Spitfire paced back and forth on the edge of the Cumulonimbus Cruiser, several dozen Wonderbolts and hundreds of Equestrian Air Force pegasi lined up in formation behind her. She was nervous, and pissed off. Mostly pissed off. She trusted her Wonderbolts, and the Air Force pegasi were practically as well trained as they were, if lacking in experience. No, what had her on edge was the mission itself. Below the Cruiser sat an encampment of Minotaur and Griffons, right on the edge of the border between North Griffonia and Equestria. A slaver encampment.

Slavery had been illegal in Equestria since its formation, and Griffonia had recently outlawed it as well, but Minotaurs still practiced it quite extensively, with a good third of their population being slaves from the various races of Equis. Many of them being foalnapped ponies. To say relations between the Minotaur Empire and Equestria were strained would be quite the understatement. And this encampment took the proverbial cake.

The Wonderbolts captain growled in the back of her throat as she remembered the report that had come in from Princess Luna’s spies: the encampment had been settled here in secret for almost a year, and nearly every pony foalnapped from Equestria was brought through here for “training.” Gallows had been set up within the past month, and the pictures… It still boiled her blood. She had pushed for this assignment, and pushed hard. If anypony was going to end this travesty, it was going to be her.

“Captain!”

Lightning Dust rocketed to Spitfire’s side, saluting smartly.

“What is it, soldier?” she replied tersely, saluting back.

Lightning Dust had come back to the Wonderbolt’s Academy the following semester, with a major lessening of her cocky attitude, and far more humility to spare. It had impressed Spitfire, to the point where she had given the eager mare a position as her adjutant on duty.

“The Admiral says we have a green light, ma’am.”

A feral grin split Spitfire’s muzzle, and she glanced back at her team. They mirrored her look, hooves fidgeting with muskets and blades. It was time to get this show on the road.

“Company, take off positions!” she roared, spinning to take her forward position, while Lightning Dust hurried to take her position with the other Wonderbolts, “Wings… ready!”

Over three hundred wings extended with loud pomfs, static electricity crackling between them.

“Weapons, ready!”

Halberds, muskets, and flight claws were lowered with a loud “hoorah!”

“Launch!”

The fury of a nation launched from the deck with a roar, immediately diving down through the cloudy skies. Thunderheads, launched previously by the Cruiser, were snagged by specially trained teams, dragged to the four corners of the encampment. Spitfire’s muzzle bared in a dark grin as the thunder rolled over the barren landscape. Lightning shattered each guard tower with an explosion of light and flame; the minotaurs in the yard looked up in shock, most likely thinking some kind of freak storm had stricken them. The first volley of diving musket fire obliterated that idea, and a great portion of the Minotaurs on the ground.

“Soarin’, hit it!” Spitfire ordered, diving to give the cloud-toting pegasus a clear shot.

Soarin’ was an artist with a thunderhead, and his powerful buck let loose a single lightning bolt straight into the ceiling of the largest building; intel reported it as the main holding structure. Fixing her goggles tightly and giving her wingmate, Fleetfoot, a terse nod, Spitfire launched into the smoky mess, folding her wings in tight. The bolt had shredded the ceiling and one of the larger wooden doors, leading into one of the holding cells. With a tap of her hoof, her goggles glew a light blue, the enchantment seeing straight through the thick smoke. Spitfire almost wished she couldn’t.

Ponies were chained by the dozen to small stakes in the ground, most of them criss-crossed by whip scars or brands. Cursing under her breath, Spitfire raced over to snap the chain links with her flight claws.

“We’re the Wonderbolts!” she yelled to the group, smiling in relief when the ponies instantly perked up, “I have ponies at the exit, but you need to go now! GO!”

They didn’t have to be told twice, nor did any others from the other cells; the races were a mix of deer and ponies mostly, but the abuse was crystal clear. Seeing many of the mares pregnant nearly sent Spitfire into a rage, but she marshaled her discipline and galloped on, Fleetfoot at her side. She would vent later. As the pair reached the end of the last corridor, a door ahead slammed shut, the sound of a bolt locking into place echoing down the hallway. Spitfire’s eye twitched.

She was Wonderbolt. One of the fastest ponies alive. And with her acceleration, the poor door never saw the buck that shattered it coming. Spitfire spun around and landed in a crouch, flight claws scoring the pinewood floors beneath her. The griffon was on her in an instant. Black feathers and a furiously snapping beak buffeted the Wonderbolt back against the wall, and a lance of pain arced through her side as the wickedly sharp beak tore into her side. Her flight claws sliced up just as a ball of white and blue slammed into the assaulter, tossing her aside.

He was a very large griffon, his black and white coloring spelling out his North Griffonian ancestry. Blood stained his shoulder feathers and chest, and Fleetfoot’s tackle had deeply dented the silver plate he was wearing. Spitfire launched forward before the beast could react, ducking under Fleetfoot’s charge towards his left leg, and leaping up towards his throat. Distracted by the pair of fast-moving ponies, the griffon didn’t see the flight claws that sliced cleanly through his neck. Spitfire grunted softly as she landed in a roll, flopping to the floor with a hefty wince. Ow. She was definitely going to feel that later.

Something shifted under the bed, a strangely colorful mane flicking. Another pony? Must have been the personal slave of this griffon. Putting on the best smile Spitfire could manage at the moment, she crawled over to the bed.

“Hey… hey it’s okay,” she called soothingly, internally wincing at the scratchy, gravelly tone, “We’re with the Wonderbolts. We’re gonna get you home.”

“...S… s-spitfire?”

Every muscle in Spitfire’s body locked up at the voice. No… no, that couldn’t be. She was dead. The reports… everypony had said… But when the magenta eyes turned towards her, full of despair, pain, and the faintest glimmer of hope, the ball of ice in her stomach rocketed through her tense body.

“Rainbow Dash!?!”

Author's Notes:

I know this chapter is very short, but more will be coming. I couldn't think of a way to make it much longer without it feeling like a combination chapter.