'Only rats survive in the Dasht-E-Margo, rats and Equestrian Legionnaires'

9th of January, 1882. Seventeen miles east of Equestria-Khanate border.

Princess Twilight Sparkle shivers bitterly against the cold night wind as it snaps at the loose-fitting travelling robes that she's wearing. The books she had hurriedly managed to read whilst she packed for the trip had mentioned how brutally hot the aptly named Dasht-E-Margo, or the Desert of Death, would get once the sun had crested the horizon. However, none of them had mentioned how brutally cold it would get before the same sun had risen, and thus, Twilight's light loose robes were now doing more harm than good, allowing her own body heat to drift away into the night.

Twilight turns to gaze out into the pre-dawn gloom. The stars still glitter high overhead, spread in a brilliant tapestry of twinkling diamonds. A single solitary cloud lazily drifts by, barely visible in the darkness. However, the sky to the east is just starting to turn pink as the sun slowly stabs at the horizon. The only sounds are the gentle creaking of the mast, the soft flapping of the solar sails and the whisper of the skiff's turbine drives as they power the skiff across the expanses of the Dasht-E-Margo, the uncontrolled wasteland that stretches along the Khanate-Equestrian border where temperatures rise to the point that you can cook eggs on rocks in the shade. You can only patrol this area by airship or skiff and thus those who have the resources can cross the border largely unchallenged.

The only border checkpoint near here has been passed over three hours ago, and the guards to the border had been apathetic. They hadn't even looked at Twilight's letter of passage from the Khanate Embassy in Equestria, hadn't even gestured for the skiff to land and had just waved the skiff onwards into the night. Now, Twilight is sitting at the prow of the skiff as it whispers through the night sky.

She's not travelling alone in the skiff. Diplomatic Incident is lying sprawled in the bottom of the skiff, wrapped in a thick woollen army blanket with his head pillowed upon his sea-bag, obviously much more comfortable than she had been when she tried that, his snores grumbling like an approaching storm. Even when she was using her magic, she had found it impossible to get comfortable and drift off. She has resolved to get some rest when they reach their destination.

The main reason for her inability to rest is worry. She has been worrying about her assignment for the Princesses, about how she's going to make the task work. Twilight has been involved in the diplomatic arena before, but that had been as an envoy to Zebrica, a country which had a comparatively good relationship with the Empire. She even had Zebrican friends, which is more than she can say about the wily old cats that inhabit the Khanate, largely due to very few Khans living in Equestria. Twilight knows very little about the inhabitants of the dangerous country to the east of Equestria, a deficit that she's only had a matter of hours to correct. All she knows is that the country has certainly moulded the citizens into its own image, hard and dangerous.

The other occupants in the skiff are three representatives of the Legion d'etrangers. Each Legionnaire is dressed in loose-fitting woollen khaki desert combat uniforms and pith helmets with an unfamiliar badge upon them. They also wear lightweight desert webbing made of reinforced canvas and fabric, as opposed to the leatherwork and valises that the regular army and navy wear, and all three are carrying carbines. The three Legionnaires have also wrapped scarves around their heads to protect themselves from the vicious sandstorms that can rip through the desert without warning.

One of them notices her looking and rises to his feet, clambering awkwardly past Diplomatic Incident to sit next to her. Twilight smiles at him as he gestures at the spot of bench next to her.

“May I sit here, Your Highness?” he asks and Twilight nods, wondering where she's heard that accent before. It is a very faint vibrating growl that underlays each word, and the very precise way he pronounces each word suggests Equestrian is not his first language.

“Sure..” She replies, glancing up at him. This Legionnaire is wearing tinted goggles as well as a tan wrap around his face, although Twilight can tell just by looking that he's not human. The triangular snout poking against his scarf is enough proof of that. The Legionnaire sits down next to her and gazes out into the desert.

“Yes, it's so peaceful and quiet, it’s so unlike Canterlot,” she replies. “You have such a beautiful night sky; I could stand to gaze up there all night,” Twilight’s enthusiasm leaks into her voice, which brightens as she points upwards. “The stars are so clear, there's Luna's Cell and Celestia's Tear.” she gestures at the distant constellations that are just beginning to fade. The Legionnaire chuckles beneath his wrap.

“Yes, though we have different names for them.” He gestures at several other constellations. “That one there is the Vaizal-Karzad and those three make up Dajin's finger.” He replies and Twilight tilts her head.

“The Legion have their own names for constellations?” She asks, confused.

“No princess, the Khanate was my home, I used to live here before everything went crazy.” He replies and Twilight suddenly remembers where she’s heard the accent before. It's the same accent the Khanate Ambassador often spoke with, although the Legionnaire’s accent is slightly less thick. The Legionnaire pulls his helmet off to reiterate the point, and Twilight gasps as two pointed furry ears unfold themselves from beneath his head-scarf.

“How much do you know about the Legion, your highness?”

“Please, just Twilight, and not a great deal.” Twilight replies, rather honestly. Whilst she knew that her duties as princess had a military element to them, including choosing a patron regiment in the same way as Cadenza had taken the 75th Battalion, the Rangers for her own, Twilight never put much thought to expanding her military knowledge, after all the Equestrian military had not been to war for years, and she'd never expected she'd need to prepare for one any-time soon. The universe, however, has other ideas.

“We're unique,” he says at last. “Unlike other units in the Equestrian army, we take foreigners who are willing to serve the Crown, as well as Equestrians who are too well known to the police to serve in other regiments. The Legion grants immunity from all crimes save treason against the Crown. All we have to do in turn is die at a time and place of the Legion's choosing; it’s not a bad life really.” He says, his long, gold-streaked grey tail arching up into a question mark.
Twilight whistles appreciatively. “That's impressive, so what happens when you leave?”

“Most of us would not have it any other way, we're the kind of people that the civilian world doesn't see eye to eye with. Our Caporal for instance-”

“That's enough!” A voice from behind Twilight speaks up and Twilight turns to see the other male Legionnaire gesturing at the two of them.

“Legionnaire, remember your manners!” the second voice is sharp and reproachful, the accent is also foreign to Twilight, though the owner of the voice is taller than most Equestrians.

The Khan nods quickly, raising his hand in apology. “My apologies Capo'.”

The third Legionnaire waves her hand from her position as she gazes out over the stern. Twilight can tell that one is a female because of the gentle swell of her battledress tunic.

“Praski'Minyu” She replies in the language that Twilight has come to recognize as Traveller speech, a language that Twilight knows enough to recognize the words “No Problem”.

The Khanate gestures out to the desert. “So where was I... Yes, besides the Legion being the dumping ground for all sorts of folk, we're also Equestria's first line of defence. The Legion maintains forts in countries that share a land border with Equestria, usually with knowledge of the host government. Although that has strings attached to it, we're not allowed artillery or airships and we have to keep ourselves within a dozen miles of our fortress unless we're on exercise or at a post like the Embassy,” he chuckles at this point. “But then there's a difference between what we're allowed to do and what we do anyway.”

The attack comes out of nowhere. A loud crack fills the night sky, followed by the shrill zip of a round whipping past the skiff, inches away from Twilight’s throat. Twilight's world is suddenly filled by the floor of the skiff as the Khan shoves her down from her perch and into cover, even as the loud rattle of automatic weapons fire roars through the air. Green and red tracer streaks overhead as the night is suddenly speckled with stars of a different and much deadlier kind. The crack of Legionnaire rifles returning fire hammers through Twilight's ears, making them ring shrilly. Rounds thump and twang loudly against the skiff's hull, sending reverberations pulsing through Twilight’s bones.

“We've come under fire have we?” he asks, sounding nonchalant.
“No, we've just flown into an impromptu firework display you imbecile, get your head down!” The Legionnaire replies sarcastically and Diplomatic Incident shrugs.

“Dashed funny fireworks display if you ask me.” He mutters and Twilight hears the distinctive snap of a revolver being broken open and shells being slid into the cylinder.

Twilight rolls over onto her back, her wings protesting at being forced to take her weight. Around her, Legionnaires are shooting at things; even Diplomatic Incident is calmly loading a brutally large revolver with a barrel about the length of her thigh. As she watches, Diplomatic Incident levels the pistol and fires. The weapon goes off with a boom like a weapon a hundred times the size.

Twilight's gaze flickers around. The night air is alive with small skiffs much like their own, dancing through the sky, the bright blue engine blooms glowing like tiny evil fireflies. Bright muzzle flashes strobe and flare around them and the heavy sour odour of cordite fills the air even as Twilight's stomach lurches from being hurled this way and that.

“What on earth is going on?” She shouts, and Diplomatic Incident leans in to reply he reloads his weapon.

“It would appear, ma'am, that we have come into contact with a group of bandits, beastly well armed ones at that.” He takes aim with his pistol and fires again, this time scoring a direct hit against one of the skiffs' engine blocks, which screams out in agony as the powerful slug rips through its innards, the skiff then erupts in a roiling flower of flame and shrapnel.

“Keep your head down!” the Khan bellows at her and Twilight ducks even as a round slices vindictively through the space where she used to be.

Adrenaline pulses through Twilight even as the gunfire roars in her ears, however, her mind starts working overtime. Twilight had always prided herself on being able to think clearly under adverse conditions, and this certainly qualifies. Here she is, in the midst of her very first gunfight against an enemy that outnumbers and outguns them twenty to one, if the rattling of the machine guns is anything to go by. Terror pulses through her veins however the exhilaration of battle also sings in her ears as an adrenaline high pumps through her veins.

Twilight grimaces, deciding that now is a useful time to contribute in some fashion to the fight. She might be more into her books than into her martial skills like Princess Luna, however, Twilight has stared down enough supernatural threats against Equestria to believe she knows her way from one end of a brawl to another.

She takes a deep breath and draws the energy up that she requires, laying eyes upon the first small skiff that she can see, a bright muzzle flash blossoming forth from a tripod upon the skiff. The skiff is small and badly made; the chassis is littered with evidence of its prior involvement in this kind of work. The hull of the skiff is pitted and scarred with bullet marks, and the engine cowling is patched and rusting. Twilight can see figures moving around on the skiff, wrapped in long flowing robes and clutching rifles. The machine gunner fires another volley, which screeches through the sky to rip through the solar sail of her skiff. That is enough for Twilight and with a quick gesture she unleashes the enchantment she'd been holding, which spears through the sky like a bolt of lightning, leaving a long lavender trail of flame in its wake.

“Keep your head down ma'am, let these ruffians earn their keep!” Diplomatic Incident yells as he fires another round from his monstrous pistol.

Twilight makes a mental note to ask Diplomatic Incident where he got that huge pistol, it certainly seems to be a very powerful weapon, and he seems to know more about how to use it than a self-confessed desk jockey with a well documented fondness for eclairs and cream cakes really should. Twilight doesn't allow herself to think about that too hard, however, as the slight matter of being up to her ears in gunfire is a rather more pressing concern.

Twilight can't help but feel more than a little afraid. She's in combat and has very limited means of defending herself, her spells were no good for offence and Twilight doesn't particularly wish to test them in defence, since anything travelling at three times the speed of sound will probably punch right through it. Instead, all she can do is cower as her guardians do all the hard work, gripping onto the ship and trying not to lose her lunch as the pilot hurls the skiff into a rather brutal series of hairpin turns.

Over the cacophony of gunfire roaring in the night sky, Twilight can hear a low pitched rumbling noise. A deep throaty humming drone that is slowly getting louder, along with a low pitched repetetive bassy thumping noise, like a jackhammer to the machine gun's clattering rattle. Bright orange streaks shriek past the frantically weaving skiff, each one accompanied by a loud whoosh, to detonate around the skiff in bright splashes of flame and smoke. Shrapnel clatters off the armoured flanks of their skiff as bursts of flak erupt around them like flowers.

A hostile airship is slowly drawing closer. It's not a large airship, barely bigger than a cruiser, and its cells are patched and worn, its gondola rusty and battered. However, illuminated by the bright pulsing orange gouts of smoke and flame pumping from the two twin twenty millimeter cannons mounted along its flanks, the airship appears to be vast. Its searchlights stab the smoky sky, the beams searching like the gaze of a hungry predator, and as those lights focus upon her skiff, dissolving Twilight's vision in the bright glare, Twilight wonders if this is the end.

However as the bursts of flak draw closer, and the thunder of gunfire intensifies, Twilight feels a familiar tingling in her fingers, pulsing down her arms to the very tips of her fingers, and before she can even think, her body reacts completely on instinct. She leaps to her feet and stretches out her arm before her, gesturing at the airship. Twilight's not sure what to expect as a bright pulse of purple light leaps from her hand. She's expecting it to bounce feebly off the airship's hull or detonate like a damp squib as it did before, doing no damage but provoking a more vicious response.

The spark streaks through the air, hissing like an enraged serpent. Guided more by instinct than rational thought, it slices through the gondala's patched armour plating like a hot knife through butter, and it detonates deep within the bowels of the cruiser with a deep powerful thump that pulses through Twilight's very soul. As she watches, awestruck, the cruiser lurches as though that spark is a titanic hammer blow. The engines suddenly start belching thick acrid clouds of black smoke. Then a fist of flame punches its way out of the airship's gondola. The cells ignite quickly and the howl of flotgas escaping from hundreds of ruptured gas pockets fills the night. Fire boils across the surface of the balloon, spreading rapidly.

The cruiser rapidly starts to list and tumble, as the gas required to keep it aloft escapes. Twilight watches in horror as people leap from the ports and escape hatches, pursued by hungry tongues of flame as the airship is consumed. Finally, the volatile fuel cells take light, and the cruiser explodes, cutting off the screams of the wounded and dying in a rather abrupt fashion. For a few seconds, there is a very heavy, pregnant silence. Everyone has stopped shooting, and they’re just staring at the ruptured skeleton of the airship as it tumbles to the desert floor, still pouring billowing clouds of smoke. The raiders stare in awestruck horror at the ash drifting upon the wind that used to be their crewmates and at the drifting embers that used to be their flagship, and then at the twenty foot long skiff that can take down airships several times its own size, and they start to back off.

“Status report!” the female Legionnaire bellows in Equestrian, in a voice that makes Twilight stiffen. She's heard that voice before, heard that accent before. Only one person she ever knew talked like that. Twilight turns to stare at the female Legionnaire, who remains masked as she slides fresh rounds into her rifle.

“I'm good, down to my last twenty rounds Capo',” the Khan replies and the other male Legionnaire gestures.
“Down to fifty rounds here, Caporal-Chef! ” He snaps in reply, and the Caporal nods from her position by the pilot's seat and pulls out a box of ammunition.

“Distribute ammunition from the box, make sure you've all got full pouches in case they come back, but try and make it last since I don't have any more.”
“Yes Caporal-chef!” The two Legionnaires reply, falling upon the ammunition box and hungrily devouring it.

“Arc Bolt?” The words drop out of Twilight's lips in a horrified gasp.
“Caporal-chef Iriz Harsh, Fifth compagnie, Bolt was in the Ninth, ma'am.” The cold reply comes back as sharp as a slap in the face and Twilight lurches as though she's been slapped. Even that voice sounds so much like the young woman that Twilight can remember spending some of the best days of her life with. Lounging in fields, reading under shady trees, back when the world was innocent. Now they're drifting into hostile lands, having emerged out of the other side of a battle.

“I-I- see,” Twilight says softly. “My apologies, Caporal. You sound like someone I thought I knew once upon a time.”

“Thought you knew, ma'am?” The Caporal asks and Twilight shakes her head.

“Long story, maybe I'll tell you sometime, assuming you're interested in the boring life of a Princess.” Twilight says

“I'd like to hear about it.” There is a faint trace of something that Twilight can't quite place in the woman's voice, something almost wistful.

Twilight sighs softly.
“It's not that interesting.” She replies, her hands starting to shake as the adrenaline begins to wear off, and the reality of the battle slowly sinks in. The reality of that airship erupting into flames before her, men tumbling from the hatches, their screams snatched away by the explosion. The faint sickly sweet odour of burnt flesh still drifts upon the breeze, it claws its way up her nostrils and makes Twilight retch.

Twilight has never killed actual people before. She's banished the occasional angry sky-beast and vanquished the odd dragon here and there as Princess, and as an Element, she had gotten up to all kinds of wild things like turning Discord to stone and banishing Nightmare Moon. However, that wasn't quite the same as killing civilized sapients much like herself. Twilight feels queasy, her head spinning and she grabs onto the gunwale to steady herself. She is a scholar and a thinker, not a warrior.

“Are you well, Majesty?” Diplomatic Incident asks dispassionately, opening up his huge pistol and starting to clean the weapon with the practised air of someone who knows what he's doing.

“Yes,” Twilight replies, her face slightly pale. “That was a rather harrowing moment.” She says at last and the Legionnaires glance at each other knowingly.

“You have never killed before, Princess?” the Khan asks curiously and she shakes her head, licking her dry lips with an equally dry tongue, drawing a raw rasping breath.
“I have never had a reason to, I have banished sky-beasts and other monsters but I wouldn't call any of that killing.”

“It gets easier,” Iriz replies. “Once you've killed once, you're over the line and so it's easier to keep going.”
That notion does not make Twilight feel any better as the darkness of the night slowly gives way to the crimson skies of dawn. She doesn't want to feel good about what she's just done. Her logical mind loudly insists that it was the only action to take, that any other course of action would have lead to them being killed or taken prisoner, and each time Twilight re-runs the scenario in her head, she comes back to that variable. However, the icy firmness of logic does nothing to block out the screams ringing in her ears.

A snide little voice in her mind whispers malevolently in her ear.
'And there you go again, Princess, oh so eager to pass judgement and blame, they're bad people but you're so much better than they. It's horrible when they kill, but when you do it, it's all cricket because they're 'bad people' and so killing thirty of them at a time is considered acceptable.' The voice sneers and Twilight shakes her head as if to wipe away a particularly obnoxious fly. She will deal with her mutinous subconscious later.

'Later, that's right, we can discuss this another time. You have lots of time to spare after all, this is going to be with you for the rest of your sorry little life, Princess.'