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((STORY EXTRACT))
Ignoring Static for the moment, I focused in on the aircraft on approach to the main runway, watching it’s descent as the landing gear lowered from the fuselage… wing-bit. It’s hard to tell what to call it when the whole thing is largely a circle, at least the Valkyrie has somewhat of an obvious main body. The strange pancake shape seemed to be flying almost frighteningly slow as it nosed up for landing, another mini-tank going out onto the runway to guide it followed by an emergency response one, the crowds either side watching it approach. Unbelievably slowly, the F/A-5U dropped onto the snowy tarmac, coming to a smooth stop in the middle of the runway. Static trotted up beside me as I let off a small chuckle, finally realizing just who was the pony piloting that particular pancake - We’re really not that great as far as helping with getting people back home, are we?
The bizarre aircraft taxiied off of the tarmac and over to the main hangars, led by the motorbug, the two large repaired propellers spinning to a stop as it came to rest outside of the hangar we’d parked in earlier. I’d already started heading towards the craft, Static following behind, a door opening and ladder dropping down from the bottom, near the cockpit. A pony emerged, wearing a slightly singed flight jacket, pink mane poking out from under his thick winter cap and a grey muzzle being the only thing visible from under his flight gear. He grinned as we both approached, probably a little thankful most of the crowd in the hangar was still fawning over the Valkyrie. “Contrail! I… eheh, uh, sorry about leaving you in Hopeville for so long, we kinda ran into a lot of things that had to be taken care of first… sorta slipped our minds.”
The pilot stallion gave his hoof a small wave, a grin holding on his muzzle. “Ah, don’t fret about it, ah know y’all are the big heroes ‘round here. Bein’ honest, was for the better, was able to find somepony over in Maple Creek who could make new propellers fer the Pancake, and it only took a little bit of tweakin’ to get the right-side gearbox back into shape with Marigold’s help. Wasn’t about t’ leave this thing just layin’ on the coast to rust away, yanno?” He gave the landing gear leg of the aircraft a few gentle pats, looking up at the flat fuselage above. Well, I guess that does make sense… wait… are those bomb bay doors up there?
Ignoring Static for the moment, I focused in on the aircraft on approach to the main runway, watching it’s descent as the landing gear lowered from the fuselage… wing-bit. It’s hard to tell what to call it when the whole thing is largely a circle, at least the Valkyrie has somewhat of an obvious main body. The strange pancake shape seemed to be flying almost frighteningly slow as it nosed up for landing, another mini-tank going out onto the runway to guide it followed by an emergency response one, the crowds either side watching it approach. Unbelievably slowly, the F/A-5U dropped onto the snowy tarmac, coming to a smooth stop in the middle of the runway. Static trotted up beside me as I let off a small chuckle, finally realizing just who was the pony piloting that particular pancake - We’re really not that great as far as helping with getting people back home, are we?
The bizarre aircraft taxiied off of the tarmac and over to the main hangars, led by the motorbug, the two large repaired propellers spinning to a stop as it came to rest outside of the hangar we’d parked in earlier. I’d already started heading towards the craft, Static following behind, a door opening and ladder dropping down from the bottom, near the cockpit. A pony emerged, wearing a slightly singed flight jacket, pink mane poking out from under his thick winter cap and a grey muzzle being the only thing visible from under his flight gear. He grinned as we both approached, probably a little thankful most of the crowd in the hangar was still fawning over the Valkyrie. “Contrail! I… eheh, uh, sorry about leaving you in Hopeville for so long, we kinda ran into a lot of things that had to be taken care of first… sorta slipped our minds.”
The pilot stallion gave his hoof a small wave, a grin holding on his muzzle. “Ah, don’t fret about it, ah know y’all are the big heroes ‘round here. Bein’ honest, was for the better, was able to find somepony over in Maple Creek who could make new propellers fer the Pancake, and it only took a little bit of tweakin’ to get the right-side gearbox back into shape with Marigold’s help. Wasn’t about t’ leave this thing just layin’ on the coast to rust away, yanno?” He gave the landing gear leg of the aircraft a few gentle pats, looking up at the flat fuselage above. Well, I guess that does make sense… wait… are those bomb bay doors up there?
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