"Oh don't you worry about the D. VII. It's got one of those newfangled inline engines. She runs like a beaut. Besides, my F-14 badly needs a new coat of paint and I just haven't the time...."
"Aye, you nitpicking colt." Grandpa Ace snapped. "After I left war-torn Europe for Equestria in 1941, I heard tell of a fountain of enchanted water within an underground cavern somewhere in the vastness of the Frozen North. Of course, the pony who told me that was a crazy, drunken old coot who claimed he was the first to ever reach the North Pole. But I've got nothing to loose now but my tired old bones. What do you say to joinin' me lad? I'll let you fly my old two-seat Fokker D. VII! I keep it locked up at a secret hangar outside of Ponyville. The nice mares there do a kind job of keepin' it safe."
*Hath thou no knowledge of The First Pony War?" asked Grandpa Ace with a frown. "T'was a horrid and unspeakable affair, save for the glorious air combat. And the French played a larger part in it then any other allied nation that my Germany was pitted against. Their top aces were just as prolific as any of Britain's or America's. I believe one French ace I flew against that went by the name Rene Fonck, still holds the title as having the most victories of any pilot of the allied powers in any war." Grandpa Ace then settled down. "Ahhhh, stories for the ages. What I wouldn't do to be a young stallion again like you." Then suddenly a thought came to his mind. "Say boy...." he started. "What would you say if I told you there was a fountain of youth in the lands beyond Canterlot and The Crystal Empire?"
The grizzled old veteran stared at the young lad incredulously. "Joke? Story?!" He asked. "Why I never! Kids these days. You can stick 'em in a classroom but you can't make 'em learn a thing or two about history if their flanks depended on it! I'll have you know that I was the German Empire's second highest scoring ace! Behind only The Red Baron himself. Those days have long gone though. As have the days of adventures in this thread we inhabit." The old stallion sighed. "It's looks like it's just you and me here now, kid."
So there I was in my Albatross D. III, flying patrol 15,000 feet over the the western front in northern France. My hooves were cold as they gripped the controls and my face stung from the oncoming wind. The staccato clatter of my plane's Mercedes engine was near deafening. That's when I spotted him. From the west, a small dot approached fast. At first, small and black, it grew quickly as it approached. It was a SPAD, an enemy fighter. We closed head on. At the same height we went for each other, passing at a hair's breadth. We then both banked into left turns, and the circling began. I yanked the stick back with my frigid hooves and applied rudder. We circled around each other, testing one another's defenses. I closed on him, and he passed me so close that his propeller wash yanked me back and forth. It was then that I could make out the sign on his fuselage. "Vieux" it said there. The old one. That was the sign of Guynemer, France's ace of aces. The same who had shot down my best friend. Anger and a burning desire for revenge swelled in my heart. I had to avenge my friend's death! After he zoomed behind me, I pitched my plane up to do a backwards flip and get on his tail. To my horror, he had anticipated my move perfectly, and was already in the midst of performing the same trick. He fired into my machine. Metallic hail rattled through my right wing plane, and rung out as it struck the struts. I choked back my panic while struggling to regain the advantage. We rolled into each other again, but my Albatrosses' tighter turning radius gave me the advantage. I managed to get him in front of me for a fleeting moment. I pushed the button on the stick, but the machine guns remained silent. Stoppage. They had jammed. I frantically pounded the gun but it was no use. I was helpless. There was naught to do but continue to maneuver and hope he doesn't realize what had gone wrong. As we pulled into another turn, I used my left hoof to try and work the round trough the machine gun. And then disaster. He flew over my cockpit and spotted my plight. Now he knew what gave with me. He knew I was helpless prey. My plane had no cockpit armor and I had no parachute. Nor did I have the benefit of being a Pegasus. To be shot down from this altitude was certain death. He reversed, and faced me for a final climactic head on pass. I knew it was about to end. He came head on, and skimmed over me, almost on his back. Then it happened. He stuck out his hoof and waved to me. He waved lightly, then dived to the west in the direction of his lines. I flew home. I felt numb. He had spared me. There are people who claim he had a stoppage himself, or that he feared I would ram him, but I don't believe any of them. I still believe to this day that a bit of chivalry from the past has continued to survive.
You mean best quotes ever
I strongly disagree. Just because their opinions are silly and unwarranted doesn't mean they should be censured or punished for them.
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