For Soarin's Sake (ONESHOT)


                                            Originally published August 2014


                                            Side story to SgtAnon.


                                            > You are Spitfire.

                                            > Currently facedown in mud, warmed by the early fall sun into a tepid stew.

                                            > It clings to your coat and clumps in your mane, an affront you would have never tolerated a few months ago.

                                            > You do not care.

                                            > Above you, the sky burns. The enemy's rapid-fire guns are sending angry orange-red steams of fire skyward, scything through the remaining pegasi in the air.

                                            > The air shudders with the roar and rumble of guns, the pop-popping of distant explosions, and the sharper crack-rumbles of pegasus-driven lightning strikes.

                                            > You do not care.

                                            > You finally heave your muzzle out of the mud only when your lungs scream for oxygen, a burning need that overrides all other thoughts.

                                            > Immediately collapsing back down to the ground, you stare upwards dully, watching a few armored chariots vainly attempting to break though the anti-air fire and allow the unicorns inside to wield their magic against the enemies.

                                            > Even as you watch, a burning light streaks skyward on a column of smoke, homing in with unnatural accuracy on a chariot.

                                            > The unicorn jumps free to late, and chariot, pegasus, and unicorn alike are all consumed in a flash and puff of smoke.

                                            > You do not care.

                                            > Your mind is elsewhere

                                            > Eyes may view the carnage around you, but it is not what you see.

                                            > Your vision is locked to a scene not a few minutes prior.

                                            > They are all there beside you.

                                            > The finest of your Wonderbolts.

                                            > Misty Fly on your left, Rapidfire behind her.

                                            > Fleetfoot covering your back, with Blaze on her wing.

                                            > To your right is the only pegasus you would ever trust to be your wing.

                                            > Your glance over and nod to Soarin'; he gives a quick nod back.

                                            > There's no chance to hide the trepidation in his appearance.

                                            > None of you are at peak performance, after all.

                                            > Not after enduring the weeks of siege in Cloudsdale on cut rations.

                                            > But there was no way to avoid this now.

                                            > Supplies, not only of food but of medicine and other basic necessities, had begun to run low.

                                            > You had to open a path for the sky-carts if more was to come.

                                            > Yet even as Soarin' betrays his apprehension, there is an steel-will determination there to succeed at all costs.

                                            > You've seen it before, at the start of every race.

                                            > The only difference is, this time you are racing for more than a medal.

                                            > More than your lives, even.

                                            > This time, you race for victory.

                                            "Break! Break! Go! Go! Go!"

                                            > Your Wonderbolts react perfectly, launching from a cloud as soon as you give the signal.

                                            > Banking over another passing cloud, you dive low.

                                            > Hopefully too low for the enemy's anti-air guns to track with their freakishly unerring accuracy.

                                            > Dodging and weaving back and forth, you make for the nearest battery of long-range weapons.

                                            > If you can break these, the siege will be broken. Supplies can get through to Cloudsdale again.

                                            > You will hit them.

                                            > You have to hit them.

                                            > You cannot bear to have to return back to the once-legendary city of the pegasi, only to see more wretchedly thin bodies and dilapidated cloud-structures.

                                            > Angling towards a patch of trees, you dodge through them barely above the ground.

                                            > Branches and leaves whip around you, but it is nothing you haven't experienced before on a race.

                                            > Indeed, you feel the old rush pumping in your blood even though there will be no cheering fans, no basking in success today.

                                            > The most you can hope for today, is to stave them off the city a while longer.

                                            > You break through a treeline, the enemy anti-air position in the clear before you.

                                            > A eight of their ugly, twisted-looking metal vehicles, surrounded by revetments and soldiers dug in.

                                            > You come in so low over the ground that you can see their shocked faces as you clear the first trenches.

                                            > Misty's warning cry comes to late.

                                            > Two of the enemy's vehicles have seen you with their unblinking eyes, the turreted tops swiveling down to track your 'bolts.

                                            > No!

                                            > You're so close!

                                            > Just another couple seco-

                                            > The vehicles' guns fire with a throaty growl, jets of flame and smoke pouring from their muzzles.

                                            > An agonized screech wrenches your attention to the side.

                                            > Just in time to see Rapidfire, surrounded by a cloud of bursting enemy shells, plow into the ground.

                                            > You don't wait to watch the dust cloud clear.

                                            > Even if the enemy's guns hadn't gotten him, no pegasus could survive an impact with the ground like that.

                                            > Not even a Wonderbolt.

                                            > In the two seconds you have been given, you pass over the cluster of enemy soldiers.

                                            > Without a thought you pull the handle on the side of your suit.

                                            > The saddlebag strapped to your side slips open, disgorging a mist of liquid rainbow across their position.

                                            > You don't hear their cries of shock and surprise, but you know the spicy concoction will have left the alien creatures blinded and distracted - or worse.

                                            > Four seconds.

                                            > The vehicles' turrets are moving again, tracking your remaining 'bolts - but it is to late for them to fire again.

                                            > A quick twist back allows you a perfect four-point sideways landing - slamming into the side of the vehicle evenly on all hooves.

                                            > A ready-made thundercloud is pulled from its special pouch on the opposite saddlebag.

                                            > Bucking it against the vehicles' hull, you let the lightning flow through the metal skin.

                                            > You don't understand how the aliens' machine-weapons work, but you do know that Princess Twilight said a sufficient electrical current can damage or destroy them.

                                            > So current you give them.

                                            > Bursting skyward from the disabled vehicle, you see your remaining four 'bolts taking off from their assigned vehicles as well.

                                            > Up, up, up - you need to gather stormclouds for a proper lightning strike, to finish off the vehicles.

                                            > Soarin' pulls in beside you. "Easy as pie, eh, Spits?"

                                            "When I can have one again, I'll tell you!" you rebut, grabbing a dark-looking nearby cloud and preparing it for a proper thunder.

                                            > "Hah! I'm looking forward to one myself; I'll have a piece in Rapidfire's me-"

                                            > A sharp pop followed by a growing roar drags your attention downwards.

                                            > What you see drops an icy ball into your stomach.

                                            > A spear is rising on flame and smoke from one of the vehicles, right up towards you.

                                            > They were supposed to be disabled!

                                            > Did you screw up?

                                            > Had the aliens found a way around that?

                                            > Was the princess simply wrong?

                                            > No, you're overthinking it. Got to-

                                            "SCATTER, DOWN NOW!"

                                            > Your shout comes to late.

                                            > Even as you all break downwards, you can tell you waited to long.

                                            > The spear is fixated on Fleetfoot.

                                            > Even with her flight goggles hiding her eyes, you can see the terror on her face.

                                            "Come on, Fleet."

                                            > Your voice is soft as you maneuver.

                                            "Don't lock up. Don't lock up, we've trained on this!"

                                            > To late Fleetfoot tries to bank off to the side of the missile's flight.

                                            > It passes her close by and erupts in a blinding flash and deafening thunderclap.

                                            > There is no Flootfoot moments later.

                                            > Another growling cough from the guns below, and your attention is again dragged away to see-

                                            "No."

                                            > Soarin' is trailing out of a cloud of shell bursts, spinning wildly.

                                            > Why is stomach-churningly obvious.

                                            > Where once a wide, strong wing had emerged from his back, is now just a red gash.

                                            "NO!"

                                            > Misty Fly crosses your vision, trying to outmaneuver one of the enemy's rising missiles.

                                            > That is enough to snap you out of it.

                                            > There is nothing you can do for Soarin'.

                                            > He's never going to get back to Cloudsdale on one wing.

                                            > Let alone land safely.

                                            > You tear your eyes away, unable to bear seeing him hit the ground.

                                            > Just in time to see an enemy missile fill your vision, colliding with your head seconds later.


                                            ---


                                            > Something snaps you out of your memories.

                                            > Looking around, you blink slightly.

                                            > What had done that?

                                            > What had-

                                            "Spitfire! Captain!"

                                            > Misty drops in beside you, looking rattled.

                                            > Her flight suit is torn in several places, blood leaking from some. Shrapnel.

                                            > "Captain, are you wounded?"

                                            > You look dumbly at your forelegs, giving all four of the limbs a few experimental steps.

                                            > They still function, and your wings flap without pain as well.

                                            > The missile.

                                            > Why hadn't the missile...?

                                            > No, no time to ponder that.

                                            > Just accept the luck Celestia has granted you.

                                            > You shake your head, pulling off your shattered flight goggles.

                                            > Thankfully the glass had stayed in its frame, or you would be blind right now.

                                            "Where.... where's Blaze? Where's your wingpony, Misty?"

                                            > She shakes her head.

                                            > "I don't know, Captain. I lost sight of him and can't find him anywhere."

                                            > Another pause, her voice shakier.

                                            > "Captain, I saw, Soarin'..."

                                            > You interrupt her.

                                            "I saw as well. Come on. This... this failed. We need to get out of here. This..."

                                            > You look around the battlefield.

                                            > The sky is still full of pegasi - weaving, dancing, forming thunderclouds.

                                            > Some play elegant, deadly duels with the enemies' larger metal aircraft.

                                            > But it is also still full of streams of fire and rising pillars of smoke.

                                            > There will be no breaking the siege on Cloudsdale today.

                                            "This is a disaster. We have to go, Misty."

                                            > "And leave Clo-"

                                            "I know!"

                                            > Your voice cracks.

                                            "I know. I don't want to either, but if we go back there... it's surrender or starve. I can't do either. I have to keep going; I have to keep racing."

                                            > You pause.

                                            "For Soarin's sake."

                                            > Misty stares, then nods.

                                            > You take off together, sticking low and close to obstacles to fool their anti-air weapons.

                                            > For once, you let Misty lead.

                                            > You aren't fully paying attention anyhow.

                                            > Other images fill your mind.

                                            > A light-blue coat and darker mane.

                                            > His laughter, calm and happy as he devoured his way through another pie.

                                            > Green eyes, half-closed in contentment and bliss.

                                            > Rejoicing together after another successful race.

                                            > Limbs curled together on a cloudbed, your muzzle nestled into his wing.

                                            > You shake yourself free of the memories, narrowing your eyes and pushing your aching wings harder.

                                            > In that moment, you would unashamedly admit that the tears in your eyes are not just because of the wind gusting over them.

                                            > You will fight on, though.

                                            > You will see this alien army cast out of Equestria.

                                            > For Soarin's sake.