. A considerable portion of Australia's naval power was now devoted to this region, given the RAN's rather dimmunitive overall size compared to that of the US Navy. In the past, there was rarely, if ever more than one Australian warship per deployment to a combat zone, so for them to go all-out like this was a bold and risky move, with much to lose at stake in the event that something goes wrong. It couldn't have been a decision made lightly, that much he knew for sure.
“Skipper, Admiral Del Rio is on the line for you,” a Communications sailor nearby spoke up.
“Put ‘im on loudspeaker,” He gestured.
“Aye sir,” the sailor clicked a button, and Del Rio’s voice became audible over the radio.
“Avenger to Brisbane, what’s your status, over?”
Skipper reached for a nearby microphone. “Brisbane to Avenger, Status is minor damage, but still operational, over.”
“Brisbane, be advised: Avenger’s Task Force is changing heading for the port of Jebel Ali. Australian Fleet Command has been informed, and has given permission to have you temporarily placed under US command, effective immediately. New heading is Vector One-Six-Zero, on our mark. Confirm?”
“Copy that, new heading is Three-Five-Zero,” He glanced across at the Principal Warfare Officer nearby, who nodded knowingly, “Awaiting your mark.”
The PWO grabbed a second microphone. “CIC to the Bridge, prepare for new heading, vector one-six-zero.”
“Aye sir, new heading one-six-zero,” came the reply.
There was a brief pause pause, before Del Rio’s voice returned. “Mark!”
After a few moments, the deck tilted about as Brisbane veered about onto the new course.
"Remain on high alert until further notice," Del Rio instructed, "Link your ACS with Vella Gulf so that we can better coordinate our defences in case of future attack. They caught us napping before, but next time, we'll be ready for them. Avenger out."
“Alright, you heard the man!” Skipper said aloud, grabbing the attention of everyone present, “From now on, this ship is on high alert! If anything else dares poke their sneaky little rat-faced mug into our firing radius, that thing is going to have the all-consuming fire of God himself rain down upon them! Am I clear?”
There was a thunderous chorus throughout the room of “Yes sir!”
“Let’s show these Yanks how it’s done, Brisbane! Get to it!”
-----
Daring Do sat down in her seat with an apprehensive frown, as the ponies around her murmured amongst each other. Listening in on Wellman’s phone call didn’t exactly reveal anything of relevant use to their current situation.
“What would Daring do?” She pondered.
'Too many unknowns in this situation. Not enough solid evidence to make any decisions on. No-one on board this plane trustworthy enough.'
'Let’s see, the main players in this game are as follows:
First off, there’s the ponies, lost and scattered throughout the world with limited communication and coordination. Princess Luna is no doubt trying to rally a group together and formulate something, but until I can rendezvous with her, she’s not of very much use to me.
Secondly and most immediately are the Americans. The Government must be putting an idea of their own into action, but I don’t know what their plan is, nor what the consequences will be if it comes to fruition. They could either be harmless, or the most dangerous threat on the planet. I just don’t know.
Thirdly is this mysterious external power which organised the air strike, most likely either Russia or China. What was their angle in all of this? Surely they were not ordered to attack just on a whim. No-one would be so brazen as to attack a heavily-armed American battle group like that without a hidden agenda.
And finally, if we somehow find a way to reach Equestria… we still have Discord to deal with. I don’t know if he is influencing any events around here, but I highly doubt he’s just sitting there on his throne twiddling his thumbs. Chaos doesn’t sit still for no-one.
Now… what are you going to do about it, Daring Do? You need to make a move, make a choice. What is your goal, your game plan, with all of this information in mind?
Are you going to keep asking these questions, or are you finally going to get your arse into gear and do something about it?'
She narrowed her eyes, keeping her gaze on the hard metal floor. “I need to get off this plane and get away from these guys. Somewhere on the North American continent is a lead to the answer for all of my problems. I don’t have all of the information I need, but I’m not going to find any answers unless I look for them. Treasures don’t find themselves, after all.”
Daring blinked in surprise as something nudged her side. She turned about to face Firefly, who was staring at her expectantly.
“So! What’s our game plan?” asked Firefly.
“...What?” Daring tilted her head quizzically.
“You look like a man with a plan, and whatever it is, I want in!” Firefly grinned eagerly.
“I don’t really have a plan, per say,” Daring admitted, “But I have an objective. We need to find the Princess. She might know something we don’t, and will most likely have contact with other ponies on the mainland. If we find her, then we will find the others.”
“...Who’s the Princess?” Firefly asked.
“Princess Luna,” Daring clarified.
“Never heard of her.”
Daring’s eye visibly twitched. “Have you been living under a rock these past few years?! How have you not heard of Princess Luna?”
“The last time I watched a pony video was in 2001 with my little sister, long before Lauren Faust took the reins.” Firefly deadpanned, “I don’t know very many of the new characters beyond their face and some of their names.”
“Princess Luna is the big navy-blue one with both wings and a horn, and a sparkly mane which isn’t actually made of hair,” Daring explained.
“Oh, that one!” Firefly blinked, “I’ve seen that one around on the interwebs here and there… So anyway, we find this Princess, and then what? What are we gonna achieve by linking up with these other ponies in America?”
Daring’s eyes widened.
That’s right… what ARE we going to do once we’re all together? I highly doubt anyone would know any cross-dimensional spells to get us back home...
She sighed and shook her head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess. But we need to find a way to Equestria, and we can’t do anything until we’re all in one place.”
“If Equestria even exists,” Firefly muttered, “How do we cross the dimensions anyway, if that’s even possible?”
“With Magic of course,” Daring answered, as if it were obvious.
“I have a feeling that’s going to be the answer to a lot of our questions in the near future,” Firefly frowned skeptically.
“Most likely,” Daring shrugged.
-----
[Somewhere else over the North Atlantic]
“Dragon Actual, this is Dragon One. We have radar lock on the target and are ready to intercept and execute on your order, over.”
“Dragon Actual to Dragon One, fire at will.”
“May God have mercy on our souls.”
-----
Without warning, their conversation was cut off by a sudden ruckus from the front of the plane. Several voices were shouting loudly at once, and everyone in the main cabin went deathly silent trying to listen in.
“Tell that damn bogey who we are, and the amount of shit he will be in if he comes any closer!” Wellman’s voice shouted.
“I can’t do anything if he’s not fucking responding to us now, can I?” Another voice countered angrily, whom Daring presumed to be one of the flight deck crew.
“Don’t get lippy with me, smartass!” Wellman growled, “And get Command on the line while you’re at it!”
“Missile fired!” The pilot exclaimed, and a warning siren began blaring throughout the Globemaster. “Make that two missiles! Deploying flares and counter-measures.”
“Ah shit! Hold onto your teeth, people!” Wellman shouted aloud, “This is gonna be a bumpy ride!”
The ponies had just a few seconds warning to strap themselves securely to their seats before the big plane suddenly lurched about to the right, throwing any loose baggage across to the opposite side of the cabin. Daring grimaced as the belts of her harness dug into her sore shoulders, the only things keeping her in place.
There was a brief, intense flash of light through the port windows as a hostile missile blitzed past the Globemaster’s fuselage.
“Second missile incoming! Brace for impact!”
“What--?” was all Daring could utter as the back half of the passenger cabin suddenly disappeared in a brilliant orange explosion. An intense heat-wave tore up the cabin, causing Daring to cringe in pain.
Voices screamed in panic as the entire plane began shaking violently, yawing to the right and tumbling out of the sky in a lethal spinning dive. Daring gripped on tightly to her seat belt as anything which wasn’t strapped down was flung about mercilessly across the cabin.
Every single muscle in her body strained against the g-forces as she turned her head to glance across the cabin. Metal groaned loudly as it twisted about, and there was an ear-piercing screech as the wings and the back half of the Globemaster ripped clean off, opening it up to the chilly night sky. The thin, atmospheric air of thirty thousand feet sucked the oxygen from the cabin like a vacuum, taking with it anything which wasn’t tied down. The oxygen levels were dangerously low, and she was already beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded from the sudden deprivation. Some ponies were already out cold, and others were looking woozy, barely coherent enough to scream.
She blinked in horror as a pony flashed past her vision, screaming as he disappeared out of the gaping hole where the rear fuselage had been. Flash was yelling something in her direction and gesturing towards what was left of the rear fuselage, but his voice was lost amidst the screams of the perpetually panicking ponies. She grit her teeth, glancing over her shoulder. The horizon was quickly creeping up towards them as the plane continued to drop, any hope of recovery long dashed.
“The Good Lord tells me He can get me out of this mess,” Firefly turned to the pony next to her, “But He’s pretty sure you’re fucked.”
Redheart’s face turned even whiter than normal.
“Just kidding,” She offered a hoof, “Grab hold.”
“What are you…?” Redheart reluctantly reached out towards her. Firefly deftly wrapped one arm around Redheart’s barrel, her wings flaring out as she released her seatbelt. The g-forces immediately took hold, and Redheart screamed loudly as she and Firefly were sucked out of the aircraft.
“Firefly!” Daring exclaimed worriedly.
“They have the right idea,” Flash grimaced, releasing his seatbelt, “We’re going to have to jump, Daring!”
“But what about the others?!” She exclaimed worriedly, “We can’t just leave them here to die!”
“I’m sorry,” Flash grimaced and shook his head, “I am so, so sorry, but we’re running out of breathing room real quick, so it’s now or never!”
With that, he reached across and unclipped Daring’s seatbelt harness. Reaching out reflexively, she looped her arm through the strap of her carry-bag just as the g-forces took hold. She paled as her lunch was nearly forced back up, and in the blink of an eye, she was suddenly on air, maybe only ten thousand feet up.
Daring took a moment to twist herself about in a three-hundred and sixty degree turn, briefly taking in the view and analysing her new situation. The temperature was bitterly cold, and the cloud cover down below looked to be quite dense. She stared in horror as what was left of the Globemaster continued its death-spiral; feeling helpless to do anything to save the doomed souls left on board as they disappeared through the clouds.
The moment of stillness was fleeting as she realised gravity had already taken hold.
Flipping about so that she was right-way-up, she spread herself out as far as she could stretch, creating as much drag as she could muster. She tilted herself forward as to turn her flat stall into forward momentum, and once she felt she had sufficient airspeed, she gently pulled herself out of the dive and arrested her speed back to a gentle hover.
A loud scream drew her attention to Firefly down below, who was having difficulty flying properly with Redheart in her arms.
“I really didn’t think this through!” She screamed as they plummeted towards the clouds. Without warning, they suddenly came an abrupt halt in mid-air, almost as if they hit an invisible floor amongst the clouds.
“Ow!” Both ponies yelped in pain and surprise.
“I didn’t know the cloud cover was this dense!” Firefly grunted. She went to stretch out her shoulders, when Redheart suddenly screamed loudly and wrapped herself around Firefly’s arm.
"If we survive this, I’m gonna throttle you!” Redheart screamed.
“I don’t get it,” Firefly was perplexed as she secured her grip on the Earth Pony, “How am I sitting on the cloud, whereas you’re falling straight through it like it’s a normal cloud?”
A loud, sicking crash of metal and water resounded as the plane disintegrated upon the frigid waters of the North Atlantic.
Daring’s ear pricked as jet engines screamed overhead, and she slowly turned her gaze up into the night sky. Her eyes quickly honed in on a set of flickering red, green and white navigation lights circling about overhead, the red star emblem emblazoned on each of the fighter jet’s wings and tail fins.
“Fuckin’ Russians,” Flash growled coldly, before shouting at the top of his lungs, “I hope you get ebola and die, you worthless cocksucker!”
Daring remained silent, keeping her gaze locked on the fighter jet as it banked and flew off towards the east.
-----
“Dragon One to Dragon Actual,” the pilot said in a grim tone, “Priority-One Target has been destroyed. I repeat, Priority-One Target has been destroyed, over.”
“Kill confirmed, Dragon One, excellent work. Were there any survivors?”
“We have eyes on four potential survivors. I repeat, four potential survivors. No humans.”
There’s nothing but ocean around for hundreds of miles in any direction. They’ll freeze to death before the dawn. Return to base, Dragon One. Dragon Actual out.”
-----
Daring’s eye twitched as her brain finally caught up to speed with the typhoon of events within the last five minutes.
The agents from the FBI, the flight crew, and nearly every single pony that she encountered from the Middle East were dead. Had Daring stayed on the plane any longer, she would most likely be down there with them.
She unexpectedly shivered and wiped a stray bead of sweat from her brow.
“Come on Sheffield, snap out of it!” Flash said worriedly, clapping his hooves in her face, “There might still be someone else who survived the crash down there!”
Daring blinked back to reality and shook her head morosely, muttering under her breath. She shifted the clouds apart for a view of the crash sight. Her eyes widened in fright as she beheld the ghastly sight before her. Chunks upon chunks of wrecked C-17 and debris drifted aimlessly amongst the waves. An engine here, a section of the fuselage there. Someone’s luggage bag.
Someone’s lifeless, crumpled body.
Firefly tutted irritably. “That plane would’ve been doing around six hundred knots as it hit the water, easily. Anything inside was likely flattened out like a pancake. No way in hell anyone survived that mess.”
“Why the fuck would someone shoot down an unarmed, unescorted cargo jet and murder innocent people in cold blood?” Flash snarled, “That’s just… that’s just pretty damn low if you ask me.”
“... T-they must’ve been after us…” Daring stammered, wide-eyed. “They weren’t targeting the carrier just because it’s a carrier… They attacked it because of us!”
“Now come on, that’s a little far-fetched,” Flash scoffed, “They couldn’t have possibly known that we were on board the George Bush. Any communication regarding us would’ve been top secret communique in code.”
Daring continued her rant. “And then, second-guessing that the Americans would try to evacuate us from a combat-zone, sent an interceptor to attack whatever method of transport we could possibly be taking! Besides, even if they didn’t know about us specifically, their intelligence network would no doubt have picked up on the several dozen ponies we picked up in the Middle East!”
“That’s… a little more believable,” He admitted with a frown.
“Well that’s just fantastic!” Redheart muttered exasperatedly, “Because now we’re in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere with no land for several hundred miles in every direction, and no sunlight for another six or seven hours!”
“I sure hope that the Russians are aware that when word of this gets out, there’s no way in hell that we’re gonna let this one slide,” Flash continued, “All hell’s gonna break loose, and it’s gonna be a shitstorm on the proportions of World War Two! Chaos and anarchy everywhere!”
“Chaos and anarchy…” Daring murmured as a realisation struck. “Oh Discord, you clever, magnificent bastard!”
“What? Who’s Discord?” Firefly asked, puzzled.
Daring paid her query no attention. “Sending the ponies to Earth, which is already controlled chaos as it is, as normal ordinary humans. And then when the curse wears wears off, they turn back into ponies. No-one knows how this is happening, because of course, Magic wasn’t a real thing up until now and thus no-one knows how to explain what’s going on, and when humans don’t understand what’s going on, they start panicking, and when they start panicking, everything goes to complete and utter shit! The perfect, most chaotic clusterfuck of anarchy imaginable! Human sacrifices, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!”
“Whoa whoa, slow down there! I didn’t even get half of that!” Flash said worriedly.
“And now the Americans finally have their reason to go to war with Russia!” She exclaimed, tapping one hoof into the palm of the other, “Jesus Christ, this guy’s a fuckin' genius when he wants to be!”
“Yeah, well that’s great and all, but what do you expect us to do about it, eh?!” Redheart asked irritably, “We’ve got no method of transportation to America, nor do we have a ticket in now that that Wellman guy is kind’a dead!”
“Of course we have transportation,” Daring snorted, “What do you think’s keeping you aloft right now?”
Firefly blinked in surprise. “What, me? No offense, but I don't think I'll be able to carry Snow White for three hundred miles.”
“We’ll take turns carrying her if we have to,” Daring said determinedly, “But we’re going to America, aeroplane or not.”
“Do you even know where we are?” asked Redheart, “There are no landmarks to help us, nor any sunlight, and that compass on your butt isn’t exactly real.”
“Actually, there is a landmark,” Daring gestured downwards, “The crash site.”
She pointed off into the distance, “The Flanker went that way, most likely back to his base in Europe, so we go in the opposite direction to him, which is this way.”
“The what?” Firefly quirked an eyebrow.
“Sukhoi Su-35 Flanker, that’s what attacked us,” Daring explained, “I saw him as he circled overhead for about a minute. The slightly off-kilter nose section was the give-away from a distance that it was a Flanker of some sort. The Russian Navy doesn’t have the navalised Su-33 in service anymore, which rules out an aircraft carrier within five hundred miles, so flying from a land base and without slowing down for a tanker, he must’ve been flying for quite a while in order to be on station in time. That’s well beyond the endurance of a Fulcrum, as well as most other land-based versions of the Flanker, so trust me, it was an Su-35.”
“... Holy shit, you’re a nerd,” Firefly’s eye twitched.
“I’m not a nerd,” Daring defended, “I’m just well-read.”
“By the way, no-one’s answered my question yet,” Firefly frowned, “How am I sitting on clouds of vapourised water?!”
“Magic,” Daring answered simply.
“Of course." Redheart facepalmed.
“You’re a Pegasus, Firefly," Daring explained, "Besides flying, Pegasi can walk on and manipulate clouds. You can do it, I can do it, and Flash can do it.”
“I thought his name was Ferguson?” Redheart tilted her head quizzically.
“No, that was his name as a human. Since he is now a pony, his name is Flash, just as yours is Redheart and that's Firefly.” She frowned.
“And who are they supposed to be?” asked Firefly.
“How should I know?” Daring furrowed her brow irritably, “I’ve only just met youse guys!”
“Well, you just seem to be so wise and knowledgeable about everything there is to know about ponies, that's all,” Redheart shrugged.
“I don’t know everything, nor did I ever claim to,” Daring defended, “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere! Let’s just get away from this place already.”
“So we’re going this way then?” Flash gestured towards what she sure hoped was west.
“Yes we are!” Daring nodded in confirmation, “We might reach America for at least another hour, but we might as well start now. There’s sufficient moonlight to help us see each other, so keep close.”
Firefly glanced down at the floating wreckage and sighed in reluctance. “Alright, fine. But you’re carrying the nurse.”
She unceremoniously dumped Redheart into Flash’s arms. “Merry Christmas.”
Flash blinked in surprise, shuffling himself about so that Redheart was in a more comfortable carrying position. "Damn, you’re heavier than you look."
"You better not drop me," Redheart warned.
Daring stared determinedly off into the distance as they flew off and began their long flight west-ward.
I swear, when I get my hands on that fuckin' Discord cunt, I'm gonna rip his horns off and shove them so far up his arse that he'll choke to death.
