If there was a physical manifestation of the word "intimidating," Eureka was the exact opposite. His coat was matted with sweat and grime, his lab coat ripped to almost unrecognizable shreds. His eyes, while still burning with a fire Clockwork hypothesized was customary of Charger's bloodline, did not burn as bright as the mare he had sired. Still, Clockwork felt on edge as the stallion before him repeated his question.

"I don't have time for dramatic pauses. You called out my daughter's name. Are you here to find her or are you just that insane?"

"The, uh, the first one." Clockwork choked. “I want to save her.”

"Right. Well, you just killed our captors so I guess I can trust you. You got a minute to talk?"

"I'm on a tight schedule."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

"Colonel." Clockwork announced into the audio-piece on his shoulder. "How're you holding up?"

"Like the Great Wall of Ibexia, kid. Something wrong?"

"Found something unexpected. Stage 3 might be late. Can you wait a little longer?"

"Sure. Something tells me the grifs aren't in a hurry to leave. Watch your back, okay?"

"Got it." Clockwork flicked his transponder to off and looked back at Eureka. "So what is it you wanted to discuss?"

"Who are you?"

Clockwork snapped to attention. "Clockwork. Chief Machinery Specialist for High Risk Operations Team Meteor."

Eureka relaxed. "So how in Tartarus do you know my daughter?"

The pegasus tilted his head to one side. "She's Chief Saboteur for the squad. You don't know?"

Eureka grinned, looking to the floor. "We don’t keep in touch. I wasn't the best father I could've been and I still pay for it."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

The earth pony noticed something behind Clockwork and off to the side, doing his best not to make himself noticeable. "Next question.” he spoke in a hushed tone. “How good are your reflexes?"

Clockwork got the hint, turning around and flaring out his prosthetic to shield Eureka. He trained his LeMane on the unlikely aggressor.

It was the soldier from before, his talons shakily grasping some kind of pistol. Half of the griffon's face was missing, skin and feather replaced by steaming red flesh. In another moment, half of the eagle-lion’s face was replaced with nothing, the matter having been forcefully relocated to the wall behind it with a well-placed bullet.

Clockwork reloaded his revolver before holstering it. He turned back to face Eureka. "Any other questions?"

Eureka tore his gaze from his ally's mithril wing. "I'd love to ask you all sorts of thing about that, but something tells me we're out of time."

Clockwork nodded. "We can talk more after the city's ours again. In the meantime, we’ve gotta get these people out of here. Do any of them need help?”

Eureka shook his head. “The griffons seemed intent on keeping everyone alive and relatively unharmed. Anypony crippled they just dragged off to sisters-knows-where.”

“Okay. It sounds barbaric, but follow the trail of bodies and you should find your way to a large hole in the eastern wall. From there, head back into the city proper and you’ll eventually find a warehouse on 29th. All of its second story windows are boarded up except for the one farthest to the left. A few resistance soldiers will take you in and keep you safe until this blows over. Got all that?”

The earth pony nodded. “Every word. Before you leave, though, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Just. . .” Eureka teared up. “find her. Keep her safe, alive.”

The pegasus nodded and hurried out the door. "I promise."

As the pegasus continued his trek through the cannibalized interior of Bridal Shores' Medical Facility, he was met with heavier resistance at every corner. The locals knew he was here, what he was capable of, but knowledge doesn't kill. Bullets kill, a fact the stallion made sure to remind those who opposed him. Thankfully, more enemies meant the engineer was nearing his target. Here's hoping the PA system still worked.

It wasn't much longer before Clockwork arrived at a heavily barricaded set of doors with the guards to match. In no time at all, he had butchered them all and reduced the entrance to splinters. A single griffon occupied the room within, frantically chattering something into a transceiver before whipping around to face his attacker.

His head fell to the floor long before the rest of his body did the same.

As Clockwork shook the blood from his prosthetic, he was granted a rare moment of quiet whilst he gazed about. . . the. . . control room?

This was definitely the room he wanted to reach, a hospital-spanning intercom mic was present near the dead griffon, a panoramic set of windows allowed those inside to look out over the hospital's recreational courtyard, Bridal Shores barely noticeable in the stormy haze. However, what Clockwork hadn't expect to find was. . . this.

"Bright Side? You read me?"

"Loud and clear. What's wrong?"

"What?" Clockwork asked in exasperation.

"You sound like you just watched a murder take place, and you don't seem like a squeamish stallion. What's gotcha spooked?"

The hoof with which Clockwork gripped the radio began to tremble. "I- I'm looking at maps. Lots of 'em. . . hang on." the pegasus barricaded the door with loose debris so that nothing would hinder his investigation. "Basic siege layouts of Equestria, the mild west, Zebrica. . . even the badlands! Baltimare, Hoofington. . . sisters. . . they even have detailed maps of Canterlot! I . . . I think-"

"They're gonna launch a full scale invasion, holding nothing back in the next wave?" Bright Side finished Clockwork's hypothesis.

"Yeah. . ." was all the pegasus said in reply.

"Then we'd better hurry up and finish the job here so we can get back to defending Equestria as a whole. Call it!"

Clockwork hardened his resolve, ended the transmission, and trotted over to the microphone. After a brief check of the late griffon's identification and remembrance of his voice, the one-winged engineer clicked on the device and set it to transmit to every receiver in range. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice.

"Attention. All loyal soldiers of the Supremacy, all warriors of the Eternal Griffon Empire, this is Lord Martial Válka. The intruder has been dealt with, and I have just received word that this city is now free of opposition. Gentlemen, this backwater city is ours. I have also received word that reinforcements are on their way, and that we are relieved of duty until the sun has risen and set thrice over. All soldiers, amass at the city center and hold position until further orders. Imperii Gloria!"

An almost ghostly "Gloria Carniferous!" reached Clockwork's ears as he tore the cord from the rest of the radio. Dropping the dead wiring to the floor, the pegasus tried his own radio. "What’d ya think?"

"Very convincing. I would've hated those words had they come from an actual griffon."

"You ready to take back the city?"

"Ever since these scuzzy bastards set foot in Equestria. I can already hear marching. Everypony, lock and load!"

Clockwork let out a tired sigh. It was all down to one little word. The pegasus wanted to go back downstairs, to check on Eureka, to find his daughter and keep his promise. He couldn't, not just yet. He still had to say the magic word.

The soldier looked outside to watch a thick column of griffon soldiers march toward the city. He drew his LeMane and fired at the window. In an instant, the glass gave way to a torrential downpour and furious winds. Good, he needed to test his flying abilities.

The pegasus broke into a dead gallop. He spread both wings to their fullest extent, flapped them twice, and launched out the window.

No sooner had Clockwork taken to the air was he knocked off balance, tumbling amidst the rain and wind. The engineer had flown through worse, and after a moment of struggle he was flying steady. The pegasus made sure he flew high enough above the marching crowd so that he wouldn’t be spotted, but low enough that he could keep an eye on those below. It would take some time before they neared the city center, but it didn't matter. He was too busy revelling in the enactment of stage 3.

It was remarkably simple, really. A group of soldiers were assigned to stay at the warehouse as a fallback point, and to accept any refugees as would be Eureka and Co.’s case. The rest of the alliance resistance, meaning everyone who could still properly load and fire a rifle, had been assigned to clear out and occupy the tallest remaining structures in Bridal Shores' city center. They had the remaining grenades, guns, and every last bullet they could get their hooves on. Everything from turrets to target pistols, they would use them all to great effect very soon.

A bolt of lightning, followed a second later by a clap of thunder, shook Clockwork from his musings. The griffons had reached their destination, and in turn, their grave. The pegasus rocketed high into the air, high enough so that he would have a clear signal and a perfect view of the carnage. He set his radio to transmit to all allied soldiers, cranking the volume to maximum so that they would hear him without difficulty.

Another bolt of lightning tore the sky in half, but Clockwork’s voice drowned out the thunder.

“FIRE!”

Hundreds of soldiers fired thousands of bullets into the defenseless enemy mass. The griffons fell in droves, dozens at a time if not more. Clockwork cared not for how long the slaughter lasted, or the families he had broken or the pain the enemy felt in death. The good guys had won, and such was the only thing that mattered.

. . . wait.

As the extermination drew to a gradual end, something caught Clockwork’s attention.

“Colonel?”

“Hey Clock. Your plan went off without a hitch. My guys are picking off the stragglers now.”

“Nice work. There’s something I wanna check. I won’t be long.”

The pegasus took off without waiting for a response. As Clockwork pursued the seemingly unimportant speck of light, most would assume the pegasus mad. However, Clockwork recognized, of all things, the speck’s color. That particular shade of bronze could only be emitted on a certain occasion: when light reflected off of the Vikare’s hull in just the right way. Sure enough, as Clockwork drew closer he could make out the distinct silhouette of the Vikare, Meteor Squad’s personal dropship. It rested peacefully on the front lawn of a small house. The abode’s walls were composed of soft-white bricks, and the roof was gently sloped to allow all forms of water to slide off without difficulty. A few windows dotted its exterior, but other than that the house remained charmingly simple in design. Its front door was crafted of a redwood that, as Clockwork landed before it and inspected it, was similar to his house’s own back in Ponyville. The winged engineer made sure his revolver was fully loaded and carefully opened the door. He called out with a single word.

“Charger?”

No response.

Clockwork made his way further inside, making sure as not to disturb anything, not that there was much to disturb anyway. The interior of the house was scarcely decorated, it all being caked in a thin layer of dust. In all likelihood, nopony had been here in several days. So then why was the Vikare parked outside?

For now, Clockwork chose not to dwell on the curiously placed troop transport. Instead, he decided to take a look around. The steady drumming of rain added to the tranquil atmosphere; it felt like Clockwork had stumbled into a dream.

The house’s interior was unremarkable to say the least. The walls were colored the same as the exterior, the kitchen’s only noteworthy feature was a long granite countertop, and even what Clockwork believed was the primary bedroom lacked any sort of extravagant furnishings.

And then he reached the stairs.

Dozens of pictures lined the left of the stairwell like a mosaic. At the base were sepiatone pictures, detailing the faces of colonists who, Clockwork realized, must’ve been the first settlers of Bridal Shores. Above those were more colorful photographs of mares and stallions gathered in the center of a developing town for a family photo of sorts, and above those photos were more and more of similar photos. They all depicted a happy family history to some degree or another. A family dinner here, a birthday there, even a photo of a mother with her newborn foal just after it had been brought into the world.

And then, at the top of the stairs, the mosaic ended with a single picture, one of the simplest yet most delicately beautiful of the assortment.

It was of two earth ponies, one Clockwork recognized immediately as a younger Eureka, the other. . . had a baby bump. The mare’s mane was silk-white, her body a soft shade of brown, and her eyes golden. Her cutie mark wasn’t visible, but it didn’t matter. She was Charger’s mother, and judging by what Charger had written in her farewell letter, she no longer occupied the mortal realm.

As if on cue, an impossibly loud noise bellowed through the air. The decibel level was so great that Clockwork could not recognize the noise, likening it to a roar from Tirek more than anything else. The house began to shake violently, as though the earth itself was intent on reducing it to rubble. The pegasus lost his balance and fell to the floor before he had a chance to get aloft. The moment the shaking ceased, the winged stallion tore through the house’ roof and took to the air, hoping to get a good view of what had made the horrendous noise.

The pegasus got a lot more than that.

The zeppelin couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet away from the wanton psychopath. He could easily make out the war vessel's command deck, and through its forward windows he could make out two distinct figures amidst the crimson mush. One was yellow and struggling. The other was holding the former figure’s mane in a tight grasp, shaking the head of orange hair violently. He must've been the captain of the ship. He would die first.

Captain Venor of the dreadnaught Triumph rubbed his temples with his free talon. He always hated being out of the loop, but this was just ridiculous.

Griffon zeppelins were the outright fastest vessels to ever exist. A standard Imperial craft of any military classification could outrun its Halidom counterpart even after giving it a head start; that wasn’t hyperbole, just a simple fact. Imperial zeppelins were made for war and solely for war, while the ponies seemed to be currently relying on converted civilian models. For the most part, scout ships were the fastest, whose primary wartime function was to establish a foothold and clear the way for the dreadnaughts.

This mission, though? Venor’s dreadnaught was the scout ship. They were launched simultaneously with those bound for Stalliongrad, but their target was in the opposite direction. This backwater port town. . . Bridal Shores, was it? The griffon captain knew of the western theater of war, and that the most strategically valuable Equestrian city was hours away, far to the south if he remembered his geography correctly. However, this mission wasn't about occupying an enemy city. It wasn't about taking what resources this town had. If it was, then Venor would not have brought along a dreadnaught and two suicide ships.

Venor got his order to attack the town from an agent of the Red Order, who handed him his objectives mere hours before the Siege was to commence. Venor had worked his way up the meritocracy over his career, and he was high enough in rank to vaguely question the question the orders of the lowest of the Rainbow Bishops. Yet, the small though noticeable bloodstain in the document’s corner was enough to hold his tongue. There was also the list of griffons who would be “removed” from Victoria Urbem if he refused to go through with the operation. Among the signatures were his wife, his two eldest sons and his six year old daughter. The largest signature belonged to a noble liege, the one who would do the “removing,” who was also his first cousin.

Ah, family.

The mare kneeling at Venor's side was intent on putting up a violent struggle, breaking his train of thought. She was injured in every sense of the word; every bit of her coat was stained or burnt in some way, and Venor knew that the scratches on her sides came from more than griffon talons. He had found her in the custody of two of his Red Order guards, who were pretty intent on culling the mare after she broke one member’s arm in some kind of sneak attack, but Venor stepped in and allowed the two brutes to continue their little impromptu interrogation, on the condition that she live. The end result was a battered little pony who looked more orange than yellow and was likely to die without medical help.

Despite her injuries, she seemed to have forgotten that Venor had her filthy mane tightly coiled in one talon, a fact he reminded her of without hesitation. She cursed at everyone on the bridge, even having the audacity to spit on a nearby ensign’s boot. That disrespectful action earned her another stern shaking, and from her throat came a grating scream.

There was a rumor going around in the upper circles that, after the pony lands were all distributed and everyone got their little parcels, the surviving ponies would be reduced to a status similar to cattle in many parts of the world, bound to lands and griffon families by law. Some were joking about keeping little pony pets for their children to play with. If that was the case, Venor was going to stay home, because the more he spent around ponies the more they seemed less like helpless chubby pastel equines and more like chubby pastel equines who could use guns and kicked too hard for it to be worth breaking them. At the very least, someone would have to make muzzles or something.

Venor’s attention was ripped from his own thoughts once again, coming to focus on something off in the distance. An infinitesimal metallic glint, almost too easy to miss, was nonetheless strange to see in a lightning storm. Perhaps it was some chipped paint, a piece of debris or-

Oh. Wait. Nope.

Venor squinted, and when he saw the glint again, a little bit of beige had appeared near it. He grinned; their true mission objective had arrived.

Truthfully, Venor didn’t think this plan had any actual merit until his entire ground force had been annihilated a little while ago. He was aware of the problematic Meteor Squad. They were not the only specialty force that Equestria had managed to round up to fight, not by far; there was talk of some sort of ‘Viper Squad’ being created by the zebras and apparently the so-called ‘Sons of Stalliongrad’ were making a name for themselves holding out against entire battalions on their own in the snowy bombed out ruins of long abandoned cities, but Meteor Squad was the one that seemed the most confounding to the priesthood and the government itself.

Not a day before the Siege of Stalliongrad, an informant had reported that the Squad was stationed in the city. In the unlikely event that the team survived, which they apparently did, Venor was to attack Bridal Shores. He wasn't told the exact reasoning behind the attack, only to raze the city and the mare with lightning gloves would come, and in turn the pegasus with a wing of mithril. Really, he was under the impression that sending three airships to deal with two ponies was just a bit excessive, but who was he to contemplate a superior officer’s reasoning? Apparently, someone more important than he really wanted them barely alive at his or her feet.

Venor sighed when he saw that the pegasus wasn’t going to stop his pursuit. He rose from his chair, taking the mare with him. He drew his sidearm and aimed it in the pegasus’ general direction. Venor cleared his throat; he wasn’t paid enough for crap like this.

“You want her?!” he lifted the yellow earth pony part-way off the floor by the mane, jostling her limp form like a rag doll and eliciting another scream of pain. “Come and get her!”

Clockwork heard not the captain’s taunting, nor the firing of the ship’s cannons. The only thing he heard was the unmistakably awful sound of Charger screaming in pain, and then nothing.

Clockwork put every last ounce of his strength into his wings, disregarding the serrated metal wedges that glanced his body or the powerful concussion waves that followed. He didn't care about pain anymore, he couldn't feel it, but he knew what damage his body could withstand. He made a beeline for the command deck, and at the last possible moment, ceased flight and let momentum carry him forward. He brought his prosthetic to bear, shielding the rest of his body behind it as he smashed through the command deck’s corundum enforced windows like they were wet tissue paper.

The living cannon ball ricocheted around the cabin before coming to a dead halt in front of Charger and the griffon that held her captive. Wasting no time, he stood with wings outspread and pistol already drawn. Once, twice, three times he fired at the griffon before him, and three times the captain dodged the rounds. In another moment, the griffon forcefully planted a talon in the stallion's muzzle. Clockwork’s vision cut out as his brain registered a flash of brass and then the punch. It was enough to floor him, but not for long.

The stallion's eyes began to work again, and after making sure no one in the immediate vicinity wanted to kill him, he got to his hooves. He felt his muzzle, finding a trickle of blood but no broken bone. The rain and wind had calmed down somewhat, and the only way in or out of the bridge had been sealed, but it mattered little. The damage had been done. Water coated the floor, the smooth surface cracked by shards of glass tainted crimson by the blood of the bridge’s occupants. The pegasus had no time to ponder the identity of those he had just killed. He had to find Charger.

Clockwork watched his step as he made his made his way to the armored door, the steel peeling away like butter when mithril was forced against it. Through the hole, Clockwork could barely see anything. A siren blared as red warning lights flickered at a steady rate, plunging the hallway into darkness, then crimson, then darkness again. There weren't any soldiers to greet his intrusion with a hail of bullets; Clockwork remained on guard as he crept through the dreadnaught, his pistol at the ready.

“You’ve never been aboard a ship like this, have you?” a voice called over the intercom.

Clockwork remained silent.

“You answer me or she dies.” the voice yelled, a pained scream following shortly after.

Clockwork gritted his teeth as he kicked in a door, finding the room practically barren. “First time I’ve been aboard an imperial dreadnaught. Badly designed to say the least. Who the hell are you?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Clockwork kicked in another door. Empty. “So I can know what to write on your tombstone.”

The griffon snorted.

“You first.”

“Clockwork. Meteor Squad’s tech specialist. Your captive is my partner.” he kicked in another door. Empty.

. . . wait.

“I am Captain Venor of the Imperial Dreadnaught Triumph.”

Clockwork tore the local speaker from its foundation, checking the exposed wires to find a single cable running out of the room. “Let the mare go and I’ll leave the ship intact.”

Venor let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious?”

Clockwork followed the wire. It soon joined up with several other wires, and more and more until a single bundle traversed the roof. “Very.”

Venor’s voice took on a furious tone. “You destroy my government’s operation, force a group of straggling inbreds to do your dirty work for you, slaughter my people and desecrate their remains, invade my ship, and insult me. You have no right to make demands of me!”

Clockwork’s trek concluded at a single door. It seemed unimportant, but the bundle of wires leading inside signalled otherwise. With a single heave, he forced the door inwards, training his pistol on the captain’s head. Clockwork noticed that the brownish-colored griffon was relatively small, but his eye’s held a distinct intelligence.

“What right do I have?!” he screamed. "Your people go back on an agreement you made over a thousand years ago! You invade a peaceful nation and slaughter its people just because you can! One of your thugs kills my best friend and dozens of ponies I knew! I have EVERY RIGHT TO MAKE DEMANDS!"

Venor was silent for a long while. One talon held Charger's throat in a tight grasp, the other held a sword not a foot from Clockwork's nose. His grip on the both of them were tight and unwavering. “Who was he?"

Clockwork steadied his aim. He wasn't going to play his games.

"Your best friend." Venor looked to the floor. "Who was he?"

". . . His name was Moppet. Fourteen year old orphan mule. One of the greatest people I’ve ever known. He gave other orphans a home in Ponyville, before it was attacked.”

Again, the griffon captain was silent. Eventually, he rolled his eyes. "My dearest apologies. A damn shame he wasn’t born a hippogriff. There’s no such thing as vagrant children in the Empire. The nobles adopt them and raise them as their own. Help’s keep the family strong. Any vagrants not picked up by nobles are picked by the Order. You’re unicorn aristocracy probably spat on your friend for having ears that were too long, right?”

Clockwork flicked his LeMane's hammer to strike the 12 gauge. If this bastard kept stalling for another-

"You want to make a deal, pegasus?"

Clockwork didn't budge.

"Pegasus. I am offering that we make a deal." Venor repeated, sounding like he was counseling a small child.

"I'll give you one minute to detail your terms."

Something exploded far away in the ship, tilting the dirigible several degrees and causing the hull to groan like a whale’s death song.

Captain Venor looked about his surroundings, but did not lower his sword. "I get the sense we barely have that much time anyway."

"What in Tartarus was that?" Clockwork asked.

Venor took a deep breath and sheathed his sword, but his grip on Charger’s neck didn’t let up. "The ship's going thermal; self destruct protocol. I could just sit here and talk long enough for us all to go up in flame, but I don’t think any of us want that. Let’s make it simple; you let me and my soldiers evacuate, and I'll give your girlfriend back."

"Why aren't your soldiers already evacuated?"

Venor looked to the battered, barely conscious pony he held by the throat. "Some probably have already, but there’s twenty five medical staff on board who are sworn to keep doing their trade, regardless of the situation around them. There are also fifty Red Order aboard, all of whom are not to diverge from their most recent order until I give them a new one. They are here to kill as many ponies as possible until they themselves are killed, and if I fail to acknowledge that I am alive every twenty four hours they are authorized to act on their own. Do you want fifty well armed religious fanatics roaming around your countryside?"

Clockwork thought over the offer and its implications. "You know I can't let your people return to the fight."

The griffon shrugged with surprising casualness. "They won't. I'll give an order for total and unconditional surrender at a location of your choosing. No one else has to die today. Consider yourself the owner of around three hundred prisoners of war."

Clockwork lowered his aim, focusing now on the center of mass. It would be so easy just to kill Venor now, to condemn every remaining griffon on the ship to an instantaneous and fiery death. Charger looked like she was barely breathing, and the more he looked at her the more he realized that she probably would have already killed the griffon with his own sword. With silence alone he would guarantee absolute victory for the Alliance.

“Fine.”