Unnamed Roman civilization story

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ugghhh...”

Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic and the Third Crown Princess of Equestria, groaned like a filly with a belly ache.

With far more effort than it should have taken, the new Royal forced her eyes open. She was immediately blinded by bright white light, only to realize a moment later she was staring directly into the light above her bed.

‘Bed?’

Twilight started to move her head to look where she was, only to moan in agony as pain shot down her spine and across her chest.

“Doctor! The Princess is awake!” somepony yelled from outside of her field of vision. The scramble of hooves on tile filled her ears before the face of a white earth pony in a white doctor’s coat came into view.

“Your Highness? Can you hear me?” he asked in a voice which was a mix between excited and worried. Twilight’s response was another painful moan.

“Nurse, alert the guards outside that the Princess is awake,” the Doctor ordered to an unseen nurse. He turned back to Twilight and shined a bright light in each of her eyes.

“Princess Sparkle, do you know where you are?” Twilight tried to explain that she didn’t, but her mouth refused to form words. A fog had descended over her mind and clouded her consciousness.

“You’re in the Royal Canterlot Infirmary. Do you know how you were wounded?” he asked.

‘Wounded?’

The single thought rang clear in the confused melee that was thrashing inside her skull, but as quickly as it came it was gone. As much as she tried, Twilight was unable to string her thoughts together. Fragments of memories and half-understood concepts pushed against each other and blended together to form a static that was both empty and all-consuming.

After what could have been the entirety of Existence or a mere fraction of a second, the darkness that she hadn’t known she craved crept back upon her, and Twilight Sparkle was once again gone.

When Twilight finally managed to grab hold of the fickle rope that was consciousness, a nurse immediately galloped away to retrieve a Doctor. She returned in record time behind a stallion that felt familiar, though Twilight was unable to place exactly how.

“Your Highness, I am very glad to see you awake. I’m Doctor Quick Silver, and you’re in the Royal Infirmary.”

Twilight licked her lips before she croaked, “What….happened?”

The Doctor ignored her question. “Do you know what day it is?”

It took Twilight a few moments to pull the information from her mind, which she realized felt clouded and slow. “T-Tuesday?” she said uncertainly. Another note was written down.

“It’s Monday. You’ve been in a coma for six da-“ the Doctor was cut off midsentence by a loud pop and a bright flash of golden light, followed a moment later by a similar flash of midnight blue.

“Twilight!” Twilight Sparkle would recognize that voice anywhere, no matter how foggy her thoughts. It was Princess Celestia; her mentor, teacher, and second mother. Twilight immediately found her vision obscured in a field of white fur as she felt her neck being nuzzled almost aggressively.

“Oh, my faithful student, I am so glad you are alright!” Celestia exclaimed. Twilight thought she might have felt liquid on her neck where Celestia was nuzzling her.

“Ahem,” came the voice of Princess Luna. “Sister, we believe your current behavior is unsettling the Doctor greatly.” Twilight felt Celestia pause in her cuddling, before she slowly and carefully withdrew. When Twilight’s vision cleared, she saw Celestia with both front hooves on the hospital bed and an ecstatic look on her face. A moment later, Princess Luna appeared on the other side of the bed, smiling as well.

“W—I, am glad to see you awake Twilight Sparkle. It is no secret you gave my sister and I quite the fright.” Though she was more subdued, Twilight could tell the Princess of the Night was extremely relieved.

“What….happened?” she asked, her throat going dry in the middle and forcing her to swallow to resume speaking.

The sisters shared an uneasy glance between them and looked towards the Doctor who had fallen silent. The pony gave a slight nod.

“There was….an acci-“

“An attempt was made on your life,” Luna said seriously, interrupting her sister’s ginger words. Celestia glared at her darker sibling, which only earned a huff from the Night Princess.

“We should not attempt to conceal the truth from her, sister. She would have found out soon enough.” Celestia said nothing and continued to glare at Luna for a moment longer.

“Somepony…somepony tried to kill me?” Twilight said fearfully. Reflexively, she curled towards her mentor. Normally such an action would have brought a small smile to Celestia’s face, but under the circumstances only served to sadden her.

“It was a Changeling, actually,” Luna added. “We suspect a petty act of revenge on Chrysalis’ part. It was slain moments after it wounded you.”

Twilight said nothing, but began to shiver. Streaks of tears marred her purple coat and soaked the hospital bedspread. Celestia and Luna glanced at each other before returning their worried gazes toward Twilight.

“Your Highnesses, I believe it would be best if we left Princess Sparkle to rest for now,” the Doctor put in slightly hesitantly, but with the firm undertone of a Doctor giving an order. The two sisters nodded silently and slowly walked out of the room, each shooting a glance backwards as they watched a nurse cast a sleeping spell over the traumatized alicorn.

Across the Mareibbean Sea, the moody expanse of water that marked Equestria’s Eastern coast, the wide expanses of the Zebrican Plains were soaked with blood. Thousands of two legged creatures and Lion bodies filled the air with the sound of clashing steel and screams of pain. Somewhere among the confused tangle of men and beast stood an armored Centurion. His armor was scratched and dinged and his tunic was soaked in blood, whether it was of his men, the enemy’s, or even his own he was unsure of.

“Hold….hold…” the Centurion ordered his men, his voice firm and his body tense as he watched the Males eat the distance between them and his men. “Hold…..and….Open up!” As one, the formation of men split, allowing the Lions to charge through their line. Immediately after their passing, the men closed shields again before a single Lioness could breach their line. The Males, having been moving too fast to change direction or slow down, found themselves trapped and surrounded as the line of fresh men behind the first descended upon them. Spears found hearts and lungs as swords cut legs and throats. The onslaught came from every direction and the Berserkers were cut down in seconds.

A short cheer went up through the men, which was quickly cut short by their own Centurion who pushed and shoved them back into formation.

In the first line, the soldiers continued their push forward. The hot Zebrican sun baked them in their segmented iron armor and every soldier silently begged for a drop of water. Their bodies were exhausted and they gulped cool air, but they did not break step. Every meter forward they marched they left the slain bodies of lionesses.

To either side of them were more units of identically-clad soldiers which, altogether, formed a shield wall that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Javelins and arrows flew over their heads; launched by archers and the line of soldiers directly behind them in reserve. Furious red flags hung limp over their heads as they pressed on.

Slowly, the chaotic swarm of lions in front of them thinned. The pauses between sword thrusts became longer and longer, and the hard impacts against their shields grew rare.

The end came suddenly. A single, massive Male stood upon the single bit of elevation within sight; a small dirt mount barely twenty feet tall. Around him was a small group of males, each of their manes braided with gold that gleamed in the sunlight. The Male raised his head and unleashed a furious roar that ripped across the plains. It seemed to stretch on for eternity, and every human soldier felt a heavy weight in his gut as the pure authority in the sound pounded them.

The roar faded away, and the instant silence returned every Lion on the field bolted away from the battlefield. The soldiers paused and braced themselves behind their shields again, but the lions did not turn back. Only after the enemy was no longer visible on the horizon did they relax.

However, when they did, the cheers of celebration made the Lion’s roar seem like a mouse squeak. Shields were thrown aside as the men danced and sang their victory songs. From behind them came porters dragging barrels of watered down wine and juice. Fresh fruit and bread was passed around and left contented soldiers in their wake.

For an hour the party was allowed to continue. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. At the sixty-first minute, Centurions resumed barking orders. Units were reformed and shoved into formation. Equipment was found and re-donned. Porters carried the now-empty barrels and food trays back to their carts and strapped them in place.

Inside of a quarter of an hour, the army was returned to order. Earthen ramparts were thrown up, guard towers were assembled, and wooden spikes were planted in the dirt around the new camp’s perimeter. Every soldier in the camp was put to work digging, hammering, or raising the army’s tents. The only exceptions to this was the Commander’s staff, who at that moment were grooming their dogs and preparing their evening meal, and a knot of a hundred men surrounding the Centurion responsible for slaying the Berserkers.

These men, the soldiers of the First Century of the First Cohort, were exempt from camp duties. These soldiers were the Alicorn bearers. It was their duty to carry their duty to carry and protect to the last man the solid gold Alicorn Standard of the Fourth Legion. Instead of camp duties, at the end of every successful battle, every man was expected to give themselves a small cut on their palm; barely large enough to draw blood. The standard would then be passed around, starting from the lowest man in the Century to the Centurion. Each time the Standard was passed, the man receiving it would nick his hand, grab the pole, and offer a prayer for the men who died in battle.

As the sun set over the savannah, the ceremony was nearly complete. The second to last man, the Century’s Optio, or second-in-command, extended the pole towards the Centurion. The Centurion withdrew a dagger from his belt, cut a quarter inch incision in his palm over his often re-healed scar, and grabbed the pole directly on the sizeable bloodspot halfway up the length. He bowed his head, careful to ensure the large crest on his helmet did not touch the standard, and muttered the ancient prayer for the dead.

The ceremony complete, the Centurion raised his head and nodded to the Optio standing beside him. The Optio barked an order and as one every soldier present punched their fists over their hearts. In a single swift motion, the Centurion reared up and slammed the Standard into the ground. The gilded iron spike at its base sank deep into the dirt. With caution, the Centurion released his grip, and the Standard stood independently.

As one, the soldiers released their salutes and relaxed. The ceremony over, they were free to shed their armor, wash themselves as best they could of the day’s grime, and cook their evening meals. Unfortunately for four men, the Optio grabbed them before they could wander off and shoved them towards the standard. The Standard had to be guarded, and those men were unlucky enough to catch the first two hour shift. The Centurion nodded his approval and left to find his tent.

“GET DOWN LOWER! I SAID GET! DOWN! LOWER! DO YOU WANT TO BE IN THIS CELESTIA DAMNED GUARD OR NOT? THEN GET! DOWN! LOWER!” Shining Armor’s voice echoed across the Palace Courtyard which was packed with Royal Guards in full armor. Each and every one was somewhere around their thousandth push up, and the Guard Captain showed no sign of abating. Desperate gasps for oxygen and moans of pain filled the air.

Princess Twilight Sparkle laid on a special wheeled cushion in front of one of the less-ornate glass windows overlooking the courtyard. The two weeks following her awakening had let her wound heal nearly completely, but the still healing hole in her chest meant she was confined to bed rest for another week. Healing spells were powerful things, but even they were only so effective on wounds serious enough to endanger an Alicorn.

A deep frown was on her face. At her side was Princess Cadence, and around them were a half dozen armed Royal Guards. The Guards maintained stoic demeanors, but there were subtle signs that they were sending silent waves of sympathy to their comrades down below. Each and every Royal Guard was receiving advanced physical training that bordered on torture thanks to the incensed Captain.

“How long has he been like this?” Twilight asked quietly. Cadence did not look away from her husband in the courtyard as he pulled a soldier unable to do another push up out of line and forced him to sprint around the formation.

“Since the….incident. He was only worried at first, but when he learned you had Guards with you he……well, this.” Cadence’s voice was melancholy, matched only by her downtrodden appearance. Hey hair was full of split ends and there were bags under her bloodshot eyes.

“Why is he doing this?” Twilight asked her fellow Princess.

“He thinks it is somehow his fault, I think. He is responsible for the Guards, and he thinks that since they failed, he failed.”

“That’s stupid,” Twilight snorted. Cadence gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“Yes, it is. But you know your brother. With his logic, he thinks he almost allowed his little sister to get killed. Combined with what he sees as his failure during the Invasion, it has not left him in the best state of mind. You should have seen what he did to the Changeling that did it.” Cadence shuddered at the memory.

“How bad?”

Cadence paused to consider her words, lest she put more of a burden on the young, injured Princess. “He….he nearly killed it. When Celestia found him, he was essentially beating the thing to death with his bare hooves. It took a dozen Guards and Celestia herself to restrain him.”

Twilight’s breath hitched as her eyes began to tear up. Cadence nodded to one of the Unicorn Guards who lit his horn and began to push the young Princess away from the window. Cadence made to follow her, only sparing a single glance at her husband. She immediately wished she hadn’t, because in that instance Shining Armor turned in such a way that she could see his face. It was filled with hate and fury, so much so that it barely looked like her husband at all. A tear slipped down her own face as she forced herself to look away, so as to not have to see the monster her husband was at the moment.

‘At least, I hope it’s only for a moment.’

The Princess of Love cantered to catch up to Twilight, her own beefed up guard detail matching her speed. A moment of awkward silence passed before Twilight spoke.

“I have to talk to him. He can’t keep taking out his frustrations on the Guards.” Cadence shook her head sadly.

“We’ve already tried. Myself, Celestia, even Luna tried to calm him down. Each time we were rebuffed. Since I spoke to him he’s been staying in the Barracks.” Twilight’s wide eyed gaze met Cadence’s admission. Before she could respond, the two elder Princesses rounded a corner in the hallway and approached them. With the personal guards of all four Princesses in the hall, not to mention Twilight’s wheelcushion, it made for tight quarters.

“Twilight, I am glad we found you. We have matters to discuss,” Celestia said seriously.

“In private,” Luna added, glancing somewhat suspiciously at the golden armored guard surrounding them. Even her own Night Guards were not spared her critical eye. Celestia nodded and led the group a short distance away to a small dining area. The fact that a dining room could be found in such an unusual location in the castle merely lent credibility to those who accused its architect of mental instability. Celestia herself, however, found the random assortment entertaining, as someone new to the castle was never completely sure what would lie on the other side of any given door.

“Is this about Shining Armor?” Twilight asked the moment the doors were closed. Celestia shook her head.

“No, but it could eventually involve the Captain, which offers me no great comfort. I am worried that the attempt on your life was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were.” At the mention of the assassination attempt, Twilight flinched, as she did every time it was brought up.

“Twilight, what do you know of humans?” Celestia asked. Twilight tilted her head in confusion.

“Um, not much. I know they call their civilization the Patrian Empire, and they used to be relatively common in Equestria, but that’s about it. Most of my books on other species focus on those that visit Equestria regularly.”

“I see. Unfortunately, Twilight, there is a secret that has long been kept from ponykind that the recent business with the Changelings has brought up.”

“What kind of secret?” Twilight asked. Her scholarly curiosity was dredging through her vast store of knowledge for any hint of what her mentor was talking about.

“Well, Twilight, you are familiar with the fact that some species, and even some ponies treat us Alicorns like Goddesses, yes? Even going so far as to worship us?”

Twilight nodded and shivered. Most Alicorn worshipers were Minotaurs, so the faith was relatively rare in Equestria, but there were still scattered groups of all species that still practiced it. She still remembered the first time she had been accosted by a group of ponies calling themselves ‘The Temple of Her Holiness Twilight Sparkle.’ It hadn’t even been a full month after her coronation at that point.

“The humans see us much the same way. In fact, they are among the most devout of all species, going so far as to erect great temples in our name.”

“Okay, but what does this have to do with the Changelings?” she asked.

“You see Twilight, humans are not like ponies. They devote themselves to more…..martial ways of life. Humans pride themselves on their fighting ability, and in fact are among the most fearsome warriors in the world. Even Griffons respect humans in this regard.”

Twilight was not liking where she suspected this conversation was moving. “And, shortly after Luna and I took the throne of Equestria, the humans declared that they would destroy any who dared ‘desecrate the Goddesses’ with aggression.”

Twilight was aghast. She turned away from Celestia to the other Princesses. Luna refused to meet her gaze and Cadence was standing slack-jawed, apparently having not heard the legend either.

“But…wait are you saying, that there is a species that’s so violent the griffons don’t look down on them, that worship us like Gods, and vowed to destroy anything that so much as sneezed at us?” Celestia nodded grimly.

Twilight Sparkle erupted into laughter. “Y-you almost had me for a minute there!” she giggled. “But what about all the crazy stuff that’s happened in the past three years? Nightmare Moon, Discord, the actual Changeling Invasion?”

“Nightmare Moon is….a complicated issue, but the Humans considered Discord another deity, and resolved he was the responsibility of Luna and myself. As for the Changelings, Luna and I personally requested they stay their swords, and they acquiesced.”

“But if that’s true, couldn’t you just tell them that again?” Cadence pointed out, having come out of her shocked silence. Luna shook her head.

“Neigh. A single transgression they were willing to ignore, barely, but two they are not. Especially when the second incident is a personal attack upon one of their Goddesses. From their point of view, they must act, or their protection over Equestria will be seen as hollow.”

“So…what? They’re going to attack the Changelings?” Twilight speculated. Luna and Celestia shared a look.

“Not…exactly,” Celestia responded.

“Twilight Sparkle, what do you know of Wolves?” Luna asked. Twilight scrunched her brow at the near copy of Celestia’s question.

“Well….they’re extinct. Right? Or is that another secret?”

“The Wolves transgressed us as well.” Luna’s tone was grim and final.

A moment of silence passed before Twilight and Cadence’s eyes both grew to the size of saucers.

The march back to the coast was long, hard, and hot. The column of five thousand men moved slowly through the baking heat, made all the more unbearable by the warmth caught by their polished iron armor. Throughout the day, the detail responsible for escorting the baggage train trailing the army collected those who had passed out from the heat along the side of the road. They were thrown up on the rickety, man-drawn wagons and left to rest in the shade.

At noon, a break was called; both to avoid the hottest portion of the day and to allow for rest, lunch, and most importantly; water. Every legionnaire carried a flask of water on their hip which held roughly three quarters of a gallon. By the time the break was called, the younger, more inexperienced soldiers had already drained theirs. The older veterans chuckled at their discomfort, each having learned from experience to ration their water.

Too quickly, the Tribunes and Centurions began barking orders once again. With grunt and curses, the soldiers pushed themselves to their feet, gathered their rucksacks, and set off again. The rest of the march was still sweltering, but the falling sun gave each man a sign that their trek was near close. Though their eyes were to remain forward while marching, just about every second of the last five hours of marching saw an iron helmet dart up for a moment to catch a glimpse of the sun’s position.

Mercifully, after six solid hours of marching, and five more before that, a sight came into view that filled every soldier’s with relief. The blue sea lapped at the white sand beaches that marked the Zebrican coastline. Pulled up on the sands, guarded by a thousand men with armor over their purple legionnaire tunics, were dozens of Triremes and Biremes. Long, sleek ships with limp oars hanging off the sides sat waiting to take them home.

Not only were the ships waiting for them, but the beachhead was surrounded by sand ramparts and guard towers constructed upon the Legion’s landing a week before. The soldiers would not have to dig before bed.

The gate to the camp was lowered and the column strode in proudly. They wore the mark of pride given only by a battle won, tempered by loss, and polished with shared experience. Not long after their arrival, the soldiers were directed to tents where they would spend the night. The First Century received a billet near the center of the camp.

The Centurion dismissed his men almost immediately; having lost no men that day, there was no need for prayer. He suppressed a chuckle as he observed the Optio select the same four men from the previous night for the first guard shift. He suspected those four had done something idiotic to earn his ire. One of the Optio’s many jobs it seemed was to make the men under him grumble when they weren’t looking at him for guidance.

Author's Notes:

This is a story that could one day still be made after I'm done with Entanglement. I really like it, but I'm not sure where I'm going with it yet.

Unnamed Roman Civilization Deleted Scene

Across the Mareibbean Sea, the moody expanse of water that marked Equestria’s Eastern coast, the wide expanses of the Zebrican Plains were soaked with blood. Thousands of two legged creatures and Lion bodies filled the air with the sound of clashing steel and screams of pain. Somewhere among the confused tangle of men and beast stood an armored Centurion. His armor was scratched and dinged and his tunic was soaked in blood, whether it was of his men, the enemy’s, or even his own he was unsure of.

The Centurion pulled his sword from the corpse of the lioness he had just slain and stepped back into the ranks of his men.

The Centurion pulled his sword from the corpse of the lioness he had just slain and stepped back into the ranks of his men.

“Shields!” he bellowed. The ragged knot of men around him reformed themselves into a hollow circle and, as one, braced themselves and interlocked their large, rectangular shields. Those who still held their spears pointed them through the small gaps in the formation towards the swirling feline horde that surrounded them.

The Centurion edged his way back to the center of the formation where his standard bearer stood. Long bloody claw marks cut deep into the young soldier’s right arm, exposing the white bone beneath. The Centurion barely acknowledged him, as dozens of wounded men covered the ground around him.

The few wounded able enough did what they could to assist their comrades, but perhaps on in five was able to move on their own. Only a small detachment of archers, long out of arrows, were able to provide any real help, and even that was limited. The Centurion’s eyes took in the sight of dirty, ragged strips of cloth being from the archer’s own tunics soaked through with blood. Not even the soil beneath them was spared the gore.

“Sir! Orders?” The Centurion turned towards the voice. When he did, he saw the haggard form of his second in command, Knight Optio Varsus. Varsus was barely half the Centurion’s age and hardly came up to his chin, but he was a tough soldier and a good man.

The Centurion spared his second a glance before again surveying their position.

The phalanx, barely two hundred strong, was all that remained of the IV Legion. The Legion, over a thousand strong, had been ambushed during their march to the Lion city of Leona. The assault had come from nowhere, all of a sudden the savannah grass had simply erupted Lions. Before the Legion could get into formation the fastest Lionesses were already in their ranks.

Only The Centurion’s unit, last in line and farthest from the ambush’s initiation point, survived even remotely intact. Had the Lions waited only a few minutes longer, the entire Legion would have been annihilated. As it was, the trailing Century was able to brace themselves and act as a place for the rest of the survivors to flee towards.

Small rises surrounded the road they were centered on, but the remnants of the Legion had far too many wounded to attempt a move to high ground. In every direction, steel armor reflected sunlight and served to mark the long trail of bodies that was once the most feared force in Zebrica. Somewhere among the carnage and circling Lions was the Legion’s standard, a gold-plated Patrian Falcon.

“Sir?” Varsus repeated. The Centurion looked back at him, then towards the heap of wounded men all around them. A few yards away, the line of soldiers shouted as a particularly bold Male darted in and attempted to smash through their shield wall. A half dozen swords punctured his hide before he retreated, limping and with his mane tinged red.

Author's Notes:

An abandoned attempt at a rewrite starting at the Centurion's intro scene.

Angels in Equestria Deleted Scene

“The….the First Signs didn’t exactly go as well as they were supposed to,” I admitted. Celestia’s brow rose in concern. “We won, obviously, but….” I trailed off. Celestia nodded sadly and looked off into the black, star-studded ether of space.

“How many?” she asked quietly.

“Eleven.” The number hung over us both like a dark cloud.

“Were you close to any of them? Personally, I mean?” I nodded.

“A few. Panamay, we were together in the First Dawn. Dalius, he was a friend of your Mother’s. Shesa, Felicia, Anise, I could go on.” Every name I uttered came with the sad realization that my brothers and sisters were gone forever, wiped from the Eternities.

A white wing extended over my own as my niece sat against me. I put my arm around her withers and pulled her close, just glad to have her safe. “After that, I needed to get some distance. Clear my head for what comes next. I needed to make sure you girls were safe, so I told everyone I was going to clean up Discord. If something happened to either of you, I have no doubt that I would Fall.”

Celestia started at my confession. I didn’t look at her, I couldn’t. As ashamed as I was, my words were true. I truly feared what I would do if my nieces ever came to true harm. Death is not the worst thing an Angel can experience; Falling from Grace is. It is to forsake what it is to Be, to take the gift given at Creation and twist it to loathing and despair and hatred.

To Fall is to truly know Hell.

My dark thoughts were ended by a weight on my shoulder. I turned my head just enough to see Celestia resting her cheek on my shoulder pauldron. “Don’t worry Uncle, Luna and I aren’t going anywhere.” The conviction in her voice reminded me of when she was just a filly, making grand decrees with all the certainty afforded by the innocence of youth.

I smiled and rested my head on her forehead. Her horn was a small inconvenience, but one I ignored.

“Would it cheer you up at all if I let you torment Chrysalis?” I perked up immediately.

“Define torment.” Celestia giggled.

“No physical harm or permanent psychological trauma. Other than that, I suppose I can look away from the Badlands for….three minutes.”

“Ten”

“Four”

“Eight”

“Five.”

“Deal.” Before Celestia could blink, I had already Feathered out.

Author's Notes:

This was the original way I had ended 'Chick Flick', but decided it just didn't work.

Entanglement Original Chapter 6

“You know, if I wanted to do all this water shit, I’d have joined the Navy,” came the mouse-whisper quiet complaint of Hot Wheels. The other three soldiers of Camelot team rolled their collective eyes.

“You make that same stupid joke every time we get our feet wet,” Hack replied as he finished painting his face black to better blend in. Despite his years of experience in The Unit and all the time outside that came with it, Hack’s skin was still as pale as the day he popped out of his full-blooded Irish mother. As such, he usually carried nearly twice as much face paint as his teammates.

“It still sucks.” Hack opened his mouth to retort, then thought a moment and nodded in begrudging agreement.

“Alright boys, rack your shit. Ready?” Swiper asked as he seemed to materialize from the shadows behind his men. The two nodded and followed after Swiper. On the other side of a dense patch of bush, the three dropped to the ground beside a fourth soldier. Swiper lightly tapped Duck to alert him, though he didn't strictly need to. Duck's hearing was disturbingly sharp.

A quarter mile outside the town limits of SS1, the small creek that runs through town passes within a dozen steps of the light patch of forest known to the locals as Whitetail Woods. In sync, the four men low crawled from the tree line just outside Ponyville. They slipped into the water without a sound, barely disturbing the water as they entered.

The current was weak and forced the soldiers to swim with it to maintain any sort of speed. Their strokes were smooth and measured to avoid drawing attention. They were specks of barely visible texture on the water. Unless somebody was specifically looking for them, they wouldn't be spotted.

The cold water chilled them as they swam the three quarters of a mile to their stop point; one of the two small bridges that crossed the river near the town hall. The four men stopped themselves and piled closely together under the archway. Swiper pulled himself to the edge of the bridge and peered out towards the guarded building. They were less than fifty feet away.

As quietly as he could, he depressed the button on his throat mike and murmured, “Camelot, in position. Over.”

“Copy, Camelot. Red Herring in sixty seconds. Over.”

Swiper glanced at his watch and waited. Exactly 59.31 seconds later, a powerful beam of light peaked out from behind a dumpster in one of the narrow streets leading towards the town center. The beam cut around erratically for a few moments before cutting off abruptly.

The sentries around the building noticed the unusual activity. One, one of the Pegasi on the second story, barked something incomprehensible, but undeniably a command. The two Pegasi on the third floor jumped from their perches and glided to the ground. The two assumed wary stances as they advanced on the dumpster. When they were within feet of the receptacle, the two horses bolted around the corner.

An empty corner greeted them. The two shared a confused glance until their attention was drawn by a dull thump between them. Both soldiers looked down and for a half second saw a strange metal cylinder rolling between their legs.

A bright flash and an excruciatingly loud bang made them immediately regret turning their heads to look at what the object was. As the two horse-soldiers collapsed to the ground with their hooves covering their eyes and ears, the apparent leader of the sentries flew from his station to his troops. The other Pegasus guard was a half-step behind him, and the four ground floor sentries were all diverting their attention to the commotion.

Camelot team tensed.

As the group leader examined the two stunned Pegasi, a shadow to their left shifted. The second Pegasus noticed the movement and jumped into a battle stance. His wings spread out aggressively and he yelled something that, while not coming with subtitles, was clearly a threat.

The figure in the shadows froze, and then bolted. Almost as fast as his eyes could track, the Pegasus watched dumbfounded as the human sprinted past him and slapped him on the back firmly. Not in a way to cause harm, but more in the fashion of congratulations. The gesture seemed to short-circuit the soldier’s brain for a moment which was all the Operator needed. Before the Pegasus could react or alert his compatriots, the human was gone.

The squad leader turned his head as the information of what had just happened to his subordinate processed. The junior soldier craned his neck to see where he had been touched and the pair of disoriented guards pushed themselves to their feet. Confused, all three looked to their commander.

He did not hesitate before shouting a command. The four snapped into pursuit, leaving the four ground-level guards alone.

“Camelot, Beowulf 1-1. They’ve taken the first bait. Stand by for round two. Over.” Moose’s voice over the radio barely wavered, despite the fact that he was in a full speed foot chase through an alien village with four armored extraterrestrials on his ass.

Two minutes and nineteen seconds after the flashlight beam first appeared in the middle of the night, a second human figure came sprinting full-tilt from one of the streets on the far side of the building from where the chase had begun. The soldier jerked to an abrupt halt, his boot heels digging channels into the earth. The human stared at the dumbfounded front door guards before spinning on his right foot and taking off again into a different alley.

The two unicorns blinked twice before yelling and stampeding after it. The two rear door guards, confused, moved away from their posts towards the commotion on the opposite side of the building in alarm.

Camelot team jumped into action. As one, they all rose from the shallow bank of the creek. They crossed the clearing as quietly as field mice under a full moon. Swiper tested the rear door handle, found it unlocked, and silently pulled it open. The men entered calmly but quickly, sidearms up and at the ready. They hadn’t brought suppressors for their rifles, but they had thought to pack the cans for their pistols. If everything went according to plan they wouldn't be needed, but if things went nasty they didn't want to announce their presence to the whole town. The moment Hot Wheels entered the threshold, Swiper pirouetted inside the doorway and closed it as gently as he had opened it.

In their ears, the team heard Clumsy report that only two of the door guards had followed him and that the other two were splitting themselves between the two entryways. That complicated their plan, but not by much.

Barely breathing so as to not make a sound, Camelot team spread out and searched for the stairs. Most of the first floor was a single large room, though the rear door opened into what appeared to be a personal office that was connected to the main suite. Camelot team was not looking to search the entire floor; they wanted to get to the stairs, find the room that held the captured half of Beowulf, grab them, and leave the same way they came. They did not want to go searching out natives, though their training dictated that was the manner in which they were supposed to operate.

“Found the stairs,” radioed Duck, his deep baritone filling the airwaves. The team had decided to use their radios during the search since it allowed them to communicate quieter than whispers. Their advanced throat microphones could pick up sounds that would be barely audible if one was to put their ear to the speaker’s mouth.

The other three men swiveled and stacked up behind Duck. Swiper motioned for Hot Wheels and Hack to remain on the first floor and provide security. If everything went well they wouldn’t be needed and if everything went sideways they could provide early warning if the guards outside decided to come in.

Duck’s large 6’ 6’’ frame was nearly too tall to fit through the doorway with his helmet on, so he hunched down behind his gun slightly. With far more grace than his appearance would suggest, Duck softly made his way up the stairs.

The flight was short and came to an end with doors on either side of the landing. Without needing to think Duck moved to the door on the right. Swiper stacked up closely behind him and tapped him on the back. Duck twisted the door knob tenderly and pushed the door inwards. The two soldiers froze, waiting to see if the door would squeak on its hinges. When it didn’t, Duck peaked an eye in and nodded to Swiper. There were no guards, which Swiper found strange. Why wouldn’t they be guarding a pair of aliens? Especially aliens that had led them on a several hours-long chase through woods and apparently taken down a monster?

It didn’t make sense.

Duck entered and Swiper followed him into what turned out to be an empty hallway. Three doors opposite a wall covered with dusty paintings and a stack of folded up tables in the corner suggested the second floor was rarely used.

Swiper went over the mental map of the exterior and compared it to what he saw. As far as he could figure it, the two men should have been in the middle door. Duck took up position to enter with Swiper covering his six. If one of the horse soldiers were to walk in at that moment, it would be bad for all involved.

Duck tried twisting the doorknob but found it locked. He signaled the problem to Swiper and the two traded places. Though all Tier One Operators were trained on such a simple thing as how to pick a lock, they hadn’t brought along any lock picking kits and Swiper was the best in the business at using nothing more than his knife to get into anything from padlocks to bank vaults.

You don’t just get a name like Swiper for nothing, after all.

It took less than ten seconds, from drawing his knife to grinning in success, for the door to give way. Swiper drew his Mark 23 and pushed in. Inside, Lowball and Chainsaw looked up towards the door from their positions on the floor. Heavy chains connected the shackles on their wrists and ankles together to impair their movement. A bandage was wrapped around Chainsaw's leg, but the wound didn't appear serious.

“About fucking time you assholes got here,” Chainsaw whispered.

Swiper shrugged wordlessly before getting to work freeing the two. It took longer than the door, 85 seconds, but that was due only to the fact that there were actually eight separate locks that needed to be released. That, and the fact that Chainsaw would not stop squirming.

Swiper stepped close to the newly freed Lowball as he rubbed his wrists happily. "Can you walk?" Swiper asked Chainsaw, who flipped him off as he stood with barely a wince. Taking that as a yes, he turned to the other man. “Where’s your gear?” Lowball glowered.

“No fucking idea. They stripped us.”

Another complication. The men couldn’t just leave without retrieving their equipment. They needed to sanitize the scene.

“This is Camelot 1-1, we have retrieved friendlies. Equipment missing, beginning search. Over.”

Swiper’s earpiece crackled to life with the slightly out-of-breath voice of Moose.

“Roger, Camelot 1-1. Be advised, two natives have disengaged their pursuit of Clumsy and are returning to target building. Over.”

“Copy.” Swiper turned to Duck, since he was the only other man present who could actually see in the pitch darkness. “Look around, hopefully their stuff is still on this floor.

Swiper and Duck began to search the floor as quickly as stealth would allow. They each opened on of the two doors on either side of the room that had been holding Lowball and Chainsaw. When they found nothing, they turned their search to the hallway opposite the first. After searching the first two, Duck and Swiper stacked up on the third door. It looked the same as the others, and Swiper was silently praying the equipment would be inside He dreaded having to search the third floor as every moment they stayed in the building was another moment in which they could be compromised.

Duck opened the door as perfectly as he had the others. His entrance was so quiet it wasn't even heard by the unicorn inside gazing at the layout of gear spread out on a folding table.

Unfortunately, it was seen by the unicorn standing opposite him on the far side of the table. The horse soldier’s eyes grew wide and he shouted a warning as a glow came to life around his horn. In a fraction of a second later a blast of light flew from the appendage and straight into Duck’s chest. He dropped to the floor like a rock.

Swiper, only a single step behind Duck, instinctively put two rounds into both soldiers from his sidearm. He scanned the rest of the room for other hostiles before dropped to the ground beside Duck.

The larger soldier’s eyes were exposed; his NODs had fallen askew when he fell. Through the green-filter of his own goggles, Swiper saw Duck struggle to inhale for several terrifying seconds before he choked in a deep, ragged breath.

A huge weight lifted from Swiper’s shoulders as he helped the massive warrior to his feet. Duck coughed as his diaphragm recovered and his lungs refilled with precious air. Duck pushed Swiper’s hand away and gave a lazy thumbs up. Swiper turned his eyes towards the unmoving alien soldiers.

Pure instinct and training had driven the decision; the second unicorn had appeared to ‘fire’ on Duck. When Duck dropped, he looked dead, and Swiper returned fire just as quickly and precisely as he had been trained. And he had been trained very well. Blood oozed from dime-size holes in both horse’s foreheads where the .45 caliber slugs had torn through their gold armor.

Duck retrieved Lowball and Chainsaw while Swiper reported the shooting.

“This is Camelot 1-1. Equipment retrieved. Two enemy KIA. Egressing in ninety seconds. Over.”

Entanglement Original Chapter 7

The skies over Ponyville were dark with untapped thunderheads. The weather had been scheduled six months in advance, but it nonetheless matched the mood as six chariots descended on the outskirts of the small Equestrian village. Two of the chariots were ornate; one an elegant mix of gold and white with a flowing Solar banner. The other was a simpler, harsher blend of midnight blue and silver. The accompanying four chariots were much less intricate and featured light armor plating to protect their cargo of Earth Pony and Unicorn Guards. The skies around the chariots were filled with a further two dozen spear-wielding Pegasi guards.

The formation came to a rest in an empty field a brief trot from the town itself. A small gathering of mares stood on the edge of the clearing, themselves surrounded by a trio of guards.

Princesses Luna and Celestia stepped off their respective carriages and were immediately surrounded by their personal retinues. Princess Twilight Sparkle led her friends forward and met her mentor halfway. She was immediately enveloped in a large white wing.

“Twilight, I am so glad you and your friends are safe,” she whispered. Twilight said nothing, choosing instead to nuzzle further into the Solar Alicorn. After being released, Twilight offered Luna a hybrid nod and shallow bow, which Luna returned.

Her student safe at her side, Celestia turned her attention to the three guards that had accompanied the Element Bearers. Two had grief and anger poorly hidden behind stoic facades. The third, whose armor denoted him as a Section Commander, merely appeared tired. The three saluted in unison.

“Your Highness, I am Lieutenant Rapid Strike, commander of the Ponyville Garrison.” Celestia gave the white Pegasus a sympathetic look, while Luna gazed at him impassively.

“I understand you have suffered casualties, Lieutenant.” The Pegasus nodded.

“Sergeant Pin Point and Lance Corporal Hoplite, Your Highness.”

“Take us to them,” Luna ordered. Without a sound the Lieutenant turned and led the procession through the town’s empty streets. The citizens of Ponyville had retreated indoors after hearing of the tragedy that had befallen their small town.

The Town Hall seemed to add its own level of dread to the atmosphere. A half dozen guards surrounded the structure, though they were more milling around than truly standing watch. Disbelief was still clearly the reigning emotion, and it had yet to give way fully to either anger or sadness.

Lieutenant Rapid Strike led the Princesses inside. Princess Celestia shook her head to signal her student and friends to remain outside, as were her guards. Luna gave the same order to her own guardstallions, over their objections, and followed her sister in.

The main lobby of the Town hall held two bodies, both covered in white sheets. Two unicorn soldiers stood silent watch over their fallen comrades. They did a better job of pulling off the ‘stern guard’ face than their brothers outside, but tear marks marred their fur.

Princess Celestia reverently pulled the sheet of the first guard back with her hoof. The enchanted gold armor that covered his head was barely damaged except for two small holes just below his horn. Dried blood was caked around the wound, and Celestia nearly gagged when she caught site of the back of the guard’s head.

Without using magic, Princess Celestia replaced the sheet where she had found it. She glanced at the other body before quickly deciding against checking it as well. Beside her, Luna’s impassive gaze bellied her sadness; the Night Princess had always erected barriers of stoicism in times of crisis or loss in order to project calm for her subjects.

“Lieutenant.” Rapid Strike was at her side in a second. “Tell me exactly what happened. The letter you sent was somewhat lacking in details.”

Rapid Strike proceeded to tell Celestia and Luna of the search for the missing fillies in the Everfree, their encounter with the Timber Wolves, the Elements of Harmony encountering the strange creatures in the forest, and the capture of two of them.

“After we took the two creatures prisoner, we loaded them on our chariot and brought them to Town Hall until Canterlot could send a proper escort.” Luna tilted her head in confusion.

“And why, pray tell, did thou not take them to local Barracks? Surely it would have had a more suitable cell.” Rapid Strike shook his head.

“Ponyville doesn’t have a Guard Barracks. We only get deployed here in spring to prevent any of the Everfree wildlife from running amok during their mating season. Being here three months out of the year means the Guard books us in the local inn instead of having a year-round post.” Luna scoffed at the idea. A thousand years before, the thought of a village so near the capitol lacking a full time garrison would have been inconceivable. The peaceful times Equestria had flourished in since, however, meant such things were more common than not.

Celestia bade the Lieutenant to continue. “After we brought them back here, I sent out four of my stallions to search the perimeter of the village and along the edge of the forest for the remaining two creatures. That left myself and nine guards. I stationed two at the door of the room the prisoners were in and the rest outside, in case the creatures attacked to free their friends.”

The Lieutenant paused in his story as his eyes seemed to glaze over. “A little after three in the morning, we heard a disturbance nearby. When I dispatched two guards to investigate, they were stunned by some kind of metal cylinder. Corporal Razor Wing and I left our posts to aid them when we spotted another of the monsters in the shadows. It ran off, and I led my three guards in pursuit. I ordered the four unicorns on the ground floor to remain where they were. It was stupid, how could I fall for something so obvious I should have known better, I should have-“

“Lieutenant.” Celestia’s voice was steel. “You could not have known. These beasts are something that not even my sister and I have ever encountered. There was no way for you to prepare yourself or your troops.” Rapid Strike sniffled and shook his head.

“As you say, Your Highness. After that, as I’m told the guards on the ground floor saw another beast appear from one of the town streets. When the creature saw them, it turned tail and ran a different direction. Thinking it was the same creature that we were chasing, Lance Corporals Rough Shod and Quick Draw pursued for a short time before Sergeant Will Power ordered them back to their post. It was at that point we believe four additional creatures which we had not known existed infiltrated the building. A short time later another of the metal cylinders came flying out of the windows by the front and back doors simultaneously and incapacitated the guards long enough for the creatures to make their escape.”

Rapid Strike swallowed hard. “When we saw the commotion at Town Hall, I called off the pursuit and came back here. We searched the interior, and that’s when we found….” Rapid Strike trailed off quietly and shot a guilty glance at the bodies. “They were in the room we had stored the creatures’ equipment in. I guess the beasts decided to try to hide the….them in there to…..I don’t know. I just…I don’t know Princess.”

Rapid Strike looked up at Celestia, desperate for any kind of meaning behind the deaths of his soldiers. Unfortunately, the Princesses could offer none. Celestia patted him gently on the withers and dismissed the Lieutenant with orders to load his troops on the empty troop chariots outside the town to be taken back to Canterlot. It was the only mercy she could give them.

Luna gestured subtly to the two armored Pegasi still in the room. Celestia understood and ordered the two soldiers to join their Section Commander. After a brief hesitation and looks towards their brothers, the two saluted and filed out. As soon as the door closed, Luna cast a sound-proofing spell over the lobby.

“Do you feel it as well, sister?” Luna asked. Celestia nodded.

“Whatever did this, it is not of this Realm." The ambient magic around the bodies, indeed around the entire building, was…. Neither alicorn could think of a word that quite described the feeling in their horns. It was as if the local leylines had developed almost a aftertaste. The magic wasn’t damaged, per se, but perhaps contaminated came close to describing it.

Whatever it was, it left the immortals with a terrible sense of unease.

Entanglement Original Chapter 8

Major General Harmon Hicks was dressed in an immaculate Class A uniform heavily adorned with ribbons and awards. The badges for Air Assault School, Jump School, and HALO qualification stood out on his breast, and his shoulder was marked by Ranger and Special Forces Tabs.

All these spoke to what he was qualified to do, but were silent as to his competence compared to the mask he wore. It was that of a silent professional; both confident and respectful. It was the face of a man who had attained the status of one of the most lethal warriors on the surface of the Earth, but also one who had seen those like himself perish in the line of duty and understood his own mortality.

Major General Hicks was not a particularly patient man, but he could wait. After all, he was waiting to experience his twenty-seven year military career crash and burn. He would prefer to get it over with, but he could wait.

At last, the double doors leading into the room opened to let in a procession of stern faced men and women. The man at the center of the pack walked casually and the others oriented themselves around him. He was a little above average in height with a receding hairline. His dark blue suit was simple in cut and bulged slightly in the middle.

George Strawm, the United States Secretary of Defense, was not having a very good day. He had been woken up at three in the morning for an emergency telecom briefing from the Joint Special Operations Command. He had been told that Operation Shining Light, the secret surveillance of an alien planet, had been in hostile contact with the natives. He had immediately boarded a plane and flown across the country from Washington D.C. to the Colorado/New Mexico border.

The flight had not been kind to him and put him in an even fouler mood than before. Secretary Strawm dismissed his aides to wait outside and closed the doors. Not even the Secretary’s Army Protective Service Agents were permitted into the six-shades-of-secret briefing. He took a deep breath and slowly took a seat across from the General. The table was large, big enough to comfortably seat ten, so the nearly empty room exuded an odd sense of isolation. He laid out a manila folder in front of himself on the table and sat back.

“Major General Hicks, care to tell me why I was forced out of bed at three in the morning on a Wednesday night to fly to the middle of nowhere?” General Marshfield straightened and gave a short and concise rundown of the events that had transpired on the planet, which had been given the somewhat bland code-name ‘Margin Harvest.’

Secretary Strawm was a reasonable, calm-mannered man. It was why the President had appointed him to be the Secretary of Defense. Before becoming SecDef he had been the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and before that he was a Lieutenant General in the United States Air Force. His long career of service to his country had taught him many things about leadership, one such lesson being that one should never allow oneself to be outraged before hearing all the facts.

He sat very quietly as General Hicks explained the events, from the Delta team’s first encounter to the final rescue operation. He listened attentively to every word, and when General Hicks was done, he said nothing. For several long minutes, Secretary Strawm remained quiet. The silence was deafening, as the room lacked even a clock to tick.

Finally, he spoke. “General Hicks, do you know why the President authorized Operation Shining Light?”

Hicks shook his head. “No, sir.”

Strawm nodded and opened the folder. He spread a collection of photos, all of the alien creatures. Most prominent of the photos were the ordinary and winged subspecies, labeled ‘MH-S-A’ and ‘MH-S-C’ respectively.

“I see. The reason the operation was authorized was Margin Harvest could very well hold the secrets to the future of the human race. Weather control, ecological management, atmospheric regulation. That could have allowed us to eradicate drought, insect-borne disease, and desertification. Bring entire nations out of poverty, save hundreds of millions of lives.”

Strawm scowled. “But now that whole plan is in the toilet. The cat’s out of the bag, and unless we want to start an interplanetary war, it’s over. We’ll have to pull every person we have from Margin Harvest, and until we can find a way to make our drones work on their side all that potential is out of our reach. Goddamn it General, do you have any idea how badly your command has screwed us?” he demanded, incensed.

Secretary Strawm was a reasonable man, but he was furious at what had occurred. He, as well as the President, had seen Margin Harvest as a gift to save humanity. The means to reverse all the faults of Nature man faced were within their grasp and it had been yanked from them.

It didn't take long for the Secretary's anger to pass. With an air of resignation, Strawm sighed and stood up. “How long will it take to get all our AFO teams out?”

“I can have the last team back here inside of 24 hours, sir,” Hicks replied without hesitation.

Strawm nodded sadly as he walked towards the door. “Pull them.”

True to General Hicks’ word, 18 hours after his initial meeting with the Secretary of Defense the withdrawal from Margin Harvest was nearing completion. The Task Force Staging Ground had quickly filled to bursting with the incoming Advance Force Operations teams. Two dozen teams had streamed in on foot and on ATV. Their equipment had already been disassembled and transported back to Earth. The remaining teams were simply waiting on their turns to step on the strange platform that would take them home.

As the story of what had transpired had leaked out, Beowulf and Camelot team had received a massive outpouring of support. Not a single Operator could fault them for sinking the mission to save Lowball and Chainsaw.

Beowulf and Camelot teams sat together near the edge of the Staging Area. They watched as team after team picked up and left to head to device a half mile away. Lowball, Clumsy, Duck and Hot Wheels were passing the time by playing poker with loose rounds as chips. Chainsaw was napping under the shade of a large not-quite-oak tree, and Hack was trying to scrounge something to eat. The two team leaders sat together a short distance away.

“So, I gotta ask. Why did you do it?” Swiper inquired carefully. Moose glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Why’d I give the order to shoot?” Swiper nodded. Moose blew air through his nose and took on a thoughtful façade.

“About a year ago, my team was on an Op,” he eventually said. “Can’t say where, you know the whole song and dance. But we were observing a mountain pass, trying to catch some bad guys smuggling arms across a border. There was a checkpoint, and while we were watching this rickety little van pulled up.” Moose paused to take a breath.

“They ordered the people out of the van, and out comes this little gaggle of kids being shepherded by an old man. Oldest kid couldn't have been more than nine, and the dude must have been at least seventy, maybe older. Anyway, the guys running the checkpoint demand a bribe, right? So the old guy hands them a little wad of cash, probably all he had. The bastards count it up and then demand more. The old guy’s got nothing left to give them, but offers them the keys to the van.”

Moose’s eyes hardened. “One of them takes the keys, then shoots the old man right in front of the kids. We asked for permission to fire, but Higher denied us. Didn’t want to compromise the operation. We had to watch as they executed the children one at a time. Emptied their fucking rifles and threw their bodies off the mountain.”

Moose clenched and unclenched his fist rapidly. “The kicker? The smugglers used a different fucking pass anyway.” Moose shook his head angrily. “So, that’s why. I was fucking sick and tired of watching through a rifle scope as innocents died. I know I shouldn't have, but I did and I stand by it.” Swiper chewed on his lip in thought as he considered that. After a moment, he nodded his approval.

The two men shared a peaceful silence until a Lieutenant from the Command and Control Team came and notified them that it was their turn to head back. Fifteen minutes later, both teams were back in the concrete subterranean structure on Earth.

At 0644 Zulu time, 21 hours and 19 minutes after the order was given, the last human soldiers left Margin Harvest.

Entanglement Original Chapter 9

“Twilight, you asked to see me?” Princess Celestia asked as she strode into the Palace courtyard. Twilight looked up from a collection of books and loose papers and broke out into a huge grin.

“Princess, I think I did it!” she exclaimed in excitement. Celestia smiled warmly.

“Twilight, again, please just Celestia. I have so few chances to hear my own name unaccompanied by titles, I’d like to enjoy them all.” Twilight grin became sheepish.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m just excited!” Celestia raised an eyebrow as Twilight floated several scraps of papers in front of her. All were covered in extremely complex arcane calculations.

“Excited about what, exactly?” Twilight practically bounced in place as her exuberance returned in full force.

“I was going over the magical residue left in Ponyville by those…creatures.” Twilight’s smile faded. After the death of the two Guards, the youngest Princess had thrown herself into discovering a way to find their murderers. She hadn’t said as much, but Celestia suspected Twilight felt guilty about the loss of life occurring practically under her nose.

“I was attempting to find something in the Archives that would describe something similar to what we felt there, but then it hit me; I could modify a Source spell to track magic signatures.” Source Spells were spells designed to find the origin of certain substances. They were normally used during investigations by the Royal Guard; a piece of hair from a brush could be used to find missing ponies or drops of blood at a crime scene used to find either the victim or the perpetrator. Occasionally they were used for more mundane pursuits, but the skill required in their casting primarily limited them to the highly trained unicorns of the Guard.

“And what was your result?” Celestia asked.

“Actually, I was just about to test it. I thought you might like to observe,” Twilight replied. The familiar twinkle in her eye reminded Celestia of the magic lessons the two had once shared. Before every spell, Twilight would look to Celestia for a nod of approval to begin. Even after several years of independent study, Twilight still occasionally glanced at her mentor for permission to go forward.

Celestia bobbed her head, and Twilight lit her horn.

For several moments nothing happened. Twilight furrowed her brow and the light from her horn doubled in size and intensity. Still, no reaction. The magic expanded again, forming a cone around her horn nearly a dozen hooves long. The brightness became such that Celestia, Mistress of the Sun, was forced to avert her eyes. And yet, despite the incredible power pouring off the purple alicorn, the spell had yet to succeed.

Then Twilight got serious. When Twilight Sparkle was a unicorn, she had been one of the most magically gifted ponies in recorded history. Though she had still been working to perfect her spell casting, her raw power was unrivaled save for the Princesses. After her Ascension, her well of Magic had begun to grow. It hadn’t taken long for her to surpass Cadence, and as it stood the only beings more magically capable than her were the Royal Sisters and Discord.

The aurora coming from her horn lit up the courtyard in a raging shimmer. It was as if a star had been plucked from Luna’s Night and dropped to Earth. To Princess Celestia, it felt as if the pressure of an entire ocean was pressing down on her. The few trees and potted plants that lined the courtyard were shifting between every color in the spectrum as the loose magic bleeding off the spell ravaged the space around Twilight. The situation became dangerous when the marble tiling under her student began to crack and disintegrate.

“Twilight! You must stop!” she shouted.

Only then did she notice the panic on Twilight’s face.

“I-I can’t! I’ve lost control of the spell!” Twilight focused all her willpower into stopping the violent flow of magic. Her horn began to glow red from the heat caused from the excessive power. Celestia scrambled for a way to save Twilight, going through every bit of wisdom and experience thousands of years of life had given her. Even with her profound magical prowess, Celestia could not think of a way to prevent the spell from consuming her student. With tears clouding her eyes, Celestia stared helplessly as her surrogate daughter was devoured by her own arcane energy.

Then, the mystical blaze exploded upwards into a pillar that ripped the sky apart. Pink light burned away what clouds there were as the spell discharged above Canterlot. A shockwave rushed in every direction, twisting and distorting Equestria's natural Ley Lines. Across every corner of the planet, every magically-sensitive being felt as if the air itself was vibrating. In Canterlot, at the epicenter of the blast, dozens of Unicorns dropped to the ground clutching their horns in pain. Pegasi in the surrounding airspace fell from the sky before catching themselves as even their passive magic was disrupted by the wave.

It took slightly less than a full minute for the effects to pass completely. Smoke and steam filled the Palace square as Celestia rushed forward. With her own magic, the Solar Princess dispelled the mist to reveal a limp lavender form. Her hooves skidded over scorching stones as she rushed to cradle her student in her forelegs. Celestia put her ear to Twilight’s chest, desperate for a sound. To her indescribable relief, a faint heartbeat sounded in Twilight’s chest.

As Guards and servants rushed to the origin of the disturbance, Princess Celestia wept in relief.

Approximately 170 miles southwest of Denver, a Boeing 767 flew over rural Colorado. The pilot, Captain Nicholas Green, was enjoying a cup of tea delivered by a flight attendant. He was careful not to spill any, as he didn’t feel like changing shirts when they landed. His copilot, Junior Captain Malakai Yurov, was in the restroom for the sixth time on the five hour flight. Captain Green chuckled lightly. Yurov, a former Ukrainian Air Force pilot, had a habit of going through bottled water like tic tacs and as such tended to spend what seemed like half the flight time in the bathroom.

“Denver International Tower, this is Southern Airline Flight 141. We are at 35,000, airspeed 495 knots. Do you have us on radar?” With the plane on autopilot, Captain Green was free to sit back in his chair as he went down the list of housekeeping tasks required when piloting jumbo jets. Flying commercial airlines wasn't the most exciting business, but it suited Green.

“Flight 141, Denver Tower. Roger, proceed on current heading at current altitude for one four zero miles. Landing instructions will follow.”

“Denver Tower, Flight 141. Roger. See you folks in a bit.”

The check-in done, Captain Green stretched. Sitting for hours on end, even in the very comfortable Captain’s chair, wasn’t good for his back. He couldn’t stand until Malakai returned so he contented himself with popping his spine.

After his stretches, the Captain looked at the cabin door suspiciously. After a few moments of deep thought, he reached into a small bag slightly behind his chair. It took a moment of searching to find what he was looking for; a small glossy black plastic bag. Captain Green smiled devilishly as he extracted his prize from the sack; a handful of sour gummy worms.

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be eating them. An expanding waistline and a heart attack scare had convinced his wife that he was getting too old in the tooth to eat like he had when he was in his prime. He had eventually relented as his wife wasn't exactly a pushover. When she set her sights on something, she tended to get it. Salads replaced steak and baked chicken replaced fried. He even agreed to give up coffee, something he had considered a food group since his days in the Navy.

The one thing he hadn’t given up, however, were the sweet delights that were gummy worms. The moment he had first tasted them, they had dug their talons deep in him and he just couldn’t bring himself to drop them.

A knock on the cabin door interrupted his guilty snack. He quickly stuffed the bag back into his satchel and checked the door camera. On the monitor was Malakai, back from his latest bathroom adventure. Captain Green quickly pressed the button that unlocked the door and allowed his copilot to step back inside.

Malakai dropped into his seat, rechecked the instruments, and nodded in satisfaction. “Anything happen while I was gone?” Malakai asked as he adjusted himself to get comfortable.

Green rolled his eyes. “Oh, you should have been here, we had a huge party. That pretty blonde in first class even got up on stage and danced. Too bad you were on sabbatical,” he said sarcastically. Malakai glared before he lost his composure and laughed.

“Sorry I missed it. You can give me some of your worms to make up for it.” Green looked at him indignantly.

“Why, sir, would you be so bold as to accuse me of cheating on my diet? An outrage! An outrage I say!” he protested in his well-practiced British accent. Malakai smirked and glanced down at Captain Green’s black tie. Green lowered his gaze and saw that the soft fabric was covered in sour dust.

Green cleared his throat and made a point to look away haughtily as he tossed the treats to Malakai. “Yes, well. I should think we shan’t speak of this again.” Malakai snickered as he enjoyed his plundered sweets.

The lighthearted air was quickly brought to an end when a vicious shudder passed through the aircraft. The pilots immediately went into business mode; grasping the aircraft controls and checking instrumentation for faults. Several seconds later, another even more violent tremor rocked the plane. The fasten seat belt sign lit up in the cabin as the flight attendants quickly walked through the aisles ensuring passengers were in their seats and strapped in. For the flight attendants, it wasn’t particularly unusual. Rough turbulence wasn’t exactly uncommon in their line of work.

In the cockpit, Captain Green and Junior Captain Yurov had switched off the autopilot and were gripping the flight controls tightly. The gyrations in the plane weren’t turbulence; it was the plane itself.

“Primary hydraulic failure, switch to secondary hydraulics,” Captain Green ordered. His grip was so tight on the controls his knuckles had gone white as he struggled to compensate for the system. “Denver Tower, this is Southern Airline Flight 141. I am declaring an emergency. I have multiple system malfunctions and have lost primary hydraulics.”

“….ega…..ncy…………peat y…..” the radio garbled incomprehensibly. Captain Green repeated his message until a loud, shrill whine buzzed in his headset. He winced and pulled the earphones down around his neck, as did Malakai. The two shared a concerned glance as their plane trembled again. The controls in their hands were shaking wildly and their arms were already growing tired from the strain. The sticks were completely wrenched from their grasps as the sound of an explosion tore through the cabin.

“Secondary hydraulic failure! Switching to tertiary hydraulics. We’ve got a fire in Engine 2, shutting down fuel lines. Flaps keep adjusting without input, I'm trying to compensate,” Captain Green’s voice was slightly frantic as he and Malakai scrambled to keep the jet in the air. Emergency alarms filled the cockpit with a symphony of discordant beeping as the plane dropped into a sharp forty degree descent.

A heartbeat later, the two pilots jerked in surprise as every light in the cockpit lit up. Switches began flipping on their own as the instruments fluctuated wildly. The altimeter wavered between 50 feet and 50,000 feet in seconds as the fuel gauge alternatively showed full and below empty. The throttle jerked back and forth in its grooves with enough force to cause loud metallic bangs as it slammed against its confines. In the passenger cabin, people clung to their seats in terror as the aircraft convulsed in the air. Children cried hysterically, oxygen masks fell from their compartments, and panicked prayers were offered to any deity that might have been listening.

“What the hell is go-“ Junior Captain Malakai Yurov never got to finish his sentence as Southern Airlines Flight 141 exploded midair above the Colorado Rockies.

Entanglement Original Chapter 10

The White House Situation Room was packed. Men and women wearing uniforms from nearly every branch of the armed forces and expensive suits jostled against each other in the confined space as they each performed their designated functions. Memos from the Department of Defense, information packets stamped with every level of classification the United States employed, and reports from a half dozen intelligence agencies flowed in to be delivered into the hands of the nation's highest decision makers. The river of knowledge was matched only by the tide of requests for more information.

All activity came to an abrupt halt when the doors opened and President Jordan Moore entered the room. Following him was a detail of Secret Service Agents who spread out and positioned themselves around the room. The various aides and advisors without proper clearance left the room and the doors were closed.

Among the few who remained in the room were the National Security Advisor, the Secretaries of Defense and State, and a handful of assorted DoD specialists. On the large teleconference screens opposite the table were the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Director of National Intelligence, and Vice President Collins. The room quickly quieted as Defense Secretary Strawm gave those present a brief synopsis of the latest crisis.

“Units from Fort Carson and Berkley Air Force Base have the crash site locked down. We were lucky that the plane broke up over mostly uninhabited land. A few isolated mountain cabins and a couple gas stations were the only occupied buildings inside a ten mile radius and have since been cleared,” Strawm reported.

“How many people were on that flight?” President Moore asked. Strawm flipped through a small stack of papers before pulling one out.

“We have two conflicting reports of either 321 or 312 passengers and crew. We’re working on verifying the passenger manifest with the FAA and LAX.” Moore grimaced.

“Alright, George. Now I know that’s not the worst news you have, because you usually don’t bring DARPA staff with you. Why did you call an emergency briefing?” The pair of scientists perked at their mention.

Secretary Strawm motioned to the two men. “These are Doctors Abaselo and Hendricks. They’re two of the lead researchers on Project VALLEY. Dr. Hendricks was the man who developed the sensors that allowed us to detect the UPF around the Panama Device and on Margin Harvest.” UPF, or Unidentified Physical Force, was the designation for the unknown force the aliens had been observed manipulating. It was usually given away by a telltale glow around the horns of MH-S-B and MH-S-D, but lower levels had also been detected from both MH-S-A and MH-S-C.

“Dr. Abaselo is the lead physicist working to discern what exactly UPF actually is. I felt that it would be prudent to have them here during the briefing as I have reason to believe the cause of Flight 141’s destruction was related to Margin Harvest.” President Moore sat up in alarm, as did several others in the room.

“How is that possible? In eight months we never observed anything even remotely capable of something like this, or am I wrong?” General Miles, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, asked. Strawm shook his head.

“I believe Doctor Hendricks could explain it better than I. Doctor?” Hesitantly, and acutely aware of all the eyes on him, Doctor Hendricks timidly straightened his tie.

“Uh, t-thank you Mr. Secretary.” Dr. Hendricks cleared his throat nervously before continuing. “We have evidence that immediately prior to Flight 141’s destruction, a massive pulse of UPF energy was released in the vicinity of the aircraft.” Doctor Hendricks fumbled through a manila file before pulling out a series of papers which were passed around the table.

“Those are sensor readings from Dulce that coincide with Flight 141’s distress call. At 2:41 p.m. sensors on our side detected a spike in UPF energy, and at 2:42 Flight 141 first indicated they were suffering instrumentation and equipment issues. The UPF levels continued to rise for two minutes and thirty-one seconds until there was an enormous surge, followed by levels dropping off abruptly. Flight 141’s disappearance from radar screens coincides with the surge exactly.”

“How are you sure the energy came from Margin Harvest?” Secretary of State Rink asked. Dr. Hendricks looked at her with humble confidence.

“Because we have detected UPF literally nowhere else in the universe. Even now, after we’ve set up an advanced satellite sensor system to comb the universe, we have no UPF readings save for on the other planet and around the Panama Device during operation. Not even low-energy background levels. One of our primary research goals right now is to understand UPF, which fits into our understanding of physics somewhere between electromagnetism and the strong nuclear force.” The room was quiet as the information was digested.

“Could this be a weapon? Possibly in response to the incident with our observation team?” Director Clemens asked. Doctor Abaselo shook his head.

“We were unable to determine whether or not the discharge on our side was intentional. However, considering the fact that we still do not fully understand the method that the Panama Device uses to transport matter, we cannot rule it out. This could also mean that the species on Margin Harvest have a greater understanding of its workings that we do. They could potentially even be its creators. Seeing as how the Device on either side produced no detectable UPF during the incident, we have to look for an alternative source. Combined with the fact that the aliens themselves are the only other natural emitters we have discovered to date it would seem likely, though that is entirely circumstantial.”

Hendricks agreed glumly as he pulled a second set of readings from the folder. “We did, however, find a disturbing correlation. At approximately the same time as our sensors at Dulce picked up the rising UPF levels, the remote detectors we left behind registered an almost identical buildup and discharge. It took us several hours to receive the readings because of the hard drive courier system, but once we did the timestamps matched almost exactly. The disturbance on Margin Harvest came from somewhere near the area indicated here.” Another set of pictures was passed around the table. The images were copies of topographical maps of the charted areas of Margin Harvest. A red circle surrounded a tight concentration of lines with a population indicator and the designation 'S-L-1.’

The news hung heavy in the air. The most likely scenario was, following the accidental deaths of their soldiers, the aliens had retaliated with a weapon that the human race couldn’t even understand much less defend against.

“How powerful was the energy discharge on Flight 141?” the Air Force Chief of Staff asked.

“It was roughly equivalent to eight hundred tons of TNT,” replied Secretary Strawm. That was one of the facts that had stuck out to him during his own DARPA briefing. The explosion was comparable to a very low-yield tactical nuclear warhead.

Doctor Abaselo cleared his throat. “We believe it also may have been targeting Dulce Station itself.”

Every head in the room was immediately on the physicist. He continued, “I was attempting to find out why the UPF had focused on Flight 141, and when I checked the FAA radar readings from the time of the crash I discovered something. Flight 141 was the closest aircraft to Dulce Station at the time of the buildup.” As a top secret research base, Dulce was surrounded by a large no-fly zone that forced civilian air traffic to fly around the station.

“UPF shares some characteristics of electricity such as metal conductivity, and I believe 141 may have acted as a sort of lightning rod. The energy continued to build up in and around the aircraft until it…discharged.” Abaselo swallowed self-consciously. “The advance team sent to the site has already confirmed extremely low levels of UPF, as well as burn patterns on the debris which would support this theory.”

“So this could have been worse,” Strawm replied. Enormous national resources were invested in Dulce; tens of millions of dollars in equipment, the best researchers in DARPA’s expansive arsenal, as well as more than a hundred Tier One Operators from the Army, Navy, and Air Force. That didn't include the population centers just to the south. Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Flagstaff, and dozens of small towns combined meant there were nearly three quarters of a million people inside of a 100 mile radius.

“George, I want whatever did this destroyed,” President Moore announced sternly. “I am giving you full authorization to use whatever means you deem necessary to protect the security of this nation and this planet.” President Moore made sure to make eye contact with every man and woman in the room.

“Yes, Mr. President. I’ll have an Action Plan ready and on your desk inside of forty-eight hours,” Strawm replied. Moore nodded in satisfaction.

Secretary Rink raised her hand in objection. “Mr. President, the Doctors have said that they can’t definitively confirm it was an attack. What if this was an accident? I believe we should at the very least explore the idea of diplomatic options.” President Moore looked at her grimly.

“Claire, I’m afraid we don’t have that option. Unless I’m mistaken, our linguists are still years away from being able to decipher the aliens’ language, or am I wrong?” he asked as he looked to Strawm for affirmation. Strawm confirmed that there had been little progress and added that the most optimistic projections placed a full understanding of the language at three years.

“We can’t wait that long. This could happen again at any time and we have absolutely no way to stop it except attacking the source. Next time it might not be an airliner. It could be a power plant, or a missile silo. Hell, it could be an entire city. I’m not willing to risk that.” Secretary Rink didn’t appear satisfied, but offered no further argument.

“Now, what is going to be the official version of events?” Moore asked. On the top left teleconference screen, Director Clemens interlocked his fingers and leaned forward.

“We’re going with a flaw in the left wing fuel tank. The FAA and TSA are going to ground all Southern Airline 767s for inspection. At that point we’ll have agents plant what’ll appear to be manufacturing defects in a few of them, the faults will be found and corrected, and the Airline should be back to full operation inside of a year.”

Several officials looked away guiltily. It wasn’t pretty what had to be done, but it was necessary to maintain the veil of secrecy. A few more minor details were left to be hammered out, but the heavy decision making had been made.

The steady beat of a heart monitor comforted Princess Celestia as she stood vigil over her student. The doctors of the Castle Infirmary had confirmed that there would be no lasting damage, but Celestia had yet to overcome the moment of stark terror that she had experienced when she saw Twilight’s unmoving body on the ground. The beeps gave her solace in the constant confirmation of her student’s survival.

Celestia didn't respond when the door to Twilight’s room opened to reveal her sister. Luna lightly kicked the door closed behind her and sat down beside the larger alicorn.

“The Doctor informed me of her condition. Severe magical depletion and third degree horn stresses,” Luna said as she placed a wing over her sister comfortingly. “She’ll be back to normal in a month or two.” When Celestia continued to stare blankly at her student, Luna forced her sister’s gaze upon her.

“Tia. She will be fine.” The Midnight Sister put as much weight behind the last word as she could. Light purple eyes blinked rapidly and finally came into focus. In an instant, Celestia’s mask shattered and she hugged her sister tightly. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and dampened Luna’s coat, who paid it no mind. Instead she gently rubbed her sister’s back and enveloped her as best she could.

It took nearly an hour for Celestia to regain her composure. As she dried the last of her tears, she muttered a quiet thanks to her sister. Luna smiled gently and nuzzled her cheek.

Before either sister could speak, a commotion outside the door drew their attention. A deep commanding voice conflicted with the guards posted at the door. A sharp bark was followed by a moment of silence before the door opened.

Shining Armor stepped through the doorway after glaring harshly at the Solar and Night Guards posted beside the door. Princess Cadence was a half-step behind him. As soon as he looked away from the soldiers and towards his little sister, all the anger drained from him and was replaced with worry.

The former Captain rushed to Twilight’s bedside, nearly knocking aside the Princesses in the process. “Oh, Twily, what did you do?” he asked quietly. He gently stroked his hoof along her cheek to where the bandages on her forehead and around her horn ended. Cadence walked up beside him with a concerned expression.

“What happened to her?” she asked. Luna looked to her sister for an explanation as well. She had been told that there had been an accident and that Twilight Sparkle was injured, but little else. Aside from the Doctor she had spoken to before entering the room nopony had any further information to offer.

“She was trying to find where those things that killed our Guards had gone to,” Celestia said quietly. “It was my hope that if we could find where they had fled to, we could avoid further bloodshed by meeting peacefully and perhaps open up a dialogue. I asked Twilight to look into the matter and…” Celestia trailed off as tears threatened to overtake her again. Luna pressed against her to offer support.

The alabaster Princess shook her head and continued. “She devised a way to track their magical signatures, but something went terribly wrong. She lost control of the spell and it began to feed off of her.” Shining Armor looked at Celestia in alarm. A unicorn losing control of a spell was a serious thing, but to have the spell begin to draw on the unicorn’s magic against their will was almost always fatal. Usually the unfortunate mage would be left a bare husk of a corpse, assuming anything remained at all.

Shining Armor’s eyes glazed over momentarily before he turned and hugged his sister tightly. The assortment of wires and tubes around her complicated the gesture, but he managed. Cadence rubbed his back gently with her hoof as the stallion struggled not to cry. Despite his best efforts, wet spots appeared on the white hospital bed sheets.

“Has the Doctor spoken to you yet?” Luna asked Cadence. The Crystal Princess gave a shallow nod without taking her sad eyes off of Twilight. Satisfied that the former Captain was not under the impression his sister was dying, she stood and nudged Celestia. “Come, Sister. Let us give them their moment together.”

Celestia hesitated before standing on somewhat shaky hooves. As she allowed herself to be led out, the Solar Princess shot a last guilty glance over her shoulder at the siblings.

The two sisters walked through the castle in silence, the larger leaning heavily on the smaller. Guards and servants parted wordlessly at the somber expressions on their rulers’ faces. In minutes the Alicorns found themselves in front of large double oak doors imprinted with Celestia’s Cutie Mark. The pair of Solar Guards posted there at all hours of the day and night saluted and pushed the doors open. Luna bobbed her head in acknowledgement at the two as she passed.

Once the doors were closed behind them, Celestia nearly collapsed against her sister. Luna grunted and adjusted her footing, but did not waiver. Gingerly, she led her sister to the bed and deposited her on the soft down mattress.

“I’m not tired, Luna,” Celestia protested in a childlike manner. Luna giggled lightly as she tucked her older sibling in.

“Perhaps not, but sleep shall do you well. Rest, dear sister, and allow sleep to soothe your heart and mind. I shall oversee thine duties this evening, concern yourself only with those matters that lie beyond the realm of the wakeful.” Celestia grumbled a half hearted protest, but in mere moments the gentle caress of sleep claimed her. Twilight’s near-death had not been kind to the immortal, and the emotional strain of repressing her emotions only to have Luna release them explosively had only served to further exhaust her.

After making sure her sister would not be disturbed, Luna left her sister’s chambers with two of her personal Guards in tow. When the small band was around the corner from Celestia’s chambers, Luna turned to the stallion to her right.

“Titus, send word to the Royal Guard Detachments in the cities and towns along the edge of the Everfree that they are to stand at high alert until told otherwise.” The Chiroquine saluted and quickly departed to relay the orders. Luna turned to face the guard on her left.

“Avitus, have Captain Silver Lance dispatch Detachments to the settlements along the edge of the Forest that lack them. Be sure that all those being dispatched are informed of what type of threat they face.” With a flick of her wing, Luna dismissed her second guard who left in the same manner as his companion.

With a stern face, Luna continued her way through the Palace. Under her breath, she muttered darkly, “I will not have our Guards caught flat-hoofed again.”

Entanglement Original Chapter 11

The four men of Beowulf team were bored. Under the warm Colorado sun, they were sitting on a pallet of MREs and sipping sodas pilfered from the base Dining Facility. Their only available form of entertainment was watching the seemingly endless stream of men and equipment that flowed into Dulce Station. The base hadn’t seen such activity since the end of the Cold War, and it showed. Shipping containers full of ammunition, weapons, All Terrain Vehicles, and every other type of military supply were being constantly trucked in. Civilian rigs driven by plain-clothes soldiers rolled in and out, dropping off trailers adorned with all manner of corporate logos to disguise their true purpose.

In addition to the trucks, every so often a Chinook helicopter would land and drop off a load of Army Rangers. Already nearly the entirety of Alpha Company, 2nd Rangers called the Station home. While none of the Operators on base had been told exactly what was going on, whatever it was they knew it was going to be big.

Their speculation was brought to an abrupt halt when a baby-faced Naval Intelligence Ensign marched up and came to a stop in front of the team. The word ‘marched’ is critical to describe the young sailor’s posture, which appeared as if he had a size 9 stick in his size 5 ass.

“Master Sergeant Wyatt?” he inquired stiffly. The three members of Beowulf shared an amused and slightly quizzical glance while Moose raised his hand casually.

“Yo.” Clumsy passed off a chuckle as a cough at the officer’s annoyed expression.

“All Task Force Team Leaders are to report to the Auditorium for a mission brief.” His message delivered, the Ensign marched away in the same rigid manner as he had approached. The team watched him go, a disbelieving glance shared between them. Whoever had thought to assign such a man to Special Warfare had clearly been short-changed on brain power.

Moose drained what was left of his soda and hopped off the pallet. “See ya, handsome,” Lowball catcalled as he walked away. A pair of wolf-whistles were answered with an over-the-shoulder middle finger.

It didn’t take him long to find the auditorium. It was the largest above ground structure on base, and its three story height towered over the buildings around it. When he pushed open the door, he came face-to-face with a soldier carrying a clipboard. The soldier asked for his name, checked something on the board, and directed him through a set of large double doors.

When he walked into the auditorium proper, he saw the center sections of the first three rows were filled were filled with dozens of uniforms. Nearly everyone had already taken their seats, so Moose subtly made his way to an empty spot between a pair of SEAL team leaders. The clipboard soldier walked up the aisle to the stage and muttered something inaudible to an Army Major. The Major nodded and disappeared off stage for a moment before returning in tow of a Major General who Moose immediately recognized. Harmon Hicks was widely respected in the Special Operations community with a reputation as an officer who knew when to command and when to let go of the leash.

He had been an Operator in the Unit himself during the late 80s and early 90s before being promoted to command a Ranger battalion. Three years later he returned to the elite unit as its new commander before moving on to JSOC shortly before the invasion of Afghanistan. He had shepherded the Unit through the tense and complicated era that included a Central America entirely sick of American interference and the confusing genocidal melee that was the former Yugoslavia.

A SEAL in the front row called out, “Officer on the deck!” Immediately, everyone bolted upright, but before a single soul could straighten themselves fully the General was already waving them at ease.

“Sit down, sit down damn you,” he growled. The Major handed the General a small manila folder as the men returned to their seats.

“Three days ago, Flight 141 exploded in midair a bit south of this location. I’m sure you’ve all seen the reports on CNN but you haven’t seen what I'm about to tell you, which for obvious reasons is extremely classified. 141’s destruction was not an accident as is being reported. Through unknown means it is believed the inhabitants of the planet we have come to know as Margin Harvest managed to detonate the equivalent of just over 800 tons of TNT. It is also thought that the attack was intended to strike this installation. With these facts in mind, the people in charge have decided that inaction would mean too great a danger of future attacks. Therefore, the President has directed the Secretary of Defense to take any and all action necessary to eliminate this threat.”

The men looked among themselves in confusion but said nothing, preferring instead to wait for more information. Behind General Hicks a large hanging projector screen came to life with an image of the mapped areas of Margin Harvest. With a wave, General Hicks motioned for two men in the center of the front row to stand up and walk on stage. The two were Lieutenant Colonel Frank Liefner and Commander Jim Rustler, the commanders of the Delta and SEAL contingents at Dulce, respectively.

The three men, in conjunction with the AFO teams responsible for the observation of S-L-1, had developed a plan. The plan was ambitious and risky, and more than one Operator in the room held serious reservations. However, after four hours of exhaustive Q&A of a kind only possible in the Special Operations community, nearly every man present agreed that it was the best plan available.

That by no means made it a good plan, but it was the best they could hope for.

Bellwether was many things. She was an explorer, a leader, always the pony at the forefront. But more than that, she was an adventurer. Her Cutie Mark showcased her talent; a spinning compass in the center of question mark. She had braved the rough seas of the Marelantic Ocean to venture to distant Zebrica. She had roamed the Savannah with the Proudest Prides and climbed the highest peaks of the Oreamos Mountains to catch a glimpse of the reclusive monks who lived there. She had trekked for three months through thick jungle to find ancient Mareyan Ruins just to see for herself their mythical Doomsday Calendar.

Truly, there was no other mortal pony alive that could claim to have seen as much of the world as she had. In fact, a mare in Canterlot had even turned her adventures into a popular book series, the royalties of which had helped fund even more adventures which in turn inspired more books.

However, there was one place that Bellwether had never set hoof in; the Everfree Forest. It was ironic; she had grown up in a small town close to the Forest’s edge. She had earned her Cutie Mark barely a stone’s throw away in a canyon the locals called Ghastly Gorge, but her fillyhood fear of the Forest had always stuck with her. Normally fear was something she balked at, but for some reason she had never understood the Everfree was something she could never overcome.

Until one fateful day. She had been in a shoddy lean-to in the Farrier Rainforest with an insightful Zebra priestess, waiting for the torrential rain to abate so they could continue their search for the legendary Coliseum of the ancient Roanan Empire. During their journey, the two had grown quite close. When the storm struck, with nothing else to do, the two swapped stories of their past. Eventually the conversation had turned to where they had grown up, and Bell mentioned she had been raised not far from the Everfree Forest. It turned out the priestess had a sister living in the Everfree, and when Bellwether admitted with embarrassment that she had never managed to enter the Forest, her friend suggested that all her adventures were in fact her attempts to either escape from the dreaded woods or compensate for never having conquered it.

The thought had stuck with her. Months went by, and the more she considered the idea the more it seemed to make sense. When she returned home to Equestria, Bellwether vowed that her next adventure would be the Everfree or she would never step hoof outside her hometown again.

Her decision made and mind set, Bell summoned all her not-inconsiderable courage and set off.

Three days later, she actually left her bedroom. Another week, she made it to her kitchen. A month and a half brought her into her front yard.

63 days after her ‘journey’ began, Bell’s mother, thoroughly sick of having to bring her daughter all her groceries, managed to convince/encourage/nag her daughter to the edge of the Forest. The only thing Bell feared more than the Everfree was her mother in a bad mood; the mare could subdue a Hydra with a single look and a few disappointed shakes of her head.

With the dark trees of the wildest woods in Equestria looming over her, Bellwether closed her eyes and moved one hoof forward. The first hoof was followed a moment later by another, then another. Before she knew it, Bellwether was a half mile into the Forest. A geyser of success erupted within her. Fueled by the feeling, Bell rushed headlong into the woods.

As the air rushed past her, a smile lit up her face. She spun around in fascination at every detail of the woods. Colors seemed more vibrant, the plants seemed more alive. Even the air felt cleaner, purer, simply better. Bellwether giggled as she frolicked in flowers, careful to avoid the infamous Poison Joke. As she played, she mentally kicked herself for not enjoying the wonders that resided only a short stroll away from her home sooner.

The feeling drained away from her when a distant, high pitched wail echoed through the trees. Again and again the sound reverberated until Bell lost count of how many times she had heard it. Curious, she pushed her way through the dense brush towards the source. The pulses of noise became more unpleasant the closer she got, but she pressed forward. She had already conquered her biggest fear; she wasn’t going to let a little loudness re-instill it.

Feeling even braver than normal, which for Bellwether is quite the statement, she kept moving. Her search came to a halt when the tone, which to that point had resonated at near-perfect intervals, ceased completely.

Confused, Bell continued towards where she estimated the origin to be. She saw only green vines and increasingly foreboding trees, nothing that even hinted at what could have given off the signal.

To her left, a branch snapped. Her eyes wide and her pupils the size of pinpricks, Bell froze. For a moment, the forest was completely still. Terrified and completely regretting her decision, Bell’s eyes darted back and forth as far as they could without her moving her head. There was nothing, only shrubbery and shadows.

Then she saw it.

She had nearly missed it; only her years and years of experience in dangerous places allowed her to pick up the faint outline of a biped. Spending frequent time in life-or-death situations tends to sharpen one’s senses, and Bell’s were honed to a razor’s edge.

Her instincts tried to take over, tried to force her to turn tail and run, but she pushed the feeling aside and held her composure. She knew that if she wanted to escape whatever it was that was staring at her from less than a half dozen hoof steps away, she needed to keep her head.

After several seconds of bated breath, Bell came to a decision; in this one instance, her instincts were completely correct. She needed to move and move fast. Whatever it was that was staring at her was obviously tensed and ready to pounce, and she knew next to nothing about it. So, with as much speed as she could muster, Bell turned tail and ran.

She made it only a body length before she skidded to a halt. Another creature was behind her. That meant they were pack hunters, and if she could see two there were probably at least two more she couldn’t see.

Surrounded and out of options, Bellwether snapped her wings out and launched herself into the air with all the force her legs contained.

Her hooves had barely left the soft Earth before something hard impacted against the back of her head. Disoriented and hurting, Bell’s wings flapped out of sync which only served to angle her fall. She landed face first in the dirt with her wings half folded from her unrealized escape. A rock found a place in her left front foreleg with a sickening snap and she wondered idly why she couldn’t feel the pain. Her musing slowly gave way to emptiness as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision.

Her last sight before the black consumed her was of a pair of unfamiliar legs and the sound of guttural growling.

Entanglement Original Chapter 12

Lieutenant Colonel Liefner stepped into a small green tent, his face bathed in the glow from the single battery powered lamp inside. He looked past the three other men already inside at the equine lying unconscious on a cot. There was a white bandage wrapped around its head with a red splotch behind its ear where blood had soaked through.

“I assume it’s alive and you didn’t just bandage up a corpse,” he observed dryly. One of the men, a medic from the Ranger Company, nodded. Colonel Liefner turned his attention to the two other men.

“Captain Wainwright, inform Lieutenant Halsey that he will have to detail a guard for this prisoner. Make sure he knows that he is to avoid harming it if possible.” Captain Kingsley, the commander of Alpha Company, dipped his head in acknowledgement and exited the tent to relay the orders. After replacing the creature’s bandage and inspecting the wound, the medic followed suit and excused himself.

“What’s your name, sailor?” Liefner asked the remaining man, who straightened himself at his mention.

“Senior Chief Petty Officer Ruiz, sir.” Liefner scoffed.

“Your real name, son.” Ruiz hesitated before a small smile took root at the edges of his mouth.

“Manwich, sir.” Liefner looked Manwich up and down and nodded, seemingly in agreement that the nickname was accurate. Manwich was certainly big, even for a SEAL.

“Your team took it down?” he asked. Manwich nodded. “Any reason you didn’t just shoot it?” Liefner’s tone wasn’t accusatory, merely curious. Manwich looked down briefly and shifted his weight a bit.

“It just seemed… unnecessary, sir. To kill it, I mean.” Liefner raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to the much larger warrior. He was forced to tilt his head back to look him in the eye, but the look on the officer's face eliminated any apparent advantage the sailor’s height offered.

“Son, pretty soon we’re going to be neck deep in these things. We’re going to have to kill some, probably a lot. I need to know right now; are you on board or do I need to find someone else?”

Manwich didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got it locked down, sir. I just didn’t think we needed to add an unnecessary notch to the body count.” The Lieutenant Colonel didn’t say anything for a moment. The air was thick as the officer looked for any sign of weakness or deceit in the elite sailor’s eyes.

Liefner eventually stepped back in satisfaction. “Alright then. Go on, rejoin your team. We’re stepping off soon.”

Manwich bobbed his head respectfully and ducked out of the tent. Liefner turned and knelt down next to the cot. His curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the blanket covering the creature down, past it wings.

The feathered appendages were tucked closely to the alien’s body. Liefner took a moment to just inspect the strange creature before smirking and returning the blanket. He stood and adjusted his gear to sit more comfortably. On his way out of the tent, he glanced back again and shook his head.

“Interesting times,” he muttered to himself. Without another word he exited the tent, nodding to the two Rangers posted as guards, and headed back towards the command area.

The Task Force set off shortly after midnight. Dozens of ATVs, each pulling a trailer, burst out of the Forest north of S-S-1. The convoy quickly organized itself into a cohesive column. All told, it was an impressive force.

22 teams from 1-SFOD and DEVGRU, backed up by the entirety of Alpha Company, 2nd Rangers, packed themselves onto ATVs or into the cramped trailers. Also along for the ride was 2nd Ranger Battalion’s Heavy Mortar Platoon and their compliment of 81mm mortars. The Device was too small to allow any sort of heavy vehicle or aircraft through, and mortars would by the Task Force’s only support. With that in mind, the Assault Force was bringing along as many mortar rounds as could be effectively carried.

Staying behind in the Forest to protect the Device and provide a fallback position was First Platoon of Bravo Company/2nd Rangers, temporarily attached to Alpha’s command. Together, Task Force Forager had an effective strength of almost three hundred shooters, most of which were in the Assault Force. Lieutenant Colonel Liefner and Commander Rustler rode along as the Task Force Commander and Executive Officer, respectively.

Despite the sound-muffling modifications made to the ATVs, each custom made for JSOC operations, their combined volume was still anything but subtle. The only reason their movement wasn’t detected early on was careful planning; they had chosen a route that let them avoid most of what nocturnal traffic there was.

Most, but not all.

Trixie was exhausted, but in a good way.

After the ‘incident’ with the Alicorn Amulet, she had turned to rebuilding herself with vigor. Twilight Sparkle's refusal to hold a grudge even after all the terrible things she had done had inspired her. She revitalized her shows, turning away from working the crowd for challenges and instead performing the type of feats that had originally given her the title of 'Great and Powerful.'

Gone was the antagonistic persona. In its place was the kind but mischievous attitude she had once perfected. To the audience she was conversational but with strong undertones of having complete control of a situation; all-knowing and able to perform any action she wished by sheer force of will.

The crowds ate it up. Venues that hadn’t been open to her in years lined up to invite her for shows. Major theaters in Manehattan bid against Los Pegasus casinos for a week of performances. The bits flowed like they never had, so much so she was able to purchase a new, better wagon.

Her new rolling home was more than double the size of her previous carriage, and, instead of having to perform double duty as an unfolding stage, was a carriage and nothing more. While some might prefer to merely move from hotel to hotel, Trixie had always felt as if she needed to have a place to call her own; a place that wouldn't be cleaned up and repackaged for another customer the moment she left. It gave her largely nomadic lifestyle a center of gravity, a constant she could always look forward to.

When she stopped in small towns between cities, as she liked to do often, her new/old persona meant she didn’t need to appear on a stage and lord herself over ponies. In fact, her tricks seemed all the more spectacular when she was in amongst the masses.

She had thought her return to greatness couldn’t get any better, until it did. She had been finishing a show in a small village near Trottingham when a beige unicorn approached her. The mare had introduced herself as an agent of the Royal Canterlot Garden Hall. She had been sent by her superiors to invite Trixie to perform over a three day weekend.

After picking her jaw up out of the dirt, Trixie had accepted and rushed to the Mountain Crown as quickly as her hooves could carry her.

Three days and a good night’s rest later, Trixie walked out of Canterlot with her head held high and a standing invitation for a return performance, not to mention enough bits to buy a small island.

Her legs, sore from the rather intense performances, protested weakly as she pulled her home along. The feeling wasn’t particularly unpleasant; the combination of many years of pulling her wagon and the spells designed to lighten the load meant she felt less miserable and more accomplished. The light pain was merely a constant reminder that she was back on top, and that she had fought her way there every step of the way. A small smile graced her features as she began to look for a clearing along the road for a place to bed down for the night.

Her search came to an end in a small roadside rest stop. Ancient oak trees lined the clearing to provide a secluded refuge, and a patch of daisies offered the promise of a free breakfast in the morning. After the long walk from Canterlot, even if it was downhill, Trixie was eager to hop into bed. However, an incident with her first wagon had taught her early on that if your house is mobile, you should never forget to use wheel chocks.

Halfway through ensuring her home didn’t roll into a lake while she slept, Trixie’s ears twitched. A low, distant rumbling picked at the edge of her awareness. Fatigue and inattention drowned out the nagging sensation until the noise was practically on top of her.

When the pale blue mare finally noticed the sound, her head jerked up in surprise. Adrenaline flooded her system as instinct took hold and launched her into the bushes. Shaking and terrified, violet eyes peaked out of the scrub towards the road. Panicked shivering vibrated the branches all around her, but the frightened magician was far too spooked to notice. Whatever was approaching sounded like an Ursa Minor on the warpath.

Seconds passed and the sound became more distinct, revealing itself to be a muffled cacophony of dozens of individual roars. Moments later a string of what Trixie would later describe only as monsters riding strange metal machines ripped by. The beasts threw up a dust cloud that choked the air. Only sheer willpower prevented a cough from escaping her throat and giving herself away.

It seemed like an eternity to Trixie before the last of the monsters passed. It took the mare nearly an hour to pull herself together enough to exit the hedge. Reluctantly she approached the road and scanned for any signs of what she had witnessed. The only evidence anything had been there at all were the bizarre wheel treads in the dirt. Only later would she realize that the tracks pointed in the direction she had just come from.

Entanglement Original Chapter 13

The Assault Force made good time to the base of the mountain, but it took longer than expected to stash and camouflage the ATVs. Both of the overland routes into the city, the railroad track and the paved road, were too narrow to allow the Task Force to ride up the mountain with any sort of speed. The result was that all but two of the four-wheelers had to be hidden, with the remaining pair being used to haul mortar rounds up to the city. The task of concealing the vehicles in the small patch of woods proved more difficult than anticipated, and as a result the Task Force behind schedule.

After stashing their vehicles and posting a squad of Rangers to guard them, the Task Force ordered itself into a loose column. The formation was based around the Ranger Company with First, Second, and Third Platoon placed in line numerically. Weapons Platoon and the Heavy Mortar Platoon with their mortar-laden ATVs were in the center. Commander Rustler, as Task Force Executive Officer, stuck close to the Heavy Weapons Section. His responsibility during the attack would be ensuring the two platoons coordinated their supporting fire effectively.

AFO teams were interspersed among the group with a concentration in the lead. Three of the four S-L-1 observation teams would be in the forward element to act as guides, with the fourth staying with the Heavy Section. Though all the units in the Task Force had spent a solid day studying the maps available of the city, the four S-L-1 teams knew the layout better than anyone. Months of watching through scopes had that effect.

“Kilo 1-1 in position. Targets in sight. Ready to engage on Forager 6. Over.”

Near the front of the column, Moose was a unique combination of relaxed and tense as he listened to the sniper team in his earpiece. The first obstacle the Task Force had to overcome was a guard station at the base of the mountain where the road began to wind its way upwards. The station was manned day and night by a handful of sentries and was impossible to sneak by. The post was the first of three interspersed along the mountain that monitored road traffic, and each had to be eliminated without allowing the alarm being raised.

“This is Forager 6. All elements are set. Kilo 1-1, cleared to engage. Over.”

Moose breathed deeply to calm his nerves. He had learned early on that allowing the adrenaline that arose before a battle to overwhelm you could get you killed, so he simply let the nervous energy flow through his body.

All around him, the 253 men of the Assault element were each doing last second checks of their equipment. Radios, plate carriers, helmets, weapons were all strapped into place, shouldered, and adjusted. They faced a long, uphill march before the battle even began, and no one wanted to have to stop halfway up to go back and grab a dropped magazine.

“Check.” The radio was silent for several moments, and Moose’s ears picked up the distinct sound of suppressed sniper rifles. Contrary to popular belief, suppressors don’t actually reduce gunfire to a whisper or a quiet cough. Instead, they merely reduce the permanent ear damage-inducing jet engine volume to the level of the average police siren. However, the devices do make it more difficult to pinpoint the origin, and over distances help disguise the gunshot as another sound source.

“Tangos down. Clear to move. Over.”

“This is Forager 6, roger. All Assault Force elements, begin the assault. Out.”

As one, like a tide rolling onto a beach, the Assaulters rose to their feet and began to march up the road that spiraled into their target. They passed the guard station without breaking stride. As he passed, Moose glanced at the unmoving corpses surrounding the whitewashed station. The rifle rounds had not been kind to them, and he didn’t let his gaze linger.

Their pace wasn’t particularly fast, a slow jog more than a run, but the incline was too steep to move any faster, nearly thirty degrees in some places. The men could make it to the city in record time, but if they made the attempt by the time they finished they would be too exhausted to carry out their mission. The road spiraled up the mountain for a combined length of nearly eight miles, so pacing was critical. Eight miles of flat terrain would be next to nothing, but eight miles of running up a mountain could sap the strength from even the most hardened warrior.

While steep, the road was well constructed and in some places tunneled through the mountain itself. Torches illuminated the insides of the tunnels, and low wooden guard rails lined the cliff edges. Heads swiveled around in search of hostiles as they trudged along. The four-lensed rigs of the Operators and the Rangers’ two-lensed NODs searched every visible crawlspace and corner. The force was dispersed to such an extent that they covered nearly an entire circle around the mountain.

Beowulf, designated for the duration of the mission as Kilo 5, was third from the front of the column. Together with Kilo 2 and Kilo 4, both of them S-L-1 teams, they acted as the vanguard of the Assault Force. The Task Force made good time, and reached the second checkpoint without incident. When they neared the post, Kilo 2’s leader, who Moose knew as Boozer, raised his fist for the Assault Force to stop. The signal was passed quickly down the line as the men ground to a halt just short of a sharp bend in the road. They spread out and formed a quick perimeter with their weapons pointed into the darkness.

“This is Kilo 0-2. We have reached Objective Yancy. Preparing to engage. Over.”

Without speaking, Boozer motioned for Moose and Kilo 4’s team leader to come forward. They crept forward quietly, their boots crunching against the loose rocks on the road. Using only hand signals, Boozer communicated that Kilo 4 would initiate the attack, with 2 and 5 providing cover. Moose and Toss Up, Kilo 4’s team leader, nodded and drew their pistols. Their teams did likewise and attached suppressors to the ends of their weapons.

They had suppressors for their rifles, but the attack on the second guard post was one of the most critical portions of the operation. If they were detected, they were still too far away from the city to attack before the natives could prepare serious resistance. The second checkpoint was, however, close enough to the city to mean that even suppressed their rifles could give them away. As a result, it had been decided the second guard post would be eliminated using side arms, as the .45 ACP rounds were subsonic and quieter when suppressed. Fortunately the guard post was no more than forty feet from the bend, easily within pistol engagement range.

The twelve men stacked up against the wall, ready to assault. Toss Up gave the ‘go’ signal, and as one the twelve men spread out along the road and knelt. They were far enough away from the guard station's torches to stay concealed in the darkness, and their smooth movements gave away no sound. Twelve side arms leveled at the half dozen guards, all of them appearing bored and tired. Dark purple armor reflected torchlight as the unaware soldiers lazily conversed, their spears shouldered casually.

"Go."

The radio command unleashed a ripple of .45 caliber rounds that tore the horses to pieces. Slugs passed through thin metal armor like it was nothing. Blood splashed against the wooden guard station as the sentries dropped, dead before they hit the ground. After several moments of silence, the men stood and quickly advanced with their weapons poised.

As they reached the guard station, a twitch of movement caught Moose’s attention. His pistol, as well as three others, immediately trained themselves on the source. On the ground behind the short wooden fence that surrounded the post, one of the sentries stared up at them in terror. A pair of pistol rounds had torn through his throat and blood was gushing out of the wound. By Moose's guess, he had less than a minute to live. His front foreleg twitched again as he tried to push himself away from them, but all his strength had already deserted him.

Moose’s finger snapped back on the trigger and put a bullet between the suffering alien’s eyes. He didn’t bother burdening his conscience with it; in this case he considered the act a mercy killing. The poor soldier had simply had a bad case of wrong place, wrong time. Moose didn’t give it another thought. Toss Up and one of his men kicked in the door of the guard station and disappeared inside. A moment later the men heard “Clear,” from inside.

Boozer reached for his radio, “Forager 6, Kilo 0-2. Objective Yancy eliminated. Task Force clear to move. Over.”

“Kilo 0-2, Roger. All Task Force Eleme-“ The transmission cut off abruptly into static. Further down the mountain, gunfire split open the night. Before the Operators at the guard post could react, a heavy weight slammed into Moose from behind and tossed him to the ground. His helmet bounced off a loose road stone and brought stars to his eyes. On instinct alone he rolled himself over and brought his pistol to bear.

The can smacked against the muzzle of one of the alien creatures. The creature was viciously slashing at him with two pairs of hoofguard-mounted blades. The impact of the suppressor barely registered with the creature which continued its attempts to disembowel Moose. Unable to bring his pistol to bear, he instead resorted to bashing the side arm against the side of the alien’s head. The blows didn’t so much as faze the horse soldier, and only resulted in one of its hoof blades catching Moose’s wrist.

Out of the corner of his eye, Moose saw a flash of movement and suddenly the weight on his chest was lifted. In its place was Clumsy with his rifle raised. Clumsy fired a burst which lit up the dimly lit tunnel opening. Shadows danced across the walls as the horse soldier whinnied in agony and collapsed. Clumsy fired two more rounds into its torso and another round into its forehead to put it down for good. Without pausing he readjusted his aim at something outside Moose’s field of view and fired again.

Adrenaline spiked through his system and numbed the pain in his right arm. Moose jumped to his feet, rifle at the ready, and scanned for targets in the direction Clumsy was aiming. The sight he saw was shocking; there were dozens of aliens in dark purple armor mixed in among First Platoon and the AFO teams. The sounds coming from around the bend in the road indicated there were more he couldn’t see. Rangers and Operators were firing their weapons point blank into aliens, who in turn were hacking and slashing at anyone they could get close enough to maim. Many were locked into individual fights, knocking fists and rifle butts and knives against hooves and hoof-mounted blades.

Moose shouldered his rifle and moved between Lowball and Chainsaw, who, along with the rest of the two other vanguard teams, had formed a rough firing line. He raised the weapon and lined up the holographic reticle on an alien hovering above the melee, claws extended and slashing at any head within reach. Most of the strikes skidded off helmets, but in the split second Moose was lining up his shot the horse brought its blades down on the neck of a distracted SEAL.

A fountain of bright red arterial blood gushed onto the dirt as the sailor dropped to his knees, his hands going to his throat in a desperate bid to staunch the flow. Moose slapped the trigger three times and unleashed a stream of death that knocked the alien out of the air and over the edge of the road. Moose turned his attention to searching for more targets, and didn’t hear the sound of the body crashing against the rocks down the mountain.

The line of men advanced at a normal walking pace as they cleared the lead platoon of infiltrators. The aliens had achieved surprise, but as the three vanguard teams moved forward they acted as a plow that gave the ambushed soldiers a point to rally around. The Ranger platoons were separated by thirty yard intervals, which meant that each platoon was able to sort itself out without having to worry about rolling into another unit. The AFO teams between each platoon pivoted and turned to help their comrades clear out the attackers from their ranks.

In seconds it was over. Bodies in purple armor and tan pixelated uniforms blanketed the road. The few enemy soldiers that hadn’t been killed leapt from the mountain and spread their wings. Soldiers and SEALs turned their weapons on the rapidly fading silhouettes. A few fell from the sky, but the enemy’s steep dive quickly took them out of effective range.

Calls of "Clear!" echoed over the radio as the Task Force reformed its perimeter, this time closer to the edge of the road. The horses had concealed themselves above and below the road on the cliff face out of sight, and when the time to spring their ambush arrived had been able to close the gap between the two forces before the Assaulters could react. Learning from their mistake, the humans kneeled on the edge of the road, checking both above and below their position.

They were not used to fighting against enemies capable of 360 degree movement, but they would not make the same mistake again.

The aftermath was horrific. Puddles of blood ran together to form morbid streams that flowed downhill. Hot brass casings rolled off the mountain in a grim impression of waterfalls. The few medics of the Ranger Company ran among the piles of bodies performing triage. Operators with advanced medical training joined in to help the overwhelmed medics. Everyone else either applied pressure to bleeding wounds and offered what medical care they could or took spots on the line to protect the wounded.

Moose took a place at the edge of the road near the spot he had been attacked when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced back to see Lowball standing behind him expectedly.

“What’s up?” he asked, completely business.

Lowball pointed to his arm. “You’re hurt, dumbass.” Moose glanced down at his arm and, sure enough, his sleeve was stained dark red. It wasn’t a hemorrhage, but it was enough to be a problem.

“Clumsy, take my slot,” he ordered as he stood and backed away from the edge. Clumsy wordlessly moved up and took up the position as soon as Moose vacated it. No way in hell was anyone going to leave a perimeter gap after an ambush.

Moose removed his glove, which was ruined, he noted glumly, and extended his arm for examination. Lowball shined a small LED flashlight on the wound. It wasn’t horrible; a three inch gash along the side of his forearm. He’d definitely had worse. Hell, he’d been shot before. A wound like the one on his arm was practically a paper cut after that.

Regardless, Lowball ripped open the small medical kit on his gear and cut away the bloodstained sleeve. Moose washed the blood away with the spigot from his CamelBak and allowed Lowball to apply gauze and a pressure wrap to stop the bleeding. He would have a bit of soreness, but despite it being his shooting arm it wouldn’t be an issue. Uncomfortable, definitely, but not unmanageable.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the SEAL whose neck he had seen slashed open on the ground. His eyes were closed and a lake of blood surrounded him. A black tag hung on his vest, hastily applied by a passing medic.

Moose quickly forgot about the ache in his arm and rejoined the line.

Entanglement Original Chapter 14

Canterlot was in an uproar. Before dawn had even broken over the city, what sounded like fireworks had shattered the early morning serenity. Streaks of bright red light and violent flashes of fire had illuminated the mountain road leading up to the city, and the wind carried an echo of distant screams.

Not long afterward, emergency sirens pierced the air. Those who hadn’t been awakened by the commotion on the road were snapped back into the world of the waking by the shrill tones ringing across the mountain. Ponies across the city moved to windows or their front doors to investigate the source of the disturbance and speculate with their neighbors.

They were met by the sight of columns of Royal Guards thundered down the city’s main streets on their way to the Outer Walls. As they passed, citizens were ordered back into their homes, told to barricade their doors and windows, and to await for further instructions. Those who lived in the Lower Tiers of the city were guided uphill as an impromptu evacuation was implemented. Ponies stumbled out of bed and grabbed what few possessions they could think to carry as stallions in gold and purple armor shepherded them deeper into the city and away from the walls. The Royal Railway Station, Central Park, and every other available venue were converted into evacuation centers as thousands of ponies from the lower sections of the city poured in.

At the edges of the city, along the Outer Wall, soldiers rushed to their assigned positions. Guard towers were manned, weapons distributed, and ballistae and catapults were loaded. The shouts of officers and NCOs mixed together in an organized confusion. The two drawbridges into the city were raised and locked into position with deep, rusty groans. The two structures hadn’t been retracted in decades, and it showed.

At the highest point in the city, in the Palace itself, Princess Celestia was attempting to calm her sister.

The Mistress of the Night was furious.

It had been early in the morning when a breathless Thestral had burst into her private study to inform her that the unknown creatures from what was quickly becoming known as simply ‘The Ponyville Incident’ had returned. She had been somewhat surprised, but her surprise turned to shock and anger when the messenger had informed her that the creatures had returned in force and were making their way up the mountain. Her rage had been fueled further by news that they had already killed the sentries at the base of the mountain.

In response, she had ordered the First Wing of her Night Guard to ambush the beasts as they made their way up the mountain. Unfortunately, the creatures were far more dangerous than she had dared to imagine.

One hundred of her warriors had leapt into the night to attack the creatures, and a mere hoofful had returned. Each soldier lost had been as a child to the Night Princess, her companions as well as her protectors. Celestia's personal guards may have been numerous, but Luna's were close, closer than even blood, and their loss inflamed her as little else could.

“Sister, you must calm yourself,” Celestia whispered into Luna’s ear. “Blind fury does us no good.”

Luna barely glanced at her sister. Her face was frozen in a mask of iron resolution that gave away not even a hint of the endless sea of rage she felt. “Speak not of calm, sister,” she rebuked evenly. “It is not thine soldiers who lie dead on our doorstep.” Her voice was as cool as the icy fingers of Death itself.

Celestia did not waiver, as the eons had taught her that her sister was never more volatile than at moments like what she faced at that moment. If she was not careful, it was entirely possible Luna would attempt to fight the creatures directly, and in the process harm their ponies even more severely.

“Luna, if we cannot be calm, how can we expect those under us to remain so? If our ponies panic, then our troubles have yet to even begin.” Luna opened her mouth to retort, but decided against it and turned away and took several deep breaths. Her body remained tense, but some of the anger in her form seemed to abate, at least for the moment.

From amongst the crowd of Guards, a white stallion in purple armor made his way to the two rulers and bowed. Unlike the armor’s previous owner, no horn protruded from the helm. Instead, a pair of wings were folded at his side.

“Your Majesties, all Guard units are in position and the battlements are fully staffed and prepared. Cap-er...Prince Shining Armor is awaiting you at the Southern Gate. ” Celestia momentarily turned her attention away from her fuming sibling.

“What is the status of the evacuation?” she asked.

“Everypony in the Lower Tiers have been evacuated to points higher up the mountain, Your Highness.” Celestia gave the Captain a small smile. More than one pony had been skeptical of her choice to fill Shining Armor’s horseshoes, but the new Captain had performed admirably.

“Thank you, Captain High Strike. My sister and I will join you shortly.” The Captain bowed again and withdrew to give the Royal Sisters their privacy. Though he didn't hear the rest of the exchange, the Princesses broke from their private conversation only a few minutes after he gave his report. With Guards in tow, the alicorns rejoined their Captain and headed to the Outer Wall.

While it would have been nearly an hour’s walk to the battlements, the gift of flight shortened their trek to mere minutes. When they finally reached the Wall, they were met with the sight of hundreds of Guards standing on the stone walkway that topped the wall. Spears, bows, ballistae, and even a smattering of catapults dotted the fortifications.

The group landed behind the wall near the Southern Gate, an imposing block of fortified marble topped with heavy repeating ballistae. A knot of soldiers parted to allow the party to land and immediately bowed. When they rose, Shining Armor stepped forward, clad in standard golden Guard armor. It didn't fit him exactly, and seemed to have been merely pulled off a rack of spares. Celestia found it strange to see him in gold again after so long as Captain.

“Shining Armor, while it may sound selfish of me, I am glad you are here,” Celestia said gently. Shining Armor cracked a smile, though worry still defined his features.

“Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t just sit by and let everybody else do all the heavy lifting. I asked Cadence to stay with Twilight in case she woke up and headed straight here.” Shining looked away from the Solar Princess and towards his replacement. “Captain, I hope you don’t mind I commandeered a set of spare armor.”

“Sir, if you like, I’ll give you mine,” High Strike deadpanned. Shining Armor shook his head lightly.

“I think this’ll do,” he chuckled. “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, right?” High Strike nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Shining Armor, I would like you to be ready to cast your shield spell over the city,” Celestia ordered. The Captain-turned-Prince gave a salute and lit his horn. While he wasn't the true magical prodigy of the Sparkle Clan, his shield spells were second to none, Alicorns excluded.

“Sister, shall we?” Celestia asked. When she was met by silence, she glanced around and discovered Luna was absent. A thread of fear struck her for a fraction of a second before she noticed several dark forms on the Wall itself. With a flap of her wings, Celestia joined her sister. The dark colors of the Midnight Mistress and that of her personal Guards stood out harshly against the marble stone and gold armor that surrounded them.

“Luna, what are you-“ Celestia quickly forgot what see was going to say when she caught sight of the road that led up to the Gate.
Dozens of tan-colored bipeds were running up the road, and Celestia knew there were hundreds more behind them. She narrowed her eyes as she observed the creatures scurry amongst the trees and low bushes that lined the sides of the clearing.

“I believe it would be wise for Shining Armor to raise his shield, Sister,” Luna said simply.

Entanglement Original Chapter 15

The sight of dozens of highly trained, heavily armed, battle-hardened Special Operations soldiers being stymied by a bubble-gum pink semi-transparent shield might have been amusing under certain circumstances. 'Might' being the operative word, as the moment the storm of crossbow bolts and arrows had torn open the throat of an unlucky Ranger, it had reminded everyone that, while primitive, arrows were still lethal.

“This is Reaper 6, Gustavs are set. Over.”

The relief that washed through Moose’s system was quickly stifled by an arrow slicing through the air a half inch in front of his nose. Moose quickly pulled his head back behind the tree that was his only protection from the rain of projectiles coming from the alien’s walls. Out of sheer reflex, he began to bring his rifle up to return fire, only to stop mid-gesture and press himself into the bark.

He scolded himself for allowing his head to drift forward. A slight shift in the wind and that arrow would have skewered him. Even if it hadn't killed him, it would have at least taken him out of the fight, and the Task Force needed every shooter it had if it was going to pull off its mission.

The shield surrounding S-L-1 was frustratingly impervious to the Task Force’s small arms. Not even the Rangers' M320 grenade launchers could so much as scratch it. A thin line of crushed slugs and a field covered in spent brass was a pathetic answer to the literally thousands of projectiles lodged in trees, dirt, and flesh.

A pained yell to Moose's left pulled his attention to the low, crumbling stone wall a dozen paces away. Behind the decrepit fortification a medic had both his hands buried up to the knuckle in a Ranger's thigh. Bright, arterial blood gushed across the medic's plate carrier and face before he swore and jammed a trauma dressing into the wound. The Ranger screamed and tried to thrash against the SEAL holding him down. The SEAL grimaced as he used both arms to restrain the suffering man and prevent him from exposing himself to more injury. Despite the operator's best efforts, the Ranger's non-injured leg peaked out far enough from cover to receive another arrow through his boot. His wails intensified.

Had Moose chosen to look around, he could have seen a half dozen similar sights without leaving cover.

The field in front of the city gates was small, not quite the size of a football field, and behind nearly every rock, tree, and anything else that even slightly resembled cover was at least one man, and in many cases several bunched tightly together. In some cases, only fractions of an inch kept the warriors from perforation. Some, the unlucky, had been caught in the defenders' opening barrage. Some bolts and arrows were caught by helmets or plate carriers, but many were not. While undoubtedly effective against ballistic threats, the soldiers' armor did not cover a very large portion of their bodies, leaving them exposed to the hailstorm of medieval firepower.

“This is Romeo 1-6, roger. Popping smoke. Over.”

A moment later, a pair of smoke grenades flew forward from a boulder that protected a half dozen Rangers. Their rock was the closest position to the wall, and the canisters actually bounced off the barrier before hitting the ground.

In less than a minute, thick smoke concealed the enemy from view and, more importantly, prevented them from properly aiming their weapons. What had been concentrated, aimed fire slackened as the defenders struggled to discern targets through the murky haze.

“This is Reaper 6, all units brace for danger close. Firing.”

The last word was punctuated with a horrendous, ear shattering roar. Despite years of experience and training, Moose couldn't help but duck his head slightly as the mini-cannon shell whooshed mere feet over his head. Faster than he could register, the noise of the weapon’s launch was obliterated by a wave of overpressure and a split second of blistering heat.

The 84mm warhead exploded on contact with the shield. Nearly seven pounds of high explosive designed to rip open hardened bunkers and light tanks at half a kilometer pitted against a force that defied explanation and by all rights shouldn't exist. Grass vaporized, dirt burned, and anything not rooted to the ground was tossed aside like confetti.

Moose blinked rapidly to clear the dust from his eyes and forced himself to ignore the ringing in his ears. If his radio headset didn't also act as hearing protection, his eardrums would have likely been perforated by the almost irresponsibly close explosion. Recovered from the effects of the blast, Moose edged his head around the wide oak tree to see the after effects of the recoilless rifle round.

What he saw made his stomach drop.

What appeared to be half a crater marked the exact point the warhead had contacted the pink force field. On the outside, the earth was scorched black and barren by the high explosive. Not a centimeter away, on the other side, the grass was green and lush. He pushed the wave of dread that threatened to overcome him aside and reached for his radio.

“This is Kilo 0-5, no effect on target.” His voice was steady as his eyes were locked on the shield, searching for any sign of imperfections or damage. He struggled to remember if it had always been a solid sheet, or if he simply hadn't looked close enough to see the small ripples that rolled across its surface.

“Kilo 0-5, Reaper 6. Roger, no effect on target. Forager 6, request permission to fire for effect. Over.”

“This is Forager 6, granted. Lieutenant, I don’t care if it takes every round you have; take that fucking thing down. Over.”

“Roger.”

Seconds passed before two more thunderclaps trumpeted destruction upon the mountain. Dirt thrown up by the explosives dropped on the plateau like rain as the sound of shattering glass cut through the air.

Helmets across the plateau rose as men peaked out from behind cover as a thousand shards of pink light broke apart and fell to the ground across the city. Dust from the twin explosions hadn't settled before another recoilless rifle round screamed through the air and detonated on the high stone wall.

Slabs of marble shattered before the irresistible force of the humans’ weapons. Chunks of rock and concrete broke off the rampart, leaving a massive, jagged gap in the wall that exposed the pristine structures that lay deeper in the city. Parts of aliens and bits of their weapons mixed in with the rubble into grisly mounds and befouling the earth in every direction. The shallow moat that surrounded the city was quickly dammed with falling debris.

The city was open, and the Task Force advanced.

Entanglement Chapter 15 Deleted Scene

“Reaper 6, this is Kilo 0-5! You need to move your ass and get those fucking rockets up now!” An arrow sliced through the air a half inch in front of Moose’s nose, and he hunkered down further behind the small boulder that stood between him and the alien walls. All around him, Operators and Rangers huddled together in what little cover was available in the small field in front of the city gates. The amount of fire being directed at them was impressive; a constant barrage that filled the air and left no room to maneuver. Hundreds, if not thousands of arrows and crossbow bolts littered the field thick enough to cast the grass in shade.

“Kilo 0-5, Reaper 6. Negative, I say again, negative. We cannot advance until you suppress the enemy’s weapons. Over.” Reaper 6, the commander of the Ranger’s Heavy Weapons Platoon, sounded too at ease to Moose. The thought pissed him off; Reaper 6 was safe on the other side of the last bend in the road to the city, out of the line of fire from the aliens. For the hundredth time in five minutes, he wished they could have brought air support.

“We cannot suppress! The fucking shield is stopping our weapons! We need your fucking Gustavs to smash the barrier! Now get the fuck up here!” After a moment, Moose clicked the radio again, “Over.”

“Kilo 0-5, I say again, you need to supper-“ Moose swore and cut off the transmission. He grit his teeth as he glanced at the men around him; a dozen Operators and half of the Ranger Company’s First Platoon were pinned down by shit straight out of the middle ages. He glared at the bubble of pink that stood between his guys and the aliens. The bubble stopped their bullets cold, but let the aliens’ projectiles pass through cleanly.

A pained cry from behind him drew his attention back to a Ranger who had been injured while trying to get to cover. An arrow had hit him in the leg and nicked his femoral artery. A SEAL was wrist deep in his thigh trying to tie off the wound, and the poor soldier’s screams were echoing across the mountain.

If it weren’t so serious, Moose would have laughed at the absurdity; body armor strong enough to stop an AK round at near point blank range was useless against fucking bows.

“Fuck it,” Moose said to himself and clicked his radio, “Romeo 1-6, Kilo 0-5. Do your men have smoke?” Romeo 1-6 was First Platoon’s commander, and was among the closest to the wall.

“Roger Kilo 0-5.”

“Romeo 1-6, I need your guys to pop smoke now. I need a screen as thick as you can make it. Over.”

“Roger Kilo 0-5.” A sudden chorus of shouts passed through the field, followed by a dozen metal cylinders flying over and around cover. It took slightly less than a full minute for the smoke to form a solid curtain between the aliens and the soldiers. Moose craned his neck up to ensure the smoke was thick enough, and shouted over his cover.

“Lowball!” he yelled.

“Yo!” Lowball was behind another, slightly larger rock a half dozen paces away from his, but he couldn’t look at them without exposing himself and becoming a pincushion. Both Chainsaw and Clumsy were

“Get ready! On my mark we’re making a break for the rockets!”

Author's Notes:

First draft of Chapter 15. Originally Moose and Lowball were going to retrieve the Gustavs and take down the shield, but it seemed too '80's action hero' to me.

Entanglement Chapter 16-Incomplete

In the Special Operations Community, three tenants denote the most important factors of successful battle: Speed, Surprise, and Violence of Action. If all three are achieved to a sufficient extent, victory becomes a much less costly end state.

Task Force Forager had lost Surprise on the long march up the twisting mountain road. They had lost Speed during the protracted firefight before the gates of S-L-1. All that remained to them was Violence of Action; the level of, aggression used to assault the enemy and seize the initiative. If they could attack aggressively enough, they could dictate the tide of battle.

Task Force Forager ripped into the alien defenders with the ferocity of a feral lion.

Before the rubble from the Gustavs had finished collapsing into the now-damned moat, Moose was up and running. SEALs and D-Boys surged forward, breaking from cover and closing the distance to the wall as fast as their feet would carry them. They ordered themselves into a rough wedge as they ran, no words being needed as their exhaustive training and skills told them exactly where they needed to be.

In seconds they passed the Rangers closest to the wall, temporarily stalled as their Lieutenant rushed to organize them out of their scattered positions and into a coherent formation. Moose found himself on the right side of the wedge three men back from the tip. Lowball was right him, his feet scraping inches away from Moose’s heels. Clumsy and Chainsaw were farther back and on the trailing edge.

The men lost only a step or two as they bounded up the pile of crushed rock that had once been moat. Faster than mountain goats they were over the obstruction and on the desecrated grass on the far side of the wall.

They stormed through with their weapons raised and dealing quick death to those that opposed them. Stunned aliens in golden armor stumbled around on and behind the ramparts, their ears bleeding and their brains rattled from the concussion. In mere seconds they had gone from being in an unassailable position, completely immune to harm, to little more than gilded targets.

Moose’s rifle barked again and again as he worked his way down the line of stumbling guards that lined the rampart’s walkway. In what seemed like no time at all he was forced to swap magazines, momentarily breaking the fast, steady beat of his weapon.

By the time Moose ejected his second magazine and chambered a round from his third, the aliens were already beginning to recover from the explosion. What were most likely officers and NCOs yelled unmistakable orders. Retreat. Fall Back. Run.

The enemy’s position on the wall was untenable, and it didn’t take them long to realize it. Even as the Ranger platoon began to stream through the breach, the horse soldiers were falling back into the city along the central avenue, a lazy switchback that led to what had been simply designated the ‘Government Complex.’ A new shield covered their escape. It was much smaller than the one that had covered the city, barely as wide as the paved causeway. Blue-grey instead of light pink, it shimmered brightly as it repelled dozens of rifle rounds before collapsing under sustained fire from the Rangers’ light machine guns.

They left a trail of crossbows, spears, and bodies as they left, but there was obvious discipline in their movements. The guards weren’t routing, that much was certain. They were moving back to prepare to fight again.

Task Force Forager couldn’t allow that. Violence of Action had carried the moment and given them the initiative. It was time to add Speed back to the equation.

Princess Celestia wasn’t in shock, but she wasn’t far from it.

In mere moments, the Wall of Canterlot had been shattered, her ponies slaughtered, and her sister knocked unconscious. The creatures that had caused her so much trouble defeated the Royal Guard and had begun to stream into her city. Their horrifying weapons had shattered Shining Armor’s shield at its strongest in mere moments and left the former Captain bleeding from the ears and nose across the back of one of her personal guards.

Author's Notes:

This was the straw that broke the camel's back and told me that where I was taking this story just wasn't working.

The Better Angel Deleted Scene

Through the omnipresent cloud of gunsmoke, Celestia watched in concern and horror as a semi-ordered mob erupted from the ruins of Talos. The griffons, on both hoof and wing, crashed against the Equestrian lines. The great wave of flesh and steel battered the fortified earthworks, pushed back only momentarily by the sharp bark of field guns loaded with double canister.

Faster than seemed possible, the griffons were among the ponies. Even from the deck of the Polaris, Celestia could see the glint of swords and spears under her sun as combatants hurled themselves against one another.

A magnification spell brought the engagement into grim focus. Griffon soldiers clad in rough-hewn leather and iron pushed the outnumbered defenders back quickly. As the line of Equestrians was thrown away from their own positions, they left the earth carpeted with the dead. The griffons were both skilled and brave, but the ponies rose to match them blow-for-blow.

Earth pony lancers rammed their long weapons into the attackers, impaling two or even three griffons in a single thrust before being felled themselves. A squadron of Pegasi dived sharply from above just behind the griffon’s front lines, slaying dozens before the tide rolled over them. Magic of every shade and hue cut through flesh as scythes through grain. An enormous rolling dogfight in the skies above the battlefield rained down limp and lifeless bodies like rain.

For every pony killed, a griffon fell beside him, but the griffons held the advantages of numbers and initiative. It seemed to Celestia, her eye for battle honed from countless wars in ages she had thought long past, that the siege would soon be broken.

Then the barrage shifted.

As the griffons had raged against the investment surrounding their city, messengers had rushed to relay orders to the hundreds of artillery pieces both on land and floating offshore. Gun crews who had been split to working eight hour shifts found themselves roused to duty. Arcane fragmentation rounds were rammed home, their sights shifted towards the thick crowd flooding outwards.

They couldn’t have presented a more vulnerable target had they been labeled with neon signage. The air trembled from the combined concussion the Equestrian batteries. Explosions blossomed throughout the attacking force, tossing bodies like ragdolls through the air. White-hot shards of iron and crystal felled hundreds in seconds.

Those who survived the initial volley were stunned into inaction as their scrambled brains struggled to find the friend who had been beside them mere moments before. The next salvo reaped nearly as many as the first, and threw the remainder into a panic. In seconds, the near-victory was reduced to a frenzied rout as those left ambulatory fled for the relative safety of the city.

The ponies, the pressure against them relieved and flushed by reinforcements streaming in from other sections of the line, charged forward. They recaptured their own positions and advanced past them, stopping only when they reached the heaps of rubble that marked the boundary of Talos. Nopony relished the idea of a fight in tight quarters of the city.

As they retreated back to their own lines, the ponies retrieved their dead and dispatched the griffon wounded. No quarter had been offered to them, and they extended none themselves.

Celestia’s knees were shaky as she allowed the magnification spell to dissipate. Her stomach threatened to rebel from the carnage she had witnessed, and her mind reeled. Never in all her many, many days had she seen such slaughter. Cannons were new additions to the battlefield, and she had never personally witnessed their horrifying results.

Her face green, she looked to where Luna was still standing her vengeful vigil beside her. She hoped, prayed her sister would be shocked from her hollow state by the atrocity that had taken place before them.

Instead, Luna stood where she had stood for more than a month, her eyes dispassionate and empty.

Princess Celestia leaned over the ship’s railing and vomited into the sea.