The thousand plane raid was a combined mega scale sortie between the US and Canadian air forces. Their objective is to bomb targets ranging from u boat pens on the German border, to manufacturing plants deep in the heart of Berlin. The aircrafts at their disposal consisted of. For the US; B-17, B-25, and other heavy and medium bombers. While the Canadian air force had both modified us bombers along with some British twin engined and quad engined bombers. Each air force had one thousand total bombers, with a combined total force of 2500 aircraft, including the escort fighters. The p-47 for the Americans, Bristol beufighters for the Canadians. At this point the Germans are desperate to the point where ramming a 109 into one of the bombers is a legitimate tactic.

the rendezvous point, 10 miles from the coast of north America.

"Soo if it's groove you're looking forrr.!" A voice sang over the radios of the twenty five hundred planes in the air, in perfect harmony with the swing music already playing. "Then you've come to the right place!" "Oh Octavia can't you see, classical is not the type for me!" Vinyl sang out(the family and friends of the ponies in this sortie were allowed to listen in) "Now don't you look the other wayyyy, cause this music's here to stayyaay!" "Now wipe that grin right off your faaaace, Cause it'll all be gone when you step into this place!!" "So put down that cello and go grab the bass, Cause we're swingin' here tonight this ain't no fancy music place! You just gotta let it go, from everything that tells you no!" "Even if this is not your type of show, your type of show!" as the song went into the first instrumental bit, she stopped singing for now. And as the song reached its second bit another voice started to sing out. "Maybe you've learned a thing or two, 'bout how fast these hooves can groove." Lyra sang out from inside her B-17 "Now comeon just take a channce, these beats will put you in a trance." Now vinyl joined in again along with Lyra. "Now these things you just can't forget, it would only bring regret." The two voices sang in perfect harmony with both each other and the song. "But there's one thing you must know, we can't stop this crowd from stompin' on the floor." "Comeon everypony now!" And that they did, all 2500 voices pierced the loud roar of the many engines, in the sky.

"SO PUT DOWN THAT CELLO AND GO GRAB THE BASS, cause were swingin' here tonight this ain't no fancy music place! You just gotta let it go from everything that tells you no, even if this is not your type of show oohh your type of show ! So put down that cello and go grab the bass, Cause were swingin' here tonight this ain't no fancy music place! You just gotta let it go from everything that tells ya no, even if this is not your type of show ooohh!" The other voices died until it was only the dj left. "Ya just gotta let it go from everything that tells ya no, even if this is not your type of show! Yoooourrrr type a showwwww-just gotta let it go!" the moment after the voice faded off, thousands of hooves applauded at once.

"Vinyl, that was wonderful."

"Great job Lyra."

"We got a shitload of German fighters comming in fast, ok lock and load ponies!" "Let's do this shit!"

(Pov B-25; stryker)

"Fire fire fiah!"

"Firing!"

"Taking hits- OH SHI- lost a Wing goin' down."

I looked down at the bombadier manning the nose gun, he had a bullet wound in his left arm but he kept on firing. "How we doin'?!"

He didn't even glance away from the gun as he replied. "Only lost 2 bombers so far, both Canadian Boston III's!" He shouted over the loud rumble of the engines.

"Shit- blizzard!"

"Yeah?!"

"He's diving on us he's diving, he's diving- arah!" I looked behind my seat to see the top gunner get killed by a 109, as the right engine burst into flames.

"Shit shitshitshitshitshit!" Was all that came out as I tried desperately to keep the Mitchell in the air.

Then I saw it a 190 banking right untill he was heading straight for the nose. I instantly bucked open the hatch and yelled get out before I grabbed blizzard and lept out.

I looked back and saw the 190 shear the nose of the bomber clean off..

one jumper....no chute.

(Pov Vinyl, unicorn P-47 Thunderbolt)

I slammed the stick left firing the whole time, the electric blue tracers firing everywhere. I had opted for custom tracer rounds, namely because I could see them better than the Orange ones that came standard. They were so crowded that in mere seconds my eight 50cal guns had knocked out over twenty fighters.

(Pov 91st bomb wing, B-17 Celestial Glory)

"Banking, engine 1 is belching oil!"

The 109 was just pummeling us, there wasn't a panel on the plane that wasn't shot up at least a little.

"Nine o clock level!" I pressed myself against the floor as bullets streaked over my head.

"Wha-oh no oohh no, J-Jeice the turret' s jammed!"

"I'm comming!" I yelled back, as I turned around and made my way to the ball turret.

"Six o clock comming high going low-Mystic!

"Oh Celestia, OH CELESTIA-JEICE GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"I'm comming I'm comming!" I practically screamed as I scrambled through the waist of the bomber.

"ARAHHH!" I heard a shrill shearing sound as the bomber rocked.

"What happened? Damage report, everypony check in."

"Bombadier"

"Navigator."

"Tail gunner."

"Left and right waist gunners."

"Flight engineer." I said.

"Ball turret?"

I hesitated for a moment before I opened the hatch of the turret and was met with a bloodcurduling scream.  There was mystic, still clinging on to the armored panel by the safety harness. But the ball turret was gone...it was just gone, blown clean off.