27th of January 1882. 0720.

The landing ramp drops with a crash, flooding the darkened storage area with light and heat that smashes Twilight in the face with all the grace and subtlety of a sledgehammer. Twilight lifts her hand to shield eyes from the brutal onslaught of light as her eyes try and adjust, however she only gets the vaguest impression of low buildings, and a blurry crowd of people, before there is a sudden shout.

“Make way, make way for the Princess!”

Twilight lowers her hand to see the crowd of people turning in surprise, all their attention having been focussed on the gangway. As Twilight watches, the six Legionnaires at the hatchway push forward, clattering down the ramp and whirling football rattles, the crowd suddenly shifting as they see the carriage moving slowly down the ramp. The carriage is forced to advance at a crawl so that the helmsman doesn't knock any of them beneath the churning wheels of the carriage and powerful hooves of the mechanized horses.

The crowd presses in however, trying to get a good look at the Princess, a surging mass of felines all bellowing questions or yelling curses. Others are clasping their ears at the shrill chatter of the Legionnaires’ whirling noisemakers. The six Legionnaires continue to press forward, swiping at anyone who dares to get too close with batons. Twilight shifts in her seat, trying to get a good look at the pulsating mass of felines around her. Khan faces, normally so placid and expressionless, are contorted in rage and fangs are bared.

“Keep going,” Dash growls to the helmsman, and the carriage continues to advance. Twilight takes a deep breath, knowing that she should wave, or at least do princessy things, but right now all she can do is sit there, pinned down by the weight of the vitriol that is being hurled at the carriage.

As Twilight glances around, she spots a red carpet, along with a group of robed Khans waiting to meet her, all staring in shock at the princess coming down the ramp surrounded by soldiers and riding in a carriage, rather than disembarking down the stairway as they expected. Twilight gulps guiltily, but she doesn’t have time to do anything else as they’re too far away for Twilight to do anything for them. She can feel tension radiating off the Legionnaires around her, can see the rigidness in Dash’s neck and the way the others are looking this way and that as they hunt for potential threats.

Then Twilight spots Prophet’s airship coming in for landing just beyond the crowd, sweeping low over the landing field, flying so low that Twilight can practically count the rivets on its underside and read the scriptures that decorate the warship. As she watches in awe, a hatch on the underside opens and a relatively tall and imposing, crimson-clad Khan jumps out, landing with a powerful thump at the edge of the crowd. The crowd’s attention suddenly wavers, and Twilight hears a ripple of surprise flow through the mass of people.

Twilight watches as the Justicar rises to standing, his red robes billowing around him to reveal that he is dressed in crimson and gold power armour, and he is very clearly armed with his massive power-sword hanging off his belt. His hood is up and Twilight can only just see the red gleam of his prosthetic eye beneath his cowl.

“Obviously someone expects trouble,” Dash mutters as the Justicar steps towards the crowd, the throng parting for him without a word. An uneasy silence descends upon the massed gathering as Prophet advances through the rapidly parting crowd, towards the carriage. Some Khans genuflect to him, others reach out to stroke the hem of his gold-trimmed robes. Twilight can practically hear the thrum of the power armour as the Justicar strides towards them.

“Princess,” Prophet says as he reaches the carriage. “Mind if I join you?”

Twilight notices the subtle shake of Rainbow Dash’s head, and she’s about to open her mouth to say “no” when a loud crack fills the air.

A shrill scream rings out behind them, followed by a distinct pop. Immediately Twilight instinctively ducks her head as she hears another sharp whipping sound passing sharply overhead. Twilight’s first confused thought is fireworks, however Dash suddenly shoves at Twilight, burying her face into the velvety cushion.

“CONTACT RIGHT!” Twilight hears Dash bellow, and the roar of the Legion’s return volley feels like a hammer-blow to the ears, which immediately start to ring. Twilight fights her way free of Dash, before reaching over the top of the carriage door and snatching Prophet’s outstretched hand. She locks her hand around his wrist, and adds some of her magic to the pull as she yanks the armoured Justicar into the carriage before scrambling backward to avoid being crushed by his armoured bulk, her heart pounding as several rounds shrilly ricochet off his power armour. As the ringing in her ears fades, Twilight realizes that she can hear screaming around them other than the screaming of her outraged ears.

Dash drops down to one knee next to Twilight, taking cover behind the armoured carriage door as rounds malevolently thwack into the armoured flanks of the carriage. Rounds snap over their heads, and Twilight flinches as fragments of tarmac rattle like hail against the sides of the carriage. The shrill buzzing of the rounds as they fly around her reminds Twilight of a swarm of furious wasps. She can hear Prophet growling catechisms and prayers next to her.

“Where’s that fuckin’ airship going!?” someone yells, and Twilight turns to suddenly see HMS Equerry spooling its engines up, the Legionnaires pushing the crowds of people back as the plasma drives take sudden roaring life. Twilight’s breath catches in her throat as a shrill whoosh fills the air, a sooty finger of smoke reaching out and barely missing the Equerry, and Twilight releases her breath with a hiss as Dash blisters the air with an artistic display of profanity. More rockets streak over Twilight’s head, leaving a hot firework smell in the air as they wail past, these ones likewise missing the airship to detonate amongst the crowd around it or else whoosh over the balloon.

The Legionnaires that had disembarked the airship with their rattles are already falling back to the ramp, clambering aboard as the airship starts to lift off, stamping on the fingers of Khans who have grabbed the ramp to try and climb aboard the airship, which is rapidly climbing to get away from the gunfire. More sooty fingers of smoke sprout from several buildings just outside the perimeter of the airfield, each of them missing the airship by inches as it continues to climb to join the traffic pattern. No help will be coming from that section. Twilight bites her lip, trying to suppress a horrified whimper as the screams of wounded civilians join the racket filling the air.

“Twi, this… ugh, godfuckingdamnit, I need every man on a weapon!” Dash commands, but Twilight freezes up as she sees the rifle mounted on the partitioning wall in front. Thoughts whirl in her head. I’m a diplomat, I’m not supposed to be shooting at these people! Another round bounces off Prophet’s power armour to ricochet past Twilight’s head, missing her by inches, and causing Twilight to instinctively throw herself forward into the footwell, trying to make herself as small as possible as the battle rages over her head. The princess suddenly feels a gauntleted hand upon her shoulder, and she hears Prophet’s deep and powerful voice.

“Take up arms, Highness, protect your people,” he growls in her ear. “You are a Princess of Equestria, protector of the innocent. You must not fail.”

Twilight feels her heart lift, as though Prophet’s words are a lifeline. Twilight forces the swirling tide of fear down as she reaches for her revolver. For a moment, as her hand closes around the grip, Twilight tries not to think about what she’s about to do, about her complete failure as a diplomat necessitating this stance.

“Grab a weapon and make ready!” someone bellows, and before Twilight can think, someone has hurled a rifle at her. Twilight catches the rifle and quickly lifts it to her shoulder, acting almost on instinct. Twilight blinks, surprised at herself, her finger hesitating as it curls around the trigger, the muzzle drooping for a second.

Another round snarls dangerously close to Rainbow Dash, jerking a horrified gasp from the Princess’ throat. Twilight scowls and claws her way past Prophet, scrambling hastily into position, and pulling the rifle hard into her shoulder. The weapon snaps upward, back into the aim, and Twilight glares down the sights. She can feel Prophet’s weight against her back, the bulk of the Justicar’s armour digging into her wings. Twilight finds the weight strangely reassuring as she hunts for a target.

“Where am I looking?” Twilight calls, having to shout to make herself heard over the gunfire and the screams filling the air around them, and Dash gestures with one hand.

“Terminal rooftop, I’ve got guys with rifles moving around taking shots at us!” Dash snaps, and so Twilight raises her rifle as she’s been taught, trying to compensate for the way the carriage bumps and rattles as it accelerates. Twilight takes aim down the sight, spearing a hostile on the spit of her rifle sight. He’s two hundred metres away, and Twilight can just about make out the faded engineering coveralls he’s wearing.

Twilight pulls the trigger. The rifle jerks in her hands. Twilight watches the round strike a few inches away from the target, throwing up a plume of dust. The target whirls, scurrying for cover. Twilight scowls and jacks the cocking handle of her rifle, taking aim once more and pulling the trigger. Another round smashes home, inches from the target. The hostile flinches as the round smashes into the wall next to him. He turns and sprints, dashing as fast as he can, diving behind the nearest bit of cover that he can find.

“Keep putting fire down!” Dash yells, and Twilight jacks the bolt, her frustration building. Her brow furrows and her lip curls downward as the muzzle jumps this way and that, bouncing up and down as the carriage lurches over potholes. As Twilight’s finger tightens upon the trigger, she feels a hand upon her shoulder.

“Princess, would it help if you stabilized the rifle upon my shoulder?” Prophet bellows, before clambering past Twilight without waiting for an answer, and so Twilight slips backwards, lifting her rifle and steadying it upon Prophet’s shoulder.

Twilight takes aim at the target one more time, spotting him as he peeks out from behind cover to take another shot, but as she’s about to pull the trigger, a thought strikes Twilight. What am I doing? This is going to ruin everything! I’m a diplomat! Princess Celestia’s going to be so mad…

A round suddenly strikes Prophet’s breastplate with a shrill clang, and Prophet growls. “Feel free to actually start hitting them at any time now!” he snaps as vivid blue sparks fly from his armour and the smell of burning ozone fills the air.

Twilight bites her lip as she cocks the rifle once more, and as the Khan raises his head from behind cover, she pulls the trigger before she can think about it, or even stop herself. The rifle jerks once more in her hand, but this time Twilight sees the target twist, a plume of pink mist blossoming from his chest. Twilight watches the target collapse before her eyes. For a moment, she cannot quite believe what she’s just done.

Twilight’s hands shake and her breath catches in her chest, but she raises her rifle once more, her sweaty hands slipping on the cocking handle as more rounds smash into the carriage, their impact making the carriage vibrate as they strike the metal. Twilight’s finger tightens around the trigger.

Twilight’s ears scream in sudden protest as a sudden thunderclap next to her ear throws her to the floor of the carriage, landing with a crash and showering her in smoking fragments of something. Twilight blinks in shock, trying to get an idea of what’s just happened. Her arm feels numb up to the shoulder. Her fingers tingle and her vision is blurred. Twilight can feel a hot wet heat spreading down her arm, even as her head begins to pound. Twilight blinks for a moment, confused.

Am I hit? she asks herself, her heart racing. Her arm feels like it’s on fire, as is her right side, and Twilight screams.

“I’M HIT, OHGOD I’M HIT!”

“SHIT, THEY GOT THE PRINCESS, FUCKIN’ DRIVE… GOGOGOGO! SMIT, GO HELP HER!”

“I’M ON IT!” Twilight feels Prophet’s gauntlets brushing her down, running along her arm.

“How bad is it?” Twilight whimpers, her hands shaking “Am I going to die?”

“Not at all,” Prophet says after a moment, a smile crossing his face as he grabs Twilight’s good shoulder and pulls her up. “It just grazed you Princess. Your rifle is destroyed, but you just took fragmentation damage. You’re bleeding a bit but you’re good to go!” Prophet’s tone is enthusiastic as he gives her a firm slap on the back in a gesture of bonhomie that nearly knocks Twilight back to the floor.

“Thank fuck for that, Twi, try not to get shot again, it looks very bad on my reports!” Dash shouts, relief colouring her voice. Twilight’s gaze shifts from Dash to Prophet as she speculates for a second about whether a predisposition towards blinding insanity is something that is implanted in basic training.

Twilight then reaches down and picks up another rifle, holding it gingerly. Her right arm is still tingling and shivering as the pain fades, to be replaced with a dull ache as the adrenaline kicks in. Twilight summons her faculties and lifts her rifle to the shoulder. Twilight can see blood, silver-red and glistening, bubbling up from where her thumb meets her hand, the sight of it giving Twilight pause.

That’s my blood…

“Come on Twi!” she can hear Dash shouting at her. “You can do it, put that weapon up! Engage the enemy, we need you to shoot!”

Those words shock Twilight back to reality. They need me, she thinks. They need me, and I won’t fail. She grips the bolt and jerks it back, before slamming it forward and closing it, each movement sharp and crisp. She squints, placing her cheek to the stock. As Prophet moves for her to steady her rifle on his shoulder however, Twilight shakes her head. “I’m fine, I’ve got this!” she calls to Prophet, who nods and shifts once more to get behind her. Twilight ducks low, trying to keep to the cover of the carriage where possible, however fire is pulsing through her veins, the fire of adrenaline.

She’s not going to let them beat her, not going to let them keep her down like this. She takes aim, spearing a target upon her sights. She’s going to face the enemy!

Twilight fires again and again, pumping rounds into the clustering enemy forces, her ears ringing. She can faintly hear impassioned war-cries over the sound of the gunfire, the enemy rallying and continuing to fire wildly in the direction of the carriage. Twilight fires once more and she watches another of the figures twist and fall. She’s dimly aware that they’re now clear of the crowd, which is running for the nearest cover they can find, but Twilight’s mind dismisses them as she hears Dash’s voice over the ringing in her ears and the crack of the other Legionnaires’ rifles, the air thick with the smell of promethium fumes and gunpowder, cordite and blood.

Twilight’s hands are shaking more violently as she reaches for the cocking handle. She grips it and pumps it once more, only for the firing pin to snap shrilly. Twilight yanks her weapon open and discovers an empty magazine. She ducks her head, only for another round to snap through the space where her head had been and strike Prophet’s armour with another ringing clang and another shower of sparks. The Justicar glances down at his breastplate.

“Oh dear, I don’t think they like us,” he says as he nonchalantly finishes loading a magazine into one of the Legion carbines and snaps the bolt shut. Twilight watches for a moment, wondering what the Justicar’s going to do: that armour is far too bulky to allow a weapon to be shouldered and aimed properly after all. That finished, Prophet rises back to standing, before he turns side on to the enemy and sweeps the rifle up to the level, turning his head to glare down the sights like the weapon is a duelling pistol. The rifle snaps backward with a resounding crack and a whiff of phosphorous as a bright red dot streaks downrange. Prophet lowers the weapon, drawing it across his chest as though it’s a fowling piece, before cocking it and raising it again to repeat the process. Twilight is almost awestruck, but then she remembers what she needs… ammunition…

She reaches down, grabbing a white box and fumbling as she slots rounds into the magazine. A round slips from her sweaty, shaking fingers and clatters to the floor. Twilight grabs another round from the box and pushes it into the magazine. She continues, feeding rounds into the mag as quickly as she can, before slapping the bolt closed.

“I’m still seeing contacts moving around up there Legionnaires, keep fire on them… Helmsman, get us out of here!” Dash orders, and Twilight lifts her rifle to her cheek once more. She can feel them accelerating, can feel the cart now moving at breakneck speed across the open ground of the tarmac. Her thumb beats a tattoo against the rifle. The enemy fire becomes less focussed and the shrill snap of rounds over the Legionnaire’s heads begins to fade. The helmsman charges towards the edge of the landing field, towards a gate which is rapidly being dragged closed by a group of Khans in maintenance coveralls, or else in militia robes.

“TURN!” Dash snaps, but Prophet raises his hand coolly.

“One moment please,” the Justicar intones, and before Twilight can stop him, the Justicar unleashes his magic upon the gate and the Khans frantically trying to close it. As Twilight watches, the hinges of the gate are suddenly blasted off in a brutal spray of shrapnel that dismembers two of the guards. The gate suddenly collapses in on itself, and the other guards are incinerated in the blink of an eye by the rapidly growing ball of superheated metal, which is then violently hurled into the gate-house which collapses into a plume of dust, crumbling debris and swirling embers, leaving Twilight’s carriage to charge through unmolested as Twilight gapes in awe.

“Your doorway, Mademoiselle,” Prophet says with a broad grin. The Justicar suddenly staggers slightly, before sitting down next to Twilight and squishing her between Dash and him. The Justicar groans softly, massaging his temples. “I’m… not as young as I was, Princess,” he says, waving away Twilight’s offer of assistance. “It’s harder to set metal on fire than it looks, I do not recommend it.”

“Right, what now Boss?” one of the Legionnaires calls, and Dash glances over her shoulder at Twilight and the Justicar as the carriage plunges ahead across a street and into the backstreets of Tarhen.

“Keep going!” Dash orders. “We’ve gotta get to the Compound. You remember the way, right?”

“Sure, from the airport main gate, got no clue where we are now,” the Legionnaire up front says, and Twilight notices Dash look around nervously, as if hunting for clues to their location. However the anonymous back-streets offer no wisdom and the shuttered low concrete buildings scowl at the Equestrians as the carriage thunders blindly down the street, jolting over potholes as it races towards an intersection. The street is absolutely deserted, and Twilight can see the tension in the other Legionnaires as they shift in their seats. Dash then clicks her tongue twice, and the Legionnaires start reloading their rifles. Dash leans forward, digging in the compartment and producing a box, which she opens to reveal fragmentation grenades and begins to hand them out, two to each Legionnaire. Twilight glances at the grenades, then tosses a fearful glance to Dash, who gives her a firm nod. Twilight knows all too well what these grenades can do. On a hospital visit, she’d observed an operation on a young Navy Cadet who had mishandled one and traumatically amputated both his legs.

The street, from what Twilight can see, is littered with junk. The cobbles are old and worn, and occasionally the carriage careens over small craters in the roadway. Heavy wooden doors present painted faces to them, and Twilight can see shapes moving behind shutters. Golden eyes watch their passage from on high.

“Turn right and keep going!” Prophet suddenly cuts in. “I think I know this part of the city. If we turn right, we should come out on the road that leads to the airport main gate.”

The helmsman quickly glances back to Rainbow Dash, who nods quickly, and so he hauls the carriage around to the right.

“Okay, number off!” Dash says quickly.

“One okay!”

“Two okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Four okay!”

“Five okay!”

“Six okay!”

A pause hangs in the air, lasting a heartbeat.

“Eight okay!”

“Shit,” one of the other Legionnaires says. “Where’s Stretch?”

“Fuck knows, we need to go back and get him boss.”

“We’re not going back,” Dash says, and Twilight bites her lip, noticing the way Dash’s helmeted head droops and her shoulders slump as she says the words. “Our orders are to escort Princess Twilight to our destination. We’ve got a mission and we need to carry it out. Now get yourselves into decent positions if you can.”

Twilight takes a breath to say something, but she’s suddenly cut off as they come out onto what appears to be a massive thoroughfare. Khans and carts hurrying this way and that, and the air is filled with voices as life goes on in Tarhen. Twilight tries to control her urge to look around: this is not the time for sightseeing or crowd-watching. The Legionnaires around her look no more at ease among the crowd than in the deserted streets. The press of Khans around them, all of whom are ignoring the Equestrian carriage, naturally slows the progress of the party down to a crawl.

“We need to keep moving,” Prophet says, his own eyes likewise scanning the rooftops and crowds around them. “This would be a perfect place to stall us whilst someone gets an ambush ready.”

“Mm,” Dash grunts from Twilight’s other side. “But if they stall for long enough, we’ll have the Legion on their ass before they can even blink.” Twilight shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to look around, and she notices people pointing, and some hostile sounding muttering.

“We will not have that long,” Prophet rumbles. “We’re in the open, too exposed right now… I do not like this.” Prophet’s hand tightens around the grip of his power sword. Twilight can see what he means: an air of menace is rippling through the street like a vapour.

“What do you suggest?” Dash asks, and Prophet gestures towards a side street.

“Down there, I think it’s a shortcut,” Prophet says quickly, but no sooner has he done that than a shouted warning fills the air, followed by the crash of a weapon. Screams fill the air as people scatter. Dash raises her weapon, scanning the crowd nervously.

“Contact reports people!” she snaps, and a voice from the front answers.

“Think it was just one, lone cat with a pistol. He’s down but… but he got a coupla good ones into me, I’m hit good,” one of the Legionnaires hisses, hunched forwards.

“Right, uh… get inboard. Spod, take his place. Try and keep low and we’ll get to you as soon as we can, Sprout,” Dash orders.

The Legionnaire clambers inside, his face white and his hand pressed against his chest, where Twilight can see a crimson stain spreading rapidly across the front of his uniform. The Legionnaire hisses, biting his lower lip as he applies pressure to the wound, groaning out in pain. Twilight quickly slides forward, taking a deep breath as she steels herself. She can already hear the rasping sound of what sounds like a punctured lung. Blood is bubbling around his lips.

“Mind if I take a look at this?” Twilight asks, and Dash nods.

“Sure, if you think you’re up to it.”

Twilight starts moving forward, clambering awkwardly over the wall that separates the rear compartment from the front. Twilight can hear Prophet and Dash talking, and shouting instructions to the helmsman, but now she’s round on the other side of the vehicle and next to the wounded Legionnaire, who has now slumped forward. Twilight takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She’s healed people plenty of times, but only for cuts and bruises and the occasional broken arm, however this is no time to be fussy.

Twilight takes a deep breath, then she unbuckles the Legionnaire’s webbing and starts unbuttoning his tunic as quickly as she can, her fingers slipping on the blood that is already saturating the tunic. The Legionnaire moans out in pain as Twilight leans him backward, then manages to undo his tunic, revealing flesh that is already shockingly pale apart from two ragged puncture wounds, one of which is spurting blood rather rapidly. Shit, punctured artery, Twilight thinks, rapidly dredging up what she knows about a pneumothorax and ruptured arteries. Both of these are terminal, unless one happens to be very lucky. As she works, she notices one of the Legionnaires, the only Khan among them, quickly look over his shoulder.

“Eyes front, you scrote! Let the Princess work!”

The Khan’s eyes snap forward once more and Twilight shudders with relief at Dash’s barked admonishment. She doesn’t want an audience right now.

She starts by ripping a couple of broad strips off her dress, balling one up and pressing it against the wound before wrapping the second one around his chest, wrapping it tight to apply pressure. Her dress is filthy at this point, but the patient has more to worry about than septicaemia. Twilight summons her magic, which leaps to her fingertips obediently, as though it had been waiting for her beck and call. Twilight closes her eyes and places her hands upon the Legionnaire’s pectorals, trying to clear her mind to focus.

The thunder and clatter of the carriage fades to a gentle rumble as the world melts into darkness around Twilight and the slumped Legionnaire. Twilight visualises the Legionnaire’s internal organs, and it doesn’t take her long to find the problem. The first round has deflected off the ribcage and punctured his lung as Twilight had suspected, and the second has punched through an artery leading to the heart. Twilight can feel his lifeblood leaking out around her fingers, and so she begins to work, applying her magic to the damaged tissue.

Twilight watches as the magic takes effect, slowly sloughing away the damaged tissue and growing healthy vessels in its place. The procedure is incredibly delicate and complex, and it isn’t helped by the carriage jolting and jerking, disturbing Twilight’s inner peace.

Twilight takes a deep breath and continues working, though as she does, she can feel her grip falter around the haemorrhaging arterial tubes, as if she’s holding damp spaghetti that writhes and wriggles around in her grip. The rapid palpitations of the Legionnaire’s heart do not help matters, as the flow of blood out of the wound makes things much, much harder. Twilight can feel emotions pushing at the edge of the imposed blanket of calm. What if she doesn’t manage it, what if she kills him? The tube slips in her grip once more and Twilight tries to slam the door on her fears, however Twilight can feel the fear prowling at the edge of her tranquil zone.

What makes you think you know what you’re doing? The spiteful little voice hisses in her ear, sending a tremor down Twilight’s spine. Not this again, she thinks bitterly, trying to shut the voice out.

You’ve never operated on someone. All you know is books, and studying, and books again! The voice snarls. Twilight desperately tries to ignore the voice, but it ploughs on as implacably as an avalanche. You’re just little Twilight Sparkle, who got where she did by clinging to the legs of those greater than her. Admit it, you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to kill him, he’s going to die and it’ll be All Your Fault! The voice crows triumphantly as Twilight’s hands shake against the Legionnaire’s pectorals. She can feel the pulsing of his heart getting weaker and weaker with each moment.

“Live!” Twilight implores the Legionnaire as his eyes drift downwards. “Don’t do this, come on!” She’s dimly conscious of her yelling as she continues to apply the force of her magic to the wound. Each second allows the headache to spread like wildfire. Twilight’s body is glistening with sweat, her own heart pounding rapidly enough to almost make up for the Legionnaire’s failing pulse.

Twilight forces her thoughts back, finally managing to bind the blood vessels together and seal the wounds. Twilight can feel the heart beating weakly, thirsting for blood, but Twilight can’t do anything about that. She can feel her magical energy being sapped as it is; can feel the familiar migraine building, the blinding headache that comes when she taxes herself magically. Even now, it feels like someone has buried broken glass in her eye-sockets.

Twilight isn’t done however. Her attention shifts to the lung, and she starts applying her magic, trying to seal up the wound, sweeping away more damaged cells and regrowing them, watching as the tiny alveoli branch out like trees into the spongy tissue of the Legionnaire’s lung. Twilight sloughs the fluid even now collecting in his lung away as she seals the wound.

Finally, Twilight withdraws from the trance to see the Legionnaire blinking and coughing, wincing as he clutches his chest.

“Motherfucker… wow…” He looks down, patting his chest, where two tiny white scars and sticky blood remain, and then he looks up at Twilight, his eyes widening in awe as he stares at the pale, filthy face of the Princess. Twilight shivers and her head swims, and suddenly her whole body feels heavy. Twilight whimpers, shuddering violently as fire blooms inside her head, as if her hair has been replaced with inch long splinters of glass that are now being pounded into her skull. She feels fire spreading across her wings and down her spine as her magic takes its pound of flesh. Twilight takes a deep breath.

“Water,” she croaks. “I need water.” At once a canteen is thrust at her. Twilight unscrews the cap with a shaking hand and lifts it to her lips. Her hands continue to shake, nearly spilling the bottle down the front of her dress, but Twilight takes a couple of sips, feeling the cooling effect of the water easing the pain pulsing through her. Twilight’s attention eventually turns to the Legionnaire next to her, who is blinking and patting at his chest for a moment, still not quite sure what’s happened. Twilight extends the canteen to him, and the Legionnaire takes it gratefully, taking a swig of the canteen with evident relief, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You good?” Twilight groans and the Legionnaire nods quickly, putting his webbing on but leaving his bloody shirt unbuttoned. Twilight clambers awkwardly back over the dividing wall, assisted by Dash’s iron grip. Twilight sits back, sandwiched once more between Prophet and Rainbow Dash, both of whom are looking at her in awe.

“So, is he alright?” Dash asks, and Twilight nods in reply.

“Yeah, he’ll be a little slow on his feet for a few days but he’ll be fine,” she says weakly. “But I don’t think I can do that again.” She groans, rubbing her head and looking around again, trying to place the feeling of unease even now settling into her stomach as she starts to look around and take in her new surroundings. Piles of garbage fly upward before the churning hooves of the carriage horses. They’re now charging down a narrow alleyway, as far as Twilight can tell, hurtling down another anonymous backstreet. The carriage bounces over another crater, the jolt pulsing through Twilight’s knees and making her right thumb ache. Twilight gazes quizzically down at her aching thumb, tilting her head as she lifts her hand up to inspect the tiny white scars, and the slight hole in the webbing between thumb and finger.

Probably just phantom pain; aftershock, Twilight reasons as the thunder of the wheels roars off of the walls around them. Twilight then feels a prickling at the base of her neck and she glances around, noticing the unshakable sensation of eyes upon the back of her neck. She looks around, scanning the rooftops and window-ledges, but she sees nothing.

“So where am I going?” the helmsman snaps, and Prophet responds:

“Keep going, there’s a turning to the right, about five hundred metres on, and that should get you out into the industrial sector. From there you should be able to find your way,” Prophet calls, and Twilight groans listlessly, feeling herself sagging.

“How’re you doing Twi? You don’t look so good,” Dash says gently, leaning in and laying a reassuring hand upon Twilight’s back. Twilight shakes her head.

“Water, give me some more water and I’ll be fine,” Twilight says. “This damn heat… I don’t know how you stand it.” She turns to Prophet, who shrugs sagely, his power armour clanking gently.

“Faith is my shield against hardship, Trials 21:14,” he says calmly, before suddenly turning his head to glance over his shoulder and growl, exposing his array of fangs. “We are being followed,” he rumbles, turning and gesturing behind him.

Twilight turns around, expecting to see some dark shadowy presence, but all she sees are settling piles of trash, and waste paper floating on the breeze. Somehow that doesn’t reassure Twilight like it should. Whilst the path behind them is clear, Twilight can still feel a vague malicious presence trailing them.

“Damn,” Dash hisses. “How close is support?” she asks, and the helmsman calls back.

“Fuck knows, they must have heard this stuff kicking off by now though, I would have thought they’d be here.”

“Goddamnit,” Dash hisses. “Just keep ahead of them and we’ll make it through this. Okay, we’ve got a job to do, let’s fuckin’ do it!”

As they wind down endless backstreets, Twilight feels her strength slowly returning. Dash occasionally tosses her a look filled with concern, along with something that Twilight can’t quite place, though a swig of water from Rainbow Dash’s canteen does a world of good. Always present however, is the feeling of being pursued. The walls press in closer, and the fetid smell of sewage grows with each passing moment. Twilight can hear raised voices over the wheels, voices raised in fars’ad and the growl of skiffs.

“Prophet, I’m not seeing a right turn!” the helmsman yells.

“Keep going!” Prophet replies. “They’re gaining on us!”

Twilight picks her rifle up from where she had abandoned it on the floor as the Legionnaires scan the skies. “You think we can do this?” Twilight asks as she takes aim behind them, and Dash nods.

“Sure I do, we’re-”

Suddenly Twilight is hurled from her seat, crashing into the dividing wall as the helmsman hauls on the reins, the carriage skidding as the mechanical horses stop dead. Twilight yells out in pain as her wings take the majority of the blow. Around her she can hear other Legionnaires swearing as they clamber to their feet, along with several moaning in pain. “Why have we stopped?” Twilight hears Dash shouting.

“We’ve run out of road,” the helmsman replies, and it is true: They’ve hit a dead end, of the kind that is completely impassable. They are surrounded on three sides by squat concrete buildings, with washing lines and cables strung between each one. Twilight groans, rubbing her head, which has started to pound once more as she struggles to rise to standing.

Twilight looks around, noticing the other Legionnaires are likewise getting to their feet, most nursing some form of laceration or injury. The Legionnaire she’d patched up earlier is moving a little slower than the rest and he’s panting hard, but then he notices Twilight looking at him, and he tosses her a thumbs-up. Twilight leaps out of the carriage, and she starts to make her way over to him to see if he’s okay, when an ululating wail fills the air. The harsh hunting cry is answered by further bone-chilling yowls, and the Legionnaire quickly motions at Twilight to get back into cover.

“Get down Princess!” he hisses, his voice hoarse as he gestures, but Twilight still hears him clearly, and she starts to move back towards the carriage, keeping as low as she can to let the Legionnaires do their job. She shouldn’t get in the way right now.

“Right, Prophet!” Twilight hears Dash bellowing from the other side of the carriage. “Prophet, you’d better fuckin’ explain this… where the fuck did he go?”

Looking around, Twilight suddenly realizes that she can’t see the Justicar anywhere. However Twilight is given no time to reflect on the matter as she suddenly hears raised voices ring through the courtyard.

“Shit, defensive positions!” Twilight hears Dash bark as the whooping hunting calls of the Khans grow louder. Shots suddenly ring out in the square and Twilight darts for cover, scrambling into the vehicle. Twilight peeks out from behind the carriage door, catching a glimpse of robed figures dashing down the alleyway from whence the Legionnaires have just come, before another overwhelming hail of gunfire forces her to crouch down inside the carriage once more.

The Legion response is immediate and ruthless, a savage fusillade of gunfire that cuts down several of the insurgents where they stand. Twilight gasps as she watches the Khans, the enemy, tumble like marionettes. Twilight hears footsteps behind her and suddenly someone is in the carriage with her. Twilight whirls to see Dash, hunched low with her rifle gripped tight in one hand. The gunfire fades into an outraged silence, the only sounds hanging in the air being the groaning of the wounded and the distant thrum of the city.

“That should take care of those guys, at least for now,” Dash growls, looking around. Twilight shivers faintly, noticing how calm and cold her ex seems to be about killing a fairly large group of people.

Twilight sighs and picks up her rifle once more, knowing that things have taken a turn for the worse again, and she needs to be ready. “What’s the plan?” she asks, and Dash shrugs.

“We keep moving on foot,” Dash says bluntly. “I have no idea where the hell we are, and I intend to get myself into a position where I can find out, so that means right now, we find a way out of here and onto a main-road someplace.”

“Don’t you have wings boss?” someone asks, and Dash shakes her head.

“I do, the Princess does, but you guys don’t, and I’m not leaving you behind,” Dash growls. “Besides, they’ve probably got someone watching us from the air.” She gestures upward, before turning to Twilight. “So, we have two options: we can either get out through the way we came in, but we’ll have to cut our way through the guys who are following whiskers over there… or we can go through there-” Dash indicates one of the doorways in the courtyard, “-and make our way through the building and out the other side, and hope that brings us out onto a main-road.”

The Legionnaires glance at each other, and then the other caporal clears his throat, about to object. A Legionnaire suddenly twists and falls as a shot rings out from above. Twilight shrieks as she leaps to her feet to grab him, however Rainbow Dash suddenly grabs her and drags her into the dubious cover of the carriage as another bullet whizzes over her head.

“We need to get him!” Twilight gasps as more gunfire crackles down from on high, slicing into the Legion positions. The Legionnaires frantically get into what cover they can and start returning fire.

“No, we need to keep you safe,” Dash snaps through gritted teeth, pushing Twilight into the footwell. “My orders are to protect you, and I’m going to carry out those orders, so keep your head down goddamnit!”

Twilight nods, shrinking back into the carriage as she listens to Dash giving orders. Twilight starts to look up, trying to spot any more hostiles on the rooftops. However, as she does so, she notices that the carriage door is very slightly ajar, but enough for a round to perhaps slide through and spoil someone’s day. Twilight reaches to grab the upper lip of the door, only for a bullet to slam into the carriage’s armoured flank with a sharp CRANG, and Twilight flinches slightly. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she shifts forward, crawling up to trying to peek out of the doorway. Over the roar of gunfire, she can hear bellowed insults in broken Equestrian.

“Hey-ya, Sparkle, when we get, I take your ass!”

Twilight’s brow furrows in irritation and her lip curls into a snarl as she hears Dash muttering something indistinctly under her breath. She’d had plans, she’d hoped to salvage peace, why can’t these cunts respect that? Twilight’s more than a little shocked at herself as the word crosses her mind, though another bullet slicing into the carriage from above brings Twilight' anger closer to the boiling point. As she crawls forward under the hail of gunfire, she notices the Khans are using the ballistic diversion of their colleagues from above to advance. Twilight spots the enemy moving down the alleyway towards the carriage calmly, with a surety of purpose that frightens Twilight. Twilight undoes the buckle on her holster, fumbling as she pulls her Webley free, before pointing it out the door and opening fire upon the advancing enemy. The first shot goes wild but it still sends the Khans diving for cover.

Twilight hears scraping boots behind her, and suddenly Dash’s rifle goes off directly over her head, and Twilight gasps as one of the hostiles folds to his knees.

“Right, we need to start moving or we’re going to get cut off!” Dash orders as she continues to engage the threat from the alleyway. “Twi, get ready to move with me!” Dash gestures with a flat palm, indicating the doorway of the building directly in front of them. “We’re going to go through that building and out the other side, which should get us out onto the main road. We’ll flag down the first soldiers we see. Whoever these idiots are, they won’t tangle with the army. All clear?”

“Clear Caporal!” come the shouts in reply, and Dash nods.

“Smit, get that damn door open!” she bellows, and Twilight turns to see Smit turn on the door, trying the handle first, before giving the fairly stout door a kick with his hobnailed boot, however the thick and heavy studded door doesn’t give beneath his assault.

“I can’t get it open boss!” he shouts. Dash takes a deep breath, her eyes narrowing.

“Kick harder, numbnuts!” she shouts, and Smit does as asked, booting the door once, twice, a third time, yet nothing seems to happen, other than Dash revealing a hitherto unsuspected grasp of linguistics and xenobiology as she blisters the air with yet more inventive profanity. After a moment however, Dash turns to Twilight.

“Right, uh, Twi, I’ll give you covering fire whilst you get over there and smash the door down,” Dash snaps, and Twilight turns to look at the distance between the carriage and the doorway, which is set into an alcove. The fallen Legionnaire lies between her and it. Twilight takes a deep breath, bracing herself before gathering her courage, and then summons the spell, releasing it with a flick of her fingers.

The bolt of light sizzles from her fingers through the air to smash into the door. Cracks instantly spider-web across the door at the initial blow, but Twilight isn’t done with the spell yet. The second blow blasts the door inwards, the solid wooden door transformed in an instant into a blizzard of splinters and fragments of wood that are sent flying into the room on the other side of the door, and a cloud of dust billows out of the room.

“We’ve got a door boss!” one of the Legionnaires bellows, and Dash turns and nods.

“Great, marching order will be Sov, Mik, Hals, Smit, Princess in the middle, then me, then… fuck, everyone else, I’ve got three long-barrelled shotguns here, Princess has one, Sov has the other, tail end has the third, pop smoke and we’ll go on three!”

Dash then reaches into the carriage and grabs the hunting gun that Twilight instantly recognizes, though she can see that Dash has fitted a sling to it between last night and now. “Take this!” Dash says, handing Twilight a shotgun and a satchel of ammunition. “You might need it. Also take this shotgun and give it to Sov when you see him, he’s the one with half a metal face,” Dash explains, gesturing with one hand to the Legionnaire in question, before reaching down onto her webbing and producing a canister with a ring pull upon it and a broad yellow band around it.

“Ready to move!” one of the Legionnaires calls, and Dash nods.

Twilight quickly draws her breath to ask a set of questions that are plaguing her mind. What about you? What do we do once we've found the soldiers? Which way do we go? However she’s cut off as Dash puts a hand on Twilight’s shoulder.

“Do this for me Twi, get ready to go!”

“Come on Boss, we need to move!” one of the Legionnaires yells, and Dash pulls the pin from the canister, holding it for a second. Dash then looks Twilight in the eye.

“Keep running okay, no matter what, just keep running till you’re through that door, don’t turn or stop for anything, do you understand?”

“But Dash-”

“Do you understand me, Twilight?”

“Y-Yes,” Twilight stutters, and Dash nods.

“Okay, smoke OUT!” she bellows, and then hurls the canister through the air. Twilight watches it spring from Dash’s hand almost in slow motion, the pin pinging away as the fuse hisses loudly, and then a plume of yellow smoke trails from the smoke grenade as it arcs upwards and out of sight.

“Okay, and three, two, one, go!” Dash then pushes Twilight, and the Princess starts to run, sprinting across the patch of open ground. Bullets kick up dust around her as she sprints towards the doorway, which seems to be a mile away. Twilight thanks every saint that she can remember that she’s still wearing her flats rather than heels, since this would be impossible if she was wearing those precarious shoes.

Twilight spots the fallen Legionnaire, and before she has time to think, she stoops, slinging the rifle onto her shoulder next to the other weapons and hooks the Legionnaire up, picking him up in a bridal-style carry. Twilight groans under his weight, especially as he’s not only taller than she is, but heavier. Twilight lifts the Legionnaire and starts to run towards the doorway, running for her life as the weapons on her back bounce around with each step.

In front of her, she can hear and see the other Legionnaires piling through the open doorway, weapons raised. Twilight hears a shout of surprise, followed by shouted words in fars’ad. Another bullet slices through the air to smack into the ground inches from Twilight’s feet and Twilight pushes herself to run faster, gunfire nipping at her heels as she sprints through the doorway, and into the darkness. Twilight is suddenly plunged into nearly pitch black as she crosses the threshold, though she can hear the voices of the other Legionnaires around her.

“Put him down Princess, hand out the weapons!” someone says, and Twilight pushes her way through the press of bodies, trying to find somewhere flat to lay the Legionnaire down. As her eyes adjust to the gloom of the corridor, she begins to pick out the Legionnaires around her, most of whom are filthy, their uniforms streaked with dirt and dust and sweat. One of them has his boot pressed squarely into the back of a robed Khan male who is lying on his belly, his hands stretched out in front of him as he babbles in terror at the sight of the Equestrian soldiers. Twilight hears the clattering of boots behind her and turns to see two more Legionnaires piling through the door, swearing. One grabs at his boot, hissing.

“You hit?” one of his colleagues asks, and the Legionnaire lifts his heel to inspect the damage.

“Fucker shot the heel off my boot,” he growls, massaging his heel, and one of the other Legionnaires snorts.

“Tell him to aim a little left next time and you’ll have a matching pair again. Better get that done sharpish or the sergent will blow his nut on parade tomorrow if your boots don’t match.” The other Legionnaires chuckle with nervous laughter, until Twilight clears her throat.

“Where can I put him down?” she asks, shifting the weight of the Legionnaire in her arms, the laughter dying a sudden and painful death. She can feel the front of her dress is hot, wet and sticky from more than just sweat. The other Legionnaires glance at each other, and then one of them gestures over to a corner.

“Just stick him down over there Your Highness, we’ll strip his shit and break his weapon, then we’ll fuck off.”

“But he’s-”

“He’s dead Twi,” Dash growls as she comes through the door. “That round went in through the shoulder and on through his chest, he was dead before you reached him.”

Twilight’s eyes widen and her eyes travel downward to the Legionnaire in her arms. His arms hang limply downward and his head hangs to the side, a trickle of blood dribbling slowly from his nose. However Twilight can see something else that chills her to the bone: His tunic is stained with old blood, and faint white scars decorate his chest. Twilight gasps, nearly dropping the Legionnaire in horror.

This was the one I put back together.

She slowly sinks to her knees, placing the Legionnaire on the concrete floor. Twilight takes a deep breath and steps back, feeling her lower lip quivering. She’d saved his life, used all that magic… all for naught. She let him die. He was her patient, and she let him die.

Dash steps forward. “Right guys, Sov, Smit, strip him for anything we can use, then fuck his weapon up and we’ll move on.”

Twilight steps back, watching as the Legionnaires strip their comrade’s body with the clinical efficiency of professional soldiers, emptying his webbing and water, nicking his pistol and first aid kit, rifling through his personal belongings as well, pocketing his watch and his knife, but handing his identity disks to Dash, who slips them into a pouch on her own webbing. Finally the Legionnaires disassemble the bolt, one of them grinding the firing pin beneath his heel. The whole process fills Twilight with a surge of revulsion that nearly turns her stomach. Once the Legionnaires are finished, Twilight looks up, before leaning forward.

“What’re you doing?” Dash asks irritably. “We gotta go, this is not a good place.”

“I’m making him comfortable,” Twilight says shortly, folding his arms across his chest, and placing his rifle upon his chest. She closes his still-open eyes, biting back the nausea that churns her guts. She then picks up his haversack and reaches for his helmet to lift his head.

“Don’t-” Dash is about to cut Twilight off, but before she can, Twilight’s hand closes around the back of his skull. Twilight suddenly feels something wet and mushy in her hands and her eyes widen as the Legionnaire’s head flops listlessly to the side, revealing a hole in the back of his head, through which Twilight can see blood and something whitish-grey. All the colour drains from Twilight’s face.

Twilight’s stomach lurches and she has to force herself not to vomit as she lifts the head up and slides the haversack underneath it. She rises to her feet and clears her throat, aware of the other Legionnaires staring at her. Twilight bows her head for a moment, forcing herself to keep her breakfast on the inside.

“Twi,” Dash says after a moment, her tone hard and business-like. “We need to go, now please.”

Twilight nods, not trusting herself to speak as she wipes her hand upon her dress, forcing her stomach back into line, which settles for a few more irritated twists before it complies. “Right, I’m good,” Twilight says after a moment. “Uh, weapons are here.” She unslings the shotgun.

“Sov. I’m supposed to give this to Sov,” she says, holding the pump action shotgun and the bag of ammunition out with one hand, and a Legionnaire with a face that has been half hewn out of iron with a gleaming blue prosthetic eye fitted for good measure takes the weapon with a respectful nod. The other Legionnaires are likewise looking at Twilight with something close to respect maybe.

“Right,” Dash says. “Let’s keep going, they’re probably still right behind us, we’re going to need to cut our way through the corridor and out onto the main road.”

At this, the Khan with a Legionnaire’s boot upon his back coughs and starts to speak quickly in broken Equestrian.

“Please go, please go, it that way, turn left and out, you be on main street, please, I have family, no shoot!”

“Let him up,” Dash says. “Dust him off, let him go.”

The Legionnaire does as asked, picking the Khan up and brushing him down, before handing the Khan a tin of something. The Khan’s eyes turn bright and a broad smile spreads across his face. “Thank you, God bless Equestria!” he says brightly, before turning and running.

Dash then gestures for the section to start moving, taking Twilight’s wrist in her hand and guiding Twilight into her place in the patrol file, swinging the hunting gun forward into her grip. With that, the Legionnaires start moving down the corridors, rifles up and at the ready. The corridors are dimly-lit, and Twilight wonders how any of the Legionnaires are able to see anything.

As they race down the hallways, Twilight’s mind returns to the world around her: This is bad, this is very bad indeed, she thinks to herself. Her first day in Tarhen and she’s already been shot at, bled on, and let two men die. She’s killed, as in properly killed someone today, as in shot them dead. This is hardly the behavior of one supposed to keep peace. She’s barely competent as a soldier: she can’t shoot to kill without hesitation, or save everyone with her. Even her only friend here must hate her guts. Dash’s frustration earlier sticks in her mind: Twilight refused to let her do her job, out of a desire to make a good impression, which has quite plainly failed. Every time Dash had looked at her, Twilight had seen the irritation imprinted on the Legionnaire’s face.

Why shouldn't she hate me, she’s lost men because I fucked up, Twilight thinks bitterly. This whole mission’s a failure.

As they run, Twilight can hear whispered murmurs in fars’ad from doorways. Females, cloaked in black or blue, hold their nervous kits close to their legs, or the kits themselves hide behind the legs of their mothers to peer shyly up at the soldiers as they thunder past at breakneck speed. Twilight finds herself having to jog to keep up with the Legionnaires, and she curses herself as she huffs and puffs like a set of bellows. Her legs burn and her hands shake, obviously she not quite done enough fitness training with the Legion.

However as they round a corner, they are suddenly blinded by the light of the sun shining through a wooden door with a single wire mesh glass window in the centre. As Twilight looks around, she notices they've come out into the central landing of this block. Stairwells feed off to the left and right, and Twilight can hear rapid footsteps coming down the stairs.

As the Legionnaires advance upon the door, a vague, short shape suddenly jumps down from the stairwell to block the doorway. In his hands is a shotgun that’s almost as long as he is, held at the waist. The Khan can be no more than a child. His face is contorted in fear as he stares up at them, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. The shotgun’s muzzle starts to climb. The air thickens and the princess’ heart lurches as she hears dread-laden gasps break the stunned silence. Twilight can hear Legionnaires’ fingers tighten around triggers, the springs taking the tension. Her breath hisses inward, and before Twilight can think about it, her hand snaps upward.

A burst of lavender light fills the room as the child is suddenly frozen in place by the force of Twilight’s spell. Twilight hears several Legionnaires behind her sigh with relief.

“Thank fuck for freaky princesses with freaky abilities,” Twilight hears one of the Legionnaires mumble in the silence, and she cannot help but agree with him. She can quite easily see how this could have gone pear-shaped.

“Temporary limblock spell,” Twilight says, massaging her temples with a hand caked in dried blood. “It should only last a matter of minutes.” The headache is less bitter this time, and it passes almost as soon as it comes.

Twilight notices the grateful look that Rainbow Dash shoots her as one of the Legionnaires pries the shotgun from the Khan’s stiff fingers, and then picks him up like a particularly obnoxious garden gnome and stands him in the corner, facing the wall.

“Let’s go,” Dash says. “Remember, we find the first policeman that we can see, there should be a few in the area.”

Dash’s hand closes on the door handle as the Legionnaires stack up, and then with a quick nod, Dash yanks the door open and the Legionnaires bomb-burst out into the sunlight of the Tarhen street. Twilight watches the Legionnaires storm through the door and then she follows them out into the blinding sunlight, which forces Twilight to shield her eyes for a second as her eyes adjust from the pitch darkness of the apartments to the bright sunlight of the Tarhen streets.

At once, Twilight notices something is up. Even before she’s through the door, she can hear… nothing. The sounds of Tarhen traffic in the distance, in fact reasonably close by, but she can’t hear the bustle of a busy street that she was expecting. This street is well maintained, with pavement the colour of sun-bleached bone and long winding cobbled streets. Garishly decorated market stalls have been set up along the pavement. Red and gold banners hang from the buildings and murals are painted on quite a few of the walls, depicting this or that martyr.

As Twilight steps out into the road, she notices the street is in fact completely deserted, apart from two policemen in their navy-blue tunics swaggering down the street, one running his baton along the railings of the fence on the other side of the street. On the other side of the fence, Twilight can see bushes and trees, although the heat of Tarhen has turned the trees into skeletons of their former glory.

“Shit, not good,” Dash hisses as one of the police officers spots them, and points, muttering something to his colleague. Both suddenly about turn and start walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“Combat indicators boss,” Sov grunts, and Dash nods quickly. Even Twilight senses something’s amiss here, and she pops her hunting gun open, relieved to find two shells and one rifle round in the appropriate places. Whatever’s going on here, Twilight doesn’t like it one bit.

“Hey!” Dash shouts after the policemen “Come back here!”

The two policemen continue sprinting down the street, yelling and blowing their whistles as hard as they can, running at the freakish foot-speed that only the Khans can manage.

“Fuck,” Smit growls. “What’s the betting they’re summoning all their grubby little friends?”

“I don’t bet on certain things,” Dash responds. “But let’s keep moving, try and get out of the combat zone if possible, maybe we can draw enough attention to bring backup.”

“Backup, Boss? What backup have we got?” he asks, and Dash shrugs.

“We’ve got the best kind of backup, the kind where I stick my boot back-up your arse unless you get into cover, re-bomb your rifle and stand by. Hopefully the Legion have been tracking our progress or something,” Dash says, pulling her helmet off and running a hand through her sweat soaked, grime-streaked hair, before tugging her helmet back on and gesturing down the street. Her section forms up behind her, Twilight taking her position in the middle of the squad.

As they move out, Twilight bites her lip. This feels so strange, she can practically feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as they advance down the cobbled street, moving at a brisk trot. She can feel unseen eyes upon her, and at any moment she’s expecting gunfire to crackle from the buildings ahead or behind. The Legionnaires around her are similarly nervous, their weapons scanning the windows and doorways. Twilight however walks with her hunting gun held pointing downward: she’s in the centre of what is effectively a diamond formation of Legionnaires, and so she cannot fire without hitting the Legionnaire in front in the head. Twilight’s nervousness persists as they advance into the beginnings of the local market, which is similarly deserted, although it shows signs of having been deserted recently.

The unnatural quiet does not last for long however. Twilight can hear the sound of a mechanized carriage in the distance drawing closer, along with the ululating, hunting cries of the Khans that still fill the air. Twilight turns to Dash, who bites her lip; however as the Legionnaire opens her mouth to speak, one of the carriages suddenly thunders around the corner five hundred metres down the road. It is loaded down with whooping and shouting Khans who are carrying banners along with an assortment of blunt implements and ancient looking firearms. The carriage has been daubed with equally offensive slogans.

“Get into cover!” Dash shouts, and Twilight dashes for cover even as the Khan’s gunfire crackles down the street, their bullets zipping wildly overhead.

Twilight dives into cover, ducking down into one of the market stalls and raising her weapon. She lifts it to her shoulder and takes aim at the approaching Khans. Already the Legionnaires are opening fire, sinking desperate shots into the mechanized horses, which are not the armoured constructs which Twilight had. They shudder with each bullet fired into them, however they keep advancing inexorably, and Twilight can see more Khans angrily charging behind that cart.

“Let’s go!” Dash shouts. “Start falling back by bounds, go go go!”

Twilight feels a hand on her shoulder and she jerks in surprise. “Princess, come with me!”

Twilight turns to see another Legionnaire that had got into cover next to her starting to move backwards, and Twilight follows her, moving back to take cover behind a stand selling what appear to be potatoes. Those potatoes rapidly start getting chopped into chips however as the Khans focus fire upon the stand. Twilight ducks, allowing the rounds to pass over her head. As the Khans fire however, Twilight flicks the fire selector lever over to the rifle barrel. Whilst several of the Khans are carrying rifles, or else pistols, most of these Khans aren’t carrying rifles, and are instead carrying iron bars or else lumps of wood. At a distance, easy pickings for the Legionnaires, Twilight knows all too well how dangerous a Khan can be when he closes with you.

Thinking quickly, Twilight raises the hunting rifle and takes aim at the driver, who is now drawing his charge much, much closer to Dash and the other Legionnaires. Twilight steadies her weapon and fires the rifle round at the helmsman, and she winces as the round smashes into him, sending him sprawling backward to tumble from the carriage to land with a sickening thump upon the street. Twilight puts him out of her mind: there will be time for the reckoning later. The carriage lurches and several more Khans are hurled from their precarious positions before a new driver manages to get up front and rein the vehicle in. Twilight lowers her drilling gun, cursing furiously as she lifts her En-Kar, holding the weapon tight as she takes aim.

“Keep moving!” Dash bellows, and the Legionnaires continue falling back, shooting and manoeuvring in the patterns that Twilight has learnt to recognize as fire and manoeuvre. Twilight opens fire at the carriage which is now getting worryingly close to them. Twilight knows that once they’re in close, they’re going to be absolutely lethal. Twilight continues to fire, pumping rounds into the careening carriage, and she sees several of them go down.

A round suddenly smacks into the cobbles millimetres from Twilight’s feet. She whirls to see Khan gunmen taking up positions on the rooftops behind her and starting to put down fire that is fortunately wildly inaccurate. Twilight frantically darts forward, taking cover in a doorway before reaching out and taking aim at a Khan that is taking a bead on Rainbow Dash. Twilight pulls the trigger of her rifle.

Snap.

Empty.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...

Acting on instinct, Twilight reaches for her magic. The bolt of magic flies through the air, making a sound like ripping cloth as it slices across the distance to smash the ledge beneath the Khan, disintegrating the stone and sending the Khan plummeting two storeys to land upon the pavement with a sickening crack. He doesn’t get up.

Twilight shivers as another ear-splitting headache pulses through her, passing after a moment. Twilight turns to see the carriage, which is now practically on top of the Legionnaires, and she notices another driver at the helm. However Twilight also notes that although quite a few Khans are lying scattered upon the cobbled streets, the Khans are still whooping and waving their flags, chanting as their carriage charges the Legionnaires. Twilight reaches for the Luger, raising it and taking aim at the charging horses. She flicks the safety off and steadies the pistol into the proper stance as more gunfire splits the air around her. She’s got twelve more rounds on the Luger, then she’s fucked.

Twilight takes aim at the new helmsman of the charging carriage, whose vehicle is drawing dangerously close to the Legionnaires, who are now desperately hunting for targets as a withering onslaught of gunfire is poured upon them. The walls and streets come down with a bad case of measles and the stalls are shredded by the sheer volume of fire. Twilight focuses her mind on her shot however. The shot is going to be difficult, even though the carriage is only fifty metres away. Twilight takes a deep breath. She cannot miss. She then tightens her finger around the trigger like Dash has taught her. The Luger goes off with a crack.

The carriage explodes.

A thunderclap fills the air and the ground shudders beneath Twilight’s feet as a flash of light and a wave of heat washes over them. A ball of fire erupts from the carriage, inky black smoke coiling into the sky.

“Fuck me, what did you do?” the Legionnaire next to Twilight yells as the ringing in her ears dies away. Twilight stares in shock and awe as the air is suddenly filled with the steady rattling noise of crank-gatling guns, and the low rumble of drive turbines. Twilight throws herself to the ground as bullets thunk into the roof high above her.

Twilight nervously peers out, wondering what exactly the new arrivals are, and more importantly, who they owe allegiance to. Twilight’s eyes widen in shock however, when she notices the machine. The ship is shaped much like a skiff, though its underside is steel rather than treated wood. However it is longer, and the underside is flatter, with the nose being flat rather than tapered to a point. The machine slowly descends, and Twilight notices other differences, namely the lack of a mast or solar sail, along with armour plating running along the flanks, along with weapon mounts which currently house the four crank-gatling guns that had made such light work of the dissidents on the rooftops. That is not what sets Twilight’s heart to leaping as the machine descends however: Flying from the stern of the ship is the flag of the Holy Navy.

The ship descends until it’s about ten feet off the ground, and then soldiers start jumping from the prow. Black clad Khans wearing respirators and hoses and carrying submachine guns advance forward, past the Legionnaires. The advancing crowd down the street bellows its discontent at the sight of the advancing Marines, and they start to charge forward in reply. Twilight watches as the black clad Marines form up into a single row and lower their submachine guns, drawing batons from their belts. Twilight winces as the Holy Marines wade into the crowd, laying into the mass of Khans around them with righteous zeal. As Twilight watches, one of the civilians raises his iron bar to swing at one of the Marines, who brings his own baton upwards to thwack the Khan in the armpit, forcing him to drop the bar with a clang. The Marine then boots the civilian right between the legs and the Khan folds over, only for the Marine to shove the Khan backwards into the crowd. More dissenters are being hurled to the ground, or else sent running away with their tails between their legs. Other Marines are already drawing a box on the ground with chalk, which is being used as a holding area, if the number of shackled Khans being dragged into it is anything to go by.

“Your Highness,” Twilight hears a familiar voice, and she whirls to see Prophet standing behind her, a broad smile upon his face as the ship behind him descends to land upon the road.

“Prophet, you’re back!” Twilight gasps, and the Justicar nods, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, one of the Legionnaires steps forward.

“Where the fuck did you get to?” he snaps, and Prophet raises his hands placatingly.

“Yes, I am sorry for departing without warning you first… I just thought we could do with some reinforcements.”

Dash rises to her feet from her crouched position in a nearby doorway. “I won’t disagree with that,” she shouts over to them. “Do you have a radio we can use to get in touch with our people? We’re… in a bad way.”

Prophet nods, a low rumbling growl booming from his throat. “I can go one better,” he replies. “This ship will take you to them… more Marines are on the way to reinforce this group. There is also somebody aboard this ship who wishes to speak to you.”

Dash glances at the other Legionnaires, who are looking irritable, and she shakes her head as she walks over to the Justicar. “Prophet, I don’t think any of us are up for any political playing right now… we want to get out of here.” She turns to Twilight, who nods: She’s tired, the magic she’s had to use today has taken it out of her, and that’s before all the running and shooting and bleeding and dying. On top of all this, her best friend surely hates her guts by now. Hanging over all that is the overwhelming sensation that this whole mission has now failed. She got into a gun-battle two minutes after setting foot off the airship into a foreign land, as a diplomat.

Prophet shakes his head. “This is not political, this is military,” he says. “This person can help you if you want him to.” Twilight tilts her head inquisitively, not trusting herself to speak.

“Right, let’s get out of here,” Twilight says, starting to walk towards the Justicar’s craft, trudging up the lowered ramp and collapsing into one of the seats built into the landing-craft with a weary sigh. She can hear the other Legionnaires do the same, tramping up the ramp and sitting down, reaching for their canteens and taking swigs of water.

Dash sits down opposite Twilight, and then slowly pats at the pocket of her uniform. Prophet climbs aboard, the ramp starts to close and the shuttle starts to rise.

“Right, it’s fag time gents. When we get to the compound, RV with the others and see if they’ve managed to find somewhere good to sleep.” Dash wearily pulls out a cigarette and slips it between her dirty lips, but before she can light it, Twilight snaps her fingers and a spark appears at the tip of the cigarette. Dash’s slightly bloodshot eye flicks up to look at Twilight.

“Cheers Princess, anyone else want one?” Dash asks, holding the packet out, and several of the Legionnaires wearily reach out and take one from the packet, digging in their pockets for their lighters, each man passing the packet to the man on his right. Twilight watches the Legionnaires sigh with relief as they sit back, slumping in their seats and stretching their legs out to relax as the packet is tossed across and starts to make it’s way back to Dash. Even Prophet pulls out his pipe, which he lights with a snap of his fingers.

“Deity in heaven!” An invocation from the stern of the ship makes Twilight’s head lift, and she turns to see a Khan dressed in black dress uniform with bars on his shoulders. His uniform drips with braid and medals. This Khan is a bushy-tailed iron grey tom that rather closely resembles Princess Celestia’s Persian cat. “Forgive me, I’m sorry we were not able to help you sooner, Your Highness.”

Twilight’s head swivels at the invocation, and she purses her lips slightly. “Can I help you sir?” she asks, the edge in her voice a little more apparent than she means it to be. She’s not in the mood to be ogled right now, and the Legionnaires are likewise not looking too impressed at the interruption to their cigarette break.

The Khan’s back straightens as he bows and removes his hat. “I am Admiral Salman Neydin. I spoke to you this morning on the radio, Your Highness.” The Khan’s face falls, his eyes downcast. Twilight blinks, having to struggle to recall the radio conversation that seems like a lifetime ago. However, she remembers the Admiral and remembers how sincere he sounded. She’d thought he’d been lying about saying he’d provide help, but apparently not.

“You helped us,” Twilight says after a moment. “Your soldiers proved most decisive. Were it not for them, we would not be standing here. I shall be mentioning your most timely assistance when I speak to the Shah,” she says, and the notices a flicker of relief pass across the admiral’s face.

“I only wish that it was not needed,” Neydin says sadly. “The Ministry of the Interior must be held to account for this gross dereliction of duty.” Prophet nods grimly, a rumble escaping his throat.

“The Deity’s eye judges all.” The Justicar’s malediction sends a chill down Twilight’s spine.

“Your Highness, please accept my most sincere apologies for the manner of your welcome, you have my vow that those responsible will be held accountable… Is there anything-”

“Submachine-guns,” Dash interrupts. “The kind that your Marines use, with plenty of ammunition, three armoured carriages…”

Admiral Neydin turns. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“I’m in charge of the Princess’ security detail, and those are my soldiers that got killed today,” Dash says firmly, her eye flinty. “And you fucked up. You, the Interior Ministry, I don’t give a flying fuck who, but you, the Khanate, fucked up and you’d better believe I’m not going to forget it.”

The Admiral blinks, shocked, but Dash is now on a roll. “You are now at our service, we need it, you provide it, and at cost to the Khan taxpayer, you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Admiral Neydin says coolly. “I’m not generally in the habit of being lambasted by corporals, but even a broken clock is right twice a day. What do you need?”

“Well, uh, a coupla crates of rations, ammo, grenades, three armoured carriages, maybe a case of- actually, can I give you a list of all the shit we need?”

Twilight notices the admiral’s gaze flick to her in silent interrogation. You’re going to let her get away with this?

Normally Twilight would be first in line to jump down Dash’s throat, however right now isn’t normally. She’s tired, exhausted even. She feels like she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, and then thrown face first into a nest of vipers. Her right hand still trembles as the adrenaline wears off, and Twilight’s return glance says, more eloquently than words: Yes I am, what are you going to do about it?

“I suppose that would be acceptable, Corporal,” Neydin say calmly. “You will present your list to me later tonight, I shall come by to collect it.”

“Sure… Twi, you good?” Dash asks, and Twilight looks up at Rainbow Dash.

Twilight suddenly reaches out with her telekinesis, using her magic to open Dash’s pocket and pull out the packet of cigarettes. Dash looks up, her gaze following the floating pack of cigarettes over to Twilight. Twilight pops open the packet and pulls out one of the cigarettes, slipping it between her lips. She can practically feel Dash’s shocked gaze upon her, but Twilight is just too exhausted to care as she snaps her fingers and the tip takes light.

Twilight Sparkle has never smoked before in her life. She can just imagine the colour her parents would turn if they could see her now. However three weeks ago she’d never killed a man. Before today she’d never shot a man in the face. Before today, her world had been a safe and tranquil idyll, filled with friends and love. Even the darker moments had been pretty good. Now, as she lights the cigarette and takes a draw, letting blue smoke coil around her, she imagines the chances of peace drifting away on the breeze, like whisps of blue vapour.