Fall of Cleveland: I've Seen Fire, and I've Seen Fire

>You are the commanding general of III Corps.
>You're holed up in Akron for now, overseeing operations in Cleveland.
>They have been an abject disaster.
>Too many fluffy ponies have choked the area.
>While units on the west side of the city made good progress in getting near downtown, they got stuck as fluffy ponies piled up in the streets.
>With the number of ponies in the Cleveland-Spaghetti Land area outnumbering your troops forty to one, you've had to change tactics.
>Instead of trying to eliminate them all, you've elected to let them go to the areas, then cordon them off.
>Any fluffy pony trying to get in can get in, but any trying to leave will be killed.
>The cordon is a six mile circle around the city, overlapping with an eighteen mile circle around the theme park.
>The distance for the latter was determined as the one to the nearest usable airfield, Geauga County Airport.
>Thanks to the civilian exterminators that have joined, you know that loud noises make fluffy ponies run around.
>Therefore, your brilliant plan involves bombing the outer edges of the circle first, forcing the ponies in.
>Any leaks will be plugged by tanks, infantry, and whatever else happens to be handy.
>To further hamper fluffy pony progress in Cleveland, artillery and airstrikes will be used against the bridges.
>Surely, Northern Command will approve of this idea.
>The microwave tanks don't kill the damn things fast enough.
>And there's not enough small arms ammo and grenades on the planet to do the job.
>With the fluffy ponies all in one place, artillery and bombing will kill thousands at a time.
>Northern Command is a bit perturbed at the idea of destroying infrastructure.
>You remind them that millions of fluffy ponies have been shitting in it for days.  It's way past ruined.
>Grudgingly, they accept your proposal.
>Over thirty years in the Army, and your shot at a fourth star is hinging on killing millions of living kids' toys.
>Idly, you look out the window of City Hall.
>A few kids have cornered some fluffy ponies, and are systematically killing them with firecrackers up the ass.
>You wonder if they're old enough to recruit.
------
>You are an F-15E pilot.
>Your unit, the 334th Fighter Squadron, has just been moved from North Carolina to Dayton and attached to the First Air Force.
>You are currently on what the Air Force calls a 'fluffy pony interdiction patrol'.
>The pilots call it a 'barbecue run'.
>Your aircraft is loaded with Mark 79 incendiary bombs.
>These are just one thousand pound versions of the Mark 77, which is full of what everyone calls napalm.
>Technically, it's not, but the effect is exactly the same.
>You will loiter at ten thousand feet for a while until a drone pilot gives you a place to bomb.
>Theoretically, you could drop your weapons into a clump of ponies anywhere.
>However, the fact that they're awful fire hazards complicates things.
>Nobody wants unharmed areas catching on fire, so you have to await instructions.
>It's boring work, at least as boring as flying a Strike Eagle can be.
>The other plane in your flight heads out to find the KC-10 to refuel, leaving your bird the only one on station.
>That's when the call comes up.
>A drone has been following a herd that has set up shop in a place called the Rookery, along State Route 322.
>They've stopped, for some reason, and they've isolated themselves from other herds.
>The area is heavily wooded, and few structures are nearby.
>Your superiors want to see the effects of the Mark 79, and this area seems like a prime testing ground.
>The smaller bombs are being used near the 'front', the edge of the eighteen mile circle around Spaghetti Land.
>If the bigger bombs are safe, they can be used to herd the fluffy ponies into the cordon area, while killing more of them.
>You head out to the Rookery.
------
>You are a male fluffy pony named...you've forgotten your name.
>You have pretty blue fluff and a red mane and tail.
>You even have a horn!
>You vaguely remember having a daddy, but that was very long ago.
>He stopped loving you, though.  You remember that.
>He threw you out of the house in a box and didn't let you back in, no matter how much you cried.
>Some fluffy friends came by and told you about the land of spaghetti.
>You went with them.
>Your new herd never managed to reach that place.
>There were so many fluffy friends, you couldn't move.
>So your herd turned around and went back.
>You've found a places with lots of trees, with really big puddles of water nearby, and a stream.
>The smarty friend says this is your new home.
>It's much cooler here with the shade of the trees.  Water is easy to find, and so are grassies in the clearings.
>The other fluffies attract humans with loud sticks and big monster boxes.
>Your smarty friend says you're going to stay here, away from them.
>If we don't bother the human things, maybe they won't bother us, he explains.
>It seems to work.  A flying thing is overhead, but it doesn't hurt any of you.
>The fluffies with babies inside need help eating and drinking.
>You help keep them out of the stream.
>”Wawa goo' fo' babehs,” they coo, hugging their big bellies.
>You hear a far away noise that gets louder as it gets closer.
>A big flying thing shoots overhead, leaving as quickly as it came.
>The mommies panic and cry at the noise.
>You look up and back.
>The flying thing had babies!  White things tumble down from the sky.
>They crash into the ground a distance away, and suddenly there's fire.
>So much fire.  The smarty friend wasn't hurt.  He comes running toward the flames, and you follow him.
>”Fwuffies too wawm!  Go in wawa!  Wawa stop wawm!”
>You watch fluffy friends waddle painfully into the stream.
>The fire clings to them, dripping off their fluff like glowing orange honey.
>Some of them completely submerge themselves, yet the flames continue to consume them.
>”Why wawa no hewp fwuffies?” the smarty asks.
>A mommy fluffy comes by with three burning foals on her back.
>”Hewp babehs!  Hewp mumma! He--”
>She falls down suddenly, wailing in agony as the fire-honey on her foals plunges through her fluff and skin.
>You want to hug her, but something in your mind says no.
>The flames spread as if by magic, their orange and yellow wisps flowing through the trees like water.
>You see silhouettes of fluffy friends through the light before the fire erases their forms.
>They die hugging each other, holes bored through their bodies by the scary fire-honey.
>The smarty friend goes into the flames to save his mate.
>You are much too scared to follow him and run away, hiding by a tree trunk when you can run no more.
>You only open your eyes again when the shiny bright suddenly goes away.  You look up.
>A very angry looking cloud is above you.
>Fluffies are running past now, screaming for help.
>The trees begin to bend and bow.  The invisible force becomes so strong, you can no longer hug onto the tree trunk.
>The firestorm, generating its own wind, sucks you back into its core.
>You can only get out two words before being engulfed by the flames:
“Wan' daaaaaaaddyyyyy!”
------
>You are the commanding general of III Corps.
>While you listen in on the operation that is fighting the Rookery fire from the air, you're formulating a resignation letter in your head.
>Your idea to test the larger bombs has caused a huge conflagration.
>Northern Command is going to have your ass for this.
>Oh, they're calling now.  You're fucked.
>Maybe not.  While you get reprimanded slightly for the fire, the effects of the firestorm are very intriguing.
>Since fluffy ponies are so light, a large enough conflagration could suck in thousands more without the need for further bombs.
>Your idea is filed away for later.
>Perhaps you'll get that fourth star after all.