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0900 HOURS
CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS OF THE HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
NORTH SEA, OFF THE NORWEGIAN COASTLINE, DESTINATION UNDETERMINED
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A thousand miles away, a man sat staring at his monitor, watching a small side-street in London where two figures ran up to one another, both shoving something away in their belts just before meeting up and running down a back alleyway, all out of view of the van filled with bodies and the burning SUV. The man smiled and shook his head, putting down the satellite phone in his hands and replacing it with another glass of Cognac.

“And still, neither one knows what the other is capable of,” Admiral Peterson snickered, tilting the glass in the direction of the monitor. “Good show, lads.”

He took a sip, then switched the monitor until it showed a small hallway in his own ship. This time, the view displayed the young Brazilian boy from earlier, stooping to pick up something in the hallways outside Target Alpha’s old cell. He watched as the kid’s hand squeezed around the tiny object, his teeth clenching, his shoulders rising and falling with every ragged breath. The Admiral sighed and refilled his glass. “And now for the next show to start,” he mumbled.

The Admiral wished to be a better man, and for the thousandth time in a row, his wish went unanswered. So instead, he resolved to be a drunker man. A drunk man could at least meet his own gaze in a mirror, which was a whole helluva lot more than he could say for himself since that day when the UNCDI helicopter had landed on the deck of his ship and he’d gotten a call on the big, important phone on his desk.

He refilled his glass and drained it. He could lie to himself, sure. Say what he’d just done made up for it, that the lives he’d just saved more than made up for selling his soul and his honor in exchange for a tiny sliver of peace, but even drunk he didn’t believe it. Even when he was at the point where he was on the ground, unable to support his own head like an oversized baby in a military uniform, he still knew nothing he did could ever make up for that betrayal. But at least at that point he didn’t care anymore.

He was raising the glass to his lips when the big, important telephone rang once more. The noise of the bell pierced into his skull like an arrow, aggravating the headache pulsing behind his eyes and adding another millimeter to the growing welt in his stomach lining destined to become an ulcer. He made another wish, this time for the strength and courage to not pick it up. To ignore it. He didn’t know what would happen then, but it had to be better than…

He picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“You delayed.”

“I was napping.”

“We both know that isn’t true, Admiral,” there was clicking on the line, a popping sound, and then the voice continued. “I trust you’re aware of the situation on the mainland?”

“Of course,” the Admiral didn’t even try to suppress his grin. What was the harm in that much? “Quite the setback for you.”

“For us.”

“Of course, for us.”

“They are far more tenacious than we took them for, Admiral,” the voice continued as the Admiral kicked his feet up on his desk. “We’d hoped the Newfoals would handle them, hence why our team was refocused from their original direction to aiding in containment efforts. Obviously, this was an underestimation. A repetition of our mistake in London. We will not make that mistake again.”

The voice sounded more like it was talking to itself than to him. The Admiral smiled. “Of course.”

“Regardless, we have decided this could be something of a boon,” the voice continued. “Perhaps all the team requires is a bit more…oversight in order to reach our common goal.”

The Admiral’s stomach twisted. “Oversight?”

“We already have someone picked out. You may call him Mister M. I trust you’ll make him feel at home?”

Yep, there was that new ulcer forming, right on cue. “Of course.”

“Excellent! And don’t think of this as replacement or further oversight, Admiral, think of this as an opportunity to demonstrate your loyalty before a first-hand witness,” the voice said enthusiastically before taking on a darker edge. “Don’t disappoint us.”

Wow, that new ulcer was really going to work. “Of course not, sir.”

“Very good,” the voice said, and with a click, it was gone, allowing the Admiral to slowly replace the phone in its cradle.

He gripped the metal receiver until he felt its edges dig into his palm. “You goddamned sonofabitch cock-sucking pencil-pushing pile of…”

His tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door. Releasing his grip on the phone, he replaced the receiver with the utmost care, making sure it appeared totally undisturbed and unused before hurriedly unbuttoning his collar and slouching in his chair. “Come in,” he slurred.

The Russian stepped in, his nose wrinkling for a moment upon seeing the Admiral before settling back to neutral. “Hard at work tracking down our little runaway, I see,” he said.

“Work is for younger, lower-ranked men,” the Admiral said with a slanted half-grin, kicking his feet up before taking another sip. “Besides, I might say the same for you, Ivan.”

Bristling at the nickname, Anton took the seat across from him. “I have been hard at work, actually,” he shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Yes, a few things I’ve been noticing,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Mostly with Alpha’s behavior since she boarded this ship.”

Intrigued, but unable to show it, the Admiral raised his glass. “Well, spit it out and be done with it!”

“It’s just the way she worked from the moment she got on ship: not at all like monster we know,” Anton shook his head. “Every interaction, every conversation, the fact that King Shining Armor seemed to recognize her companion…”

He looked up at the Admiral as he arched an eyebrow in confusion. “One doesn’t react the way the King did unless it’s upon seeing someone important,” Anton explained, leaning back in his seat. The Admiral nodded his understanding, then immediately chastised himself for letting that slip. Luckily, the Russian didn’t notice. “I don’t know who she was, someone from his past? Someone who resembled a pony killed in nuclear strikes? Either way, she was a princess, another princess, when the creature we both know would’ve died before she shared power with another.”

“Maybe,” the Admiral shrugged. “Or maybe all those interactions were her way of getting our trust? And maybe that other princess is just another pony this bitch found to be as powerful and corrupt as she was? I mean, they managed t’go through a Tachyon Inhibitor like it was nothing! Fuck knows what the purple one might’ve been able to do on her own!”

“Maybe,” Anton frowned, a hand going to his chin. “Of course, there is matter of escape, and that they did it with minimal casualties despite every opportunity to…”

“Bluffing!” The Admiral scoffed, even as his stomach twisted and his head swirled with possibilities. “Neither really had their full power at the time, the threats they made in their cell were so much bravado, what with them being caught in a Tachyon Inhibition field capable of neutralizing their whole damn island! They knew to conserve what power they did have to punch through the field and make a run for it, or didntcha notice they only used magic twice during the whole escape?”

Anton sat back, head still swimming with thought. Truth be told, the Admiral’s mind was alight with possibility. He might be powerless to do anything about it, but what if? What if this Equestria was…different?

“You’re putting too much thought into this,” he mumbled as he raised the glass to his lips, unsure who he was speaking to. “They probably didn’t have time to do anything back then, if they could have been more secure in their escape plan, then I’m sure you’d have seen something to keep you up at night!”

He didn’t even believe his own words as they left his lips. He tried to convince himself, but still: What if?

“Besides, what’re you coming to me with this for?” He asked, setting the glass down. “You still got the beaner, shouldn’t you be talking with him?”

“Can’t find him,” Anton grumbled, sitting forward with his elbows pressing into his knees.

“Then have a drink!” The Admiral laughed, nudging an empty shot glass across the desk towards the Russian. “Do it while you can!”

Anton’s nose wrinkled for a moment, but was replaced with an arched eyebrow. “While I can?”

“We’re getting a new babysitter,” the Admiral replied, his eyes on the glass as he filled it. “Thought you should know. Some UN pencil pusher, I wouldn’t be too worried about him,” especially since it’s me he’s keeping an eye on, not you, he thought, moving to replace the bottle on the desk but changing his mind and going for a sip straight from its neck.

Anton eyed the small glass in front of him, then eyed the Admiral, and finally, smiled halfway as he pulled his flask out of its hidden pocket.

The Admiral guffawed. “Beat me to it, ‘ey Ivan?”

“The name is Anton,” he replied, dropping a few swigs of his personal stash in with the glass and giving it a few swirls. “And of course I did, you didn’t believe a limey could ever outdrink a true Russian, did you?”

The Admiral’s smile faltered. “In the words of your Yankee friend: ‘them’s fightin’ words’.”

“Simply name a time and a place,” Anton replied with a smart little smile as he raised the glass to his lips. All of this would turn out to be one of the worst moments of terrible timing in either man’s long life.

The door burst open, and in stomped a young Brazilian, his fists clenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He scanned the room, looked around for a moment, and when his eyes took in Anton with a shot glass at his lips, his fists clenched harder. One could almost feel the hate-filled anger rolling off the younger man. Completely taken aback, Anton lowered his glass. “Felipe? What’s wrong, my…”

“Don’t,” Felipe hissed. “Don’t you dare finish that fucking sentence and use that fucking name!”

“Young man,” the Admiral put in, sitting up in his chair. “What’s this all about?”

Felipe turned that hate-filled glare on him, then back to Anton. “‘I used to be mechanic of sorts, will be easy to put it all back together,’ you said. ‘Trust me, this is what I used to do for a living’, you said.” He shook his head, his entire face scrunched in, as if his whole head was invested in keeping his eyes closed. “You stupid, stupid, old drunk!”

“I don’t…”

“What’s this then!?” Felipe screamed, opening his hand and dangling the contents out, squeezed between his thumb and forefinger. It took a moment to recognize what it was, and put the pieces together, but Anton did it all at his best speed.

It was a tiny bolt, one that Anton recognized from his brief time disassembling the security lock on Alpha’s cell. One look at the horror breaking across his face was enough to tell the Admiral just what it might be. “C-can’t be…” Anton gasped.

“Oh? Well I guess I must be imagining it, then,” Felipe hissed, walking up to Anton and holding the bolt right in his face. “I also must be imagining holding it up to the housing on that little keypad you took apart and matching them up exactly. Am I imagining that, you drunken old fuck? Hmm? Does it look like I cooked this up in my head?”

The Admiral realized what they had to be getting at almost immediately. “Aw hell, Ivan,” he slurred. “Don’t tell me ya…” He trailed off for effect, but also to disguise his own surprise at how easy it was to lie to a man once you figured out how to look him in the eye and make yourself believe it, at least long enough to maintain sufficient eye contact.

“Care to explain this, Ivan!?” Felipe screamed, still squeezing the bolt in front of his face. “Care to explain how your flawless mechanical abilities nearly got us all killed!?”

Anton couldn’t even meet his gaze. Pursing the corners of his lips, Felipe flicked the bolt at Anton’s feet, letting it clatter and roll to a stop by his foot. Then he stood there, his jawline visibly clenching and unclenching over and over again, a small vein in his temple popping into sight at each clench. Finally, he stopped, took a deep breath, and glared.

“I’m going to walk away now,” Felipe whispered. “If you know what is good for you, you won’t follow.”

And then he turned and did just that. The two men sat across from each other for a few minutes, during which time the Admiral kept a vacant, drunken glaze in his eyes while secretly wondering what was going through Anton’s head. How did a man think when he realized his mistakes might have cost hundreds of people who trusted him their lives? Then he had to physically restrain himself from smacking his own cheek. He already knew.

Eventually, Anton drained his glass in a single gulp and set it back on the desk with some muttered thanks, getting up to walk slowly out the door. The Admiral took a final sip from his bottle and set it next to the glass. Though he’d never been thirstier in his life, he thought he’d done enough drinking now. The Russkie had had some interesting ideas; it was just too bad he was in such a precarious position that they might have gotten him killed. Yes, that was it, he’d just saved the Russkie’s life! It was a good thing he’d just done, playing the game like this, he was keeping them all alive, that was it!

Nodding to himself, he scooped up the bottle and resumed his drinking. If he wasn’t going to be an honest man, he could at least be a drunk one.

Author's Notes:

Hold on, a wee bit more coming today!