Chapter 23: Alpha Strike

Taylor shifted slightly where he knelt in the long grass, feeling the dampness of the earth beneath his right knee seeping through the material of his khaki uniform trousers. He kept his eyes locked on those of the pegasus stallion across from him, watching as Golden Sword opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss. The pony’s gaze stayed locked with his own, however, and Taylor had grilled enough pilots on things that they rather would not have others known about to realize that the pegasus had nothing hidden. He felt vaguely disappointed, and then laughed inwardly at himself. What, I’m upset I didn’t discover a super secret conspiracy? Oh, darn.

“Lieutenant…” Sword’s voice came at last. “Lieutenant Taylor, I swear to you, by all we’ve been through together, I have absolutely no idea why that new machine of yours is down there, other than the fact that the zebras have poached it in order to sell it off, somehow.” He cleared his throat, his voice firming. “You’ll recall I did warn you about something like this before, though.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Taylor replied.

“I know, Lieutenant.” Sword’s cheek twitched, the pony aware that the others were still watching him. “On that, I have nothing to offer you, I swear. If I did, I would have told you long before now, tru—” He cut himself off. “Well. I would have told you.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Taylor reached down and tore a leaf off one of the vines in front of them and began to shred it absently with his fingers.

Sword nodded, then cleared his throat. “What would you like to do next?”

“What?” Taylor’s gaze, which had begun wandering, snapped back to the pony before him. “What are you talking about?”

“Those are your machines down there, and you know more about them and their potential condition than anypony else here; your other troops are all trainees, if I recall correctly.”

“Right…” Taylor shook his head. “I’m not reading you, though.”

“You’ve got the rank, and you’ve got the experience we need. In this particular situation, that makes you the senior officer now.” Sword nodded toward the village below, which was beginning to show more signs of life now as the sun rose higher in the sky. “What are your orders?”

Taylor blinked, aware that Stivers was looking at him with something akin to wry amusement, aware that the eyes of all the others had shifted from the pony guard commander to himself. The tension that had been in the air a moment ago had changed, and the naval officer felt a sudden weight settling on his shoulders. Well played, Sword. Dammit. He opened his mouth to reply, but motion in his peripheral vision made him turn his head to glance off to his left, back up the path in the direction that they had come.

A zebra’s face was peering out from behind a small tree, the striped coat blending in well with the dappling of light and shadow amidst the branches where it sat, watching them, open mouthed in shock. It locked gazes with him, and the pilot had a moment to form a frantic thought that he actually willed at the creature, as if his wishes could flit across the open space between them and take form.

...don’t!…

Taylor heard Crimson Hoof utter a sudden curse and the zebra jerked into motion, bursting out from under cover and moving through the underbrush toward the village below, it’s rhythmic cries of alarm piercing the early morning air. HUOP-HUOP! HUOP-HUOP!

“Awww shit,” Gallivan blurted. “That’s lit the cat’s ass. We gotta move, skipper, now.”

“Fuckaduck.” Taylor glanced downhill at the trail that wound its sinuous way toward the village, eyes flicking back and forth rapidly. “Midnight, Thompson, Star, you’re with me. We’ll take the left side of the path. The rest of you take the right. Stay low and stay in the grass. Work your way towards the bombers; piss on the flying boat.” He flicked a hand out, holding it straight as if it were a knife, pointing at the bomber on the far side of the circular platform in the midst of the tents. “Work your way around to that one. I’ll take the near one and distract them so you can get to yours.”

“Once we get there?” Stivers was peering intently ahead of them at the village, watching as the forms below began to move frantically, like ants when their nest has been kicked.

“Light her up, lock the wings down and take the fuck off. Fly north; we’ll form up when we can.”

“What about the fuel, Charlie? We were starting to push it when we landed, and you lost one of your drop tanks.” Stivers shook his head. “Maybe we should just—”

“I don’t know what those bastards want with those planes, and I don’t care. I am not leaving our ships here to get parted out like a goddam DeSoto in a junkyard.” Taylor’s voice was brittle, the tone unlike anything any of them had heard before. “Am I clear, Captain?”

“Aye-aye, Lieutenant.”

Stivers moved off quickly, and Midnight trotted up to stand beside Taylor. “Have you ever done something like this before?”

“No.”

“Good. Because this is a bloody lousy plan and I’d hate to think you’re an expert.”

The pilot glanced at her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. It’s still lousy, though.” The mare unslung her bow and nocked an arrow. “Come on, let’s get to it, then.”

Sword’s ears perked, swiveling as the calls of alarm from the zebra camp took on a new note. “Sounds like our little scout’s reached his friends.” His voice was calm, but his expression was tense as he moved, the wheat parting around him like a golden sea around a miniature ship.

“At least they don’t know where we are yet,” Stivers panted, crouched as he ran. “If we stay low, we might be able to catch them unawares.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, except for the fact they’re already looking for us,” Hoof said dryly. “You have a plan for making them give up and go back to cooking breakfast, sir? I’m kinda hungry.”

“Stow it,” Gallivan growled. “Keep your mouth shut and eyes open.” He moved in an odd, loping motion, bobbing up and down but keeping his form from popping up above the level of the tall grass. “Little bit to the right, Skipper. We’re getting close to the path.”

“Roger.” Stivers shifted direction without breaking stride. “Any idea on how close they might be?”

“It’ll take a few moments for them to get organized,” Sword stated. “They’re traders, not organized military. Still, any group like this is going to have a guard of some sort.” He twitched his head sideways as a waving stalk slapped him in the face. “I’m guessing we’ve got six minutes or so before they start heading this way.” He glanced to one side doubtfully. “I don’t suppose you can run faster on all fours?”

“Nope.” Stivers looked behind him with a grim expression. “And if we go much faster than this, we’re gonna tear a hole through the field they’ll be able to see with their eyes closed.” He reached out and patted the stallion beside him. “Remember what the tortoise said to the hare.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Nevermind. Keep going, Sword.” Stivers grinned. “If we get out of this, I’ll explain it to you.”

“If, he says.” Hoof snorted from behind them. “I love it when you’re optimistic like that, Captain. It makes me all warm and cheerful inside.” The pegasus moved at a quick trot, his wings slightly spread out to open a path through the wheat for the larger humans trailing behind him.

Gruebel followed immediately on his tail, appreciative enough of the pony’s efforts to refrain from complaining about the close up view of the guard’s rump he was getting. “First rule,” he panted. “Don’t jinx the deal.”

They covered perhaps another fifty yards in this manner before the uproar from the camp ahead of them died away, and there was no other sound but their own ragged breathing and the whispering slide of the stalks of wheat as they moved. “Uh-oh.” Gallivan’s rumbling tone was muted, but carried clearly to the group. “Looks like they got their shit together faster than you thought, sir.”

Sword sighed, slowing his pace. “I hate being wrong. Quietly now, lads. If they’re going to find us, make them work for it.”

Taylor fought against the urge to poke his head up, to look around, to see something besides the golden sheaves that surrounded him on every side. Instead he kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, where Midnight and Star led their group through the waving wheat. The ground was lower on this side of the path, and sloped off to the north on his left. It wasn’t enough to affect their footing, but it did make them a hell of a lot easier to spot from the ground of the zebra camp, and so they’d stopped running a while ago and concentrated on not tearing the field down around their ears.

Which might be a chore, he thought to himself. Jesus, this shit makes Kansas wheat look like a fucking houseplant.

Whether it was something in the earth, something special about this world, or perhaps zebras were just top-notch farmers, the wheat around them stood easily almost five feet tall. It hid Star and Midnight well enough, but the humans were forced to walk at a hunched over crouch, and Taylor’s back had begun complaining some minutes earlier at the unnatural position. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Thompson moving carefully as if the Marine were walking through a minefield, his steps in perfect line with Taylor’s.

The lieutenant grinned for a moment, then looked ahead once more, where Star was pacing easily through the golden forest around them, his ears flick-flicking from side to side, and his grin soured. Fucking ponies. Fucking short-ass don’t need to bend over to hide goddam po—

Star jerked to a stop, lifting his head, his wings splaying out in alarm. “Lieutenant!” he hissed.

“I know; I heard it too.” Midnight’s tone was clipped, as bitter as an underripe lemon. “The zebras are already heading this way. Very odd.”

“What’s odd about it?” Thompson asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t we expect ‘em to come this way?”

“Not this fast. Their guard commander’s got all his oats in one bucket.” She glanced back at Taylor. “What do you want to do?”

“Keep moving. What choice have we got? Once we get in the planes and take off, none of this shit matters.” He made shooing motions with his hands. “Let’s go. And keep us parallel to the path if you can; I don’t wanna get too far away from it.”

Star blinked at him. “Yessir. Mind if I ask why?”

“Just a feeling.” Taylor leaned over and slapped the armor on the stallion’s side. “C’mon. Get-em-up, Scout.”

Stivers froze in mid-step and jerked an arm up, his fist clenched tightly. Sword saw the motion and stopped instantly, his wings flaring out in a similar gesture, causing the others behind him to come to a halt. “What is it?”

“I think they’re close,” the Marine whispered tightly. “D’you hear ‘em?”

Golden Sword’s ears perked up and twitched. “Damn it,” he growled. “Right oblique on your march and keep moving. It’s all we can do at this point. If we stop, we’re done. If nothing else, we’ll fight our way through.”

“Aye-aye.” Right oblique? Stivers hadn’t heard that order since boot camp at Parris Island. He turned roughly forty-five degrees to his right and began walking carefully, trying not to make too much noise. There was a light breeze blowing, and the wheat around them sighed and rippled with the currents of the air. It made hearing anything damned difficult, but it also gave them cover. Several minutes passed, and the sounds of the approaching zebras grew more distinct. Stivers could feel the sweat rolling down his face as he glanced back to the left, thankful for the covering plants but wishing desperately to see something. Crap.

“Mind your way,” Sword whispered, tapping him on the left leg. “You’re drifting.”

“Sorry,” the Marine muttered. He corrected himself and forcibly kept his gaze to his front. Every time he looked to his left, he drifted in that direction as if under some mysterious gravity field. Another minute passed, then two. The sounds to his left seemed to change slightly. Were they drifting back behind them now? Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder, knowing he wouldn’t see anything, but this Christing field just kept on going and going—

His right boot trod on something that felt distinctly not like dirt, and he glanced down just in time to see a coiled shape writhing up and striking out at him. Years of training fought against a million years of instinct and lost in spectacular fashion: the Marine jumped upright and screamed reflexively, shoving himself backward. He felt something thunk against the sole of his right boot as his arms pinwheeled for balance, and then he fell over on his back, arms and legs scrabbling to shove himself away. Beside him, Golden Sword moved forward, his weapon out and blurring down. There was a muted chuck! sound and the pony drew back, leaving the twitching body of the headless snake where it lay. Off to their left, the HUOP-HUOP! HUOP-HUOP! cry of the zebras rose once again, and Stivers glanced at the guard captain with dismay.

“Well, that’s torn it,” Sword said evenly. “I’d get up if I were you, Captain; I think we’re going to be very busy shortly.”

Stiver’s scream made the hair stand up on the back of Taylor’s neck. “God damn it.” Without looking at the others he immediately turned to his right and began trotting toward the sound of the zebras as their alarm call rose into the air.

“Lieutenant!” Thompson hissed at him through clenched teeth. “What are you doing??”

“One of the two thing’s I’m good at. Being a pain in the ass.” He stopped moving and straightened up, rising up out of the wheat like a submarine broaching the surface of the ocean. The rough trail they’d been moving beside was less than fifty feet away, and there was a crowd of about ten zebras standing on it, all with their heads pointed away from him and focussed on the fields on the far side.

Time to change that. The pilot cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed. “Hey, assholes! You missed the buffet but the band’s about to REALLY get goin’!”

At least half of the zebras visibly went airborne, squalling in mingled fear and surprise. The others whirled with alacrity, several of them holding what appeared to be some misbegotten form of boomerang in their mouths. They all froze in place at the sight before them, and they could hardly be blamed.

The being before them appeared to be completely insane.

Taylor jumped up and down, hammering the wheat around him down in large swathes of broken stalks. The pilot had stuck his thumbs in his ears and was waggling his fingers at the group of zebras and chanting at the top of his lungs:

Feelin low

Rockin slow

I want to go

Right back where I belonnnnnnnng

Gruebel’s expression was thunderstruck. “Is he singing Glenn Miller to them?”

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s singin’ ‘Ave Maria’ in a tutu. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.” Stivers pushed himself upright and caught a glimpse of the zebras staring at the capering form of Taylor across the field. “God almighty. Let’s move!”

He stood and began sprinting towards the gleaming metal that stood under the coverings the zebras had put up, less than a hundred yards away. He heard the distinct sound of wings as Sword and Hoof took to the air behind him, the clump of boots from Gruebel and Gallivan, and then there was only the blood pounding in his ears and his own breath.

Ninety yards.

Eighty.

Midnight rose, hovering, her bow nocked and aimed at the nearest of the zebra guards, but held her fire, hoping that they might get out of this with a minimum of bloodshed. These were, after all, only civilian traders, thieves though they might be. “Taylor, come on—” Her heart rose into her throat as she saw Stivers and the others burst from cover abruptly and begin sprinting towards the aircraft they’d been assigned.

Three of the zebra guards glanced around at the sound of boot heels on earth and yelped again as they spotted Stivers’ party. Two of them gripped the odd looking boomerangs in their jaws and cocked their heads back at what looked to be an excruciating angle.

“Party’s over HERE, numbnuts!” Taylor bellowed. He drew the pistol from its holster at his side and squeezed off a shot just above the guards’ heads. Midnight flinched reflexively from the sharp crack of the firearm, her ears flattening against her skull, but she didn’t fail to notice that the pilot had chosen to shoot over the zebras rather than at them.

The sentries’ reaction to the shot was more than she could have hoped for. Nearly all of them flattened at the sound, their eyes going wide, and several dropped their weapons in the dirt out of sheer shock. Only one stood upright, his eyes glaring, one of the boomerang things crooked in a corner of his mouth as he glared at Taylor.

Probably the head honcho, the pilot thought. He grinned and lifted his left hand, his middle finger popping out of a clenched fist. “Fuck you, you thieving shit,” he growled. “I hope your boys pissed their pants. Although, y’know, since they don’t have any pants, I guess you just let it run down your legs—”

The zebra’s head tilted back and then snapped forward as he released the object in his mouth. It blurred toward Taylor, an unearthly ululating howling noise coming from it as it whirled toward him.

Oh SHHIIII—

Pain burst out on his right side as something heavy slammed into him, knocking him over and back into the tall wheat, the air chuffing out of his lungs and leaving him wheezing. The zebra’s weapon passed over him in a warbling blur, and then there was a louder scream of pain from the direction of the trail. Taylor blinked and looked up to see Star sprawled across him, the pony looking at him with a mixture of admiration and reproach.

“That was pretty...innovative, sir, but next time, you might want to bucking duck.” The pegasus straightened, standing up and stepping off of Taylor’s prostrate form. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, momma Taylor’s boy is peachy,” the pilot gasped. “Thanks, buddy. We’re even now, huh?”

“Even-Steven. I could get used to you catching me, though. You’re nice and cushy, sir.” Star gripped his spear and rose to a hover next to Midnight Arrow, peering at the trail. Taylor could see his expression change from readiness to sudden shock. “Oh, roadapples. I think you pissed them off, Ell-Tee.”

Taylor harrumphed as he sat up, but it was Midnight who answered.

“Tough,” she said flatly, nocking another arrow. “They shot first.”

“Actually, the lieutenant did,” Thompson noted, peering over the waving stalks of wheat carefully.

“He shot over them, not at them.” Midnight zigged sideways in the air as another of the howling boomerangs shot past, then released the arrow she was holding, and there was a second shout of pain from the trail.

“You mind getting up, flycolt?” The mare glanced down at him quickly, then back up, scanning the trail. “I’d really like to get out of here before they get reinforced.”

Taylor stood upright carefully, then froze at the sight of two zebras lying prone on the trail. The big one who’d flung his weapon at the pilot lay motionless in the dirt, a snarl frozen on his muzzle, one eye glaring fixedly at nothing. The other was gone, one of Midnight’s arrows embedded in its socket, the deep blue feathering on the end of the shaft scintillating in the morning light. The other zebras had apparently fled into the wheat on the other side of the trail, leaving only a few steaming piles lying in the dirt.

“Damn,” the human breathed. “Roadapples is right.” A shot rang out from his left, and they all turned to stare at the camp. A cacophony of yelping erupted, and zebras ran hither and yon like ants whose hill has been rudely stepped upon. “Uh oh. C’mon, Stivers has started his own party.”

The wheatfield ended abruptly fifteen yards short of the camp boundary. Stivers felt his spirits soar as they burst into the open and he could finally see their salvation before him. The Avenger bomber lay under the awning covering it just to his left, and he sprinted in that direction, feeling the blood pounding in his temples. Several zebras peered around the corner of the fabric covering, their eyes widening at the sight of the group charging toward them.

“AAAAAAAAARRRRRRAAHHHHHH!” Stivers screamed, squeezing the trigger of the automatic he held in his right hand and sending a shot flying over the top of the covered aircraft. Zebras scattered before him as he vaulted over a stack of boxes and slid to a halt, flattening himself against the side of the bomber. The cool aluminum skin felt like a balm to him, and he patted the airplane amiably. “Helloooo, beautiful.”

Crimson Hoof came to a hover beside him, peering at the dark blue mass of metal and glass. “Isn’t this Lieutenant Taylor’s machine?”

“Tough titty, he can fly mine for a bit.” Stivers surveyed the area around them, but the zebras in the vicinity appeared to have decided on a long vacation somewhere very far away. “Gruebel, Gallivan. Get strapped in. Hoof, cut this canvas shit off my plane. Sword, you cover us. I gotta get this bird started at the double-quick.”

Gruebel flipped open the side hatch on the right side of the bomber’s fuselage and began squeezing himself in. “Goddamit, why’d Grumman design this fuckin’ thing for a four foot high asshole?”

“Because I sent ‘em your picture. Get in there,” Gallivan growled. He glanced to their right, and stopped. “Skipper, what about the boat? You think anybody’s in there?”

Stivers had been clambering up on the wing and froze in place. “Oh my God. I didn’t even think of that.” He turned around and saw the other Marines watching him intently. “Come on. Sword, watch our asses. We’ll be right back, I hope.”

“This is not a good idea,” the stallion shot back tightly. “For Celestia’s sake, hurry up. I can guarantee we’re not going to be alone much longer.” He glanced to one side as the fabric covering the bomber collapsed on one side as Crimson Hoof tore it away. “Have your look and get back as quick as you can.”

Stivers nodded and waved at the other Marines. The three set off at a quick trot, weaving their way through the myriad bits and pieces of items that the zebras had gathered together and stacked in a haphazard fashion; the whole area looked like a weird cross between a junkyard and a rummage sale. The other plane was close, and it only took them a matter of minutes to draw near enough for a good look.

“Good Christ,” Gallivan muttered, and Stivers had to agree with him on that. One look was enough. Taylor had called it correctly; the third aircraft was indeed a seaplane, a PBM Mariner, or at least what was left of it. The tail stuck up at an odd angle, and the reason why became readily apparent. From the midpoint of the fuselage forward, there was only a mangled mare’s nest of twisted metal and shattered glass. One wing canted drunkenly upward at a sharp angle, and Stivers could see burn marks along the forward edge of both the wing and the ragged edge where the fuselage ended.

“Well.” Stivers shook his head and sighed. “I’m guessing the poor bastards didn’t survive the landing.”

“You wanna take a look inside, sir?” Gruebel glanced around quickly. “Looks like we got it to ourselves.”

“We don’t have time.” Needles of ice settled into Stivers’ stomach. “We don’t even know where this thing landed at, and from the look of it, ‘land’ is a generous word.” Christ, I hope it was quick for you guys, whoever you were. “Come on, let’s get our own bird in the air before we get pasted by some slap-happy zebra.”

Taylor sprinted forward and dove over the low border of wood that marked the outer perimeter of the zebra camp. He hit hard, the air exiting his lungs with a loud whuff! sound, but the pilot got up quickly and stared ahead, a large grin spreading over his face. “Oh, hello, beautiful! Come to papa.”

Midnight flew up beside him and came to a hover, her wings flapping hard as she held position beside him. “Much as I’m sure you’d like to have a private moment with your machine there, would you mind getting a move on?” She floated sideways, then settled on the port wing of the aircraft, peering around anxiously. “You can talk dirty to it later.”

“Ooh, you sound jealous.” Taylor snickered at the look the mare shot him as he moved to one side. “C’mon, Thompson. Let’s get this shit off the bird and get the hell out of here.” Crossing to one side, he reached up to the wooden support that held the canopy over the aircraft and began yanking at the knotted rope that held it in place. “Anybody seen Stivers?”

“They’re at their machine, sir.” Star hovered high overhead, circling in a slow, lazy manuver. “Crap. We have company coming, eleven o’clock.” The pony stopped in place, his eyes narrowing. “Looks like everypony and their brother grabbed the nearest sharp stick, sir. You need to haul it or we’re not going anywhere.”

Thompson was on the other side of the bomber from Taylor and working on the awning support. Disregarding the knots, the Marine had drawn the knife from his belt and was cutting away the thick canvas. “Sir, get started on the preflight. I’ll handle this shit.”

“On it.” Taylor dropped the rope he was holding and ran over to the side of the Avenger, scrambling up on the wing as quickly as he could grab hold. His left knee banged onto the wing’s upper surface, and he uttered a sharp curse, dragging himself up and limping toward the cockpit. “God damn it. You’d think Grumman would make an airplane someone could actually get into for once—”

He caught sudden movement from the corner of his eye and lurched backward, whipping the pistol up from where he’d held it at his side. There was a muffled screech, and a mottled shape within the cockpit of the airplane rose up, waving its forelegs.

“Please, ailyawmn, don’t hurt me!”

Midnight whirled in midair, her bow drawn, forehoof touching her cheek at full draw as she watched the form inside the airplane rise up slowly. “What in Celestia’s name are you doing in there?” she growled. “Get out. Now.”

“Yes, yes, I-I will, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.” A zebra unfurled herself from the front seat of the plane, clambering with difficulty out onto the wing beside Taylor. “I was j-just looking the machine over, they told me to, I d-didn’t t-t-touch anything, I swear.” Something swung and twirled about the zebra’s neck, the morning light heliographing off of it in harsh glints. “Please dont—”

Taylor reached out and snared the zebra mare’s coarse mane in his left hand, fingers entangling themselves in the rough fur and tightening hard enough to make the creature scream in mingled fear and pain. “You.”

Midnight stared at the pair, her eyes widening. “Taylor, what are you doing—”

The pilot holstered his sidearm and then reached out, gripping the swinging bauble that hung from a rough chain around the zebra’s neck. He jerked his hand, the thin chain parting with a dull pop, and she cried out again. The pilot drew back, lifting the chain and examining it carefully. “I’ll be damned. Gruebel was right. Where the hell did you get this??”

“What?? I don’t—”

“Taylor the big badass doombringer is tired of your bullshit, Zoe.” The pilot ignored the startled reactions of the others around him as he fixed his gaze on the zebra’s terrified face. “Tell me where you got this or I swear to God I’ll tear your throat out with my fucking teeth.”

The zebra recoiled from the sound of her name, her eyes wide and showing the whites as she stared at the apparition before her. “My c-c-coltfriend gave it to me! He f-found it in the other machine like y-yours, the broken one! I’m sorry my lord, please t-take it if it pleases you, just dont k-k-k—” Her voice broke and she collapsed entirely, legs splaying out on the wing with a dull scraping sound as her hooves ticked off the aluminum surface.

Taylor held up the chain, the metal oval at the end of it swinging freely. He flicked his wrist and caught it, peering closely at the engraved inscription:

EDWARD

JAMES

HENDRICKS

882-91-4413

USNR-A

T-7-45-P

“This is the writing of my people,” Taylor said slowly. “The warriors of my race wear these so that, when we fall in battle, our comrades can honor us for who we were and what we did.” The chain in his hand began to visibly tremble in his grasp. “Somewhere, the mother of the man who wore this waits, wondering where her son is. His wife. His children.” The pilot’s voice began rising. “This is all that’s left to say ‘I was here. This is who I was.’ It’s not a goddamned love token!”

Midnight descended slowly, landing carefully on the port wingtip of the bomber. “Taylor,” she said carefully. “She didn’t know. She can’t read your language, and neither can I.” She moved forward a pace, then stopped when his head jerked up to stare at her. “Let her go.”

Taylor stared at the mare for a moment, not really seeing her, only feeling the weight of the dogtag that swung in his grip and the light press of metal against his own chest where a similar oval of stamped metal rested. There was a coughing roar from nearby, and he glanced to his right, seeing a cloud of exhaust smoke slowly rising into the air.

“Cap’s got his bird goin, sir.” Thompson yanked the canvas free from the corner he’d been working on and pulled it to one side; the fourth corner could go fuck itself. “We need to get moving. Now.”

Midnight walked carefully across the wing, her hooves clicking lightly on the metal as she moved over to stand next to Taylor, waiting until he looked at her and met her gaze. “Come on,” she said quietly. “I’m asking you as a friend. Back off.” She waited a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go home.”

Taylor knelt there motionless, his eyes widening as he held her gaze with his own. He opened his mouth and drew in a gasping breath, then looked down at the zebra before him. His left hand clenched once more, then opened slowly, releasing his grip on Zoe’s mane. Leaning backward, he held both hands up in the air as if surrendering, shaking his head in small, jerky movements. “I… Go. Go on.”

Zoe lay motionless, unable to look away from the human crouched over her, seemingly pinned in place. There was a low flapping sound, and then Star was behind her, pulling her backwards and off the edge of the wing. “Get out of here,” he said. “Otherwise you’re gonna get run over.” The zebra stood for a moment, then bolted, heading away from the two aircraft and off towards the rough outcropping that stood in the distance.

Midnight Arrow reached out and shook Taylor gently with one hoof. “Come on, you big sod. You’re too heavy to carry and I don’t know how to fly this abomination of aerodynamics.”

The pilot blinked, glancing at the two pegasi, then over at Thompson, who was already busying himself climbing into the dorsal turret of the bomber. “Are you making fun of my airplane?”

“Never in life.” Midnight smirked. “However, although I can’t read your writing, the markings on this one are different. This was Captain Stivers aircraft, I believe.”

“No shit?” Taylor grinned. “You mean I have functioning instruments this time? I’ll be damned.”

“I thought you didn’t need instruments, sir.” Shining Star leapt nimbly over the fuselage and took his spot on the starboard wing, setting his hooves carefully in the ‘stirrups’ welded there. “At least, that’s what I heard.”

“Nobody likes a smartass, fuzzbutt.” Taylor nearly fell into the cockpit, grabbing the leather flight helmet off of the seat and slapping it on his head in one rough motion. “Oh great. It smells like sweaty zebra in here.”

“Is that better than sweaty human?” Midnight offered him an innocent expression. “I’m not quite sure at this point.”

The pilot laughed and shook his head, fastening his restraints with one hand as he flicked the starter switch with the other, his soul rising with the welcoming whine as the engine turned over with obvious reluctance. “Dammit. One day I’m going to beat you. I swear.”

“One day, I may let you,” the mare retorted. Her ears flattened as the Wright Cyclone engine finally caught, emitting a sputtering roar. Despite the noise, she laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. “But only if you get us in the air!”

“Darlin’, that I can do.” Taylor flipped the switch on his side panel and watched carefully as the wings dropped into place and locked. Releasing the brakes, he edged the throttle forward and maneuvered carefully free of where the awning had covered his airplane. Kicking the rudder pedal, he turned to one side and laughed out loud at the sight of the other bomber less than a hundred yards away, its propeller spinning lazily. Reaching up, he tweezed the throat microphone and spoke. “Good morning Flight 19. Ready to get off your lazy Marine asses and go do some flying?”

The radio crackled in his headphones. “Fuck you, Navy. I already kicked my quota of ass today. If you don’t get out of my way, I’m gonna run you over.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Stivers.” Taylor chuckled and swerved the aircraft to one side, pointing it roughly down the trail they’d fought their way down. “Flight 19 taking off on runway 27, North departure.”

“Roger. I’ll let you know if anything falls off.”

Taking a deep breath, Taylor gunned the throttle and watched the fields begin to slide past him, their quickening pace matching the beat of his heart.

The thrumming noise of the departing aircraft had barely faded when the yelping cries of the zebrafolk rose once more above their violated camp. Amongst the din were the wails of several whose kin had been slain by the doombringers, but there was little time for comfort. Assuaging the grief would have to come later; it always did, with the zebras. Scorned and excoriated for the most part by the other denizens of Equestria, they had always been forced to live on the edges of society, and as a result had been taken advantage of, used, and robbed for time out of mind.

That didn’t mean they had to accept that, however.

This particular settlement had been in place at the time of the battle of Aurora’s Pass, centuries ago, and it still survived today. From time to time nomads and raiders, Equestrian and Gryphon alike, had attempted to take advantage of them, and time and again the invaders had paid dearly for their transgressions. This time would be no different, the village elders agreed.

As the dust from the aircraft settled into the fields, the sound of drums rose to fill the silence they'd left behind. The pounding seemed to fill the earth, and it grew steadily louder and more insistent as the minutes drew on. Several flocks of birds took wing in protest, cawing angrily and wheeling about over the camp. At the southern end of the encampment, the zebras stood en masse, their backs to the vile thieves that had broken their sanctum and facing the outcropping that stood as one barrier wall to their village.

It was, indeed, the only one that really mattered.

A whitish-grey haze began to issue from the shadowed mouth of the rocky overhang, wafting its way up into the clear morning sky. The zebra drummers looked at each other and nodded, pounding harder and faster as the elders had taught them. They had never had need to call upon the guardian in their lifetimes, but they’d been told what to expect, although most of them were somewhat dubious and skeptical.

A low rumbling sound shook the earth, and the drummers faltered for a moment. One of the village elders yelped angrily at them and they picked up the beat again. The earth trembled below their hooves, and they were aware that the sound of their drums was no longer the chief cause of the vibration.

Immediately behind the rear rank of drummers, Zoe stood, the fur along her cheeks matted and stained with her tears. Anger burned deep down inside her, mixed with shame at the words the doombringer had flayed her hearing with. She leaned against the stallion beside her, the one who had given her the wonderful gift which the two-legged monstrosity had so callously taken, and looked down at her forehooves.

The emerald brightness of the grass dimmed suddenly as a shadow swept across it, blotting the light from the sky and turning morning into dusk. Zoe kept her head down and began muttering the prayers her mother had taught her as a foal, prayers she had never thought in her life that she would have to speak.

The shadow swept past and was gone.

The deep, rhythmic thrumming of the Avenger’s engine filled Golden Sword with a satisfaction unlike anything he had ever known. The stallion stood on the port wing, his eyes closed, actually leaning forward into the slipstream with a look of utter bliss upon his features. He heard his name called, and it took several tries before the pony opened his eyes and looked over. “What?”

“I said, how do you feel?” Stivers looked amused. “You look like you’re having a good time out there.”

Sword paused a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, then arched an eyebrow at the pilot. “It’s really loud.”

The human rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the workings of the flying machine, and Sword glanced about idly. The pony noted that they were not quite as high as they’d been when flying into this area, and the sounds of the engines themselves were not quite as strident as they’d been; the whirling blades were producing an odd warbling drone instead of the smoother, higher-pitched hum they’d had on the inbound trip. “Captain?” he shouted. “Is there something off with your machine? It sounds different.”

“Economy speed.” The stallion shook his head at this, and the Marine elaborated. “The planes run on fuel, Sword, and we don’t have much of it left, so we’re trying to make the most of what we have.” Stivers’ expression darkened. “Taylor hasn’t said so, but I don’t think we can get back to Equestria with what we have. One way or another, I think we’re gonna be walking, soon.”

A thrill of alarm crept up Sword’s spine. “Perhaps you’d better look towards finding a spot to land in soon, then.” The pegasus eyed the horizon warily. “You go much farther, we’re going to be back over the desert, and there’s precious little between it and Canterlot, as you well know.” He glanced over at the other aircraft that hung suspended on their left side. “Ask Mr. Taylor to check with Star; he got a look at the maps back at the monastery. Didn’t he say something about the trading lanes?”

Stivers’ eyes widened. “Sword, you’re a damned genius.”

“No, I just don’t wish to go play in the sand for three weeks. Get on it,” he ordered curtly, glancing at the other airplane again. A flicker of movement at the left corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced back over his shoulder at the way they had come.

What in Celestia’s name is that? A bat? What’s a bat doing out at this time of day, and that high up—

His breath caught in his throat, and Golden Sword felt a chill throughout his entire body that had nothing to do with the altitude they were flying at. He squinted, peering harder, his eyes watering with strain and the wind blast with which the Avenger’s propeller was hammering him. No. That couldn’t be. It couldn’t…

The shape grew larger as he watched, and his heart sank into his hooves as the vague outlines coalesced into a form he recognized immediately.

It is.

He opened his mouth to speak, and all that emerged was a low croak. Dipping his head, Sword clenched his teeth, swallowed heavily, and then looked up again, over toward Stivers. “Captain. Captain!”

“What is it?” Stivers opened his mouth, then stopped, holding one hand to the side of his head. “Sword, Gallivan says there’s something behind us. Can you make it out?”

“Yes. Forget about your bloody fuel.” Sword’s expression was drawn and haggard. “It’s a dragon.”