FOUR DAYS UNTIL WING FLING
"I'm taking Soarin with me, so you'll have to run practice AND make sure the Academy doesn't burn to the ground." Spitfire pauses to toss another folder onto the pile of paper adorning her desk, then continues rooting through the file cabinet. "Frankly, I'd be more comfortable with leaving him in charge, but some bakery apparently just opened up a new branch in Canterlot and he pouted until I agreed to bring him." Kicking the drawer shut, Spitfire turns around to survey her office.
Agenda with timetable for the next three days? Check.
Dossiers (and medical histories, emergency contacts, etc.) of everypony currently at the Academy? Check.
Nonplussed Fleetfoot, complete with sunglasses? Check.
Perfect. Now she just needs...
"SOARIN."
A blue-maned stallion pokes his head through the doorway. "Ready when you are, Cap. Oh, hey Fleetfoot! Excited for your big debut as somepony with actual responsibility?" He wags his eyebrows.
Fleetfoot scoffs. "Puh-lease, you wouldn't know responsibility if Tender Greens baked it into a cookie and hit you in the face with it."
"Ha! That stallion can't bake to save his life. Has Supreme Leader briefed you yet?"
Spitfire trots to the door, saddlebags fastened over her flight suit. "I'm getting to it. C'mon Fleet. Most of what you need to know is somewhere in that stack of paperwork, but I'll brief you on the way down."
"Brace yourself," Soarin mutters.
Spitfire takes off down the hall, talking a mile a minute and leaving Fleetfoot and Soarin scrambling to catch up.
"—time for free flight, too. Fast Clip keeps the Reserves on a pretty tight schedule, so they should be out of your mane, but keep an eye on Lightning Streak and High Winds. They keep saying they weren't the ones who hazed the Third and Fifth Squadrons, but somepony's been getting packages from Cheese Sandwich's Joke Emporium—"
"Ugh. Is this really what you have to put up with every time she leaves?" Fleetfoot asks, raising her voice over the stream of instructions rapidly issuing from the captain's mouth.
Soarin laughs. "Nah, I think it's just you. That, and she has no idea why the Princesses summoned her."
"Maybe it's a stealth mission or something."
"I doubt it," Soarin shrugs. "If it's anything cool, I'll tell you when we get back. You kind of do want to listen to Spitfire, though. I talked her into letting you take charge, so unofficially, it's my fault if you blow anything up."
Fleetfoot tunes back in to Responsibility Radio right as Spitfire transitions into a broadcast on joint practice sessions. Does she ever think about anything other than the team? Sheesh.
Spitfire certainly doesn't appear to have thought about pausing for breath. "—can throw the squadrons together if you want to; it's not a bad way to build morale. Let the Reserve flyers try out some of the routines, then mix up the teams and have a competition or something, I don't care. Just don't let a bunch of rookies outperform you, or I'll give them your uniform and promote you to a desk job at Headquarters."
A promotion would be nice. "You got it, boss."
"Also, don't place Misty Fly into any sort of leadership position," Spitfire continues. "I mean it. You were off running errands the last time we made that mistake, but she—huh?"
In the dying light of the courtyard, half-shrouded in shadows, stand two royal guardstallions, a silver chariot harnessed behind their unmoving forms. Fleetfoot snorts. "They must have heard you were bringing Soarin and figured you'd need help getting to Canterlot sometime this week, eh Spitz?"
"Gosh, Fleet," Soarin says with mock sincerity. "It's a good thing promotions are based off of flight ability and not humor, because then you'd be—oh, sorry. You actually are the lowest rank on the team."
"Hey, not cool! Spitz, give him a demerit or twenty! I feel victimized."
"You'll live," the Captain says curtly. "Soarin, you know better. Now get your flank into the chariot."
"Yeah, Soarin! Maybe you should ask the chariot drivers for flying lessons, while you're at it. Y'know, since the Princesses think you can't handle flying to Canterlot..."
Soarin fwaps his tail in Fleetfoot's face as he walks past her. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow, when I've got croissants and you're eating oats!"
Fleetfoot rolls her eyes, grinning, as she turns to Spitfire. "Sounds like somepony's got it all planned out. Have fun!"
Spitfire is in her personal space, gah instantly, jabbing a golden hoof into Fleet's chest. "No, there will be no fun. Not for me, and definitely not for you." Oooh. She's using her Scary Captain Voice, which usually means somepony's either done something stupid (like forgetting which way is left and which is right during a routine), or something suicidal (like accidentally calling her "sir"). Fleetfoot isn't sure which category she's unwittingly placed herself into, but judging by the lack of lasers shooting out of Spitfire's eyes, 'suggesting the presence of fun' is roughly on par with 'locking Rapidfire in the armory on Inspection Day and forgetting about him.'
Whoops, she's still talking.
"I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself here, Fleet. If this Academy isn't still functioning flawlessly when I get back, I swear to Celestia, you'll fly laps until your feathers cry and then you'll use the tears to scrub the bathroom floors." Spitfire turns around and joins Soarin in the chariot, who waves cheerily at Fleetfoot.
"Don't burn the place to the ground while I'm gone!" he calls.
Pfft. As if. Fleetfoot heads back through the quiet halls of the Academy, the chariot a distant speck against the horizon. She grins to herself as she trots into the Captain's Office and plops down into Spitfire's chair. This is the opportunity she's been anticipating for months, if not years.
It's show time.
Soarin allows his gaze to drift around the Wing Fling currently consuming all of Prism Plateau. Idle chatter weaves through the air, a chorus of laughs and conversation just barely discernible over the heavy beat thumping from the dance floor. The final rays of the setting sun cast the clouds in reds and scarlets, creating an illusion of a burning sky. An illusion, Soarin notes, that is greatly enhanced by the various clouds scattered around the Academy that actually are on fire.
Somehow the gritty tang of the smoke combines flawlessly with the various aromas drifting up from the dining area. With a graceful flap of his wings, Soarin dives from his vantage point above the wreckage of the mess hall and spirals down toward the buffet. His hooves touch down gently, accompanied by a soft puff of ash. With the trained eye of a connoisseur, he examines the dishes artfully scattered across the singed tabletop.
The usual party fare is present, of course: ample horse d'oeuvres, a fondue fountain, cupcakes topped with tiny, fondant-sculpted Wonderbolts, painstakingly arranged in Spitfire's favorite formation...
Soarin squints. The tiny fondant Fleetfoot is nowhere to be found, and while somepony's supplanted Misty Fly's cupcake with a limited edition Nightmare Moon figurine, the rest of the treats remain untouched. Soarin shrugs to himself; it's not the first time Fleet's fallen out of Spitfire's good graces, and it certainly won't be the last.
Ignoring the DRE's wedged in between the serving platters (ready-to-eat desserts are great for contributing to the desperate, apocalyptic theme of the Wing Fling, but not much else), Soarin carefully nudges a steaming apple tart onto his plate, warily eyeing the seemingly-scorched edges.
"This isn't really burnt, is it?" he asks the pink earth pony behind the table. She bounces over, accompanied by a cheerful, albeit rumpled, Tender Greens.
"Nopeity nope!" she trills, pushing Tender Greens forward. "Go on, Green Bean, tell him about it!"
With the pink mare's smiling encouragement, the Academy chef clears his throat. "Well, Lieutenant Soarin, we wanted the food to go along with the theme of the night." He points to the giant banner proclaiming 'The Wonderbolts—One Thousand Years of Protecting Equestria from Destruction!' Beneath the title, a partially scribbled out, mouthwritten addition reads 'most of the time.'
"At first," the pink mare continues, "we were gonna get a dragon to lightly toast all of the food, but then Applejack was like 'Pinkie, that'll just burn everything' and she was totally right! And so then I was like 'EVERYTHING'S RUINED' and that Wonderbolt lady looked like she was having a heart attack but then Tender Greens here had a super-brilliant idea!"
The stallion gives Soarin a sheepish smile. "I figured that we could make everything look singed by using s—" The word dies in his throat. He tries again, frowning, "We used colored su—sug—" A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. "I garnished everything with colored sugar," he whispers.
Pinkie sniffs, her eyes brimming with tears. "You've come so far." She pats him on the back affectionately, then returns to her quadruple-pronged fondue rotisserie.
"I'm impressed," Soarin agrees. Biting down on his plate, he moves over to the punch bowl where a barpony gives him a cup filled with a sparkling, golden liquid. Soarin pins the drink underneath a clamped wing, then begins winding his way through the ponies grouped around various small tables. If you can even call these tables, he amends as he narrowly avoids snagging his tail on the ragged edge of a tabletop. Looking back up, he spots a lone figure seated at the edge of the designated food area.
A moment later, Soarin's setting his plate onto a table that looks suspiciously like a section of the kitchen wall, balanced on a hefty pile of crumbling bricks. He places his glass down carefully, then slides into the empty seat beside Fleetfoot. While the view from the table isn't as impressive as it would be from the clouds, there's something to be said for being immersed in the festivities. Soarin observes the party as he lets his tart reach optimal temperatures.
Across the newly-cracked runway, directly next to the triple-decker, floating dance floors, a set of charged thunderheads mark the entrance to the first-ever Wonderbolt Death Course, which—from what Soarin can see of it—loops around the Plateau in a dangerously stormy, mercilessly winding, absolutely awesome test of talent. A steady stream of Reserve and full-time Wonderbolts alike flock to the entrance. Soarin turns to his teammate.
"Man, Fleet," he chuckles. "I gotta give it to you. If Spitfire hadn't come back when she did, you might have gotten away with this." He takes a bite of the apple tart, and it's good that he's sitting down because sweet mother of deliciousness that's amazing. Savoring the gooey, caramel-apple goodness seeping into his soul, Soarin almost doesn't hear Fleet's strangled whisper. Almost.
He shakes his head slightly, just enough to clear some room for coherent thought processes to occur, and asks, "What was that, Fleetfoot?"
"Spitfire has my cupcake," is the hoarse response. Reluctantly tearing his eyes from the tart, Soarin looks up and follows Fleet's haunted gaze across the sea of makeshift tables, quickly spotting the familiar profile of their Captain seated a few yards away. Directly in front of Spitfire sits the Princess, Twilight Sparkle, and on a pure white plate between them is a cupcake topped with a tiny Fleetfoot, posed mid-flight. The sculpted Wonderbolt rotates with every idle movement of the Captain's golden hoof. Around.
And around.
"It's my job on that plate, you know," Fleet says, eyes glued to her spinning miniature.
And around.
Soarin frowns. "Is that Spitfire's negotiation face?"
And around.
Fleetfoot shakes her head. "It's the politician one. She doesn't move her head as much when she's negotiating."
And arou—The Captain stops the cupcake abruptly and leans forward, eyes alight with energy. She begins to speak rapidly, and though Soarin's too far away to make out what's being said, he's spent enough time around Spitfire to recognize the delicate calculation behind her animated features.
"She's trying to sell something," he observes. The Princess begins to speak, and Spitfire dons her Active Listening Expression. The conversation bounces back and forth, both mares barely closing their mouths before the other jumps back in with a response. And then the debate's over; Spitfire cracks a grin and leans back, her folded wings relaxing ever-so-slightly. The Princess offers a small smile in return.
Sensing the critical moment has passed, Soarin treats himself to another bite of tart. Oh yesss.
When his singing taste buds cease their hymns of praise, Soarin opens his eyes to see the Captain trotting over, a cupcake-bearing plate gripped in her mouth. Fleetfoot whimpers. Spitfire reaches their table and sets the plate down on it, sliding the cupcake over to its non-edible counterpart.
"You," the Captain says, her voice deathly soft. "Are a very lucky mare." She pulls up a chair and joins them, propping her elbows upon the tabletop as she massages her temples. Under the pretense of taking a drink, Soarin moves his cup of cider out of her reach. Spitfire's posture has 'I don't get paid enough to deal with you idiots' written all over it—maybe with a bit of 'This wasn't in the job description.'
"This is above my pay grade," Spitfire mutters to the table.
Close enough.
"I had to persuade a Princess of Equestria that networking is just professional friendship—"
Oh boy.
"I haven't slept in over thirty-six hours—"
Throughout their careers, Soarin has noticed three main patterns in his relationship with Spitfire. First and foremost is his role as deputy, and all of the professional duties that accompany it. The second, currently relevant purpose he serves involves an uncanny impersonation of a bobble head. Captain's tired? Soarin nods; she should get more sleep. Cap's stressed? Soarin nods; Headquarters needs to chill the hay out, and those recruits are ridiculously undisciplined. Cap's having a bad hair day? Soarin nod—wait a minute. Is that a nod-appropriate situation? I mean, on one hoof, she needs to look her best, but then again...
"Soarin?"
Whoops, should be nodding. Soarin adopts a generic 'you're totally right' expression and bobs his head vigorously.
"You're totally right, Cap," he says. "This was really bad timing; the coffee here is an insult to caffeinekind; Headquarters is delusional if they think those destroyed files are gonna be replaced by next inspection; why haven't you had a vacation in over three years; and no, I don't think expecting the Academy to remain standing is asking too much of your subordinates."
He pauses, frowning. "I think that was everything."
"Incompetence," Spitfire prompts.
"THE INCOMPETENCE!" Soarin roars, thumping a hoof on the table for emphasis. "Really! You'd think that two squadrons of Wonderbolts would be capable of following the directions you gave them, but nooooo..."
Spitfire turns to the silent mare. "Yeah, Fleet, what was up with that?!"
"I know I screwed up, okay?" Fleetfoot hisses abruptly. "You don't have to keep rubbing it in. I tried to do your job, I failed spectacularly, and you showed up right as I was trying to fix everything. Congrats. I don't have your skill set. Aren't you special?" She spits the last word, glaring at her cupcake.
The DJ changes songs, but the cheers and whistles from the dance floor do nothing to alleviate the tension hanging over the table. Eventually, Spitfire sighs.
"You did your best, Fleet. Yeah, you overstepped your boundaries, but it was a lot of responsibility without a lot of preparation, and some of it was out of your control. But all this—" she gestures at the festivities around them. "—would never have happened if you hadn't had your stint as Captain. Lightning Streak and High Winds would probably be in everypony's manes if they weren't too busy with all these activities." She cracks a half-smile. Fleetfoot returns it, hesitantly.
"So does this mean I'm off probation?"
The smile vanishes. "Not a chance. However," Spitfire gets up from her chair and stretches. "—you can put your cupcake back with the rest of the team." She turns toward the Wonderbolt Death Course, the familiar glint of competition smoldering in her eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, a certain Reserve Airmare's challenged me to a race for her rank, and I need to put the little upstart back in her place. General my flank." She trots off.
Silence.
"In all fairness, that could have been a lot worse," Soarin offers. "She really seems to like the theme of the party." Fleetfoot grunts.
"Spitfire's always thought making the Wing Fling a strictly formal event was redundant, since the Gala is basically the same... thing..." She frowns, blinking.
Soarin swallows a disappointingly lukewarm bite of tart, then reaches for his cider. "Really? She's never said anything about it."
"She wrote about it in... in her diary." Fleetfoot twists around, eyes scanning the dining area. Soarin nearly drops his glass.
"You could read her diary?"
"The Princess did," Fleet murmurs. "Spitz wrote a lot about—" She abruptly freezes, wings tensing at her side. "We're being watched."
Soarin frowns. "We're celebrity stunt fliers at an aviation party, Fleet."
"No, not like that. I swear, that stallion wasn't there a moment ago, but now he's staring straight at us." She inclines her head ever-so-slightly to the right, where Soarin spots a vaguely familiar pegasus.
"It's a party, Fleet." A trickle of exasperation seeps into his voice. "Ponies come and go all the time. You need to relax—get a drink or something."
If Soarin didn't know better, he would say that Fleet's voice holds a hint of panic as she says, "No, it's not the first time I've seen him. He's been here all day, right there, and he's not the only one; he's just the only one sloppy enough to let us see him."
"Fleet—"
"It's the E.S.S. I know it." She leans in. "I didn't know we even had a secret service, and now I'm under twenty-four seven surveillance."
Soarin laughs. "Fleetfoot, you're being totally ridiculous." She ignores him.
"See that bush?" she whispers, eyes darting towards a seemingly-innocuous rhododendron. "Secret agent. Same for that cloud—" her ear twitches. "—and the barpony. They're watching me, I can feel it. I can't do anything, or go anywhere, without them watching. I couldn't even sleep last night, my coat won't stop crawling." Her voice cracks, just a tiny bit. "They're watching me, Soarin."
He shoves his glass of cider over to her. "Drink. Now."
She lifts a shaking hoof and downs it in two desperate gulps. The glass clatters to the table as Soarin places a hoof under her chin and turns her face to meet his. Green eyes lock with magenta, the latter pair growing increasingly unfocused.
"Fleetfoot, I need you to listen to me. Are you paying attention?"
"Soarrin, it's the Equethtriaan...wahh?" she slurs.
"Nopony is watching you," the Lieutenant states firmly. "If anyone's looking at you, it's because you're a famous stunt flier. You worked extremely hard to save this party from disaster, and you aren't going to let some silly conspiracy about secret agents stress you out. They don't exist. Okay?"
"Mmkay," is the dazed response.
Soarin removes his hoof from her chin and picks up his final bite of pastry. Fleetfoot sits quietly for a moment longer, then shakes her head. Her mane glistens like ash in the twilight.
"Feelin bettur?" he asks, through a mouthful of bittersweet perfection.
"Yeah... Not sure what I was worried about, this party is great. I mean, if our high and mighty commander thought it was worth the hassle, how wrong can I be?" She grins and leaps up from the table. "Thanks for the talk, Soarin. You're a freaking national treasure." She snaps her wings out and takes off, zooming toward the dance floors. A moment later, the music dies, replaced with a scratchy yell.
"HEY EVERYPONY! Capture the Captain begins in ten minutes! Make sure you check the roster to see what team you're on. Eighth Squadron, don't even bother—you're all Shadowbolts."
Soarin chuckles. "Well that seems to have worked just fine," he says to nopony in particular.
"By Celestia, I thought you'd never give her the stupid potion," the rhododendron replies. "Aren't you supposed to be reporting to your contact right now, Agent?"
Soarin squints at the horizon. A small sliver of sun is barely visible. "I've got time. The meeting wasn't about anything we didn't already know, and I doubt the Director wants to sit through a two-hour recounting of all the reasons why having an Element of Harmony on the performance team is both the best and worst idea ever. I hear the Service's Ponyville branch is a bit preoccupied at the moment." Soarin stands up and flashes a grin at the agent hidden amongst the shrubbery. "Besides, I'm not under orders to lay low, and Capture the Captain is about to start."
All letters presented in this story are transcribed here, though reading them within their respective chapters is highly recommended.
Don't Screw this Up:
Upon a royal scroll:
The Royal Princesses, Celestia and Luna, do hereby command the presence of Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, and an attendant of her choosing in Canterlot, evening next.
We request that neither Blaze nor Surprise accompany the Captain.
-L
FROM THE DESK OF THE CAPTAIN
Sgt. Surprise,
Would you mind explaining why Princess Luna specifically forbade bringing you or Blaze to Canterlot with me? It better not have anything to do with that Dragon Alert a while back; I seem to recall being assured that the situation was handled professionally.
-Spitfire
CPT.; THE WONDERBOLTS
Captain Spitfire, ma'am,
Our response to the Dragon Alert was totally professional! It's just that, well, reports of the dragon's size made it sound like the creature was about as big as a house.
It was wayyyyy bigger than a house, and we kind of panicked a little bit and went for the kill and failed miserably and barely escaped with our lives.
I might have over exaggerated a bit on our valor and bravery. Pretty much the only triumphant part of the entire ordeal was when we flew off into the sunset, I'm not actually sure what stopped the dragon. Princess Luna probably thinks we're incompetent.
-Surprise!
FROM THE DESK OF THE CAPTAIN
Sgt. Surprise,
Princess Luna would be correct.
Also-quit using purple stationery for official correspondence. All of your reports are winding up in my fan mail box because they look like party invitations.
-Spitfire
CPT.; THE WONDERBOLTS
WONDERBOLTS HEADQUARTERS; CLOUDSDALE
Spitfire,
The 8th Reserve Squadron will arrive at the Academy for advanced training at 0500 hours tomorrow morning. Please note that this is thirty minutes later than usual, and encourage your stand-in captain to make up for lost time. (I do hope you aren’t considering Misty Fly for the position.)
As the official schedulemaster, it is my duty to inform you that all viable train tickets to Canterlot have sold out. Given current flying conditions, you can reach the city on time if you depart two hours ago.
Please contact me in advance if it looks like you’ll miss the Wing Fling.
-Tight Ship
Day One:Taking Initiative
WONDERBOLTS HEADQUARTERS; CLOUDSDALE
E.U.P. 3rd Division:
R.E.A.- “The Wonderbolts”
8th Squadron, India Reserves:
-April Showers
-Cloud Chaser
-Flitter
-High Note
-Jet
-Midnight Strike
-Pizelle
-Rainbow Dash
-Sunburst
-Stormbreaker
Overseeing Officer: SMSgt. High Winds
FROM THE DESK OF THE CAPTAIN
Hey Fast Clip,
You and Whiplash are gonna take care of the Reserve’s training program thing, right? I can’t find the schedule for it, so I hope you have a copy of what they’re supposed to be doing. I mean, all you normally do anyway is follow Spitfire around, so pretend like she’s there and get to it.
If you need help, just grab one of the other ‘Bolts. (Blaze looks a lot like Spitz, if you want authenticity.) Seeing somepony in uniform usually makes the newbies straighten up.
Just don’t bother me, I’ve got a lot to do before this weekend. This Wing Fling is gonna be INTENSE!
-Fleetfoot
Temporary CPT.; THE WONDERBOLTS
FROM THE DESK OF THE CAPTAIN
Mr. and Mrs. Cake,
By the authority of the Wonderbolts and the Royal Equestrian Air Force, I hereby requisition your best dessert chef for the foreseeable future.
She/he should report to the Wonderbolt Academy at 5:15 PM this evening. Transportation has been arranged.
This pony will have the opportunity to serve her/his country in its dessert-less time of need, and may earn the eternal gratitude of an entire division of the E.U.P. if she/he is able to teach Academy Chef Tender Greens how to bake by Saturday.
Enclosed you will find a train ticket. Should this baker prove successful, I’ll sell the Academy’s gold-plated statue of Commander Hurricane and send you the profits.
-Fleetfoot
Northern Equestrian Railway
Depart: Ponyville, 1P.M.
Arrive: Prism Plateau, 5 P.M.
ADMIT ONE
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
Here’s the paper you ordered.
-Fast Clip
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Sir Fancy Pants,
I’ve recently been given command over the esteemed Wonderbolt Academy, and it really needs sprucing up for the Wing Fling this weekend.
Now, this party is a big deal: the performance team, Reserves, and high-ranking members of the E.U.P. will be attending, so the decorations need to be sophisticated and stylish, something that really shows off the importance of being a ‘Bolt.
I’ve asked the staff for recommendations, but nopony knows any designer refined enough for what I’ve got in mind. You, of course, are the stallion to consult when it comes to elegance, so I was wondering if you know somepony with the right skills for this job.
-Fleetfoot
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
Dearest Miss Fleetfoot,
I will gladly recommend a designer to you, and am most flattered that you thought of me. I certainly have met my fair share of talented ponies, but I do maintain that Hoity Toity knows a bit more regarding fashion than myself!
Coco Pommel is an up-and-coming young mare, quiet in disposition, whose Bridleway costuming is proving to be simply marvelous. However, only the best will suffice for your event, yes?
I’ve taken the liberty of writing to Rarity, a young Ponyville fashionista who possesses striking vision and superb taste. I believe you will find her to be exactly whom you are looking for, and am quite surprised that you are not already considering her for the job of overseeing the décor, given that she is friends with your trainer, Rainbow Dash.
Yours Truly,
Fancy Pants
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Yo Fast Clip,
Apparently Spitfire promoted her star cadettie to Training Instructor. I swear, she could at least pretend to not play favorites.
Anyway, ask Rainbow Dash about her training regimen, have her set a team goal for the week, and then give her full reign over the Reserve and Performance Squadrons, helping her out when needed.
Go ahead and combine the practices for both groups; there’s this locked drawer in Supreme Lord Commander Spitfire’s desk that I’m trying to open, and none of Crescent Moon’s 7,000 keys are working. Do you know what E.S.S. stands for?
-Fleetfoot
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
The E.S.S. is the Equestrian Secret Service, which you only have the clearance to know about due to your temporary status as Academy Commandant.
Expect a visit from an E.S.S. Memory Spell Expert sometime next week.
Also, burn this letter.
-Fast Clip
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
Whiplash informs me that you have yet to leave Cpt. Spitfire’s office, which means you have not yet incinerated a certain item of correspondence—one which may or may not be potentially incriminating, were my compliance with confidentiality procedures ever called into question. Please make this a priority.
There are no disciplinary issues to report, though it should be noted that all ten pegasi of the 8th Squadron returned from their post-flight showers with matching coat colors. You may want to make an announcement clarifying that Squadron Spirit Week isn’t until next month.
-Fast Clip
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Hey High Winds,
Putting mane dye in the newbies’ shampoo bottles? Classic! I just hope that color’s temporary, because we’ll all get fired if an entire squadron has lime-green hair in the official Wing Fling photos.
-Fleetfoot
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
Fleet,
Is dark blue okay? They were having a sale on coat dye and Lightning Streak and I still have a ton left.
-High Winds
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Hey High Winds,
Oh yeah, that's fine.
-Fleetfoot
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
Day Two:Outsourcing
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
Training Instructor Rainbow Dash is requesting a promotion to “Swagtastic Sergeant of Amazingness,” and insists that it is necessary to her continued performance as trainer.
I defer to your judgment.
-Fast Clip
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Yeah, no.
-Fleetfoot
Fleetfoot,
The unicorn you hired, Rarity, arrived about an hour ago. I had a bit of trouble getting her to wear a cloudwalking-charm bracelet—did you know topaz has been out of season for three years? But she’s wearing it now, so no worries!
Where am I supposed to put her? Your guest chef is already staying in the royal quarters, and this mare really isn’t going to like having to stay in the barracks. Plus she’s brought at least two rooms full of luggage, which are currently sitting in the hall, blocking the bathroom doors. We’re gonna have a crisis on our hooves in about 20 minutes.
-Crescent Moon
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Moon Moon,
Go ahead and put Rarity in the Captain’s Suite. It’s not like Spitfire’s using it at the moment.
After she’s settled in, could you show her around the Plateau and the Hall of Partying or whatever it’s called? She’ll need to get to work right away; Wing Fling’s in two days.
Tell her not to worry about a spending limit or anything, ‘cause I’m pretty sure official morale-building events are covered under the national defense budget.
Also, are you sure you gave me all of your keys? Could you check and see if you missed one labeled “Spitfire’s ESS Drawer of Secrecy” or something? I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I read whatever’s in it.
-Fleetfoot
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Hey Soarin,
I’m thinking about getting somepony to cater the Wing Fling.
I hired a baker to come to the Academy and teach Tender Greens the importance of sugar, but she reported this morning that “GREENY AND I ARE GONNA MAKE A MMMM AND IT’S GONNA BE SUPER-LISCIOUS! Only it won’t really be a MMMM, more like a Mmmm-” and then she launched into a really detailed plan involving gummies, a metric ton of sprinkles, and a trebuchet.
Basically, I’m not sure that Tender Greens will be able to cook the buffet, let alone master dessert in time for the party. Who was that mare at the Gala? You know which Gala I’m talking about. The one with the pie. Speaking of pie, how’s Canterlot?
-Fleetfoot
P.S.: What's in the locked drawer in Spitfire's desk? Her diary?
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
Training Instructor Rainbow Dash wants to know if promoting her to “Super-Cool General of Awesome” is a more acceptable option.
In other news, average half-mile lap times for both the Performance and Reserve Squadrons have decreased by over thirty seconds.
-Fast Clip
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Fast Clip,
Look, if she can find the badge for whatever rank she just made up, she can promote herself to Ultimate Equestrian Conqueror, for all I care.
Oh, and tell her good job on the lap times. Just keep the fliers away from the administrative building; I’m not sure why she’s having them dive towards the ground at breakneck speeds, but there’s a Flitter-shaped smudge on Spitfire’s window that I need somepony to scrub off.
Oh yeah, I hope Airmare Flitter is okay and stuff.
-Fleetfoot
Hey there, Fleet!
Nah, Spitfire's diary is behind her signed copy of Wondermanes: Training Your Hair to Defy Gravity, on the bookshelf to the right of her desk.
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS DELICIOUS AND WONDERFUL, GET APPLEJACK TO CATER THE WING FLING, SWEET CELESTIA, YES!
[totally beautiful picture of Applejack] [picture of Fleetfoot]
[Captain Spitfire didn't pack her stress meds, is being a jerk, and thus gets no picture]
-Soarin
[Diary]
Captain's Personal Records: Spitfire
PRINCESS CELESTIA'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED UNICORNS; CANTERLOT
Miss Fleetfoot,
While I appreciate your need for urgency, I am
afraid that all attempts to cast a “hoofwriting code deciphering spell thing” upon the blue journal delivered by Mister Wave Chill have resulted in catastrophic failure.
It would seem that the book in question is a Level Nine Classified Document, and as such is imbued with an extremely potent Magical Resistance Charm. None of the spellcasters in the school have the authority to override the charm, and attempts to do so have resulted in the explosive destruction of our research facilities.
I have sent the tome to one of my former students, whose status as Princess may give her the authority to perform the decrypting spell. She should arrive at Prism Plateau shortly, hopefully with her findings.
Most Sincerely,
Smarty Pants
Headmistress, Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns
FLEETFOOT!
Guess what? I predicted a surprise inspection again!
I know we just had a royal review last month, but I was walking along and then I suddenly wanted to iron all the wrinkles out of my pillowcase.
So I hid my contraband (hey, wanna get rid of that rule about no food in the barracks?) and FWAZOOM! HER ROYAL HIGHNESS (the small purple one) APPEARED!
I sent her your way, so I hope all your stuff’s in inspection order!
-Surprise!
ATTENTION
BY ORDER OF THE CAPTAIN:
Section 3.2.88 of WBMAN 36-2205: Codes of Conduct has been nullified. The following passage is no longer applicable:
3.2.88 The presence of food anywhere other than the mess hall is prohibited. Any Wonderbolt personnel caught in possession of foodstuff will face immediate disciplinary action.
3.2.88.1 Select officers are permitted a light snack, such as coffee, at their discretion
3.2.88.2 Cupcakes do not qualify as a light snack
3.2.88.2.1 Neither do muffins
3.2.88.3 For a list of acceptable snack items, please speak with Cpt. Spitfire
COMPLIANCE WITH THIS ORDER IS MANDATORY
SIGNED: Fleetfoot
CPT; THE WONDERBOLTS
Day 3: Thou Hadst But One Duty
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Sergeant Fleetfoot,
Super-Cool General of Awesome Rainbow Dash requests your presence on the landing strip in one hour for a demonstration of the team’s improvement under her coaching.
Before you ask, it seems that Commander Easyglider went through a bit of an egotistical phase a few decades ago, and promoted herself through no less than thirteen different ranks—including Ultimate Equestrian Overlord of Epicosity—before the Command Council took action.
I was able to hide most of Easyglider’s old badges, but not until after SCGoA. Rainbow Dash found the one she’s currently wearing. At the moment, she’s focused on this afternoon’s demonstration, and has not shown any inclination toward seizing command of the E.U.P.
-Fast Clip
Uh, Fleetfoot,
I really really like being able to have food outside the chow hall, but I remember now why Spitfire banned snacks in the first place. Everypony’s been leaving food in their rooms, and there’s a small army of cloudroaches taking over the barracks.
Please do something. I hear the swarm coming for me.
-Crescent Moon
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
Fast Clip,
Lemme know how the demonstration goes, there’s a cloudroach infestation in the barracks and I need to go pick up an emergency exterminator. Or maybe she runs a bug shelter. Whatever.
You’re in charge until I get back. No more promotions (unless you wanna write a letter of recommendation for mine).
-Fleetfoot
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
Fleetfoot, you brilliant little upstart!
I know what you all thought! I know what everypony said! “Tender Greens can’t bake worth a bit!” “Tender Greens makes cupcakes taste worse than celery!”
Well SURPRISE, BREADHEADS! I, TENDER GREENS, JUST MADE A CAKE! WITH SUGAR.
I never thought the day would come, but here I am, covered head-to-hoof in sugar. Honest-to-Celestia, non-low-calorie sugar!
That pink, cavity-seeking demon of frosting you threw into my kitchen actually helped! I’ll admit it—I doubted you, and her, and Captain Spitfire, for leaving you of all ponies in charge, but HOT CHILI PEPPERS I MADE SOMETHING UNHEALTHY! If only you could see me now, mother! So many new dishes are availakafjoiwejfkwejfl
Fleetfoot Spitfire ANYPONY
Locked myself in hall closet there was an explosion and sky turned to rainbows then they swarmed I can hear their little feet scratching at the walls oh princesses I’m sorry help help help everypony’s gone sounds like roof’s collapsing never told misty fly she has a pretty mane HELP
E.S.S. Suveillance; Form 301-7: Magical Incident
INCIDENT REPORT
Agent: Operative 43
Jurisdiction: Greater Ponyville Area
Time of Incident: One minute and thirty-four seconds ago
Notes:
I was minding my own business, maintaining my cover as a resident of Ponyville, when a massive explosion rocked the town, resulting in the auditory discomfort and general indignation of most of the civilians. At least four rainbows began to streak across the sky to the northwest of the town, originating near Prism Plateau. The rainbows in question are similar to the one produced by E.H.-L.Y.L. during Incident YF22-14.
If these are the same as YF22-14, we will likely need to reevaluate our entire defense plan, as previously E.H.-L.Y.L. was considered to be the only pegasus capable of such a feat.
If these are not akin to YF22-14, then we are likely under attack. I recommend the immediate activation of all nearby branches of the E.U.P.
-O43
Equestrian Secret Service
Operative 43,
Your entirely unnecessary recommendations have been duly noted and ignored. The E.S.S. commends your initiative. Before I inform the Director about this incident, I need you to take your field partner (Operative 35, is it?) and perform a quick air survey around Prism Plateau.
I am obligated to remind you that as official Royal Equestrian Air Force territory, Prism Plateau is a restricted airspace (as per Section 5-point-whatever of no one cares) and thus you should avoid flying within 100 yards of the compound.
I am also pleased to inform you that the next time you file an incident using the incorrect form, you will face a disciplinary hearing. This is your nineteenth infraction, Operative. Rainbows are natural occurrences AND THEREFORE should be reported using Form 301-6P: Strange But Not Entirely Unusual Atmospheric Incident.
-Agent 58
Whiplash: Please evacuate all civilians in cloudborne structures to designated Plateau Safe Spots.
MSgt. Wave Chill: Please retrieve Sgt. Surprise, SCGoA. Dash, and the other two Wonderbolts who Rainboomed. Examine them for injury.
SMSgt. Misty Fly: Please lead debris removal squad for airstrip. Ensure all personnel wear safety goggles. Salvage as much material as possible.
SMSgts. Lightning/Fire Streak: Please manage water bucket brigade to extinguish Mess Hall/Administration Building fires.
I will extract Crescent Moon from the barracks and return to help clear the airstrip.
-Fast Clip
FOAL FREE PRESS
RAINBOWS NO LONGER UNDER PEGASI CONTROL!!! Is this the end of weather as we know it?
Editor-in-Chief Featherweight reports:
Just now, ponies of Ponyville saw a strange sight in the sky. Somewhere over the Unicorn Mountain Range, a lot of rainbows appeared without any warning or explanation. “They seem to come from the same place in the mountains,” Rainbow Expert Cherilee observes, “but they aren’t far enough away to be over Cloudsdale, and the arc (curve) of the light is wrong for natural rainbows.”
Some residents of Ponyville wonder if the giant humongous explosion two minutes ago has anything to do with the mysterious rainbows. Maybe they came from a lot of Sonic Rainbooms? We asked Scootaloo, president of the Rainbow Dash Fan Club and expert on Sonic Rainbooms, if this was possibile:
“They can’t be! There’s at least four different rainbows up there, and Rainbow Dash is the only pony who can do a Rainboom! Nopony else is awesome enough!”
You heard it here first, everypony. If these wacky rainbows aren’t from Rainbooms, the only possible explanation is that Pegasi no longer have control over the weather. Time to panic. –Ponyville, FFP
WONDERBOLT ACADEMY; PRISM PLATEAU
fast clip, dude,
are you sure you wanna put misty in charge of cleanup? there’s over fifteen ponies in that detail, if you count the staff members.
i mean, it’s your call and all, but are you really
really
really sure? -wave chill
Yeah Clipster, it’s kind of a terrible idea. Last time, instead of working she let us re-enact the banishment of Nightmare Moon using all those stunts that the Geneighva Convention outlawed WHICH WAS TOTALLY AHMAZING but Princess Celestia got pretty upset.
-Surprise!
SENIOR MASTER SERGEANT MISTY FLY
YOU ARE EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN FROM USING THE FORCES UNDER YOUR COMMAND FOR ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN CLEARING DEBRIS FROM THE ACADEMY GROUNDS.
DO NOT PRESUME TO DISREGARD YOUR ORDERS IN FAVOR OF LEISURE ACTIVITIES, OR SO HELP ME SPITFIRE, I WILL COURT-MARTIAL YOUR SORRY FLANK SO FAST IT’LL BREAK FLEETFOOT’S DERBY SPEED RECORD.
-Fast Clip
Fast Clip,
Misty Fly’s doing historical battle reenactments again.
I want a 24/7, all-access Academy Hall Pass hoof-delivered to me in the next twenty minutes, or I’m writing to Captain.
-High Winds
E.S.S. Surveillance **ALPHA PRIORITY** Form Zero: Utter Disaster
CATASTROPHE REPORT
Reporting Survivor: Operatives 43 & 36
Ground Zero: Prism Plateau
Equestria’s Demise:
Just Occurred Imminent 1000 Years Until
Agent of Apocalypse:
Discord √ Foreign Invader
√ Corrupted Element Natural Disaster
√ Magical Disaster Discord
Tier-7 Escaped Prisoner Microbe/Pathogen
? Revolt** Extraterrestrial Contact Maybe?
Other (please list): __________________________________________
Notes:
Wonderbolt Academy is lost. Most of the compound is in ruins, the clouds surrounding the Plateau are on fire, and unidentified groups of dark blue pegasi are dive-bombing the remains. Their attack formations look like something straight out of the Lunar War Accounts—we’ve never seen anything like it, but the effect is undeniable.
The Elements of Harmony (Minus E.H.-K.N.D.) have been spotted consorting with the attackers, picking through the rubble (in an attempt to find loot, likely).
Equestria’s primary lines of defense are broken. We have failed. The country is under attack.
**For annual Tax Season rebellions, see form EE-45b
Equestrian Secret Service
Operative 43,
Yes, losing Wonderbolt Academy is a serious blow to our national security, but an attack by potentially ancient, Shadowbolt-like foes should technically be reported using Form 23b: Unidentified Hostiles of Questionable Origin (Non-edible).
Your disciplinary hearing is scheduled a week from tomorrow, barring complete annihilation of Equestria.
In the meantime, please report to Emergency Rendezvous Point Zeta. The Director has scrambled every available unit of R.E.A. Reserves, and the remainder of the E.U.P. will be deployed shortly.
A missive has been dispatched to Captain Spitfire, notifying her of the current situation. Expect her presence within the hour.
-Agent 58
Fleet,
What is this, and why did it come with a thirteen-page report demanding Spitfire launch an attack on the Academy? Did you put Misty in charge of practice or something?
-Soarin
Upon a fancified scroll:
In the name of the Princess Celestia, the Sol Aeterna, She Who Steps With Fire,
Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts
IS HEREBY SUMMONED TO LEAD THE EARTH, UNICORN, PEGASUS GUARD INTO GLORIOUS BATTLE AGAINST INNUMBERABLE ODDS AND IS ACCORDINGLY GRANTED THE TITLE OF
Commander
ALONG WITH ALL RIGHTS, RESPONSIBILITES, AND PRIVILEGES THEREUNTO.
Fleetfoot?
-Soarin
Fleet,
If I don’t get a response in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to have to pull Spitfire out of her meeting w/the Princess, and all of our lives are really gonna suck
-Soarin
FROM THE DESK OF SERGEANT FLEETFOOT
IGNORE THAT PLEASE. EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL I SWEAR.
Could you and Spitz maybe stay in Canterlot another day? Don’t you think that’d be fun?
-F
ACTING COMMANDER, THE WONDERBOLTS
You Screwed This Up:
FROM THE DESK OF THE CAPTAIN Corner of Discipline
Dear Princess Celestia,
Today I learned that I can fly 6,749 laps around the Academy before my feathers cry. I also learned that there are three different types of fungi growing on the floor of the Cadet Latrines.
I originally thought that was all I learned, but Spitz Captain Spitfire threw the letter at my head, so apparently not.
After a lot of thinking (and several deafening conversations with the Captain), I realized that I have learned something else:
Technicalities, while important, are not the most important thing to focus on when assuming responsibility, and you shouldn’t base your performance as a leader on small stuff. For example, while I technically didn’t burn the Academy to the ground (the fire in the mess hall wasn’t what caused the structural failure of the complex), I’ve been assured that I won’t be receiving any awards in the near future.
Technically, I should be commended for doing leadership stuff like delegating tasks and taking initiative, but in reality I should have focused less on what I could do, and more on what I was told to do. To be a good leader, you have to first be a good follower, and a good follower understands that “Captain Ponies know how to do their jobs and should be listened to because for crying out loud, Fleetfoot, I’ve been doing this since before you got your first promotion.”
I also learned that E.S.S. stands for Emergency Sunglass Stash, and that having to replace fifty pairs of Spitfire’s shades totally destroys your paycheck. Also, respecting privacy, etc. etc.
The end.
Taking to the Sky,
Fleetfoot
E.U.P. 3rd Division: R.E.A.
1st Squadron: “The Wonderbolts”
Alpha Flight Performance Team
