Prologue: Hunters in the Sky
PROLOGUE: HUNTERS IN THE SKY
Long ago, in a land of peace and harmony once known as Equestria, civilization bloomed. Magical technology and cooperation between the different races ruled the land, and all enjoyed the boons of the golden era...
But that was to change.
The two rulers of the lands, the sisters Luna and Celestia, both knew it was coming, of course. How could they not? They were the ones who had sealed IT away eons before the Golden Era. And now it was time to reap the seeds of chaos that had been sewn.
Sombra, dark sorcerer turned abomination, dictator, monster, murderer- All these names applied to what was coming. And, oh, did it prove its namesakes. Coming like a blitz into the provinces who were known as the Crystal Empire in apocrypha, now known as Germanea, he brought a tide of death and cruel domination, supported by his mind-controlled servants and droves of mercenaries. He quickly reestablished his reputation, and upon achieving total control of Germanea and the surrounding provinces, officially renamed them to the name which he had once deemed them all that time ago- the Crystal Empire. War, up until then a practically alien concept to the so-called “Golden Generation”, as the time would come to know them as, soon was declared upon the Empire. Unprepared and unwilling to raise a hand against anypony, the result was a slaughter on the battlefield and a disaster in the negotiations room.
Provinces like Istally and Neighpon split from Equestria and joined with the Empire, and so many more others were overtaken by the shining tide which swept across the now destabilized Equestria. The two sisters fought over the decision whether or not to fight back immediately, and eventually split their rules across two of the most isolated provinces possible. An island off the coast of Prance, and the entire group of provinces known as North Amareica. The United Lunar States and the Solar Empire, as they were now called, could only watch as what had formerly been prime examples of the glory their rule had brought upon the world collapsed and used to make weapons of war. Prance, Ponyland, Braylgium, the Neigtherlands, Danemark, and so many more became occupied in the ‘lightning war’. Soon, the fighting spread to the massive continent of Africolt, of places like Mareocco, Zanzebrar, and it only kept getting more vicious.
Eventually, the sisters had no choice but to strike back, and the result was the most horrific, bloody war in all of Equestrian history up to then. The Solar Empire attacked first, and following a shock offensive by Neighpon upon the ULS territory, they immediately began their own offensive.
Our tale begins high above Prance, late at night, with a massive swarm of ULS bombers, and their fighter escorts, fresh out on a bombing run. More specifically, one particular squadron. The leader the renown, four-times-over ace Rainbow “Danger” Dash, and her friends (mostly rookies) Scootaloo, Lightning Dust, and Ditzy ‘Derpy’ Doo as wingponies..
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“Scoots, do you see anything around here? It’s all empty on my end.” I squinted back towards my wingpony as the seconds ticked by, and waited for her reply. Did she forget where the radio button was?
“Negative, cap, it’s same-old, same old...” A thin note of nervousness threaded through her voice. I looked back, ignoring the massive formation of B-24 Liberators below (more resembling bees in force than any sort of aircraft), and tried to see if I could see her face through the darkness of the night, barely lit by Luna’s moon.
I couldn’t blame her for being nervous-- No thanks to the combined well-oiled war machines of the United Lunar States and the Solar Empire, her plane still hadn’t arrived at the base, so she was forced to keep with a practically ancient P-51B bristling with twenty-millimeter Hispano Mark IIs,(Solar Empire’s guns, and an older mark at that, as opposed to our own 12.7mm AN/M2s) which had been inexplicably sitting about within the base’s hangar instead of melted down for spare parts. This thing had been summarily nicknamed by her as the ‘Foghorn Leghorn’, as opposed to the practically brand-spanking-new P-51Ds that the rest of us were flying.
Returning my view to the front, my mind began to wander around the environment. The clouds were thick tonight, or rather morning, the sliver of moon currently visible barely lit the place up more than pitch black.. Thank Luna these B-24s were radar-equipped with their PFDs. Earlier in the war, we never would’ve been up here in the first place at a time usually referred to by ponies not in the military as ‘I should be sleeping right now.’ A crackle in the headset signified Lightning Dust’s contribution to reviving the conversation. Her plane was directly behind me and to the right of Derpy. “Kind of nice out here, huh girls?”
Scootaloo, right on time, responded with her own quip. “Eh, reminds me of Nightmare Night. I feel like somepony is gonna jump out at me at any moment.”
Laughter rung out from the whole formation at that one. I immediately found myself reverting to a grimmer attitude. I thumbed my radio. “Well, squirt, don’t jinx us yet. We’ve still got to get back home, and I doubt the ULS will appreciate it if the Crystals scratch the paint...”
“Jeez, RD, I don’t see any ye-”
Derpy’s voice suddenly overrode Scootaloo’s, the screech of the feedback making me wince. “Dashie! Girls! 12 high!” And just as she said, there were ten dark specks barely visible in the sky. I tightened my grip on the flightstick. “Roger that, I see ‘em. Stick to the clouds, only move in if they’re going for the bombers. Got it?” Affirmation came from the three other pilots, and we moved as one.
The squadron as a whole kept back from the group for scant minutes, and I looked over the enemy as we waited for them to make their move.
My initial estimate was correct, it seems. Ten Fw 190s, all of which were done up in the black-and-red coatings that were typical of a Crystal Empire warplane. I tried to remember the hierarchy of their system- Conscripts flying the followers, while the mercenaries were the captains? Or was this all-mercenaries? Or the typical full conscript squadron? This train of thought was rudely interrupted by the first two 190s diving for the bombers, and I grinned in anticipation of the combat about to come. “Derpy, Dust, you two are up! Scoots and I will get any of the others who go after you! Get on it!”
As Derpy’s grey-and-red Mustang nicknamed the “Battle Muffin” and Dust’s own sky-blue-and-orange ‘Thundering Lightning” both tore off from the formation, I cut my throttle back a bit. Wait for it..
Just as planned, the other enemy fighters rolled and dived down towards the two pilots. Here we go.
We both throttled to the maximum and pulled hard to the left to begin our intercept course, and before I knew it, we were into the fray. Rolling into inverted flight, we joined the dive and lined up our shots. Scootaloo stuck to my wing and lined up her own shots as I pulled my trigger. My Brownings spat 12.7mm fury towards the Fw 190 in my sights, and I knew I must have gotten a lucky shot on the fuel tank, because the aircraft immediately proceeded to burst into flames. He wasn’t coming back up anytime soon. I tore off the target, pulled an inverted loop to aim my nose at another foe, both my guns and theirs blazing as I just barely avoided the collision with them.
A glint of silver caught my eye to the left, and I rolled to the right. Scootaloo’s HEF rounds ripped the opponent to shreds, and I began to turn back towards the formation. As I did, I watched Lightning Dust’s left wing burst into flames.
My second youngest pilot’s voice came over the radio, “I’m losing control! The canopy’s jammed, I can feel the fire, oh Celesti-”
A chill went down my spine as the craft blew into a shower of flaming aluminum. My grip tightened on the flightstick, and a cry went over the radio as the Battle Muffin blew apart the Focke-Wulf who had killed her friend. “No! Dash, get clear! Dive!”
I shook off the shock and immediately took my First Lieutenant’s advice, and pitched my nose down viciously, red temporarily filling my vision with the speed of which I executed the maneuver. In my rear view mirror, the plane which had been pursuing me was also pelleted by the blonde mare’s rounds, initially attempting to evade before suddenly jerking and slowly proceeding to caneer off course. A pilot shot. I’d need to congratulate her on the accuracy when we got back to base.
Time was moving slowly, and as if in a dream, my head slowly tilted down, initially not recognizing the silver speck down below. Then I snapped back to reality. I recognized that shade of aged aluminum, and even from this distance, I could see the small flames coming from the wings. Two specks behind her, black and red- More pilots!
Scootaloo yelled into the radio as she jinked the plane around while still maintaining the dive, attempting to avoid having the twenty-millimeter Minengeschoß of the Fw 190s deal even more damage to her wings. “Hey, cap! You still with us? I could use a bit of help!”
“Roger that, squirt!”
“Don’t call me squirt!”
Ignoring that last comment, I banked my plane just in time to see the bombers heading for home. Their mission was done. But I still had to get my remaining pilots back home, safe and sound. I again pitched down towards the fighters, the gyroscopic sight automatically displaying the lead amount. I didn’t need it.
I squeezed the trigger as hard as I could, and the guns spoke my rage for me. One of the Fw 190’s wings vanished in a hail of armour piercing incendiary tracer rounds, and I winced as I felt the impact of a few of the other one’s rounds on my own aircraft. I pulled my stick back hard and clenched my teeth at the high-Gs, praying like Tartarus that the P-51 wouldn’t fall apart under the pressure, and climbed away. Thankfully, Scoots managed to get out of the line of fire with that bit of interference, and turned around to pay back in kind.
It was about then that I noticed the hostile reinforcements. More enemies had shown up, and the count now rested at roughly twenty Bf 109s and the remaining five Fw 190s. We were in for a fight.
Derpy ripped into them from above and to the side, startling me with the speed of her assault, pumping two of the 109s full of her own omni-purpose ammunition belt (consisting of a delicious mix of M8, M20, and M23 rounds) before they could even blink. Scootaloo played chicken with a Fw 190, and her 20mms ripped it to shreds, but not before they took her rudder, I saw a 109 coming in to finish the job, and I desperately swung my plane in so I could wound the damn thing before it could attack.
But the BF 109’s rounds struck true, even as it dove to avoid an additional punishment for daring to attack my sister in all but blood. I watched the flaming P-51B go down and down, one of the wings losing structural integrity and falling off. All I could do was blink back tears as the world once more turned to the consistency of mud, and watch as the now uncontrollable P-51 spun and spun, and felt a breath I didn’t realize I was holding go out as the canopy fell away and and a grey-suited form followed by a parachute immediately ripping out from the confinements of the pack. Scootaloo drifted down towards a hostile territory, and I once more snapped back to reality. We still had a battle to finish.
My mind sprung into action as I swung hard to the right, narrowly missing the majority of the sickly-green tracers which had previously been about to hit me, and I thumbed my radio. “Hey, Derpy, your captain needs some support, if you don’t mind!” I fought for space, trying to pull back on the stick. “Derpy? This isn’t fun-” It was about then that I looked back and noticed there was a gaping hole in the fuselage just about where the radio equipment would usually be. “Uh oh.”
The mare in question dove out of the sky and scored two more kills (she’d be catching up to my kill count before this is over) before pitching up once more and angling her nose towards me. I knew this tactic- Meet head on, and I’d check out so she could blow my pursuers to pieces. Righting myself, I punched the throttle in preparation for the move.
Of course, that was about when Murphy took his time to enforce his laws.
The previously uniform buzzing of my engine, and all of the sounds of my aircraft in general, went completely silent. The P-51D sailed through the air as I watched my prop seize up. For the third time that day, the world seemed to slow down. Everything seemed hazy. Through the blades, I saw Derpy’s shocked face as my nose began to pitch down, and time began to return to normal as a few more green tracers rocketed past.
This final leisurely moment was violently interrupted as several of the 13mm bullets ripped their way through my back, out my stomach, and into the gauges of the dash. My world shrunk down to a space of approximately the size of the cockpit, as the only sense that could even be processed anymore by my body was PAIN. Blurred vision guided my shaking, blood-covered hands as the plane recovered from the loss of control usually associated with a blackout. albeit still falling out of the sky at a rate that most would find alarming. At this point, where it hurt too much for me to speak, think, or just do anything in general, I saw bright orange ahead of me.
The once-proud Foghorn Leghorn, pride of Scootaloo, now sat ripped to shreds and set ablaze, having torn a jagged scar across the land as it dragged to a halt. All I could hear was the rushing wind, and thank Luna that I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Wait, no, that’s a bad thing. Oh, there it is.
I pulled the stick back, barely able to maintain a grip, every twitch of a muscle causing my entire body to scream out in anguish (my own screams were masked by the wind, thankfully; I doubt Scootaloo would’ve been very proud of me if she had heard me right now), and miraculously managed to pull the aircraft level.
Well, almost level.
My right wingtip hit the ground just as my nose barely missed it, I had the feeling of simultaneously getting kicked right in the spine by a member of the Apple family and being hit by a freight train propelled by an extremely angry dragon at the same time, everything went red-pain-oh-please-why--
Then, everything went black.