“Dragoons are the basic infantry of the Soviet Pink Army, and by that logic, are the most numerous soldiers on the planet. Most modern Dragoons are clonies, which grow from embryo to adult in genetic factories within a month, and can be armed and fully trained in less than a week. They are easily recognizable from their pink greatcoats, dark-grey armour, gas masks, steel helmets and sturdy AFK-93 assault rifles, which even they struggle to break. While they may sound like every general’s dream, the truth is not so simple: because they are rapidly bred, rapidly trained and serve in a military force not known for having heaps of high-quality weapons and equipment to spare, it is generally accepted that clony Dragoons are not exactly as reliable, competent or tall as their counterparts in the Allied and Imperial armies. By all accounts, they aren’t even able to speak or even spell properly. However, although it is true that without a competent Commander most Dragoons will put up little resistance against a strong attack, many officers in the past have made the mistake of underestimating the cunning, bravery and resolve of the Pink Army’s iconic soldiers, and been very unpleasantly surprised in the process.”

Equestrian Army Field Guide, “Dragoon”

Snowball Base, The Frozen North, 10 years later

The best kind of shower was the kind that you earned, and Commander Squeezie Heart, 19-year-old officer of the Soviet Pink Army, was pretty sure that after a day of gunning his way through a swarm of shape-shifting, parasitic, pony-shaped insects with his soldiers, he’d earned a long one. He wasn’t standing on his hindlegs, and he wasn’t even standing on all four; he was lying on the floor of the shower, upside-down on his back, with legs curled and his head held so that the stream of hot, steamy water blasted him straight in the face.

Having a job that involved almost dying several times a day made you really appreciate the little things in life – showers, flowers, meadows, butterflies, stuff like that. Squeezie guessed that it had something to do with the chance that after tomorrow and another day of pony warfare, he might never have another chance to enjoy a shower again.

But enough of such horrible thoughts.

Squeezie was in the cramped bathroom of something called a Mobile Command Wagon, or MCW, which he’d basically bought from the Army with all the money he’d made in his first year of working for them. It was basically a huge, tracked, nuclear-powered beetle-shaped vehicle that you could drive around and watch things, command things and even build things that would be useful on a battlefield – anti-air guns, tank factories, walls, stuff like that. They could even swim. MCWs were so good that every Commander in the world needed one, but Squeezie had taken it one step further: he’d converted the back half of his, usually kept empty for storing things, into a kind of house. He, as well as someone else, had lived in it for almost a year now. To be honest though, Squeezie had been inside bigger garden sheds, but it was warm, cosy, the plumbing worked pretty good and he didn’t need to pay rent.

It was paradise, in other words.

Then, some pony knocked a hoof on the metal door. Squeezie twitched violently in surprise, and then straightened up a little against the tiled wall.

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “Tickles?”

“Hey bro pony,” his elder sister said cheerfully from the other side of the door. Something heavy leaned against it; sounded like it was her. “Bro pony. Bro-pony. Pony-bro. Brony. Bro…”

“What’s up, Tickles,” Squeezie repeated.

“Bro…oh, sorry. I’m coming in. Did you lock the door?”

“What? No,” Squeezie said defensively, clambering up onto his hindlegs.

“Good,” Tickles said, barging through the bathroom door that he’d forgotten to lock again. She clopped the short distance around the corner, and stood with a huge smile on her face in front of the transparent glass door.

Tickles was a tall Pegasus mare, about a full foot taller than Squeezie when they were standing side-by-side on all fours, with light-grey coloured fur and an incredibly long, wavy mane and tail, which were golden enough to glitter in the sunlight like a polished piece of metal. Her wings were pretty small, mostly because she hardly ever used them; Tickles suffered from both terrible air sickness, and a chronic fear of heights. She was kinda chubby, but not quite fat, mostly because she loved to cook almost as much as she loved to eat; as long as she was cooking dessert, though. Vegetables were usually up to Squeezie. Anyway, she had a funny cutie mark – a plain white circle, no-one had any idea what it was – stubby legs, a round face with poofy, spotty cheeks and massive, bright blue eyes that shined in the light like sapphires.

When she was feeling down, Squeezie usually reminded her how pretty her eyes were to change the subject. And just about all the time, it worked perfectly.

Anyway, the funny thing about Commander Squeezie Heart’s older sister by three years was that while her body was twenty-two, her mind was usually somewhere between ten and thirteen. It was a long, kinda sad story that Squeezie didn’t like to think about.

He immediately stopped thinking about it.  

“What? No, I mean, don’t come…oh, never mind! Sis, I’m having a shower here.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down with her luminous blue eyes.

“You don’t look any different to usual,” she observed. “Just a little wetter. Is that bad?”

Squeezie thought about that, with water cascading down the thick grey fur on his front. Eventually, he sighed, shrugged, and crossed his forelegs on his chest.

“Alright, fine, just, knock or ask first next time, please. Anyway, what’s the matter?”

“Matter?” Tickles repeated. “Nothing’s the matter bro, except maybe how there’s someone knocking on the door, maybe.”

“What?” Squeezie exclaimed, turning off the taps. “Who’s at the door?”

“Dunno,” Tickles said. “I was making a marshmallow pie, then I heard them knocking, then I freaked out, and I ran over here

because I was freaking out and stuff, but now I’m okay.”

“Did having visitors freak you out, sweetie?” Squeezie asked.

“Yep,” said Tickles.

“Can you go and see who it is? And maybe let them in?”

“Sure, bro,” Tickles said cheerfully. “Come out soon, though! It’s rude to be in the bathroom when you have guests in the house, right?”

“It isn’t, Tickles,” Squeezie replied. “It just makes it harder for everyone.”

“Oh,” Tickles said, then paused. “Well, I still think it is. I’ll go let them in now, unless it’s a bear, or an assassin, or a dragon or something. Bye!”  

Tickles made a kissy face at him, and galloped out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind herself and charging down the hall to the front door. She was a heavy girl, so when she ran, or cantered or whatever, which she did often, she made a lot of noise. Squeezie sighed as he pushed the glass door open; she was a bit of a handful sometimes, but she was a handful that loved him dearly, and a handful that he loved dearly back. Family members put up with stuff; it’s what family members do.

The good ones, anyway.

Squeezie stepped into the middle of the steamy bathroom. Like most of the house, the walls, floor and ceiling were painted metal, but over time they’d added little comforts – a floor mat, colourful wallpaper that Tickles had done an exceptionally good job of sticking on in bizarre but enthusiastic patterns, and little pictures of whales and beaches on the walls. It had been a horribly long time since Squeezie had last seen a beach. There wasn’t a window, but there was a shower, a toilet designed for the subtle contours of pony physiology, a sink and a cupboard, and other than that, there was a tiny bit of room in the middle to allow ponies and other creatures to actually move around in there. It was enough, though. Squeezie wasn’t the kind of pony who was always after something a little better than what he had.

Never wanting better was probably one of Squeezie's biggest problems. It was definitely why he had spent his whole military career in an old army base, going out to fight swarms of Changeling raiders every single day while his old bullies from the Academy were off getting medals and promotions. At least he got paid for it, unlike the clonies.

Still standing straight, Squeezie hooked his hoof around a towel on the rack, pulled it off, and began to furiously dry himself. He hated dryers, they were way too noisy. Once he’d got the worst of the water off, he threw the towel over the glass door, put his hooves on the sink and, after he wiped a couple of long, soggy strands of his mane from his face, studied his reflection in the small, fuzzy mirror a foot or so in front of him.

Squeezie wasn’t a big Earth pony stallion. In fact, he was a little short, kinda skinny, and clumsier than a blind elephant trying out ice skating for the first time. His fur was grey, but much darker than Tickles’, and his hair was long, spiky and black, almost as long as his sister’s, too. He had a small mouth, a mousey face, and his eyes were an extremely striking gold colour. He had no cutie mark, and if that didn’t change for another two years he would break the world record, probably unofficially. Unfortunately, his most attractive feature – those being his eyes of course – were crimped a little by the fact that they were also permanently bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags, because he had suffered from terrible insomnia ever since he’d been nine, and all the interesting things that had happened to him then.

Bottom line, Squeezie wasn’t a very attractive guy, but at least he often smiled. Most ponies said that it was the best thing you could do to make yourself look beautiful, which made most ponies fucking awful liars.

Squeezie heard two things coming down the hall. One of them sounded heavy; probably Tickles. The other thing sounded…even heavier. But she’d let it in, so unless Tickles was feeling especially friendly or it was an especially friendly bear, it was probably someone they knew.

Squeezie didn’t like the word ‘somepony’. It assumed that the thinking, breathing being you were talking about was a pony, as opposed to a minotaur, mule, dragon, cow, sea serpent, sheep, or any one of possibly hundreds of intelligent creatures out there. They used it in Equestria. In the Republic, thankfully, things were a bit different.

“Hey, Squeezie, come on out!” he heard Tickles say very happily outside. “It’s Jalissa.”

“Sure is, baby,” Jalissa replied. “What’s up, pony boy? You taking a shit?”

“No,” Tickles said factually. “A shower to be exact. At least, I think he is. I could go in and…”

“NO, thank you, Tickles, I’ll be out in a second,” Squeezie said loudly. He instinctively reached over, sliding the little lock on the door firmly shut.

Jalissa laughed.

“Okay, bro,” his sister said, sounding a little sad. “We’ll be in the living room, doin’ stuff.”

“Yep,” Jalissa agreed. “Stuff’s gotta be done. Se ya in a sec, Squeezealot.”

“Okay,” Squeezie said warmly as they left. Then, he headbutted the metal wall.

“Sh...shucks,” he grumbled.

It was embarrassing, sure, but at least he knew that Jalissa had seen worse.

He got himself as dry as he could, smoothed his wet mane over a little with a comb (he used his mouth, in case you're wondering), and then took a second to breathe slowly, calming himself down. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to go outside and stutter so badly he’d want to shoot himself in the face, he slung his towel around his shoulders, sank onto all fours, rolled his head around on his shoulders to pop the little vertebrae in his neck, unlocked the door with a hoof, and trotted out.

The MCW’s hall was a long, thin thing that connected every room in the machine, and looked a lot like the inside of a ship. On one end were the business rooms, including the spacious Command Chamber, where they drove the Wagon around. In the middle of the hall there was a door on one side that led out into the big, wide world and on the other end were the storage rooms they’d turned into house-type rooms, as well as the atomic reactor core, which doubled as the area that they hung their laundry to dry in.

Yeah, unless they wanted glow-in-the-dark piss and an extra pair of legs coming out of their ears, the two of them would probably have to move into an actual house sooner or later.

Squeezie turned left, opened the second door on his right and walked into the living room that was also a kitchen. Sure enough, Tickles was by the sink, merrily cooking up what looked like a combination of melted butter, maple syrup and hot chocolate, and Colonel Jalissa the griffon was folded up into Squeezie’s leather armchair, which was visibly bulging at the sides from the mythological predator’s massive weight. They were laughing at something that someone had just said, and turned to look at him as he entered.

“Squeezie!” Jalissa exclaimed, grinning as widely as her beak allowed. “Worked up the courage to crash our little girls’ party, huh? You’re looking moist, son.”

“Yeah, an unfortunate side effect of showers,” Squeezie replied dryly, ha ha, trotting in. “How’s everything been, Jalissa, and what's with the sudden visit?”

Colonel Jalissa the griffon, who was more commonly known by her callsign Raptor Girl, was probably the best, and by far the most famous, Multicopter gunship pilot in the Pink Army. She was about as muscular as she was huge, towering over the biggest ponies Squeezie knew, with a sleek, athletic build, speckled, white plumage on her bird parts and dark brown fur on her lion parts. The feathers on her head were long and swept back, and she was wearing a magnificent, chocolate-brown leather aviator jacket, lined with cream-coloured sheepskin and covered in medals and badges, as well as a pair of bronze, tinted flying goggles on top of the bright pink bandana tied around her head. She also wore an old dragon tooth on a bit of black string tied around her neck – give or take, it was about the size of one of Squeezie’s ears. Colonel Jalissa not only looked business, she was business.

And the coolest kind possible, too.

Anyway, Jalissa was a famous badass, and Squeezie was an antisocial nobody, so a lot of creatures wondered why the hell the legendary ace had anything to do with him. The answer was simple: they were just about best friends, and had been ever since military school. Back then, you see, Squeezie Heart had been the only anything willing to sit next to the lonely, orphaned little griffon with horribly deformed wings and talk about how bullies and not being able to fly sucked.

Still, even on the best of days, she was a little…blunt.

The tortured armchair groaned loudly as the Colonel hauled herself off it.

“’S been, what, about two months since I last saw you both and the first thing you ask is why I rocked up to say hi?” Jalissa repeated, sounding amazed. “Come on, dude, we both know you can do better than that! C‘mere.”

Jalissa tottered over to Squeezie, obviously intending to throw a viciously clawed arm around his shoulders. Knowing it was pointless to resist, Squeezie stood up onto his hindlegs so they’d be at least eye-to-eye, and opened his forelegs with a smile to hug her back. Sure enough, Jalissa threw herself violently around him, leaning on Squeezie with about a quarter of her full weight. At that moment, if someone had accidentally coughed on Squeezie or a fly had crashed into him by mistake, he’d probably have collapsed sideways.

“Ha,” Jalissa exclaimed as they released each other. Jalissa turned around, casually walked back to Squeezie’s favourite leather chair and settled herself down in it again. “Yeah, I’ve been all right, Fruit Squeezer! They’ve got me flying all over the country these days, blowing some stuff up, shooting other stuff full of bullets, you know the drill. Basically, I’m here because I was told to land my fat ass and my entire squadron here and await further orders or some vague bullshit. I’ve got no idea why, but since I was around and it didn’t look like anyone had something for me to do I figured I’d pass the night with some good company, right?”

“Haha, yeah,” Squeezie agreed warmly, sitting himself down on a couch nearby, folding his legs beneath him. “Glad you could visit, Feathers. I'm afraid we don't have any alcohol, though.”

“Weak, bro, but I'll be right. Anyhow, what about you, pony boy? What have they got you up to?”

There was a very short silence before Jalissa’s face transformed into a frown.

“Hold on a fucking second,” she said. “Feathers? Did you just call me ‘Feathers’?”

Squeezie gazed calmly back at her.

“If you use the old school names, Jay, then you’ve got to be ready to take a few back,” he pointed out, smiling a little. “I was hoping it’d be a while before I heard Fruit Squeezer again.”

Jalissa opened her mouth to say something angry, then, she closed it again, and tapped her beak with a claw thoughtfully.

“Yeah, fair enough,” she finished. “But still, Squeezie, how’ve you been? And you too, Tickles, I want to hear it all.”

“Really? Okay! Well, last week I went to the dentist, a couple of weeks ago I ate so many éclairs I had to throw up five times and I think that we should buy a pet beaver,” Tickles said.

“That isn’t something you’ve done, sis,” Squeezie noted.

“I know,” Tickles confirmed. “But, I still felt it ought to be shared.”

“Of course,” Squeezie replied, and then turned to the Colonel. “It’s all been the same here, Jay, just looking after my guys and going out every couple of days when the Changelings show up somewhere to cause trouble. I wish it would get easier.”

“Yeah, tell me about, it son. I hear you got mixed up in an important thingo today?”

“Yep, I sure did,” Squeezie nodded. “This big signal tower, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, was attacked by a couple thousand parasites this morning, and me and my Dragoons were called up to hold them back. We managed to, in the end. They use the towers to aim long-range rockets, so I guess it was kind of important that the Changelings couldn’t blow it to bits.”

Jalissa nodded thoughtfully.

“A couple thousand?” she repeated. “Against you and your guys? And how many ‘goons exactly do you have again, Squeezie? Fifty?”

“Forty-eight,” Squeezie said. “And eight Frogroaches, which I guess is nice.”

Jalissa nodded again.

“There are entire Pink Army Companies that would struggle with ‘a couple thousand Changelings’, Squeezie,” Jalissa said, sounding annoyed. “And they just send in your forty-eight around to deal with threats like that? I call bullshit on that one, and as far as bullshit goes, I consider myself an authority. Someone oughta give you a promotion, kiddo, before you and your bros get killed on a job like that. And a much bigger little army, with some tanks maybe.”

“Anyone want some tea,” Tickles suddenly asked. She was still in the little kitchen thing in the corner and was doing something, he wasn’t sure what.

“Nah, sis, I’m right,” Squeezie said with a wave of his hoof, then turned back to the Colonel. “Yeah, you’re right Jay, but we get by, and you know how it is around here. The Pink Army isn’t exactly rolling around in money and resources these days.”

“You get by now,” Jalissa pointed out. “It’s later I worry about, dude. Things change.”

“True, I guess,” Squeezie admitted. Maybe he didn’t really think about his life, and the dangers of fighting. He usually just got on with the job.

“Anyways,” Jalissa continued, rising off his chair again. “I gotta squeeze the old lemon; I’ve been flying my ugly duckling for a while and, ah, might have had one too many shots of scotch before I left, heh. I’m pretty sure I can find that bathroom by myself.”

“I just hope that you can fit in it,” Squeezie said jokingly. Kinda jokingly, because he kinda was.

“Haha, yeah, it is a bit tight in here,” Jalissa observed as she stood, looking up. There was about half an inch between the top of her head and the ceiling.

“Wait,” Tickles said, sounding worried. She trotted into the living room half of the living kitchen room. “If you’re squeezing lemons, shouldn’t you been in the kitchen?”

Squeezie chewed his lip, and glanced at Jalissa. She looked back at him, shrugged, and gave him a look that said I got nothing, dude.

“Not that kind of lemon, Tickles,” he said, looking at his sister. “In fact, I don’t think that Jalissa is actually talking about lemons at all.”

“But what...?” Tickles exclaimed, thought about it, and then looked embarrassed. She slowly turned, and went back into the kitchen.

“Never mind,” she said back over her shoulder. “It’s just, you say lemons, and I think of...what I don’t think of is...never mind.”

“It’s all good, babe,” the Colonel said as she ambled over to the door, playfully punching Squeezie in the shoulder as she passed him by. He smiled at her, then, once she was gone, painfully rubbed his upper arm where her clenched claw had connected; at least she’d learned how not to bruise him with her friendly displays of affection.

He turned his head around to Tickles, aware that she’d probably still be feeling a little bit embarrassed. If he didn’t do something, there was a chance that she’d stay that way for hours and hours; Tickles didn’t have emotions, her emotions had Tickles.

“On second thoughts, sis, some tea would be great.”

“Sure,” Tickles said, facing the other way. She then turned around, listening intently. “I think I hear someone outside, Squeezie, walking up to the Wagon. With army boots.”

“Huh?” Squeezie said, rubbing an ear. “I don’t hear anything…”

There was a metallic tapping sound. Squeezie recognized it as the noise that an auto-arm made when someone, usually somepony, knocked on his door.

“Another visitor,” he said, surprised.

“This is getting weird, bro,” Tickles observed. “Everyone likes you all of a sudden. You’re not retiring, are you? Or dying?”

“I wish, kinda,” Squeezie said, lifting himself off the couch. “Let’s hope that one of the Dragoons hasn’t gotten himself into trouble again. Honestly, sis, I thought they would have learned after the Taco Night incident...”

Tickles shuddered at the memory.

“I hope not too, Squeeze,” she agreed. “I’ll be here if you need a sudden hug. And you should also probably take that towel off your shoulders bro, it looks kinda silly.”

"What? Oh, thanks Tee," Squeezie said, shrugging the towel off and dropping it by the sofa.

"No worries," Tickles said cheerfully. "Scream if it's a bear or something. I've got a rolling pin right here, and it's nice and heavy."

Squeezie gave his sister one last smile, then trotted out of the living room and down the hall. He was careful to ignore the bathroom completely, lest he hear some noises coming out of there, went straight up to the front door, unbolted the waterproof closing mechanism and swung it open. Immediately, a wave of freezing cold air gushed into the MCW, blowing his mane around like someone was holding a hair dryer in front of him, and a couple of flakes of perfectly white snow blew in and gently settled on the doormat that said “Wipe ‘Em”. The night was young, but in the north, most nights involved snowfalls, pitch darkness, heavy winds and temperatures so cold that if you fell asleep outside and didn’t somehow freeze to death you’d wake up to find that your nose had shrivelled up and fallen right off the tip of your face.

And tonight was no exception there.

“Hello, Commander,” the tall, muscled unicorn just outside said, politely bowing his head. Standing on his hindlegs in the snow just outside, he was wearing a dark, formal uniform with a light dusting of melting snowflakes on the shoulders, black leather boots and a tall peaked cap with the symbol of the Pink Army on the front of it – a pink star, with a smiling face in the centre. He was a caramel brown colour, with brilliant chocolate brown hair and rather piercing silver eyes that Squeezie was very, very familiar with, and not for the best reasons. “It’s been a while.”

“Twist?” Squeezie gasped, holding the door open, his eyes wide. “What are…? I mean, hey, Commander Twist. Is there…something I can help you with?”

To be quite honest, the well-groomed pony at his door had been Squeezie Heart’s bitter rival for most of his school years. He and Cinnamon Twist, or Commander Twist these days, had been total opposites in every way – popular, attractive and tall, versus lonely, ratty and short, and so on – but they’d had two things in common: they’d both studied hard, and more importantly, they were two of the best tactical brains ever trained by the Soviet Patriotic Foals’ Academy. They’d been very good, but not good enough to always beat the other.  

Squeezie couldn’t even remember how it had begun, but for years he’d thought that Cinnamon was the perfect example of an annoying, upper-class, gay pretty boy, while Cinnamon had probably resented Squeezie for being horribly dressed, uncultured, awkward and yet, still somehow beat him sometimes. Then, only a few weeks away from graduation, another student had tried juggling grenades, failed, and Squeezie and Cinnamon had ended up with sharing a single hospital bed because the doctors were running out of room. It had started pretty tense, but by the end they’d chatted a bit, a few apologies had been made and they agreed to part ways not friends, but definitely not enemies. Since then, all Squeezie had heard of Twist was that he’d been doing a good job of helping keep the Equestrian Navy out of the Republic’s western oceans, but all of a sudden, it seemed like his old rival had returned for some reason.

And knowing Twist, he had no doubt that the reason would be pretty good.

“You sure can,” Twist replied, eyeing Squeezie with his auto-arms behind his back. “But first, do you mind if I come in? I can’t really feel the tips of my ears anymore.”

“Of course,” Squeezie said, trotting to the side to let the pony officer in. Cinnamon nodded to say thanks, stepped up onto the MCW and walked past Squeezie, who immediately sealed the door shut against the freezing winter outside. Twist wiped his boots, but didn’t remove his hat; instead, he slowly stepped into Squeezie’s hall, looking around.

“I’m impressed, Squeezie,” he said, running a robot finger along the wall. “You know, when they told me that you decided to live in your MCW, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind when I pictured you and your and your sister sleeping in here. This is actually…

pretty cosy. I like the wallpaper.”

“Yeah, Tickles did that,” Squeezie replied, closing the latch on the door.

“She’s here tonight, right?” Twist asked, turning around to gaze at Squeezie. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. In fact, I don’t think we’ve even been introduced.”

“She is,” he replied, smiling back at his old schoolmate. Slightly. “And Colonel Jalissa, as it happens, she was just passing by so she stopped for a visit.”

“Really? Raptor Girl’s with you? Excellent!” Twist exclaimed, cheerfully clapping his auto-arms in front of him. “That means I won’t have to spend another second outside in that bloody freezing wasteland looking for her. I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a moment, Squeezie, I’ve been up on my hooves quite a lot today, but I might as well tell you now: I’m here to inform you both that all three of us will be required to report to an important meeting in half an hour’s time. It’ll be quite the Academy reunion, eh?”

“I guess it will be,” Commander Heart said thoughtfully. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’re reporting to General Zulu,” Twist replied. “He arrived here at the Base about ten minutes ago, and he isn’t intending to wait for us for long.”

Squeezie looked Cinnamon in the eye.

“Zulu?” he repeated. “Here? Snowball is small game, Cinnamon, all we do is sleep, fix lots of broken crap and go out sometimes to chase bears and murder shape-shifters. Why send a General all the way out here? Is he planning something?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Twist replied, studying one of his auto arms and casually flicking a little bit of ice off it. “But I can tell you one thing: something big is about to happen, Squeezie.”

“Why do you say that?” Heart asked. Then, he glanced down at his hooves; for some reason, he could feel the floor of his MCW shaking, and outside, he could hear some kind of low, mechanical, rumbling noises.

“Have a look outside, old friend,” Twist said with a smile.

Squeezie raised an eyebrow at him, then turned around and slowly hauled open the door just in time to see them clattering past.

He'd parked his MCW in a shed, right next to a row of broken trucks that someone would eventually get around to fixing up. On the other side was a line of humming mega-reactors generating nuclear power for the base’s buildings, scanners and defences; the night sky was dark and cloudy, sheets of snow were fluttering down on the icy breeze and snow covered absolutely everything that was even slightly flat. And driving past, between Squeezie’s Wagon and the reactors, was a column of four Soviet Apinkalypse Tanks.  

The Tanks weighed about 200 tonnes each, drove around on two sets of tracks, could survive a hit from any weapon in existence and came equipped with a massive double-barrelled turret that would not have looked weird on a naval warship. They were the pride and glory of the Pink Army; the biggest mass-produced tank ever, and also, they were the perfect symbol of Soviet might: big, slow, but ridiculously dangerous, virtually impossible to stop and utterly badass.

Squeezie watched them from his doorway, not quite sure what to think but still enjoying the sight; he didn’t seen one of these babies every day, let alone four. As the front Tank drove past, its Commander – some bored-looking female mule in a pink and black leather coat covered in medals who he hadn’t met before, standing in the open turret hatch – casually gave him a smile and an auto-arm salute, and he returned the gesture. To have four of them in the once place left no room for doubt; Twist was right, and something big really was planned. And chances were, that plan had nothing to do with the Changelings to the Republic’s east. The Apinkalypses had been built to fight other threats; threats with tanks, like Equestria.

Cinnamon had walked up behind Squeezie to watch as well. Once the Apinaklypses had driven past, dozens of Armourdillo Tanks followed – the Pink Army’s smaller armoured fighting vehicles, short, chunky and nowhere near as impressive as an Apinkalypse, but still pretty damn tough.    

“Well,” Squeezie finally said. “That’s a lot of tanks.”

“Definitely is,” Cinnamon replied. “By the way, do you have any tea, Comrade?”

“What’s that rumbling noise?” Tickles asked as the two extremely different stallions came into the kitchen living room. She’d sat herself on a bean bag by the little coffee table, and had arranged a random set of saucers and teacups that didn’t match each other even a little bit, and was holding their old teapot in her hooves. She had one eye closed, and she was peering intensely down the spout with the other. Probably for no reason.

“There are some tanks driving past outside,” Squeezie explained. “And, Tickles, we have another visitor! This here’s Cinnamon Twist.”

Tickles put the teapot down, looking at Twist.

“Hi,” she said. “Who are you?”

Twist bowed, ever the smug-faced gentleman.

“I’m Commander Cinnamon Twist, Tickles,” he explained, rising back up. “We’ve met before, but, not for very long. Your brother and I were at school together.”

Understanding swept across Tickles’ face.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly remembering. “Yeah, I remember you now! Squeezie’s mentioned you a few times. He said you were a…”

“IT LOOKS LIKE CINNAMON Twist and I will have to leave in a little, Tickles,” Squeezie hastily interrupted. “Sorry about that. More army business.”

“Awww, no tea?” his sister complained, pouting. “That sucks hoof clippings. Well, at least Jalissa and I can still have fun.”

“She’s…coming with us too,” Squeezie admitted.

Tickles’ face softened.

“Will none of my dreams survive this night?” she whispered.

Squeezie gave her a regretful look.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he continued sadly. “I’d stay if I could, but you know that…”

Squeezie was interrupted by a booming voice behind him.

“Twist!” Jalissa exclaimed from the hall. “How are you, you little bitch! And what the fuck are you doing here in Squeezie’s place like this? I thought you were out west, putting those fancy looks of yours to good use and getting your ass some quick promotions. Heh heh.”

Twist closed his eyes, sighed, and slowly turned around to face the Colonel.

“Hello, Jalissa,” he said calmly. “I’m glad to hear that you’re still the subtle and eloquent little flower you were in the Academy. How’s being a famous ace? I hope that they’re teaching you some longer words. Might come in handy next time someone wants to interview you.”

“Fuck you, Twist,” Jalissa laughed. “But seriously, you don’t visit for the hell of it. So, what’s the deal? You here to collect us or something?”

“Got it in one,” Cinnamon replied. “Command got us here to meet with Zulu in the Army HQ building here at Snowball. Sounds like he’s planning some kind of major operation.”

“Well it did sound like the entire fucking Pink Army just drove past outside,” Jalissa observed, vigorously scratching her shoulder.

“How much time have we got before we have to go visit the old fart? Enough to have something hot to drink? I only just got here.”

Commander Twist checked the clockwork watch strapped to his auto-arm.

“Not really. We’ve got…about twenty-five minutes, but you know Zulu as well as me. We’ll want to get there as soon as we can. So, if thirty seconds is enough, then yes, I guess you do have enough time. By the way, Tickles, can I have a cup?”

“Oh, sure!” Tickles replied happily, busying herself with pouring out a mugful of boiling-hot, brown liquid from their old teapot, which they’d found in a ruined forest cabin two years ago. She picked up the mug in her hooves and held it out to the slender Commander.

“You don’t have sugar or anything, do you?” she checked. “Because, sorry, but we’re out of that. If you really want it sweet, though, I could always add treacle, or ice cream.”

“I think he should be all right, Tickles,” Squeezie said gingerly.

Meanwhile, Twist pointed his horn in the cup’s direction, narrowing his eyes as he telekinetically lifted it from Tickles.

“Thanks, Miss,” he said politely, levitating it towards himself and then delicately taking it in an auto-arm. Jalissa watched him, not looking amazingly impressed.

“Thirty seconds,” she said. “I’ll be counting.”

“No need,” Twist said, throwing the tea back like a shot of vodka.

“Careful!” Tickles squealed, reaching out a hoof. “It’s hot…!”

Twist sloshed the scalding tea around in his mouth, concentrated, and suddenly blew a cloud of hot steam from his nostrils. Squeezie raised an eyebrow; it looked like he was venting the heat of the tea through is nose, obviously some kind of fancy Unicorn magic thing. Evolution hadn’t been very fair to Earth ponies; Pegasi could fly, Unicorns could bend reality to their will, and what did they have? Besides being better at manual labour, that is.

“Perfect temperature,” he said softly to himself, putting the cup down on an armrest.

Tickles stared at Cinnamon blankly.

“Are you a wizard,” she asked.

“Nah, Miss,” Twist replied. “I’m just a regular old unicorn whose grandmother taught him how to calmly drink tea in a blazing hurry. Now, Comrades, we probably should get going, unless we want General Zulu to come after us himself and join our little expanding guest club in here.”

Tickles clopped her hooves together, and her little wings beat the air in excitement.

“Ooh! Another visitor?” she asked.

“Do you remember the fat Zebra, Tickles?” Squeezie said, glancing at his sister. “The guy in the big, pink coat at the Winter’s End Party a few months ago.”

“You don’t mean…?” Tickles gasped.

“Yeah,” he continued. “The guy who tried your banana and popcorn cake.”

Tickles sighed loudly, and buried her face in her hooves. Twist shot Squeezie a curious glance.

“Best leave that one in the past,” he whispered.

Next Chapter: Chapter 1, Part 2: Soviet Tears Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour