26th of January 1882 The Pit. 2300

The week required to make the relevant arrangements passes by in a blinding flurry of activity. Twilight's training regime with the Legion is all but halted, as the demands of daily meetings with both Zaranov and Prophet, along with conferences with senior Legion officers mean that her schedule is just too busy to be taken up with the routine of punishing exercises. However she noticed a marked change in the tempo and type of exercises being undertaken. One morning, Twilight woke up to the sound of explosions and yelling outside and rushed to the window, rifle in hand, only to discover that the Fifth and Sixth compagnies were going through public order training on the parade square, with one compagnie dressed in rude civilian clothes, the other in Legion battle-dress, though they were using truncheons rather than their rifles to good effect.

Another morning, Twilight was awoken at three by the sound of skiffs thundering overhead, and Twilight had stuck her head out of the window to watch as the skiffs came screaming in, low enough that Twilight could see each rivet in the engine casings. Even when she is asleep, the fortress of her pillows was no distraction as Princess Luna often dragged her into conferences held between the minds of multiple participants, sometimes without warning. At one point, Twilight had been in the middle of a rather pleasant if somewhat sweaty dream involving Rainbow Dash and strategically placed strawberries and cream, only to blink and discover she was in fact offering gentle loving caresses to Luna's aide-de-camp, Admiral Iron-Breast.

However the sudden frantic activity of the fort does come with its advantages. Rainbow Dash has come back from her trip into the desert with her sniper's qualification still intact, and as soon as she hears about the Ninth Compagnie being deployed to Tarhen, she appoints herself as Twilight's unofficial bodyguard, and she tries to take Twilight out to weapons practice every day, telling Twilight that practice is the key to perfection. Twilight is only too happy to agree, hungry for the chance to patch up the lingering wounds that their fight in the armoury had left. However Twilight's time is at a premium and so she spends far less time with Dash than she would like.

The evening before their departure however, Twilight finds herself running through her lists. All the relevant preparations have been made. Rations have been packed, the two compagnies have been trained, four airships have even been made available for the flight east to be escorted by the Justicar. Everything should be ready, yet as Twilight looks through the checklists of things to do, she finds herself becoming increasingly worried.

Today has been another day of meetings and discussions and Twilight is grateful that she’s been able to call an end to the interminable meetings, go back to her room, hang her revolver up in its usual place by the door and relax. It's at times like this that she misses Spike. The baby dragon always had a candid comment or a witty remark to slice through the bitter swirling ocean of doubts that plague her mind. However the side of an allegedly virgin princess is no place for a baby, even a baby dragon, and Spike's scathing remarks had offended one too many nobles.

Now, Twilight finds herself missing him even more than usual as she gazes at the paperwork before her. Diplomatic permits, itineraries that had been organised for her by Diplomatic Incident and brought to her by Prophet, Diplomatic Incident's promissory note... What about Diplomatic Incident? Is he alright, will Prophet's word hold? Prophet said they'd be letting him out into my custody. Twilight shivers, trying not to think what could have happened to him in the space of a week, yet worries about Diplomatic Incident only give way to worries about the possibility of war.
Will the Khanate listen, am I coming on too strong? Will my proposals be acceptable to Equestria? Luna said she didn't have any issues, but Luna only speaks for the military! What if I cause problems for Celestia, what if I make things worse?!

Twilight is suddenly distracted by a firm knock on the door. She jumps slightly, turning to see Rainbow Dash walking into her room, dressed in battledress as ever. Twilight raises a disapproving eyebrow at the Legionnaire’s entry. Dash is the only person in the whole fort who doesn't knock and wait.

Even Zaranov has learnt to knock and wait after once having walked into her room when she was changing, and been hurled bodily out of the door by magic for his trouble. Dash has a rifle slung over one shoulder, and a broad smile on her face, a smile that fades as she notices Twilight's expression.

“Allez-Allez.” Dash mumbles, in the strange creole that Twilight has heard Legionnaires use when talking to each other. “Looks like I'm just in time,” she says as she walks over to Twilight and places her hands upon Twilight's shoulders.

“Time? Time for what?” Twilight asks, and Dash smirks, before squeezing Twilight's shoulders gently.

“To stop you from freaking out,” Dash chuckles as she starts to apply gentle pressure to Twilight's shoulders, her thumbs expertly applying pressure to the pressure points around Twilight's wings. The young princess sighs, her worries rather abruptly forgotten as her ex-girlfriend administers one of the infamous back rubs that had proved decisive when she was trying to get Twilight to agree to something back in the day, and this time is no exception.

Twilight sighs and her wings slowly stretch themselves out, the feathers quivering like leaves in a gentle breeze as Dash's fingers move downwards, to where her shoulder blades end and her wings begin. Stress eases from her body in a long luxurious sigh, tension ripples from her shivering feathers as her muscles relax.
“How on earth did you get so good at this?” Twilight groans gently and Dash snickers.

“Lots of practice. Back when I was in Cloudsdale I used to do this all the time for the weather team. It was about all I could do, since, you know, being a girl an' all. Didn't change the fact I could fly rings around them of course.”

Twilight nods grimly, all too aware of the sexism that still pervades Equestria to this day. Whilst, in this modern day of eighteen eighty-two, it's not quite as bad as it was even five years ago. It's still something of an issue, and whilst the Suffragette movements have a powerful backer in the form of Admiral Iron-Breast and the unspoken support of her boss, overturning a thousand years of tradition takes time.

“So is that why you moved to Ponyville?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“Yeah, they were crying out for anyone who knew one end of an altostratus from the other, tits no issue,” Dash replies mildly as her hands move back to Twilight's shoulders. “So I did that for a bit, then you came along and... well, here we are.”

“Mmm...So how come you became a Caporal?” Twilight asks. “Luna's told me that the army's fairly monogendered.”

“Yeah Twi, that's the army. We're the Legion. We can't afford to be picky about that sort of thing,” Dash explains. “All that matters is the standards, and The Boss makes a fairly clear example of people who don't toe the line.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Dash says shortly, squeezing very slightly at the joint where the wing meets the back, just hard enough to tell Twilight to stop asking questions as the wing jerks slightly.

“Mmm, this is really nice. Thank you,” Twilight breathes, dropping the subject, and Dash's hands flow along the leading edge of her wing.

“Any time Sparky, I figured you could use a pick-me-up before we step off.”
With those words Twilight's thoughts are dragged back to the coming deployment and she draws a breath.
“You don't think-”

“Hey, knock it off,” Dash says firmly. “You'll do fine Twi. Honestly, I was a bit worried when you first came here, but you've changed and in all the right ways. You haven't got your head up your own butt, like I was afraid you would have.”
Twilight blushes slightly “I just-”

“What did I say, chill the fuck out, you're okay,” Dash attempts to reassure her, but Twilight notices a slight catch in her friend's voice. Twilight sharply turns around to see Dash's one eye is sparkling faintly. Twilight takes a breath, but before she can say anything, Rainbow Dash clears her throat.

“Eyes front, Princess,” she whispers. “I'm okay, trust me, I'm the Rainbow Dash. There isn't anyone else quite as awesome as me, honest.” Dash offers Twilight a half smile that doesn't even come close to her eye. Twilight raises an eyebrow, and Dash exhales explosively.

“No, Twi, don't look at me like that, I don't talk about this mushy stuff! I've got a reputation to maintain here, ya know. Caporal Arc Bolt, who'd have balls of steel, if she had any to begin with! I'm the person that everyone else is supposed to tell this shit to! I'm a rock! For everyone,” Dash's voice quavers and her head tilting down towards the floor as Twilight watches her friend falling apart before her eyes. “I'm invincible! I-I'm awesomeness personified! Even… E-Even my mistakes are awe-inspiring...”

Twilight rises to her feet as Dash’s eye starts to glisten wetly above a trembling lip. Without knowing or feeling what she's doing, she wraps the downcast Rainbow Dash up into a hug. Immediately, she's immersed in the scent of tobacco and leather, cheap washing powder and sweat. Beneath it all is the subtle hint of a woman. Twilight gasps as Rainbow Dash suddenly wraps her arms around her. Twilight soon finds herself scratching between Dash's wings in the way she knows Rainbow likes, even as her ex girlfriend cries her eyes out on Twilight's shoulder.

“Why am I still here Twi?” Dash sobs. “My whole Compagnie, a hundred and fifty men down to fifteen in the space of an afternoon!” Dash gasps as her crying continues in short stifled sobs that break Twilight's heart. “I tried Twi, I really tried... I couldn't do it, I'm not a monster Twi. When I saw him I thought of Scoots and that little bike she likes...”

Twilight strokes Rainbow's back and shoulders, holding her friend as she tries to let her friend know that she'll be there for her. Twilight knows not to ask, knows that she can't understand. Twilight knows she isn't a soldier and thus she could never understand. She's Rainbow Dash's friend, though, and she's not going to leave her ex hanging for all the tea in the Khanate.

“I'm sorry Twi,” Dash sniffles after a moment, breaking away from Twilight. “You've got more shit to deal with than a broken down failure of an-”

“Stop that right now!” Twilight says sharply. “I won't have you talk like that about yourself!”

Dash wipes the tears away with a tear-stained sleeve. “Yeah, well make me!”

Twilight draws herself up to her full height, which, whilst not being quite as impressive as her titanic mentor, is still tall enough to stand taller than her ex.

“Rainbow... You're a wonderful woman, really. You came here to check up on me when no one else would... You're not a monster and you're certainly not a failure,” Twilight reassures Dash as she enfolds the Legionnaire once more into a hug. She can feel her heart racing as she holds the woman close. She can feel the nervous fluttering of her own wings and the gentle rhythmic expansion of Rainbow Dash's chest. Twilight sniffs loudly and then gently reaches around, placing her hand upon Dash's chin to draw Dash's gaze upwards so that she's looking Twilight in the face.

“Talk to me Dash, tell me what's up...”

“Well, okay.” Dash sighs after a moment. “Since you're not going to stop fucking asking until I do.”
Dash sits down upon Twilight's bed and takes a deep breath and then begins to recount her tale.

It was on the day of the attack - well, more the evening of the attack - at around 1900. I'd just got off a quiet shift on the gates and so I fancied a bit of a cool down and a bit of a moment to relax, so I snuck round to the royal garden, forgetting of course that who should be there but Princess Luna! Of course, like an idiot, I don't see her and so I go in and start doing my chores you know, cleaning my weapon, that kind of shit, when Princess Luna walks over and starts hauling me over the coals about my gear and stuff. You can tell she's aching to tell me off. Element of harmony, savior of her short ass and she wants to rake me over the coals for my dress and deportment...

Anyway, where was I? Yeah, I'd just been shouted at by Princess Luna when the shit hits the fan head on as it normally does. I'd just been standing about in the Royal Garden when Her Royal Shortness came out and started giving me lip about my gear. So she was about to give me a chewing out for cutting about with a round up the spout and whatever else, when I hear this massive boom from outside. You don't need to be an egghead to know something's properly kicked off, and so I try and move Princess Luna out of there, back to the safest place in the fortress, which is our barracks, but she isn't having any of that. She snaps at me and so off I fuck.

I get myself up onto the top of the Embassy, since that's the safest place for a flapper to be, particularly one with a marksman stripe. That's part of our immediate action drill anyway: whilst the rest of the squad got into position, I was supposed to take up my place on top of the Embassy to start putting down fire. Had we had our way, we'd have had a couple Maxim guns already set up on the roof as well, but that fucking cunt of an ambassador wouldn't hear it. Serves the fucking idiot right I guess... Anyway, so I'm on top of the Embassy, and it's a mad-house out there. The street is absolutely boiling with cats, there are hundreds of them, all carrying whatever they can hit us with, or throw at us.

I start looking around of course, since whilst it's a target rich environment, I've only got a hundred and twenty rounds and I can't afford to piss them up the wall. No one brasses up civvies if they can help it, since if nothing else, it's a waste of a perfectly good round. So I start scanning for targets, prioritising the ones with rifles. They aren't exactly hard to find, since they're dressed like policemen, or in those red robes, and they're bashing the civvies on, goading them like cows.

I spot the first guy who looks too important for his own good, he's dressed in those red robes and he's got a bolt action rifle in one hand, and a stick in his other which he's using to twat the nearest cat he can reach around the head. He's spattered head to food with blood, and he generally looks rather scary to the cats around him. He looks rather less scary after I've split his head open like a watermelon.

Next come a couple of idiots with shivs who are getting at the blocking detachment, those two are fairly challenging shots since I have to thread the rounds past Scummy and The Stick, who weren't exactly small Legionnaires at the best of times. They go down fairly quickly, one round each to centre body mass, bam. Good job jobbed. The next few shots are fairly easy, militiamen with rifles that are too big for them, or policemen with sticks who are driving the little scrotes on. I'm just reloading my rifle when I notice Princess Luna dropping out of the sky to land next to me.

We exchange a bit of banter, then I turn my gaze back to the blocking detachment and I notice something odd. Normal procedures dictate adding more men to the blocking detachment, but that doesn't look like it's happening here. Instead, I'm seeing more of my colleagues setting up in the windows, setting up to absolutely annihilate this riot the moment they get through the blocking detachment. I then turn and notice more blokes from Weapons troop coming up onto the roof of the embassy lugging our two Maxim guns. There are ten of them, five to each gun. One is carrying the gun, two are carrying the tripod, one more is lugging great big white cloth belts of ammunition and the last man is carrying jerrycans filled with water and a funnel and hose.

Look, Twi, I'm no fan of cutting down civvies like wheat alright, don't look at me like that.

Dash sighs and runs a hand through her hair before she flops listlessly backwards onto Twilight's bed, sitting there with her head in her hands and Twi sees the Legionnaire seem to shrink before her.

Then... it happens. I see this little kid, he can't have been more than ten or eleven years old get up onto a rooftop armed with a rifle almost as big as he is. He's a human, and he's wrapped in those man-dresses that they wear over there. He gets down into position and I see the little fucker take aim. He's right in my sights, I can practically thread a round through his nose from my position... but as my finger tightens on the trigger... It’s like I’m about to brass up Scootaloo, purple hair and all, flapping in the wind... dashing around on that little bike of hers. Anyway, I see this kid getting into position and I just lock up. I see him take aim and sight the target, and I'm trying to fucking shoot him but I just can't pull the trigger on a kid, y'know!

Then he shoots The Stick in the face. Well, that changes things. He's a combatant now.Before he was a kid, but now he's a fucking enemy, and I'm about to blow him away, we're about to blow all these fuckers away, when Her Royal Shortness gets involved. She tells us all to hold fire, and I'm fucking relieved Twilight, I'm honestly relieved. No one who kills for a living likes killin’ kids. She gets up and she's about to make a speech when some little toe-rag from below shouts something and suddenly it's all kicked off again.

I turn, right, and the Maxim gunners are still getting their shit together, say what you like about the Maxims, they aren't exactly quick to get set up fresh from storage. I then turn my attention back to that kid, trying to find the little bastard that shot The Stick, but he's fucked off into the houses, never to be seen again. We're now coming under fire from the buildings around us as well, more policemen or whatever are taking positions around us and putting more fire our way. I then turn and realise that Luna's left as well.

We put down more fire of course, we're now fighting for our lives as opposed to fighting those protestors, and so I lose track of time as I fire into the crowd, getting into the groove of the fight now, getting into the rhythm. Aim, bang, aim, bang. I'm in the zone as I lay down covering fire, not allowing myself to think but just sighting the next target and bam! I keep on putting fire down, trying to hit as many of the little fuckers as I can.

I then turn and notice the weapons troop are up shit creek. They're taking a tonne of fire, both bullets and literal fire as the cats start slinging molotov cocktails at them, which I can understand. The moment they get going, those Maxims are going to be able to turn the crowd into thinly sliced mince. However they've lost their battle already, since I can hear the fighting below us now as more cats swarm into the Embassy. I get up and affix my bayonet, since the weapons troop will need cover to get set up, they can't get attacked from behind otherwise they'll be for it. I'm also running out of ammo, down to twenty rounds at this point.

It doesn't take long for them to find the door to the stairs and a whole mass of them come clambering up onto the roof, through the same entry point as Weapons troop, who've managed to get their guns going if the rattling behind me is any indication. Right now, Weapons troop is not on my mind however. The cats clambering through the sky-light and up the stairs are a rather more pressing concern. They charge me, armed with their sticks and shitty little back alley made shivs.

I shoot the first one and go to shoot the second, but as I'm jacking the cocking handle of my rifle, the fast little fuckers manage to flank me and suddenly I'm getting thrown to the ground with this big cat on top of me. He's obviously got ideas if the way he's clawing at my belt order is anything to go by, but he's persuaded to drop those ideas after I stick him between the ribs with my fighting knife. I manage to throw him off but they're all around me now and I'm having to wham them with the buttstock of my rifle since they're just too close to dab with the pig-sticker. But for every fucker that goes down, another takes his place and they're grabbing at me and clawing at me to try and drag me down. There are just too many of them, and suddenly, boom I'm on the deck again, and being swarmed under when all of a sudden the nearest one emits a loud shriek of pain, followed by the rest. They're all screaming and writhing in agony... I just remember bright lights, and then I'm lying on my back surrounded by a haze of dust and ash, and standing before me is Nightmare Moon.

No Twi, I don't mean Princess Luna, I mean Nightmare Moon. Dressed exactly like how she was when we saw her way back when. Flat grey plate armour, big black cloak, fucking huge battle axe and about the size of a Val with smoky hair. Trust me Twilight, it was fucking Nightmare Moon, although she was wearing that funky silver mask that Her Royal Shortness wears. Anyway, Nightmare Moon walks up to me and I know she's going to gut me, but she doesn't, she just picks me up and shoves me toward the exit and tells me to get back in the fight.

When you've got someone like that giving you a fucking order, let me tell you, you obey. So I get down into the Embassy and it's a madhouse. We've got cats coming out of our arse, and we're having to stick them, fighting from room to room to keep them away from the more sensitive shit whilst the dips burn it all. We're also having to evacuate the dips. All the while, I can hear Nightmare Moon bellowing orders in the Royal Canterlot Voice, and the sound of airships drawing closer.

Anyway, I manage to make it back to the rear garden to see that our perimeter is shrinking very rapidly. We're now falling back out of the embassy and taking cover behind the artisan walls and whatever else we can find whilst the dips and hired help are being hustled onto the two skiffs belonging to the Zam Tarkaz. Our wounded are also being loaded onto the skiffs, and there are a lot of them I can tell you that.

I take cover behind some statue or other and I start trying to lay down fire as best I can with only twenty rounds, but my hands are shaking from adrenaline and so I miss most of my shots, but the cats are now out and moving across the garden and we're just pinging desultory fire their way, but they're still moving slowly. No one wants to be the first to attract the wrath of Nightmare Moon, who stands at the platform behind us like the angel of death. I can remember one dude who thought he'd have a go, he shot at Nightmare Moon and she simply vaporized him and five of his ugly little mates for good measure. She just turned them into ash with a snap of her fingers. We used the pause to start hustling our wounded onto the boats. I fire the last of my rounds and dash up to help with stretchers. We move like desperate men, trying to get our comrades onto those boats.

It's too good to last. They bring some kind of cleric forward and this fucking god-botherer starts giving his sermon on the other side of the building, you can hear him egging on the mob in the building, and I've picked up enough cat-talk to know he was goading them into a fight. Obviously one of the Legionnaires still in the embassy proper takes offence to this and shoots him dead. Boom, worst fucking thing we could do. Now they're all going to get the word of a priest on the other side, so if they die, they become martyrs. As a result, Nightmare Moon isn't quite so scary, and so they start charging and shooting again and we're rushing to get our wounded onto the boats and get onto the boats ourselves if we can.

Nightmare Moon, Sweet Celestia Twilight, you should have seen it, it was like watching the apocalypse. She's throwing chain lightning around, slamming cats backwards with spells, fireballs, my god. They're hitting her, I see them shoot her and I see the rounds connect but it just doesn't do anything, they bounce off her armour or they went in and she ignored them, I don't know... She pretty much holds them back single handed, but you could see she was flagging, with every round that hit her and with each stroke she took, she gets slower and her swings have less power, and eventually I see her twist and suddenly fall, and then I dash forward and end up grabbing her. She's saved my life after all, even if she is Nightmare Moon. I start hauling her fat ass backwards, but then I'm grabbed from behind and swarmed under, and... well, that's how I got this.' Dash gestures up at the black leather eyepatch and Twilight winces. The Legionnaire looks older, much older than her twenty three years, and her remaining eye seems to gleam.

So I'm lying there, surrounded by this angry mob who are kicking and screaming at me and I'm expecting them to kill me, but then in roll the cavalry. The Night Guard ship that Luna came in on comes tearing in like the wrath of god, firing all the while, and it isn't alone. HMS Resolute, one of our own light cruisers comes in and rains death upon the crowd, which starts to fall back... It gets a bit fuzzy after this point, I remember picking up Nightmare Moon and managing to stagger back to the skiffs with her, but then I... well I don't know, next thing I know, I'm waking up in our medical bay here with an Honour Cross around my neck.'

Dash's head droops and she lets out an explosive sigh, her body shivering faintly. Her cheeks are flushed and the pupils of her eyes have shrunk to pin-pricks. The Legionnaire is panting like she’s run a marathon, twice. Twilight steps forward and wraps her arms around her friend once more, which makes Dash jerk in surprise before the Legionnaire relaxes into the hug.

“I'm sorry,” Twilight whispers, pain ripping through her body at the sight of her friend, who was such a defiant and strong woman when they lived in Ponyville. Dash, who would quite happily take on a manticore, three dragons and a Hydra with her bare hands at the drop of a hat. Twilight can only imagine what being knee-deep in that siege must have been like, the intensity of the fighting. The numbers are simply staggering; one hundred and fifty men cut down to fifteen combat effective in the space of an afternoon.

Twilight gasps as Dash returns the hug, pulling her into a tight embrace. For a moment, it's all Twilight can do to breathe as the rapid pounding of her heart rings in her ears. A tidal wave of memories suddenly rises and swamps Twilight, familiar smells and forgotten sensations. Her tongue suddenly feels several sizes too large for her mouth, which feels more arid than the desert outside. Her brain screams at her to tell her to let go, to release Dash. However her traitorous hands tug Dash tighter into an embrace born of desperation and long buried feelings.

Twilight runs her hands up and down Dash's back, feeling the woman's muscles tensing and relaxing beneath her tunic, feeling Dash's feathers quivering as Dash's hands start to move with increasing urgency, gripping the leading edge of Twilight's wing and locking her fingers tightly around Twilight’s wings, which flutter vainly against Dash’s vice-like grip, causing Twilight to lock up in shock before a half-suppressed shiver pulses across her wings. Twilight can feel Dash’s breath against her skin, can feel Dash’s lips against the cotton fabric of the Legion-issue undershirt.

Twilight reaches upward, her hand reaching Dash's cheek as the Legionnaire leans in closer, those tousled multi-coloured locks gleaming in the lamp-light. Twilight shifts in Dash's embrace, trying to press herself against the Legionnaire. She draws her hand across Rainbow Dash's cheek, feeling Dash's breath upon her own cheek. Dash suddenly leans forward and her lips connect with Twilight's in a gentle, chaste peck. Twilight’s eyes open wide in shock and her breath catches in her chest.

“Stop,” Twilight gasps, her hand dropping down to the center of Dash's chest. She pushes the Legionnaire away, her face burning as her arms ache to grab Rainbow Dash once more, whose face is still flushed, though rapidly giving way to confusion and shame, something that Twilight's almost never seen on Dash's face before. For her own part, Twilight's mind is a maelstrom of whirling emotions, lust, confusion, fear and excitement. Twilight takes a deep breath to try and organise her thoughts, before she shoves her way past Rainbow Dash. Her hand hurriedly wipes at the tears that are already forming at the corners of her eyes as she slips out through the bedroom door and into the corridor beyond.

Twilight runs down the corridor, her hobnailed boots clattering on the cobbles. She needs to be somewhere else, anywhere but there. Somewhere she can think, somewhere she can clear her mind. Somewhere that she doesn't have to deal with that adorable, idiotic Legionnaire. Her heart thunders in her ears, ringing like her footsteps upon the floor. Twilight takes the stairs three at a time, dashing out into the night. Memories drag at her mind, and with every step, Twilight wishes she could turn around and go back, but she can't.

Twilight is a Princess of Equestria, on a mission to avert war. If she fails, then hundreds of thousands of people will die. She cannot afford to have her mind on anything else. She wants Rainbow Dash. The absence of the Legionnaire aches like a stomach wound, yet this is much bigger than what she wants or needs. This is about what is good for Equestria, and nothing would be worse than getting caught whilst engaged in a relationship considered to be unholy by the Khans. It could poison the whole peace process, if her deployment of force doesn't do that as it stands.

As Twilight rounds a corner, she comes to the parade square, which is teeming with Legionnaires. The two compagnies that Zaranov has earmarked for this deployment are forming up, getting their equipment together into neat piles and running back and forth as Legionnaires remember things they've forgotten or else want to check on this or that one last time. Sergents stalk among the enlisted men like sharks and caporals bark orders as the organised chaos slowly takes shape. Crates are being loaded onto cargo canisters, which are then lofted skywards into the holds of the Legion airships that hang over the fortress. In the corner of the parade square, four huge infantry-assault walkers are being prepared for transport. The walkers should hopefully not be required, however Zaranov was rather insistent that Twilight take some armour and Luna had agreed. A mortar platoon is also organising the 55mm and 82mm mortars that will be taken to Tarhen.

The air hums with the soft rumble of airship engines overhead. Five airships jostle for space over the fortress, their collision warning beacons flashing like stars. The Legion is pulling out all the stops for this one. HMS Resolute and Redoubtable, two Royal class cruisers have been assigned to escort the troopship HMS Archangel and HMS Equerry, the luxury airship that has been pressed into service as Twilight's royal transport. Prior to that, it was in Legion stores as a prize taken in the same raid that secured Twilight's shotgun. As a result, its ornate gold and purple paint scheme is at odds with the flat desert tan coloration of the Legion warships. Meanwhile, Prophet's warship, the Divine Providence sits back from the milieu, its bright golden decorations gleaming as its own beacons flash and its own sirens whoop loudly.

“It is a most formidable sight, Princess,” a voice distracts Twilight from her musing. Twilight jerks in surprise, rapidly wiping away the last traces of her tears before turning to see Prophet himself standing behind her. The Khan has eschewed his bulky scarlet plate armour in favour of loose fitting elaborately decorated crimson robes. His optic glows gently and he's loosely holding a long stemmed pipe that gently smoulders in his right hand. His left hand however, is still loosely clasped around the hilt of a sharp wickedly curved dagger. Twilight nods her head politely to the Justicar, who inclines his head politely in reply.
“You are sending an army to the gates of Tarhen. You will shake the government to its very core. Are you sure this is wise?” he asks softly. Twilight nods.

“If it shakes them, then all kinds of interesting things might fall into my basket,” Twilight replies. “Besides, one Compagnie didn't provide security for Princess Luna, so two compagnies plus elements should prove that whilst I'm not interested in starting a fight, I've got the power to repel a concerted attack.”

“I don't follow.”

“Three hundred and fifty men is not enough to occupy a city of three million citizens, particularly not one with a well equipped garrison and fleet of its own, but it is enough to defend the compound we'll be using for a week or more, should it come to that.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that. I'd rather not see my home-city turned into rubble.”

Twilight licks her lips quietly, reaching up as if to wipe away the last ghost of Dash's presence.
“You are nervous, Your Highness.” Prophet’s tone is matter-of-fact, and Twilight's gaze flicks up look at that bright golden eye. She curses herself for being so obvious, but the Khan merely chuckles gently, a deep rumbling laugh emanating from his throat.
“Yes,” Twilight admits, and Prophet nods.

“It is written upon your face, and all over your body. Relax, you have reason to be nervous. This is your first conference yes?”
“Third. I've been to Zebrica before, but Zebrica isn't here.”

“Mmm, so this is your first conference with a hostile power... you will do a good job,” Prophet judges after a moment, his tone matter of fact. “If it makes you feel better, I shall be praying for a favourable resolution to this crisis, and that you free Diplomatic Incident. That man deserves some quiet time after all he's done for your country, and for our Order.”

“You knew him?” Twilight asks, and Prophet nods.

“For what it is worth, I did. He was a very good man. There are few master spies out there, he is probably one of them. I could never tell what he was thinking.”

"You are discussing our fat ghostly friend?“ A voice comes from the shadows and Twilight turns to see Zaranov walking over to them, dressed in the combat dress of a Legionnaire, complete with pith helmet and rifle. He is accompanied by two others that Twilight recognises as the Commanding Officers of Fifth and Six Compagnies, Capitanes Adrelana and Belial, another looming Valorossiyan and a Cheetah-patterned Khan respectively. Both are dressed in combat dress, though they have forgone the pith helmets in favour of the legionnaire's soft cap. Neither look too pleased to see her.

“Yes, he is a valuable asset to the Equestrian Crown. We would like to recover him from the clutches of the Ministry of the Interior, alive if possible,” Twilight says, and Prophet clears his throat.

“You have nothing to fear on that score,” Prophet gently reassures Twilight. “I have, as I’ve said, placed my protection upon him. None shall harm him if they value their soul, or their life. He only has reason to fear if your blood-crazy idiots do something to provoke the Ministry of the Interior.” His gaze locks upon Zaranov at this comment as his tone hardens. Twilight's breath catches in her throat. Prophet has never seen eye to eye with Zaranov, and the low level back biting that marred the first encounter between the two has only intensified in the tactical briefings and situation conferences.

“Forgive me if I take the words of a representative of a hostile government at something less than face value,” Capitane Adrelana snaps in reply, and Belial likewise growls irritably, his whiskers twitching. Prophet's eyes narrow very slightly and his lips curl back to reveal the huge pointed fangs of his race.
“You permit this insubordination, Colonel?” Prophet turns on Zaranov, whose own expression is flinty.

“When they're making sense I do,” Zaranov replies. “I will not punish my senior officers for a due sense of caution when dealing with the enemy.” Twilight winces slightly, wishing that the Val would not choose now of all times to go over old ground.

“I am not your enemy, Bolshevik. I will not stand to be insulted by this rabble you call an army!” Prophet replies, to Twilight's chagrin. Evidently the Khan's patience is wearing thin.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime, keep your tongue between your teeth lest I make your incessant praying to God significantly harder by ripping that tongue out!” Zaranov rumbles, a wicked edge to his words.

“Come and try, I dare you!” Prophet snaps, reaching for his dagger. Twilight's eyes widen as she sees the situation rapidly getting out of control before her. Zaranov and Adrelana both appear to be out for blood, and Prophet likewise looks like he's up for a fight if the twitching of his tail is anything to go by.

“It would be my great pleasure.” Zaranov steps forward, however his way is blocked by Capitane Belial.

“No sir,” the Capitane says, and for a second, Twilight thinks she has an ally in maintaining cohesion. “I will not permit you to dirty your hands with the blood of this one, allow me.” Belial steps forward, drawing a long and vicious looking blade of his own. Before he can use it, a pulse of sound smashes over him and everyone else in the entire fortress.

“Be silent!” The words crash like waves against the buildings surrounding the parade square as the Royal Canterlot Voice booms from Twilight's throat for the first time, unbidden and unasked but certainly not unwelcome.

“Colonel Zaranov, to whom do you owe your loyalty?” Twilight asks, drawing herself up to her full height, which is not exactly impressive against the titanic Valorossiyan, however it has the desired effect and he straightens up, his head snapping back as he comes rigidly to attention.

“To the crown of Equestria ma'am,” he snaps, and Twilight nods, as if expecting his answer, whilst in fact trying to come up with something suitably imposing and regal, something like what Princess Celestia would say when in full on 'Princess Mode'.

“Then act like it! This petty back-biting sullies your regiment and our crown, we shall hear no more of it,” Twilight says, trying to summon the poise required for such pronouncements, her back straightening and her eyes narrowing as she recalls the manner that Professor “Dumb-Old-Door” Wooded Hollow, one of her teachers at the academy and a figure of nightmare for many of her peers, could summon seemingly at will.

“Yes ma'am!” Zaranov replies, his eyes wide, and an unfamiliar expression upon the Val's face. Twilight hopes she hasn't made an enemy as she rounds on Prophet.

“Prophet, you dishonour your Order and your Code with your slurs against these men. You are a dignitary and the guest of Colonel Zaranov, I will not hear you speak ill of his men, who have lost friends to the actions of your countrymen,” Twilight continues. “I shall certainly be noting how you have conducted yourself when I speak with the Shah.”

Prophet gives Twilight a long hard look, his mouth set into a thin line and for a moment, Twilight wonders if she has made a grievous error. No sound hangs in the air of the fortress save the rumbling of the airships. Even the Legionnaires on the parade square have been shocked into silence by the power of the Royal Canterlot Voice. Prophet then nods calmly.
“We shall speak of this again Your Highness. I find your words have merit.”

“Excellent. Now then, gentlemen, we are all working together to preserve peace. I do not ask you to like each other. I ask you to tolerate each other and control your bloodlust. You shall have plenty of time to rip each other's throats out on your own time, but right now, I want you all to stop this petty feud and focus on the mission at hand. Am I understood?”

“Yes ma'am,” the three Legionnaires reply, and Prophet nods very subtly. Twilight relaxes very slightly, this crisis appears to be averted.

“Good... now, Prophet, tell me how Diplomatic Incident was doing when you last saw him.”
____

Seven days earlier (approx. three hours after the bombing).

Diplomatic Incident opens his eyes slowly. He feels groggy and more than a little queasy. Thoughts seem to take a while to form, like each one has been coated in tar. He hisses as a numbing ache spreads across his chest and back. The whole world appears to be blurry and unsteady. The rasp and hiss of his own breathing rings loudly in his ears. All that he can see is a vague mass of shadows writhing through the mesh of a veil that has been thrown over his head.

Drat, I guess this scotches plans for dinner somewhat. The spy thinks.

Captivity is a rather unpleasant thing for the ageing spy to consider. Diplomatic Incident does not consider himself 'the best' as it were, yet he does consider himself reasonably good, as evidenced by the fact that he has spent over forty long years playing the Great Game, and this is the first time he's been arrested. Forty five years ago, when he was a young man in the Royal Green Jackets' Newshire regiment, this would have been nothing more than another challenge to his formidable intellect, an amusing puzzle to while away a summer afternoon before a spot of billiards in the evening, but then that was then, and this is now. Now Diplomatic Incident knows what they do to spies, and that he is no longer in the peak of physical condition as he once was.

Diplomatic Incident starts to dredge up the details of the fleeting conduct after capture lectures, which did not amount to much. In short the message was “Don't get captured.” Those lectures were so long ago, and they were about the Mujahidin of Afghanistan and the Boer separatists of the Zebrican frontier, along with a token lecture about the White and Blue Valorossiyans. Nobody even bothered to mention the Reds, or the Adrelanas, since the thinking at the time was that they were little more than a savage raider-band, and if you wound up amongst them, you'd end up dead. No one mentioned the Khanate, and it was such a long time ago that Diplomatic Incident can't really remember the specifics, which is saying something.

Diplomatic Incident then tugs gently, deciding to see if he is actually restrained, and he's not surprised when the restraints at his wrists and ankles clank loudly. Chains, excellent. Diplomatic Incident clears his throat, shocked by how dry and rasping the sound actually is as it clatters off the walls of the room... which is a room, the sound doesn't reverberate like it would if he was in a cell.

“Ah, you are awake,” a voice rings out, and Diplomatic Incident stiffens as he hears footsteps approaching. The voice does not have the distinctive grating harmonic of a Khan or the melodic cadence of a Valorosssiyan, but instead the voice is the calm unhurried lilting tones of an Equestrian. Moreover, that voice is familiar. It is a voice that Diplomatic Incident remembers very well, having spent quite a bit of time in Springbok's company when the man headed one of the more dangerous Boer separatist groups, a group that Diplomatic Incident had been charged with infiltrating. Diplomatic Incident had succeeded, becoming the right hand man of one of the most dangerous men in Equestria, until Diplomatic Incident systematically dismantled his organisation from the ground up.

“Springbok, you're taking the cat's shilling now?” Diplomatic Incident growls, noticing movement in the swirling sea of shadows.
“Well money is money man, we all need to fund our little habits ja?” the voice replies. “Much like you needed money, hence why you shopped me and my boys, Ernst.”

“I don't dispute that,” Diplomatic Incident replies, a calm resignation sliding through him. If he's alone in a room with Springbok, then he's a dead man. Springbok has vowed to murder the man he believes to be Ernst Reuter, and has put a price on Diplomatic Incident's head. “Business is business, you know how it goes.”

“Ah, you always were a ballsy one Ernst, that's what I liked about you,” Springbok sneers in reply. “But as you say man, business is business, and I've got powerful friends here. You're just one lone fookin' man ya, and whilst the cats may want you alive, I figure you're not worth the time it would take to question you.” Diplomatic Incident hears an oiled blade sliding out of a sheath, the rasp of metal on leather ringing in the cell, and Diplomatic Incident tries not to let the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. He can feel his heart beating quicker now, feel his breath tightening in his chest.

“Do I not get a last request Springbok, for old time's sake?”

“Well, Ernst, since I'm a gentleman and an honest man now, what is it, and make it fookin' good.”

“Well I'd go for a cup of tea right now, Earl Grey if you have it, and if you could be a sport and take my mask off that would be most appreciated, I'd rather look death in the eye if it's all the same to you.” Diplomatic Incident says, forcing his tone to stay light and cheerful, as though the prospect of certain death is no more threatening than a brisk walk after lunch.

“Fair enough, not like you've got anyone to tell about this anyway, no fookin' tricks mind you, or I'll gut you like a pig!”

“My hands are tied Springbok, what tricks do you think I have up my sleeves?”

“Ya, I get that, fuck it, let's let the Equestrian have his tea before we kill him... you couldn't make this shit up. Next he'll be asking for pistols at dawn,” Springbok crows. Diplomatic Incident tries not to let the relief show. Hopefully in the time it'll take for them to find and brew a pot of tea, Springbok's handlers will have time to step in and remind Springbok who is calling the shots. Diplomatic Incident assumes Springbok will have handlers, if not one then several. Springbok is a very dangerous man and a very tactically competent terrorist, but he needs to be tightly controlled or he starts making mistakes and breaking the rules. Mind you, whoever has me in here isn't much of a stickler for due process, I'm travelling entirely above board for a change. The ageing spy reflects.

Diplomatic Incident tries not to think about the possibility of this being Springbok acting on his own recognisance, and the boasting of cat support being exactly that, empty boasting. If that's the case then Diplomatic Incident is well aware that his card is well and truly marked. Diplomatic Incident resigns himself to the fact that Princess Celestia will raise merry hell about his disappearance, and if she doesn't, then Zsaryna Adrelana will, and between the angry goddess and the angry Val, there won't be enough left of Springbok to fit into a thimble once they're finished. That is limited consolation to Diplomatic Incident, but every little helps.

Diplomatic Incident suddenly hears footsteps approaching, and before he can do anything else, the sack over his head has been dragged up and off his head, and the identity of his tormentor is confirmed. The years have not been kind to Springbok. He is still tall and powerfully built as Diplomatic Incident remembers him, his head is still shaven and his hands are still coarse and leathery. He is still dressed in the red and white check shirt and dungarees, with the red beret that was his trademark. However, his short beard is starting to turn silvery and his cheeks have a gaunt look to them. However his eyes still burn with the bright glimmering light of a fanatic.

“Ernst, you're looking well, much better than the last time I saw you... evidently shopping me and my boys set you up for a good long while ya?”

“You could say that,” Diplomatic Incident replies. “I see the years haven't done you much good.”

“Yeah, well you're mostly to blame for that,” Springbok replies calmly, turning a knife over and over in his hands. “You should be thanking me you know, old age sucks dicks, I'm doing you a fookin' favour by giving you an early retirement.”

“If it's all the same to you, I think I'd prefer a cottage in the cotswolds.” Diplomatic Incident deadpans.

“Ha, you're a funny guy Ernst, that's one of the things I missed about you.”

“You know you'll miss me.”

“Maybe, but I won't lose any sleep over it.” There is a sharp bang bang bang of a fist on metal, presumably a door of some kind, and Springbok looks up.

“Hey, I said not to disturb me!” he snaps, and the voice from the outside growls something in Fars'ad in reply.

“I'm coming in, you'd better have the prisoner ready for me!”

“Sure sure, whatever man, I'm just finishing up ja?”
The door then hisses open and footsteps ring out behind Diplomatic Incident. A soft gasp of in-drawn breath makes Diplomatic Incident smirk slightly. Obviously the Khans need to train their handlers a little better.

“We have a problem,” the voice snaps, and Diplomatic Incident recognizes this voice as belonging to a Khan, young enough not to know his own mind, but cultured enough to be of good breeding.

“Too right we do, the problem is that this piece of shit is still breathing,” Springbok snaps in Fars'ad.

“Not just that. You pointed him out to us as a terrorist. You didn't tell us he's tight with the Equestrians.” The voice says

“He is? I figure that you guys would consider that more reason to cut him up.” Springbok responds.

“We do not need more trouble with the Equestrians right now.”

“That's not what I've been told by the guy who pays me.”

“Look, I don't care about your arrangements with the army, do you know who this guy is?”

“He's the scumbag that got me and my men cut to ribbons back home.”

“He's also a recognized diplomatic contact for Equestria. He has diplomatic immunity, the whole nine yards.”

“Well your civvies chopped up a bunch of Equestrian dippies the other day, I didn't figure you considered that a problem.”

“That was different... There's something else.” The voice says urgently.

“Yeah?” Springbok sounds irritated as he slides the knife back into its holster.

“He's not only tight with the Justicars, but the fucking Bolsheviks.”

“Shit,” Springbok hisses. “How tight?”

“The Bolshevik ambassador is coming down the hallway right now, and hot on her heels is an Ordained Justicar.”

“Stall them, this guy's got more to tell us.”

“Have you ever met a Valorossiyan? I rather like breathing through my nose as opposed to my spleen if it’s all the same to you.”

“Maybe we should be having this conversation out of his hearing?” Springbok says, and an instant later, the Khan begins to swear as Diplomatic Incident coughs politely. Before he can say anything however, the door behind him bangs open and Diplomatic Incident hears the sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind him, and then a low growl of the sort that can only come from an angry Valorossiyan female.

“What the fuck is this?” Diplomatic Incident has never been so glad to hear the incredulous voice of Lady Ambassador Adrelana. “This is how the Khanate treats diplomats?”

“My lady Ambassador, he has been accused of a misdemeanor, we must take him into custody to determine the veracity of this matter.”

Diplomatic Incident winces. He could have told the Khan that using overly-long words and flowery phrases around Vals is a good way to get yourself killed.
“And you appear to have done a fine job of taking him into custody. I see no need for him to be restrained like this,” Zsaryna snaps in reply, and Diplomatic incident can practically hear the twin rows of short sharp spines running down her back vibrating with anger.

“This matter is a matter between the Khanate and this terrorist suspect, I see no reason for the Bolsheviks to get involved here,” Springbok suddenly interjects, and Diplomatic Incident tries not to chortle.

“I call upon all those present to observe the traditional moment of silence.” A third voice, Khanate, but a high class voice, of the kind that would belong to a Lord if he was an Equestrian.

“Who died?” Springbok asks.

“You did,” Zsaryna says firmly. Diplomatic Incident hears her footsteps draw nearer, and suddenly he is facing the tall, pale beauty that has saved his life once again. She looks no less lovely in a suit that has been cut for the Valorossiyan figure, complete with red tie.

“Leonid, we really must stop meeting like this,” Zsaryna says, her eyes twinkling faintly to let Diplomatic Incident know she's joking. “A lady has her reputation to think about after all.”

“My lady Ambassador, I thank you for coming to see me in my time of trial,” Diplomatic Incident says gratefully, and Zsaryna gestures over his shoulder.

“Thank him, he opened every door that I couldn't.” As she says this, a Khan dressed in the deep blood red armour of a Justicar steps into Diplomatic Incident's field of view, a Khan with a bright glowing red optic in his right eye.

“Prophet, a pleasure as always,” Diplomatic Incident says coolly. His last meeting with Prophet had not gone as expected, and though he has done favours for the Justicars over the years, he considers them partners of necessity at best. Their black and white moral compass doesn't sit at all well with Diplomatic Incident. That being said, he's glad to see they consider him an asset worth saving.

“Ahmed... or is it Leonid... You have done many things for our Order over the years, we do not leave our debts unanswered. I place my protection upon this man, if he is to be questioned then he shall not be placed under duress. Any who harm him will answer to me, be they prisoner or guard. He shall be released into the custody of the Equestrians when they come to recover him. The Divinity has spoken, will you listen?”

“I will,” the other Khan says, his tone nervous, as if he's just picked up a live grenade.

“In addition,” the Valorossiyan growls, “I would like to appoint an observer to make sure the Justicar's judgement is carried out. Would that be agreeable, Justicar?”

“I find that most agreeable, thank you Lady Ambassador.” Prophet replies calmly.

“Good, now, Leonid, is there anything we can do for you? I have sent a telegram to the Equestrian Foreign Office so they know that you're a guest of the Khans.”

“Send word to the Legion etrangere,” Diplomatic Incident says. “Make Princess Twilight Sparkle aware of these events. Justicar, if you could help her, I would consider us even.”

“It shall be done, Ahmed. May the Grace of the Divinity watch over you.”
____

“... And so I came here.” Prophet finishes his story.

Twilight nods, trying not to let her relief show. Whilst she has no doubt that Prophet has been honest with her when he says he's placed protection upon her, the mention of Valorossiyan observers reassures Twilight. No one would dare harm Diplomatic Incident with them standing over him, if they're anything like their countrymen in the Legion. She turns to Zaranov.

“I hope you can understand why Diplomatic Incident is regarded as a useful asset,” Twilight says, and the two officers next to Zaranov nod quickly. Capitane Adrelana clears his throat.

“You're looking to exploit his connection with the Western Union?” he asks, and Twilight nods.

“I'm hoping he can make the requisite introductions to the appropriate dignitaries, yes.”

“There's only one dignitary who matters to you,” Zaranov explains. “Lady Zsaryna Adrelana, she handles all the Western Union's dealings with foreign nations, arms deals and the like. She's the daughter of the Western Union's warlord, chief Arkady Adrelana, and she's next in line according to the rumours from the Duma. Equestria has traditionally dealt with the Western Union whilst the Khanate works with the PVU, or the Parliament of Valorossiyan Unity, the other major faction. Do not even bother approaching the PVU, you'll just offend Zsaryna, and offending a Valorossiyan is not the course of wisdom.”

“I learnt that a few days ago,” Twilight says. Capitane Adrelana snickers, and even Colonel Zaranov manages a smirk.
“So,” Twilight then continues, “regale me with the plan for how you're going to get two compagnies of Legionnaires into Tarhen.”

Capitane Belial steps forward, clearing his throat. “Yes Ma'am, we've secured accommodation in the northern end of the city, we've rented an industrial compound to the north of the city with two warehouses, office space and a registered landing pad that will hold a couple of skiffs along with an open area that can be used for landing larger airships or tents as your highness requires. We're going to move everything in at once, so your airship will take a couple of nice wide circuits around the city and draw everyone's attention whilst we're landing Fifth and Sixth compagnie, Elements of Fifth Compagnie will be riding shotgun in skiffs, though, so when you land, those skiffs will be overhead to provide over-watch. You'll then take a royal carriage through the city on a roundabout route to give the paparazzi the slip, from whence you're going to head to our compound. Does this meet your approval ma'am?”
Twilight nods. “I see no problems Capitane, do you, Colonel?” Twilight turns to Zaranov, who shakes his head.
“No ma'am,” Zaranov replies. “You'll still want elements of the Ninth?”

Twilight pauses for a moment, thoughts of Dash rising unbidden.
“Yes, I don't want to leave Fifth and Sixth compagnies undermanned by my bodyguard requirements,” Twilight replies. “In addition... the NCO in charge of the Ninth is known to me,” she says, feeling the eyes of all four men on her, and her face turns a delicate shade of crimson as she imagines what they might make of this. She's sure that all four of them could probably put two and two together if asked, or pointed in the right direction.

Belial shrugs. “If you will forgive me for speaking plainly Highness, we would rather have our compagnies undermanned than see your protection trusted to a caporal and an ears-and-nose troop… they do not have experience. Caporal Bolt is the most experienced among their number and she only has two years under arms.”

Zaranov shakes his head. “Capitane, your feelings about the Ninth are known to me, and I know you are not an untainted source in this matter. The Ninth has unfinished business in Tarhen and Bolt has assured me that her troop is up to taking care of it.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Belial growls. “Legionnaires with vendettas are the worst kind.”

“Caporal Bolt will keep her men under control,” Capitane Adrelana interjects. “She always has done in the past, if she had more time in we’d be making her a sergent about now.”

“We might not have a choice, you do not have a Caporal in charge of a Compagnie. It is unseemly,” Belial mutters, and Zaranov grunts his approval. Twilight narrows her eyes faintly as she tries to follow the conversation.

“Princess,” Adrelana suddenly speaks up. “What’s your opinion of Caporal Bolt? You have spent quite a bit of time with her, more time than most of us.” His glance at Zaranov is quizzical, and the subtle shake of the head makes Capitane Adrelana’s shoulders stiffen a little.

Twilight glances downwards. “I… uh… I have a history with the Caporal, I’m not sure I’m an appropriate judge of Caporal Bolt’s character,” she quietly reveals, and Zaranov shrugs

“A past history is better than nothing at all,” Zaranov replies, and Twilight runs a hand through her hair as thoughts of the Caporal cloud her mind, thoughts of the kiss that they’d just had blotting out everything else. Her cheeks redden as she tries to think about something else to no avail.

Twilight takes a deep breath to clear her mind, aware that now is not the time to be thinking about what the two of them have shared. She needs to provide a sober assessment and cannot do that if her heart is a whirling ball of passion, indeed she cannot salvage the situation if her mind is drifting to thoughts of Rainbow Dash at any opportunity it can.

“Caporal Arc Bolt is a little impulsive, but she’s good at what she does. She’s um, she’s a good leader and a good teacher,” Twilight says after a moment, wondering where that came from. Those weren’t words she ever thought she’d say about Rainbow Dash back in Ponyville, however as Twilight considers the words, she realizes that they are true. Dash has taught her much about Legion life, and indeed soldiering, much more than the men of the Fourth ever did. Twilight is sure she wouldn't know half as much if she hadn't had her ex as a teacher.

“I see,” Zaranov says after a moment, and then Prophet clears his throat.
“If I may interject, though I do not wish to cause offence…”

“If you must,” Zaranov replies.

“The individual known to you as Arc Bolt is more than she appears. You could do worse than having her as a sergent, that and as you say, to demean Princess Twilight by giving her a junior non-commissioned officer as the head of her bodyguard will weaken the position of the Princess when she comes to Tarhen tomorrow. Perhaps a solution would be to make her an acting sergent and if she can handle it, give her the full stripe when you have the luxury of time,” Prophet suggests, and Zaranov actually looks taken aback for a moment.

“That is actually… not a bad idea,” Zaranov says after a moment. “Good to know you can do something besides sermonizing.”

“I used to be a soldier before I took up Holy Orders,” Prophet replies. “I know something of how to play the game.” He then turns to look at Twilight, as a horrified thought strikes the young princess. She wonders if Prophet knows about Arc Bolt and Rainbow Dash being the same person. A look at the Khan’s impenetrable face offers no clues, the Khan has a most excellent poker face, and Twilight resolves to discreetly ask the Khan as soon as she can.

“Anyway, reminiscing isn't why we’re here,” Zaranov says, “Belial, Adrelana, you've both got shit to do, so fuck off and do it.” As the two officers salute and turn on their heels to walk away to their compagnies, Zaranov turns to Twilight as Prophet likewise excuses himself and wanders off into the night.

“Would you be open to a little honesty, Your Highness?” the Colonel asks, and Twilight nods quickly.
“Speak your mind Colonel, I value your words,” Twilight says, and for a moment she notices Zaranov hesitate, which perplexes Twilight. She’s never seen the Valorossiyan hesitate before.

“I will speak to you Val to Val,” Zaranov says after a moment. “No Colonels or Princesses here, do you understand?”

Twilight nods nervously as the Val turns and looks out across the landing field at the Legionnaires who are now loading the last of their gear into the airships, and forming up for final inspections, all dressed in their combat uniforms, scarves pulled up over their faces and goggles shielding their eyes.

“I admire you Princess,” the Val says, and Twilight blinks, taken aback. Of all the things she’d expected the titanic warlord to say, this had not been one of them. She is momentarily lost for words, but Colonel Zaranov continues speaking and Twilight does not interrupt.
“You’re twenty three, is it?” Zaranov inquires, and Twilight nods mutely.

“I admire your tenacity. When word came in that I would be expecting a Princess, I expected to be confronted with a shorter version of the Field Marshal. Arrogant, unpleasant and demanding. Worse in fact because you are not a soldier. However you have surprised me. You have been willing to muck in, willing to learn and willing to train with the men. On top of this, you are going to be in a negotiating room negotiating a peace deal in less than a day. Very few people your age would be willing or able to do this.”

“Thank you.” Twilight shifts her heels self consciously

“Are you nervous?” The Val asks

“Yes, Zaranov.”

“Good. You should hold on to that feeling, fear can give a human strength, can clear the mind and give a human the will to do what is needed,” the Val says quietly. “Listen to Belial and Adrelana, they know their trade and they have more operational experience than you know.”

“I plan to,” Twilight replies, and Zaranov nods approvingly.

“Good, now do not trust Prophet, or the Justicars. They have their own purpose and will not hesitate to throw you under an omnibus to achieve it,” Zaranov says, and Twilight tilts her head slightly, unsure how to respond to this. Prophet has done nothing to warrant her distrust, however she can understand where the colonel is coming from. Twilight nods after a moment, and then Zaranov calmly pats her on the shoulder, causing Twilight to lurch under the strength of that blow.

“You have speeches to write Princess… you have written your speeches, haven’t you?” Zaranov asks and Twilight nods, a slight smile curling her lips.

“One more thing,” Zaranov says as Twilight is about to turn and leave. “You aren't properly dressed.”
He gestures downwards at Twilight’s waistbelt and she suddenly blushes as she realizes she’s forgotten her revolver. “Make sure you have your weapon with you at all times ma’am,” Zaranov says reprovingly. Twiilight nods, the surge of pride she’d felt rapidly dissipating beneath the force of Zaranov’s amused irritation. Twilight then turns, making her excuses and starting to leave.

She has to finish packing anyway, or at least get her things organized. As she wanders back to her quarters however, her thoughts are full of Rainbow Dash; about what she’s going to say or do. Memories of that kiss still swirl in her mind, and now she can think of nothing else.

Twilight can feel something in her chest, something that she can quite clinically identify as an attachment to Dash, but it’s nothing more than a spark, a spark that needs to be put out. However as hard as Twilight tries to remind herself of all the things that got on her nerves about Rainbow Dash - like how she left her socks in the middle of the kitchen floor, or she used Twilight’s toothbrush without asking, or how she never did the dishes or came home drunk a couple more times than she should have - all it does is remind Twilight of all the good times that they shared. All the times that she had complained to Dash over tea about court problems or woken up to the glorious smell of bacon and eggs benedict. Twilight knows she’s going to need to sort things out with Dash, and preferably without half the fort listening in. She gestures to the two sentries standing guard outside the entrance to her barrack block.

“Gentlemen, you've done a cracking job so I would like you to take tonight off,” Twilight says, giving the two Legionnaires her best winsome smile. They both give her a cheery salute, before turning on their heels and walking away. Twilight sighs as she watches them go, waiting for them to round a corner before she opens the door to her accommodation block. She doesn't want witnesses for what could be a rather personal moment.

Twilight wearily trudges up the stairs. She’s had it up to here with her thoughts and feelings and ‘personal moments’. They’re just ghosts, just apparitions that have surfaced upon seeing an old and familiar face, and what with everything else going on, it’s natural that her mind would lock onto the first familiar, safe thing. It is an instinctive behavior, but Twilight cannot have her thought processes dominated by biological activity that predates sapient thought right now.

Twilight’s mind however is suddenly dominated by the sounds of a scuffle coming from up the corridor, from her bedroom. She stiffens as she approaches, wondering what on earth is going on. As she draws nearer to the half opened door, she hears Rainbow Dash shout out in pain and a sharp barked invocation in Fars’ad. Twilight can feel an iron weight settling somewhere around her midsection as she curses herself for sending the sentries away. Twilight reaches down for her revolver, only to find empty space where her gun-belt should be. Twilight curses herself once more but her footsteps quicken towards the door. Dash is in danger, and Twilight will not stand by and let her friend get hurt. She can now clearly hear Rainbow grunting, and the sound of flesh striking fur and shouts of pain. Twilight reaches the door and shoulders it open.

Her eyes widen in shock. Dash is grappling on the floor with a red robed Khan that has his paw against the lower half of Dash’s face. His other paw is struggling to get free of Dash’s grip, whilst Dash’s other hand is locked around the paw around her face. As the door opens however, the Khan leaps to his feet, extending his claws and reaching for a knife at his belt. Twilight in turn reaches for her revolver on her belt, only to touch fabric rather than leather. A surge of panic pulses through Twilight as she unthinkingly gropes for her revolver, but before she has time to think or react, the Khan is on her and she’s suddenly looking up at the ceiling as a powerful weight smashes her backwards, knocking her to the floor like a sack of meat. Twilight shrieks out, trying to scrabble away from the Khan, however the Khan slams a paw down into Twilight’s belly, forcing her breath out with a whoomph. The Khan then draws back to swing his dagger, however Twilight, still gasping for breath, reaches to the wellspring of innate power for something, anything to keep him off her. The resulting bang makes Twilight’s ears ring as it erupts from her hand, making her teeth rattle and her stomach lurch as a pulse of fire spreads across the space behind her eyes, Twilight hears the Khan crash heavily into something wooden, which smashes under the impact.

Twilight frantically scrabbles backwards in the direction she desperately hopes is her bedside table. As she does, she glances nervously for Dash, and notices Dash is lying sprawled upon her back. Shit, I guess I put a little too much behind that one. Twilight blindly snatches for the revolver on her bedside table, managing to hook the gun-belt into her grasp. Twilight struggles to undo the holster’s tight button fastening as the Khan manages to fight free of the wreckage of her wardrobe and leap at her. She raises the revolver and snatches at the trigger, the crash of her revolver thundering off the walls in the confines of her room as Twilight pumps the trigger again, firing two more shots at the charging Khan. The gun jerks in her hands with each shot and the Khan staggers, but he continues his charge, leaping at Twilight and knocking her sprawling.

“I AM ARMOURED BY FAITH!” the Khan screams as the revolver tumbles from Twilight’s grip, though Twilight can barely hear him through the ringing of her ears and suddenly she’s on the ground once more, her weight pinned down by the bulk of the Khan. Twilight frantically shoves at him, trying to make some space between the two of them, but the Khan is grabbing at her, trying to pin her down. Before Twilight can blast him backwards again, the Khan is lifted up in a full Nelson, Dash grabbing the Khan and pulling him off Twilight by his armpits.

“Get back Twi!” Dash yells as the Khan twists in her grip to try and scratch her face. Twilight has other ideas however, and she dives into the fight, grabbing her fighting-knife and thrusting it violently down into the Khan’s robes- where it encounters resistance. The knife twists downwards as it encounters plates of steel rather than the anticipated cotton underclothes and flesh.

Twilight pulls the knife out even as the Khan turns again, and suddenly Twilight’s world is filled with snapping jaws as the Khan manages to break free of Dash’s grip and leap at Twilight, claws slashing. Twilight feels a slice of pain in her side and she gasps as the Khan manages to rake her side with those vicious claws. Twilight is knocked off balance by the onslaught and she feels herself start to tumble once more.

However this time the Khan is ready and his knife is already beginning its wicked descent, the viciously curved blade gleaming in the lamplight. Suddenly the Khan jerks as a much louder resounding explosion fills the room, the Khan’s arm tumbling off at the shoulder, landing with a wet thud inches from Twilight’s head. Something hot and wet splashes across Twilight’s face and the front of her shirt as the blade clatters uselessly nearby. The Khan’s glazed eyes remain locked upon Twilight, his expression filled with murderous intent.

“I AM ARMOURED BY SCRIPTURE AND THE WORDS OF THE DIVINITY!” the Khan screams, his voice shrill and laden with pain as Twilight hears the ratcheting clank of a rifle bolt being jacked. The Khan’s right arm has been severed, but he’s still grabbing at Twilight, furiously slashing at her chest with the claws on his left hand and drawing shrieks of pain from the princess, stars flashing across her eyes as she tries to fight him off. She frantically hurls punches at the Khan, but his armour plating turns each blow with a loud clang. Twilight suddenly hears another loud click and a loud curse from Rainbow Dash. Twilight tries to reach once more for her magic, but as she does so, the Khan punches her in the face, disrupting the focus that Twilight needs to summon a spell. Twilight yowls out in pain, feeling something hot and wet spreading across her belly as his rake at her belly.

A wet meaty crack suddenly rings out in the room and the Khan lurches, toppling off of Twilight to land with a heavy thump upon the floor next to her to reveal Rainbow Dash standing over her, calmly sweeping the blood and bone fragments off the stock of her rifle with her sleeve. The cold, searing calm upon the Legionnaire’s face sends a shiver down Twilight’s spine.

Twilight blinks for a moment, gazing up at Rainbow Dash, whose face and uniform are spattered with blood. Her eye is cold and hard as she puts the rifle down and reaches under Twilight’s bed, scooping up the hunting gun and breaking the weapon open and nodding in satisfaction. Twilight slowly picks herself up, applying pressure to her side and breast as she does so. For now the pain is only a dull ache but Twilight knows it’s going to be excruciating in a couple of minutes. As Twilight watches through cringing eyes, Rainbow glances down at the moaning Khan on the floor, before calmly tilting the gun downwards.

The thunderous roar of the shotgun makes Twilight jump, her head quickly turning away as the Khan’s head explodes like an overripe grapefruit. Her heart races; the thick smells of blood and the bitter odour of burnt cordite fills the air as the sound of a wet brushstroke splatters against the wall. Twilight raises her hands to shield her face and cover her mouth in shock as fragments of skull fly past her vision, along with a great fountain of blood and viscera that decorates the walls and the ruins of Twilight’s wardrobe.

Twilight hears booted footsteps running down the corridor, and instantly Dash raises the shotgun up into the aim once more, covering the door this time. Twilight reaches for her revolver, picking it up with a shaking hand. Her palms are sweaty and her heart is thundering in her ears. She knows this will be one of two things: more assassins or help.

Twilight instantly recognizes the two Legionnaires as they fly through the doorway, weapons raised. Both are soldiers of the Ninth Compagnie, the sentries that she’d dismissed no less, recognizable by their black shoulder patches, if the fact that Caporal Smith was one of them was not enough of a clue. Twilight sighs with relief and lowers her weapon, however she’s perplexed as Dash keeps her weapon up and in the aim. Both Legionnaires sweep into the room, weapons up for a moment, before both they and Dash lower their weapons.

“Slowpoke,” Smith says, bowing his head to Dash, who nods in reply.

“Smitty, thank fuck you’re here, we’ve got a problem.”

“So I see.” Smith’s gaze turns to Twilight, and she notices his eyes dropping down to her side, to the blood leaking down the side of her clothes. Twilight glances down, lifting her bloody hand away to reveal a series of rapidly fading white scars that are already disappearing to reveal virgin skin. Twilight slowly exhales a breath that she hadn't realized she’d been holding, her shaking hands becoming still as the clouds of panic in her head are suddenly cleared.

“Holy fuck- I mean-! Sorry ma’am,” Smith quickly apologizes for his impropriety, but Twilight waves her hand. She’s more than a little surprised herself. Celestia had never mentioned anything like this healing ability, or the unnatural calm that is even now settling upon her being part of the suite of abilities she’d inherited as a princess. Twilight takes a deep shuddering breath as her eyes drift downwards, to the dead Khan, with his head exploded across her bedroom rug. Twilight’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting to feel as she stares at the corpse. She’s seen, and even taken part in dissections and various other scientific procedures on the recently dead and she’s even observed surgery and so the sight of viscera is nothing new to her. However as she gazes down at the dead Khan, she notices she feels… nothing. No nausea or shakes or trauma. Just a calm cold vacuum that worries Twilight more than it should.

“What happened?” the other soldier, Legionnaire ‘Match Box’ if Twilight remembers his name correctly, asks, and Dash shrugs.

“I was in the Princess’ room getting her shit ready, when whiskers here came in and told me he needed to see the Princess on important business from Prophet. However we all know that Prophet has unlimited access to the Princess and he would just come see her himself, but whiskers down here told me it was classified and he couldn't talk about it whilst I was in the room, now that lit all my fucking warning bells, and so I asked him to wait with me, at which point he jumped at me and knocked my rifle away… Then Twi came in, we managed to overpower him and do a bit of decorating, then you came in,” Dash observes, as Twilight sags down onto her bed, breathing heavily as the weight of the events crashes down upon her. It’s one thing to be told she’s going to be attacked, that she needs to take shooting lessons in case someone attacks her, but it’s quite another when it happens for real in all its stinking, thunderous and chaotic glory.

Twilight suddenly feels the bed sag next to her. She doesn't even say anything when she feels a warm body leaning against her and an electric blue wing wrapping around her, and pulling her close. Twilight closes her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath.

“Wow,” the princess whispers after a moment. “That was… I don’t know what to… f-fuck...”

Twilight’s vaguely aware of Rainbow Dash gesturing to the other Legionnaires and muttering something, Twilight closes her eyes for a moment, but abruptly open with a gasp as the door snaps shut. She glances around the wreckage of what was her bedroom, and realizes she is alone with Dash once more.

Rainbow Dash turns to look at Twilight. “Thank you for trying to get him off me,” Dash says after a moment. “That was fucked up.”

“Mmm,” Twilight softly mumbles. “I… when he just kept coming and I couldn't put him down...”

“Fucknuts was wearing power armour, ten mill of enchanted ceramite,” Dash says quietly. “Your rounds won’t punch through that.”

“Is that common?” Twilight asks, and Dash shakes her head.

“No, only the Stormtroops, Internal Defence forces and the Justicars have access to...” Dash trails off, a dawning expression of horror crossing her face. Twilight’s eyes likewise widen as the same notion occurs to her.

“Get Prophet here immediately.” Twilight rises to her feet. “I want to know his thoughts on this matter.”

“Are you sure Twilight?” Dash asks as Twilight approaches the corpse, but Twilight nods firmly.

“If this is one of Prophet’s men, he’ll be able to identify him.”

“Her. This one’s a female.” Dash corrects Twilight, who tilts her head curiously.

“How do you know?”

“For starters the claws are a little sharper and the muzzle is shaped differently. Females are also more aggressive than the males,” Dash explains, pointing out the claws. Twilight nods, silently taking notes as she steps closer to the cadaver. She dispassionately stoops down, barely aware of Dash rising to her feet behind her and going to the door and muttering something to the Legionnaires outside. Twilight hooks her fingers around the bloodstained robes and gingerly opens them up, revealing bronze armour plating that shines with a glorious lustre, as though it’s been freshly polished. Embossed upon the breastplate is the same winged feline skull that adorns Prophet’s armour, although this suit is clearly of slightly lower quality. Twilight’s fingers trace the contours of the armour, down to the scorched dents where the armour had turned her bullets.

“Rainbow…” Twilight says nervously as thoughts of what might have happened drift through her mind.

“Twilight, relax,” Dash says after a moment. “We’re going to take care of this, Pinkie promise.”

Twilight can’t help but giggle slightly, however the giggle feels weak and out of place. Twilight inspects the richly engraved armour, decorated with flowing Fars’ad script, and her gaze slowly drifts upwards, to the cowl of the armour and to the bleeding stump where the Khan’s head used to be. Twilight draws a deep breath, trying to be dispassionate about her examination, trying to divorce the living breathing being that this Khan had been from the lump of meat that she is now. She then notices something strange. A thong is loosely tied around the Khan’s neck. Twilight frowns as she pulls at the thong and comes away with a silver circular medallion with a stylized image of a Khan on one side, and Khan script on the other.

“Dash, I’ve found something on whiskers,” Twilight says suddenly, holding it up, and Dash whistles, impressed.

“Nice, that’s an identity disk,” Dash says brightly. “It’ll have a name on it, can you read Fars’ad?”

Twilight looks down at the flowing, curling script that is so different from her own native Equestrian and takes a deep breath, trying to summon her magic. However her magic is no help here, and so Twilight shakes her head.
“No, sorry.”

“No worries, chuck it here, I can read it.” Twilight tosses the medal to Dash, who nods after a second. “Yeah, my other eye was better at reading this shit… here we go, Kalima Faizala-Aznan, born on-”

“Aznan, isn’t that..?” Twilight suddenly remembers a face that had been given quite a bit of time in the books she’d been given to read.

“You mean General Aznan? National hero, blah blah, doubtful, it’s a pretty common surname over there. I’ll admit whiskers here was a mountain cat though, and you need to be kind of special to get into the Justicars, even as a journeyman,” Dash says after a moment, thoughtfully rolling the medallion between her fingers for a second.

“We should definitely look into this,” Twilight says decisively, but before Dash can reply, there are voices from outside the room.

“I’m going to need you to wait here, sir!”

“DO NOT IMPEDE ME IN THIS!” the roar of Prophet’s voice is clearly audible, along with a deep low pitched thrumming noise.

“Send him in!” Twilight snaps, summoning her magic. The moment Prophet comes through the door, Twilight knows what she’s going to do. She’s going to lock Prophet in place and force him to answer some very pertinent questions. She doesn’t like the way he’s growling at the Legionnaires and that low thrumming noise is likewise setting her teeth on edge. Dash likewise glances at Twilight with a querulous expression, before moving so that she’s behind the bed, able to shoot at the doorway without Twilight in her line of fire.

The door opens and Prophet thunders into the room, sword in hand. Twilight doesn’t think about the spell before she summons it, dropping the energy upon Prophet with a crash, or more precisely upon his feet. Prophet sways forward, caught unexpectedly in mid-stride and his remaining eye widens.

“What is this treachery?” he hisses as Dash raises her weapon. Twilight turns and fixes the Justicar with a look that could slice through steel.

“Is this one of your crewmen?” she asks sharply, tapping the corpse with her toe. The Justicar nods, his face still cold and hard.

“Yes,” Prophet says firmly. “That is a suit of armour from my ship… belonging to one of my Acolytes if memory serves… no…” Twilight notices his gaze track to the slash in her clothing and the blood spattering Rainbow Dash’s face and uniform. Twilight notices a flicker of something in the whiskers and tail before his face suddenly becomes a neutral mask. He lifts his sword up and sheathes it rapidly.

“She made an attempt on your life?” he asks, and Twilight nods sharply.

“She tried to kill my bodyguard, and then when I came in she tried to kill me, unsuccessfully as you can see.”

“Mhm,” Prophet says softly, his eye flicking quickly from right to left. “I see… this is problematic for both of us,” he says after a moment as Twilight feels a presence pushing at her own magic, and she redoubles her own effort to lock the Justicar down. She’d rather not kill Prophet but if he’s here to kill her then she’ll have to, and damn the Justicars.

“This is one of my people, one of my more trusted aides… trust that was evidently misplaced,” Prophet says quietly. “I selected my crew for their doctrinal flexibility, crew that would be willing not to kill you on sight.” Prophet looks down at the body and sucks his teeth. “It would appear that… somehow, she slipped through my net.” Prophet taps his toe thoughtfully and turns his gaze back to Twilight’s face. “I understand that you don’t trust me right now, I’m hoping we can work through that. Believe me, Princess Twilight Sparkle, it is not in the interest of the Divinity for me to kill you.”

Twilight nods, her mouth set in a thin line. She doesn't have any allies in the Khanate other than Prophet, and the Justicars could be a powerful ally… “Or a powerful threat.” The words of Colonel Zaranov hang in her mind as she considers the situation.

“I see,” she says after a moment. “As you say, this complicates matters between us. ” Twilight folds her arms. “You are useful to me, as I am useful to you.”

“May I take the body?” Prophet says after a moment, and Twilight nods.

“You may. Was she known to you?” Twilight asks, closely scrutinizing Prophet. She doesn't know much about Khan body language, but even she notices the twitch of the tail, the flick of the ears, and the overlong pause before Prophet shakes his head.

“No, she wasn't.”

Twilight watches him carefully pick up the body, holding it close to his chest for a moment as he carries it out bridal-style despite the claret staining his own crimson robes. As the door closes behind him, Twilight turns to Rainbow Dash, who nods subtly.

“Let’s get our things Twi… we’ve gotta go in four hours. Give me those clothes and I’ll get them washed for ya, I know Rares was saying red was in when I left, but I don’t think this is what she had in mind.” Twilight nods quickly, stepping around the crust of dried blood on the floor and heading over to her trunk and popping the latches with a sigh.

Too many questions, not enough answers.