Although she did not express it, Fluttershy felt extremely hesitant to invite this stranger into her cottage. She had never seen this kind of being before, nor did she know what it was capable of. It appeared very intimidating, standing tall on only two legs, and muscle wrapped so tight under bronze skin. And the clothing, what a mess! Ripped to shreds, just barely hanging from its body, stained with dirt and blood. She could see the pants were colored like camouflage, but for a desert, not like the woodland patterns she's seen in books.

The things it carried around its belt and shoulder were very strange. On the left hip was an olive-drab pouch that carried equally-colored egg-shaped objects with handles and rings projecting from the tops. On the right was a pouch containing binoculars, and a knife within a brown sheath. On the shoulder was what appeared to be the remains of a jacket of an unknown dark material, and another belt with various straps holding another sheath that contained something metallic with a curved handle. Even more curious was the object slinged to its back, which looked like a futuristic crossbow, but without the horizontal lath and string. Weapons. He's carrying weapons into my home.

"You can set those by the door... that is, if you don't mind." A pony carrying weapons into her home was one thing, but simply the thought of an intelligent bipedal from another world carrying weapons she did not know the capability of into her home sent an uncomfortable tremble through her body. But he seemed friendly, despite his irritated tone when answering questions. There was a sign of softness under the rough exterior. Every beast has a heart. All it needs is the warmth of one's kindness.

He was hurt, weary, cold, hungry, alone, and confused. If she found a wild animal under the same distress, she would do whatever it took to help it. The very same would apply to a fellow pony. I will help him. It's what I do best, after all.

...

...

...

Trees. Trees everywhere, covering a lush and beautiful land rich with life. What happened to the desert? The dunes, the canyons, the rubble? And where is the road? The pilot and of this flying beast of a Chinook helicopter turned to his young co-pilot. "Where are we?"

The co-pilot was reading a crumpled hand-sketched map of the desert roads of their land, searching for the mysterious country of life they found themselves soaring over. "It's not anywhere on the map, sir!"

This is by far the least likeliest thing to ever happen to this faction of rebel fighters. They have traveled wide and far among the strangest of lands, but never have they experienced the complete disappearance of one location to make way for the replacement of another. This is beyond getting lost in the desert. By some unexplained phenomenon, we have all been taken to a place left untouched by the world's conflict.

"Commander, we're low on fuel. We should regroup with the column, don't you think?"

"Yes, you're right."

Commander Taggard Tolwin was the primary leader of the "Phantom Raiders," a paramilitary organization formed since the apocalypse. Of course, back then, his father was the the leader. Its purpose was to rid the world of scum that supported the cause that lead to the decay of their country and spread their concept of an "empire." Unfortunately, the "cause" has been long forgotten. Commander Tolwin was on the simple mission of spreading destruction wherever he felt there was opposition.

This aircraft was also his father's. He learned how to fly it when he was fourteen and has developed the skill throughout his life. However, the modification from transport to gunship was his own idea. They had a great bird's-eye-view, making it an ideal scout, and it served as a perfect heavy-lifter of equipment over harsh terrain, but their firepower was limited to only ground fighting. Since he could not find an operable dedicated gunship, he improvised and weaponized his father's aircraft.

What also makes his Chinook so unique was the fact it was not a "true" CH-47. No, this was a one-of-a-kind experimental aircraft called the Boeing-Vertol Model 347, which his father stole from a museum located in the late state of Alabama. It was essentially a CH-47 with a stretched fuselage to allow the installation of pivoted wings and a retractable crane-operator's station below and rearward of the ****pit area. Remarkably, after all of these years of careful maintenance, this single experimental still functions as if it came fresh from BV's experimental workshop.

Commander Taggard Tolwin's personal modifications included the installation of a General Electric GAU-17 minigun in a fixed turret under the nose, with the basic trigger assembly replaced with a modified aircraft trigger system that lead to the flight controls. Many large, jaggedly-cut holes were made in the fuselage sides, which allowed quick-loading of troops and equipment instead of loading primarily from the rear cargo ramp. Mounts for various heavy machine guns were added in front of the holes, to defend the troops loading or unloading from the aircraft in firefights. The pivoted wings were welded and bolted in a fixed position to keep them from tilting, which allowed the installation of six total pylons for mounting removable weapons and equipment such as unguided rocket pods, guided missile tubes, or auxiliary fuel tanks. The original wing controls were also stripped away and replaced with electronic triggers for the weapon systems.

It was a true beast of war that resembled early gunships created by the Soviets during the cold war. A flying infantry fighting vehicle, and a tank's worst nightmare. Tolwin felt empowered when he flew this monster. Unstoppable. And who wouldn't in a flying war machine that outguns anything on the ground?

As he headed back to the unit, he remembered his encounter with the lone scavenger in the weaponized El Camino back on the desert road. He knew there was something "off" about that particular encounter in contrast to the many others in his lifetime. Why didn't he hide his vehicle from me? Why didn't he run as soon as he saw my unit? A trap came to mind. Yes, he planned this. He wanted to be found, so he could lead us here. But why?

Whoever the man was, he was a skilled driver. Tolwin had unleashed so much firepower onto this mysterious man, yet he dodged every last bit of shrapnel. At least, up until one of the mobile "Snooty" guns blasted him into the shallow ravine. There was a stream... in the middle of the desert. Yes, that's what lead us here. "He" led us here through that oasis. But did he survive? No. I doubt it very much. If the shock of that incendiary shell didn't affect him first, that waterfall sure would've.

The "Raider" unit situated their column at a temporary basecamp in a large field outside of the thick forest. Vehicles and personnel were scattered everywhere, like a colony of ants. They had cars of all kinds, both military and weaponized civilian transports.

The military vehicles included HMMWVs, Jeeps, sand-buggies, M1A2 "Abrams" tanks, 2S25 "Sprut" tank-destroyers, one ZSU-23-4 "Shilka" anti-aircraft vehicle, and one World War 2-era M5 "Stuart" tank. They also had two Russian BAZ 5922 6x6 vehicles with turrets taken from 2S1 "Gvozdika" mobile artillery vehicles. The barrels to the 122mm self-propelled howitzers located in the turrets were cut short, giving them the appearance of stretched cones. These were jokingly nicknamed "Snooty" guns.

The civilian vehicles were mostly mixed hybrids or full reconstructions from basic chasis, but the notable ones were Chevrolet Camaros of all late 70's-era types and Ford F-150 pickups. Five of the Ford hybrids were modified in likeness to the armed pickups used by the Libyan rebels during the infamous conflict against their leader sometime long before the apocalypse. They carried rear mounts for weapons including heavy machine guns, rocket-launchers, anti-aircraft guns, even Hydra 70 rocket pods taken from downed AH-64 "Apache" attack helicopters.

Combined, this ambitious army is an unstoppable force in power. There has yet to be one scavenger, soldier, or rival faction that held equal or outweighing capacity of a devastating arsenal as the Phantom Raiders had.

Commander Taggard Tolwin's Chinook finally regrouped with the rest of the faction and landed softly in a temporary LZ represented by four burning fuel barrels aligned in a wide square formation. Tolwin stepped out of the aircraft and waved the "refuel" signal with his left hand, prompting the fuel truck to drive next to the LZ, unloading personnel needed to oversee the procedure. Two men stayed behind to monitor the gauges and operate the valves, while two others dragged a long hose up to the aircraft. The hook-up was located under a panel located on the starboard side of the fuselage, just along the lower fairing housing the fuel tanks, which resembled a long bulge.

A very tall and dark man wearing woodland hunting-camoflage emerged from the Shilka anti-aircraft vehicle and ran up to the Commander with anxiety flushing over his face.

"Taggard!" the man shouted over the roar of the Chinook's engines. Him and Commander Tolwin were very good friends since the beginning of their lives in the faction, which meant they could comfortable address each other by names instead of using traditional rank formalities.

"Yes, Marchetti, what is it now?" Tolwin replied in an irritated tone. Marchetti also served as the Second-In-Command of the group, purely the choice of Tolwin himself, as a good friend. However, Tolwin often hated when with the majority of his service, all he had to report was regrettably bad news. Though, most of those arising situations were beyond his control. It's the well-known matter of restraining one's self from strangling the messenger.

"The relays are gone! I mean, gone! Nowhere on the trackers. It's like they vanished into thin air!"

"Could the Chinook have flew too far out of range or-..."

"No, I mean even before you went scouting off over the woods! Bam, gone!"

Yes, that was another one of the many modifications done to the Chinook. Just behind the co-pilot's seat, right next to the crane-controller's box, was an electronic relay device for a local GPS. A seven-foot "whip" antenna extends from the fuselage to relay a signal from three transponder devices on the ground, which are arranged in a perfect triangular diameter across whichever land the faction operates. These are either placed on the ground independently, or are driven in small scout vehicles in careful alignment. When the combined signal is sent to the relay device in the aircraft, it is sent to the Shilka, which currently plays the role of the group's command vehicle. An on-board computer is fed the signal and translates it into a 3D vector map of the area within the transponders' diameter, which allows visual tracking of their units, as well as opposing forces. The aircraft can be anywhere within the overall diameter to relay the signal, but not directly on the ground due to surface obstruction.

"Did you check the transponders?"

"We can't find them! Not even a null signal, like all three suddenly disappeared!

"We must be way out of range. Set up some more trackers in a five-mile diameter, starting from here, to..." With a sudden loss of words, he translated the rest of his order through his hands, gesturing to the forest and land beyond. "That general direction."

"Alright!" Marchetti ran back to the Shilka to relay the order to the assigned personnel.

Tolwin noticed a group of soldiers setting up a large olive-drab tent in the middle of the faction's gathering and strolled through the comotion to investigate.

"What's this supposed to be?" he asked in a lighthearted tone.

"Medical tent, sir!" one of the soldiers shouted, continuing with his task.

"Great! When are you planning on raising the mess tent? I'm starving!"

"It'll be up in just a moment." the soldier replied with a smile.

"Awsome." Tolwin walked away with an amused snicker. That was the mess tent they were raising, evident by the lack of a bright red cross over the roof. Honest mix-up. Nothing to go overboard about.

Commander Tolwin was about as strict with his soldiers as any other military commander would be, maintaining the ideal balance of disciplin needed to run a fully-functional combat unit. But he knew when to be human at just the right moments. It kept them from fearing him as they would an insane dictator, while knowing their place in the ranks and their assignment. Perfect organisation. He smiled again, reminding himself of the tent mix-up. As perfect as a paramilitary faction could possibly be, given the circumstances.