A Sense of Urgency [Soarin'] Apr 3, 2014 7:41:19 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2014 7:41:19 GMT -6
Fleetfoot snapped awake with a sudden start. It took her a moment to realize, in the darkness, that she was in her room at the Academy. It was raining. Heavily. The loud, rumbling boom that woke her had simply been thunder. Just a storm. With a sigh, the Wonderbolt dropped her head onto her forelegs again and snuggled into the beanbag cushion she slept on, whenever she was here. Odd, she hadn't known there was going to be a storm tonight. Nothing to worry about, though. Then came a knock on her door. It couldn't be good news. Good news never came in the middle of the night during a storm.
"Fleetfoot, report to the runway, immediately!" came the inevitable voice.
"Ri-Right away." Fleet replied, stumbling over the words a bit and saluting, even though her room was pitch black and the voice came from the other side of the door. She stood, arching her back and stretching her wings out before feeling around for her flight suit. It had to be some urgent message that needed running. She wasn't supposed to be on duty, and no Wonderbolt show would ever be held at midnight. In the rain. At the Academy. Without any training or warning from Spitfire.
But it wasn't just rain, Fleet discovered as she stepped out of the dormitory and onto the runway. It was freezing rain with thunder, because, apparently, why not? Fleet nearly lost her footing on the slippery asphalt and had to use her wings to balance. inwardly, she cursed creative weather planners. A couple paces out and her puffball mane was already plastered flat to her head and freezing into odd hairsicles. The wind was strong too. You couldn't pick a worse night to fly in. She approached a small cluster of ponies who were anxiously scanning the sky. "Fleetfoot, Reporting as ordered."
"This is the situation," Somepony on her right (with a lot of bars) jumped into the briefing at once. "Fairflanks, a small town on the edge of the frozen north, has been the victim of a devastating outbreak of Hayfever, due to improperly stored fodder. Dodge Junction has prepared its Cherry Cordial and we sent two fliers to deliver the shipment, but one of them has been injured and we need you to step in. It's vital this medicine gets there as soon as possible! They should be here any-"
"Incoming Fliers at six 'o clock!" Somepony else announced. "Get those runway lights up, can't see a thing in this mess!" Indeed, the two fliers were already coming in to land, looking exhausted and half-frozen. One of them was being helped by the other, with a limp and dragging wing. But they didn't know about the icy runway, Fleet realized just a moment too late. Their hooves touched down and disaster struck. The already-injured pony's feet shot out from underneath him and with a startled "Oof!" he landed on his belly and slid a few inches to a stop. His companion, unexpectedly freed from the weight of his team mate, toppled to one side. In an effort not to land on the precious freight he was carrying, he stretched out a wing to catch himself...It was a mistake. The audible snap of his wing and the immediate yelp that followed it made every pegasus there cringe, Fleetfoot included.
"MEDIC!" The important somepony yelled. "Get those two into the infirmary! And get me another fast flier...NOW!"