The Marines and SEALs gathered on the outskirts of town settled in together, each with their weapons focused on the pink grove of trees just downrange. For the eleventh time that night, Vance surveyed his men’s positions. They were damn near impenetrable. Sandbags stretched out around the town’s entire northern boundary, providing cover for over 500 men with assault rifles, machine gun emplacements, emplaced Humvees, and whatever the hell else the Americans could scrap together, all sitting on the other side of a nice, wide-open field between it and the edge of the Everfree Forest. Yes, the defenses were invulnerable.

But…

But so was the Eighth Fleet at Hong Kong, he grimaced. His son’s Carrier Group was supposed to be more impenetrable than anything he could ever whip up, and the enemy had still lit it aflame. It must have been a horrendous sight: billions of dollars of the most advanced equipment on Earth, all burning, rendered useless by an Electromagnetic Pulse. A dozen twisted hulks in the ocean, men clinging desperately to the wreckage as enemy aircraft strafed them from above and soldiers took potshots at them from the occupied beaches, making games out of how many defenseless American POWs they could kill…

My boy among them…

“Sir?” Miller turned to the aging Marine, noticing the wistful look on his face.

“Yes?” Vance asked, leaping from his thoughts immediately.

“The men are dug in and ready, sir. Only thing left to do now is to wait for the enemy.”

“Yeah,” Vance turned his eyes back to the Everfree, glaring, as if daring somebody to pop out and try something with his men.

“I don’t like it either,” Miller sighed, looking the forest over. “It’s just so quiet out there.”

“Yeah,” a smile tugged at the corners of Vance’s mouth. “It’s real quiet. Too…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the SEAL clamped a hand over his mouth, obviously trying to suppress a grin. “Sir, with all due respect, don’t even fucking dare,” he laughed, wagging a finger in Vance’s face.

“Couldn’t resist.”

“I know. But don’t. Just don’t. I might need t’break your neck if you try.”

The Americans’ bro-tastic moment was interrupted by a low whistle, followed by a deep thud in the killzone between their lines and the Everfree. Miller turned and watched, eyes widening as a thick gray cloud spread over the field, followed quickly by two more. “Gas?” He asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

Vance just shook his head. “Smoke. They’re readying up for the second wave.”

Miller nodded. “We should get a runner out to Webb; have him and his men fall back to our position.”

“Excellent idea, Lieutenant,” Vance replied, turning to a pair of Marines standing ready at one of the machine gun nests spread all along the line. “You two! Which one of you’s the fastest runner!?”

Both men immediately stood and saluted. “That would be me, sir,” the man on the left replied, dropping the ammo box in his hands. “Private Petrelli, sir!”

“Private, I need you to run your ass off to Position Delta-Six and alert the men there to our situation here. Tell them to hold back within the tree-line for as long as possible, then hit the enemy after they’ve all piled into the killzone. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” The Marine screamed before dropping the salute and scooping up his M4. Vaulting the sandbags, he was soon just a fading figure in the rapidly-thickening cloud gathering in the field. Vance watched until the Marine had completely vanished, then scooped up his own rifle and reassumed his position near the Bradley.

“Gonna get ugly out there,” Miller said matter-of-factly.

“We’ll just hafta get uglier,” Vance replied.

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Webb didn’t like it. He could take one look down at the little gray lumps moving around at the bottom of the hill, and he could just smell a trap. “It’s way too obvious,” he mumbled, flipping the safety off on his rifle and taking aim at the lumps alongside the rest of his paratroopers. “They wouldn’t be movin’ through these woods that loudly. They’d send pros through terrain like this.”

“Sir?” Bannon whispered, sheltering behind the trunk of a large pink sequoia next to him. “What are your orders?”

“Drop ‘em, then send two up to check on whatever this is,” Webb’s teeth clenched as he kept a bead on the little lumps. “Be careful: something ain’t right here.”

The words barely left his mouth before a cavalcade of suppressed shots rang out from the line of trees he and his men had taken cover behind. A few little poofs of dust appeared on the lumps and they stopped moving. Somewhere above the paratroopers, a flock of birds continued to sing uninterrupted. A few seconds later, two of his men in pink camo advanced on the targets in prone, weapons raised beneath their camo netting. Webb scanned the trees around him silently, his men following suit. Whatever this was, there had to be a trick somewhere. A sniper in the branches at the bottom of the hill, waiting to take out anybody who stepped forward? Or maybe a few well-placed explosives in the bushes by the lumps? His fingers tensed around the grip of his weapon as he slowly breathed in and out. He had no intention of letting Equestria be the first place he lost men under his command.

The men neared the lumps, just a few yards away now. Eyeing each other, they crouched down onto their stomachs and crawled forward. Something was VERY wrong here. If the bastards were laying down a trap for them, why hadn’t they sprung it yet? Lord knows the men had to be close enough now. He watched them slowly crawl, almost on top of the lumps, and begin scanning them. Impatiently, Webb pulled out his walkie. “What do you see!?” He hissed.

A few moments later, the reply came: “Looks like an RC car wrapped in an enemy uniform, sir.”

“Alright, getcher asses back here ASAP!” Webb barked, relaxing slightly as he watched the men back away from the lump and begin climbing the hill. Something was very very VERY wrong here. What did the enemy get from sending a toy to run around in the woods? A couple of temporarily distracted soldiers…

Wait…

Distracted…

That’s what they got: every single American in the woods watching a little toy, almost completely oblivious to everything else. He slowly scanned his surroundings, eyes widening at the sight of a few splotches of gray in the bushes to his left. “AMBUSH!” He screamed, immediately turning his rifle and blasting away at a splotch. An enemy soldier fell out of the bush, blood spreading across his uniform as a hail of tracer fire erupted from the brush around them, catching two of his men in the open. They fell, covered in bullet wounds, while what remained of Webb’s command followed him over the crest of the hill, just narrowly avoiding the barrage now whizzing over their heads.

“Aw, fuck!” A man screamed as he landed next to Webb, blood spreading across his camo pants. “They blew out my fuckin’ kneecap! Shit!”

“How’d they sneak by us!? They’d hafta be goddamned ghosts!” Bannon screamed.

“Hold the line!” Webb bellowed as he returned fire. “Keep your shit together and hold the goddamned line, paratroopers!”

A low whistle appeared in the air, rising in pitch. “MORTARS!” Every man ducked and covered as a humongous impact cracked a tree in half just a few yards in front of their hill, sending it crashing to the ground and raining pink splinters.

“Get a runner back to Coltton!” He screamed. “Tell them we’re under heavy enemy fire! I repeat, Centurion One is under attack!”

---------------------------------------------------------------

The four demi-gods surveyed the battlefield below, watching as the Americans threw sandbags in place, cleaned and re-checked weapons, and hurriedly wheeled what few vehicles they had into position. Luna clenched her teeth. “Would we not be better placed on the ground with our allies?” She asked worriedly.

“It is best if we hold back for the first phase of this battle, sister,” Celestia replied. “The first wave was merely to test our defenses; it is the second we must worry about.”

“Besides, the longer we hold back the better,” Chen replied, smoothing a crease in his silken outfit as he shadow-boxed in preparation. “The longer we fight, the more likely it is that we will be separated among the enemy hordes, and then Mars could easily sneak up on us and pick us off one by one using the clamor of battle as cover.”

Michael stared at the ground silently, constantly thumbing the hammer on the .38 in his hand. Celestia watched his eyes flicker over the ground like a man’s during REM sleep, darting about with the constant click of the hammer. “Michael,” she whispered, taking him aside.

The man looked up at her, staring intensely. “Yes?”

“This…uh…must be difficult for….”

“Don’t,” his hand rose to silence her. “I don’t wanna hear how sorry you are right now. I just wanna focus on what I have to do and what needs to happen.”

“Michael, you don’t have to face this on your own, you have beings that care about you,” Celestia said, pleading with her eyes. “Believe me when I say I know how much the betrayal of a family member can hurt.”

His eyes darted to Luna for the quickest second before boring into hers. “I believe you, but I still have no intention of thinking about it right now,” his thumb missed the hammer on a single beat. “Shit! Look, it’s just not the time to get all emotional, alright!? So just drop it, Princess! Please! Let’s talk about something…anything else!”

Celestia relented, her features falling. “Very well, Michael, just know that you have friends here when you need them.”

“Whatever.”

“But as long as we’re changing subjects,” her eyebrow rose mischievously, “I do have a question about your powers.”

“Eh?” A tiny smile spread across his face at that. “Alright. Ask away, Princess.”

“During the hours I’ve spent researching human society…thank you for the reading material, by the way…”

“Of course.”

“…I have gathered some knowledge on the many dogmas governing mankind. Now, in that I have noticed a certain similarity between Chen and the people he is meant to represent. The people of Asia are ancient and proud, possessing fighting styles passed down through generations that allow him a martial arts expertise unsurpassed by any other being. In a way, he is able to gather power from the ancient history of the nations he channels.”

“Never thought of it that way, but go on.”

“Now, I mean no offense, but this leaves me to wonder: the nations you channel are, for the most part, relatively new, having existed for a few centuries as compared to a couple millennia for most of your siblings. Your people have very little tradition and ancient wisdom to provide, despite the incredible power they wield in human society. So tell me: just what is it you can bring to the battlefield, besides your handguns?”

Michael grimaced at her, shooting a look at his brother out the corner of his eye. “Did Chen putcha up to this?”

“Just making a few observations, Michael.”

The frown continued for a quick second, only to be replaced by a knowing grin. “Tell ya what, Princess: since you’re so damned observant, what’s say I whip out my fave powers first thing when we hit the battlefield and see if you can figure it out for yourself.”

“You’re seriously going to make me wait?” She asked wryly.

Suddenly, a few large thuds echoed through the air around them. The demi-gods turned just in time to watch a preparatory artillery bombardment rock the American frontlines, a lucky strike turning a Humvee into a pile of flaming scrap metal and adding to the chaos already spreading from the smoke screen. “Don’t worry, Princess,” Michael said, his M1911 appearing in his free hand as he sneered. “I don’t think you’ll hafta wait long.”

“The second wave will be here any moment!” Chen gasped as he and Luna appeared at their side. “I am detecting a massive rise in activity to the west, as well as large human troop movements converging on the city!”

“Then we’ll split in two. If each stays with their partner, Mars should still have a hard time taking us on,” Michael said. “Luna and I’ll stay here and make sure our human allies aren’t overrun.”

“Perfect, brother: you’ll be of more use out in the open anyway. Princess Celestia and I shall check on that activity out west.”

“Very well,” Celestia said. “But I still have every intention of witnessing your powers in action, Mister Sawyer.”

“And you shall have your wish, Princess!” Michael said, bowing as she and Chen took off into the Everfree.

Luna looked over at her humanoid companion with an eyebrow cocked. “Powers? You mean you have something besides that…thing?” She asked, pointing to the handgun clenched in his hands.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, smiling mischievously. “You see, Princess, my siblings and I gain our powers from the souls of the people we channel. Now, it is true that the people of North America don’t exactly have a whole lotta history or ancient shit to fall back on: most of our nations have only existed for a couple centuries. We don’t serve as the birthplace of an ancient religion, we have no monuments dating back millennia, hell, some would argue we don’t even have much in the ways of common sense. Some would argue we’re all just trigger-happy cowboys, though I’d beg to differ.”

“So, what DO you have?” Luna asked.

As the Princess of Night spoke, a massive boom sounded. The demi-gods turned back to the battlefield as a deep rumble pierced the air, a pair of tanks bursting from the forest, flattening trees as they passed. The Princess gasped: she had never seen such massive machines in her life! And, in fact, they were massive even by human standards, weighing nearly twice as much as an American Abrams tank. Each of these monstrosities stood at least as tall as four Alicorns stacked atop one another, wielding cannons the length of a draconequus’s body. Forced forward by four sets of massive, bulldozer-like treads, the monsters rumbled onto the field, cannons taking aim at the American lines as the soldiers ducked in preparation against the massive bombardment to come. Michael simply grinned and descended upon the battlefield, his pistols disappearing into their holsters. He came to a rest on the grass, his work boots squishing into the mud between a pair of fallen enemy conscripts. He must have been quite the sight; a lone, casually-dressed man standing in the middle of a field while a pair of massive cannons swiveled to take aim at him. The tanks rumbled to a stop as the Princess hovered just a few yards over his head, looking on in concern. Every single being in that field held their breath, as if waiting to see what would happen. Michael simply grinned.

“To answer your question, Princess,” he shouted. “We have guts, a can-do, never-surrender sort of spirit, a ton of cultural diversity that, while troubling in our past, has allowed us to grow as a people…”

Suddenly, the man spun, moving almost too fast for the Princess to see. As she watched over the next few milliseconds, a set of gray globs appeared from his fingertips, forming a line in the air. The blobs molded together in an instant, forming a set of barrels, a trigger, a massive belt-fed compartment, and enough circuitry to make her head spin, all creating a rather large M61 Vulcan Gatling Cannon. Catching the device, Michael took another spin as the barrels rotated faster and faster. Then, it was unleashed. Luna would later liken the sound to paper tearing, but with the volume turned up a few thousand times over. The strange device in Michael’s hands appeared to spit a jagged line of fire, a steady stream of bullets pouring out of the machine after being loaded from Celestia-knows where, overwhelming his enemies with sheer volume. The first tank’s armor decayed beneath the bombardment, as if it were sitting near the heart of a nuclear blast, being torn to bits by an atomic wind. It only took a few seconds for the exposed interior to ignite, engulfing the crew in flames.

Reacting to its partner’s demise, the second tank turned on Swarm, its cannon lobbing a shell the size of a filing cabinet his way. The humanoid dodged easily, tucking and rolling away with the weapon held to his chest until he was safely out of the blast zone. With dirt and mud blasting at his heels, Michael turned, lined up on the tank, and squeezed the trigger again. The Princess and the Americans continued to watch, awestruck, as the tank turned desperately to take aim. The machine’s cannon made it about a quarter of the way to its target before splitting in half, followed by the rest of the body.

Dropping to the ground before the smoldering hulks, Swarm smiled at the Princess, the massive cannon in his hands glowing red hot from being fired for so long. As he approached, his weapon supported in only one hand, Michael couldn’t help but blow a bit of smoke drifting off the barrels before completing his answer: “…And a whole lotta kick-ass toys!”