Tarhen, Legion FOB

Rainbow Dash walks into the battle-group's operations room, her arms swinging and whistling a jaunty tune. The rattle of teleprinters greets her, along with the low thrum of voices. The battle-group has occupied one of the larger offices in the administration block, and converted it into a temporary operations planning room. A bank of radios has been set up in one corner, and thick cables have been run out of the doorway. A teleprinter is churning merrily away in one corner, and a map table has been set up in the middle of the room, with a street map of Tarhen spread out on the table. Soldiers are coming and going, whilst others are manning the radios, and Adrelana and Belial are standing over the map table and muttering. Eyes snap to her as she walks through the room and widen in astonishment. Conversations cease as the legionnaires in the ops room stare in awe.

Belial's eyes snap upward at the sudden silence, intending to berate whoever is whistling in his command centre, but then he claps eyes on sergent Dash and he blinks in shock. Dash can see the astonishment writ large upon his face. Twenty five strokes would be enough to kill a lesser man, certainly she shouldn't be on her feet for at least a day or three, and she tries to hide a smirk.

“Sergent Bolt. You should be resting.” Adrelana looks up at the sound of the whistling as well, but unlike Belial, his expression is one of pleasant surprise at the sight of Dash.

“I’ve already had my morning back rub and facial sir,” Dash replies. “I've been told to report here.”

“Who by?” Adrelana asks, tilting his head. “I certainly wasn't expecting you to be combat effective for at least a week.” He runs a hand through his black hair.

“That would be me.” Princess Twilight’s voice is soft and musical as she walks into the room, and Dash whirls as Twilight walks in. At once, everyone in the room is on their feet and snapping briskly to attention, their hands coming up into salutes, but Twilight waves them back down, her silk-gloved hand gesticulating swiftly. Diplomatic Incident is following at her heels, Adrelana and Belial both cast nervous looks at each other.

“Princess...” Belial says. “With the greatest of respect... this is a military command centre. Adrelana and I can attend to matters here.” So take your royal butt out of our business remains unsaid.

“I'm sure you can,” Twilight's voice is soft and genial, but then it hardens slightly. “But there's been a series of developments of which I think you should be aware.” As Dash watches, Twilight walks over to the map table and she snaps her fingers. At once, three things appear on the map table in a blinding flash of light: a manilla wallet stuffed with photographs, a Khan revolving-cylinder rifle, and a series of documents.

“There has been an attack on Equestria by insurgent forces that appear to be Khanate armed and equipped.” Twilight's words snap the room to absolute silence, and Dash feels her mouth drop open. She can almost hear the declaration of war hanging on the tip of Twilight’s tongue, but instead Twilight narrows her eyes.

“Shah Khalid's government has refused to investigate the matter, citing that all Khanate troops were in their bases at the time, and that the people doing the attacking were humans rather than Khans. Thus, in the view of the Khanate, these are Equestrian dissidents, nothing more.” Twilight narrows her eyes contemptuously.

“It is my belief, and the belief of the Crown, that this is not the case. My personal view is that this is a faction or group within the Khanate, either religious or political, that is trying to provoke a war, for reasons unknown. The issue we have is that I can't prove that's what's going on. This is where the Ninth Compagnie will be coming in handy.” Twilight takes a deep breath and then scoops up the gun. As she speaks, her words are starting to take on a harder, more frustrated edge. “This rifle was used in one of the attacks. As you see, it has markings from a Khanate state arsenal. Imperial Intelligence has identified the arsenal, Ashad-Mar State Arsenal. The issue stamp tells us the weapon has been issued in the past week or so.

“The Ninth Compagnie is going to be going to the arsenal and recovering the issue logs.”

Twilight’s words strike the room dumb with shock. Adrelana’s eyes widen and Belial’s mouth drops open. Other officers and even enlisted men who have abandoned any pretense at not listening in are wide eyed and shocked by Twilight’s sudden pronouncement.

Dash winces slightly, sucking her breath through her teeth. This is not the first time she’s run into a Twilight Plan and so she’s able to shuck off the stunned astonishment much quicker than anyone else. “A point.” She raises her fingers for attention. She manages to hide the tremor of fear in her voice as she feels the sudden, crushing weight of every eye in the room upon her. When Twilight nods her head, Dash swallows and leans over the map, tapping her finger on the large boxy complex, easily four times the size of their own compound. “That's one of the largest army bases in the capital. It's the site of their main officer training academy, similar to Sandhoofst or Raneigh.”

“A quick point,” Belial interjects, recovering from his own stupefaction. “We’re all assuming these records still exist.” Diplomatic Incident chuckles.

“Armourers, in my experience, are much like librarians,” he comments. “They keep records of absolutely everything, and cannot abide one bullet or screw going awry.” Twilight’s cheeks suddenly burn a gentle crimson and Dash has to fight to keep a straight face for a moment. “I have absolutely no doubt that records exist, somewhere or other. It'll be a simple matter of finding who signed for those guns and going from there.”

“Assuming he used his real name,” Adrelana adds, his own tone thoughtful rather than questioning. A flicker of light dances between Diplomatic Incident’s fingers as he lights his pipe, his expression thoughtful.

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Diplomatic Incident’s tone is grim. “I'd say with a weapon consignment large enough to arm a band this size, we're talking a consignee of staff rank at the very least. I'd have to assume they'd also have to be known to the armourer in question, or else they'd have to bring paperwork from a superior who would be known to the armourer.

“So, Bolt,” Diplomatic Incident puffs thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment before continuing, ignoring Belial’s filthy stare, “we're going to be using your team to make the recovery. You're going to be entering the military base, and uncovering the armoury logs. You're then to bring them back to the base with you. Any questions?” Diplomatic Incident asks, and Dash nods, but before she can ask her question, one of the staff officers gestures to Diplomatic Incident.

“If I may,” the officer turns to Twilight, who nods assent. He then turns to Diplomatic Incident.

“So you’re planning on sending an under-strength compagnie into the main officer training camp of a nation we’re on the brink of war with, without permission or authorization from the host government… I mean-” He looks up and down the table for support, and other legionnaires are nodding assent. “With all due respect to sergent Bolt, she commands an understrength compagnie. Admittedly, they’re a specialist compagnie with the right training for this sort of task, but they’re still only thirteen soldiers. They’re not right for the job, and if this fails, it will completely derail the diplomatic situation.”

Dash’s expression turns ugly for a moment, but she can’t refute his logic. Twilight’s expression is somewhat less forgiving however.

“I don’t actually think I heard a question in there, but I’ll humour you.” Twilight’s eyes are flinty as she fixes her gaze upon the unfortunate officer. “In short, I have absolute confidence in Bolt and her men. If I wanted to go in there all guns blazing, then I would be calling upon Belial or Adrelana to assault the place. If I wanted to assert my presence, I would be using my walkers and my own not insubstantial power to break the place open like an egg. However these options would most assuredly start the war we are trying to avoid. I admit that this option will be risky, but it represents an outcome with the highest chance to achieve our objective. It’s a clandestine operation aiming to achieve with stealth what cannot be achieved through naked force. A reconnaissance unit, whilst hardly being Eclipse operatives or a Night Guard Brandenburg unit, would be better fitted for the task than a company of the line,” Twilight explains, and Dash flicks a glance around the table. Many of the gathered officers look distinctly uneasy still, but Twilight has quelled quite a few of their objections. Twilight then sweeps the table with another quelling look.

“I’m very well aware that this has potential to destabilize the diplomatic situation… that this has the potential to start the war I’m trying to avoid but… we owe it to our citizens to get justice. If someone decides they want to start sending raiding parties across the border and we do not try and do what we can to protect our people, if we do not avenge them, what business do we have being paid by the taxpayers?” Twilight fixes each of the officers with a gaze and one by one, they lower their eyes. Nodding, Twilight turns to Dash.

“Questions?” Twilight asks, and Dash hesitates before answering. She can see several problems, both major and minor with this whole thing, but those problems pale in comparison to the issue that Dash can see with Twilight herself. There’s an edge to Twilight, something hard and cold lingering just beneath the surface. Dash would have never imagined Twilight would be capable of acting like this less than a month ago. On the one hand, it’s impressive to watch the cute, nervous little librarian of two years ago slapping down military officers as if she’s been born with a general’s stars on her shoulders. On the other, it’s tragic, seeing the cute, nervous little librarian of two years ago so candidly discuss breaking into bases and starting wars that will kill thousands of people.

“Do you have any questions, sergent?” Twilight’s voice snaps Dash back to the present and Dash blinks sharply, realizing she’s been silent for too long, and that the matters on her mind can’t really be discussed in public.

“Several. Firstly, what kind of timeline do I have for this?”

“Soon as possible is preferred, but if you can present a credible reason to wait, then that works for me. You're in charge of your own timings and ops plans. Adrelana, you're to provide Bolt with all that she needs to make it happen, but the priority is that this remain covert. Naturally, the crown will be most... displeased, if it emerges that Equestrian soldiers have been breaking into a Khan armoury.”

“You're sure you want to trust this to Bolt?” Belial growls. “She's not stea-”

The basilisk stare that Twilight turns upon him snaps the Khan's mouth shut mid sentence.

“That reminds me,” Twilight says suddenly. “No more floggings, not of compagnie commanders, not of anyone.”

“Princess-” Adrelana says quickly, holding up his hand, but Twilight's eyes are suddenly hard as stone.

“Capitaine Adrelana, how long do troops who have been flogged remain combat ineffective?” Twilight asks, and Adrelana tilts his head.

“Humans remain combat ineffective for approximately a week to two weeks recovering from the injuries sustained, but they're fit for li-”

“Not acceptable, Capitaine. I don't care what you come up with to replace it, but no maiming of my soldiers. A man who has been fined two weeks' pay can still hold a weapon, a man who has been flogged cannot. We have just over three hundred men here, in the middle of an occasionally hostile city of several million inhabitants. If the situation escalates and we need to stage an evacuation, we're going to need every single person on a weapon. Every man that we have to carry out of the sick-bay is a liability.”

Belial cuts in, “But, your highness, sergent Bolt was flogged.” Dash cuts a nervous glance to Diplomatic Incident, whose moustache is bristling at the interruption. “She's up and about. Maybe Equestrians-”

“Capitaine Belial,” Twilight's voice is harder still, if that were possible. “Sergent Bolt is up and about because, knowing that I needed her to be up and about, I went down and healed her injuries. I have more important things to be doing than putting NCOs that have incurred your displeasure back together.” Twilight looks from Belial to Adrelana, her arms folded and a faint frown upon her face. Dash tries her very best not to notice how Twilight folding her arms like that does pleasant things to her décolletage. She does notice how Twilight, in the week or so since she's seen her, seems to have grown slightly taller and her gaze has grown slightly sharper. Adrelana nods quickly, as if aware how thin the ice they’re treading on has suddenly become.

“Yes, Majesty,” he responds sharply, swiftly kicking Belial before the other male can respond. “Do you have any further directives for us?” he asks. Twilight shakes her head.

“I don't think I'll need to be taking a ride up to the citadel for the next few days. The following is for your planning information only and it's not for general dissemination to the ranks. The Shah and I have nothing further to say to one another. We've both agreed in principle to an agreement and he's in the process of getting his government to agree. I don't want my presence in the palace to queer the deal for him.”

The two officers glance at each other, the unspoken question, ‘that's nice, but what does that have to do with us?’ hanging in the air. Twilight drums her fingers upon the table.

“We're going to announce the agreement and formally sign it on Revolution Day. This is where you come in. As part of the Revolution Day festivities, there's a parade of soldiers. The suggestion has been made that the Legion take part...” Belial and Adrelana look at each other nervously and Twilight tilts her head. “If it's no go, then I'll tell the Shah and we'll knock it on the head.”

“It's doable,” Belial says after a moment. “Though the only unit that brought their formal full dress is the Ninth... if we're to be doing parades, then formal dress uniforms will need to be sent for the other troops, but that's easily accomplished.”

Twilight's smile broadens, but then she taps her fingers on the map. “Well gentlemen, that takes care of what I want from you, what can I do for you?” Twilight asks, and Adrelana clicks his tongue softly.

“Ma'am... forgive me if I seem impertinent but we have been dealing with protestors at the front gate since we arrived. They're mostly an annoyance, but I've got quite a few cases of walking wounded. I'm also concerned that it might be a good way to get a-”

A sudden low pitched whine splits the air and Dash is up and moving even as Belial and Adrelana are suddenly grabbing for their pith helmets whilst Diplomatic Incident is yelling “DOWN DOWN DOWN!”

Dash leaps across the table, maps and pens strewn in her wake, grabbing Twilight and shoving her bodily to the ground, protecting the Princess with her own body as the whine rises to a shriek. The howl of the incoming round seems to suck the air out of her lungs, those few heartbeats seeming to last for lifetimes.

It slams down into the compound with an earth-shaking thump and the building imperceptibly shivers as the blast wave smacks into it.Through the ringing in her ears and the shaking of the ground, Dash shivers as she hears the grinding crash of falling masonry and the soft musical clatter of falling glass.

“Get off me!” Twilight protests, struggling beneath Dash, but in spite of Twilight's greater height, Dash is still stronger and she uses that muscle mass to push Twilight to the ground as a second blast crashes outside, the thunderclap of the blast setting Dash's heart to pounding with fear, but also with relief. Thank God it didn't get me, a thought immediately followed by guilt and worry, wondering who it did get.

“Wait,” Dash hisses in her ear, trying to ignore the way her hand is on Twilight's shoulder and her other hand is on Twilight's hip. A third mortar comes shrieking in and thumps down outside the walls, which shiver once more beneath the hammerblow of the blast wave. Masonry rattles off the walls like sleet, and Twilight pushes again, wrestling against Dash.

“Get off me!” Twilight protests again.

“No!” Dash shouts, having to shout to make herself heard over the ringing in her ears. “If I let you get killed, I'll never hear the end of it!”

“But I can't-” Twilight's words are lost in another whine and crash as a fourth mortar comes wailing down to erupt outside the compound, if the dull crump is anything to go by.

“Damnit, Twi, listen to me!” Dash grunts as she wrestles the shaking princess, holding her down. “You're not going to do anything if you get killed! I'm not going to let you die here!”

Twilight sags beneath Rainbow Dash, panting hard and shaking, the fight going out of her. She gasps for breath beneath Dash, her breathing rapid and shaky, her shoulders heaving as she trembles, quivering with adrenaline and fear. Dash gazes down at the shaking Twilight, tanned skin suddenly pale, and then her hand reaches up to Twilight's neck in the soft, comforting gesture that she knows Twilight likes. The gesture is known to relieve tension among the magic-using population of Equestria. Twilight had once tried to explain it, but with limited success.

Twilight's breath hisses out of her in a shaky sigh, and the tension slowly flows out of her body as the mortar bombardment continues, each shrill wail followed by a deep crump making her jerk, but other than that, the Princess remains limp beneath Dash, for which the other woman is intensely grateful.

After no more shells come down for thirty long, tortuous seconds, Dash picks herself up from atop her liege-lady and gropes around for her helmet, which she'd been unable to put on in the general dive for Princess Twilight, shoving it onto her head and pulling the chin-strap down over her chin.

“Come on Twi, we need to get moving right now, onto the ground floor, or somewhere else.”
Anywhere else but here, a small voice in the back of her brain shouts, but Twilight is already getting up onto her feet and dusting herself off. Dash is dimly aware of Belial and Adrelana giving orders, but they seem to fade into the background as she stares at Twilight.

The fourth most powerful sorceress in the entire world is brushing her knees off and shaking out her skirts, stretching out her wings and breathing heavily, her eyes sparkling and her face flushed with adrenaline. Her eyes are wide and her pupils are dilated.

“Holy crap... holy crap...” Twilight repeats over and over again, as if surprised that she's even survived that. Dash can't blame her in the slightest. Mortars are among the least pleasant weapons to be underneath. They're also so dreadfully impersonal, as if some god is just idly gesticulating off-hand with his finger: fuck everyone standing over there somewhere.

As if to underscore that, a sound reaches Dash's ears, a sound almost unlike any that she's ever heard before. A shrill, unearthly wailing sound of absolute agony. Voices shrieking out in pain, both human and Khan, ululating and unpleasant, the shrill sounds prick up the skin along Dash's arm. She looks up to Twilight to urge her to take safety, preferably in a basement somewhere, only to see the princess already turning her back and heading for the door, moving surprisingly swiftly for a woman in long skirts.

“Um, Twi?” Dash immediately steps in behind her, snatching her rifle from the rifle rack by the door, identifying it with barely a look. “Where are we going?” she asks, but the Princess doesn't answer, just clatters onward down the stairs, her pace quickening.

She steps out onto the parade square, Dash following her. The moment Dash steps out onto the landing field however, Dash almost stops in her tracks. The stanchion where she'd been getting flogged a few hours ago is gone, replaced by an ugly crater. Smoke drifts from one of the fabrication halls, and plumes of grey dust billow up from several impact craters scattered across the parade square. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see other Legionnaires sprinting, some carrying stretchers. One of Doctor Mayotte's orderlies is also sprinting across the landing square.

Dash's heart goes cold as she notices the thicker plume of smoke drifting from the gate, and a strange sickly sweet stench clings to her nostrils, along with the sharp acrid burn of smoke. However Twilight is moving now, breaking into a run across the gravelly, blasted landing field and Dash runs with her, intent on catching the girl, but Twilight moves surprisingly quickly.

“Twilight, Stop!” Dash snaps, but Twilight keeps moving.

No, stop, you don't need to see this. Dash implores the princess as she steps through the layers of smoke and dust billowing around the blast. As they draw closer, Dash can make out individual screams of pain through the general tumult, and then they're at the gate and pushing through.

Shapes become visible in the dissipating smoke. Two legionnaires dash past carrying a third bloodied figure between them, a stump where his right leg used to be. Other legionnaires are lying on the ground, moaning and clutching shrapnel wounds, or ruined limbs or burnt flesh or abbreviated limbs, obscenely white bones protruding from the stumps. The Khans caught in the blast are worse off. Protesters, mostly from out of town; they appear to be young and well dressed. Now their flowing skirts and gleaming robes are ripped into tatters, and fur has been seared from flesh as they roll on the ground, fragments of shrapnel protruding from their skin. Skin hangs limply from muscles, flayed away by the force of the blast.

Other bodies are just lying there, scattered here and there across the ruined street, some of which are barely even identifiable as having been sentient beings. Piles of organic matter, identifiable only by a scrap of uniform or a bead of jewellery here or there. One Khan looks untouched, until someone rolls him over onto his back and a seven inch long fragment of metal protrudes from between his ribs.

Dash's mouth is dry and her hands are starting to shake as she runs up to Twilight, who is standing there, staring in awestruck horror.

“You don't need to see this,” Dash whispers, placing her hands on Twilight's shoulders, intending to steer her back inside the outpost, but then Twilight steps forward, shaking Dash's hands off with barely a muttered word, and then she plunges forward into the carnage, walking right up to Doctor Mayotte's orderly and muttering something. Mayotte's orderly blinks.

“You're a qualified nurse?” His incredulous comment is loud enough for Dash to hear, but before she can drag Twilight away, a voice snatches at Dash's concentration.

“Sergent, what do we do?” The voice sounds young and Dash whirls to see a legionnaire taller than she is, but still impossibly young-looking for that, his shaven head doing little to disguise the softness of his cheeks. His skin is blast blackened and his eyebrows are missing.

Why the fuck are you asking me... shitshitshit, what do I do? A moment of blind panic surges through Dash as she fights down the urge to look for a senior rank, but then she narrows her eye and straightens her spine.

“Where's your caporal?” Dash snaps, and the legionnaire shrugs, his voice rising several octaves.

“He's been carried inside, he looked pretty bad, there was a bit of-” His voice is starting to rise in pure panic and Dash quickly looks him down, assessing him for injuries. Finding none, and seeing he's still holding his rifle, she narrows her eyes and then shakes his shoulder hard.

“Shithead, don't you remember your pre-deployment training? Pull security for the doctors to get everyone inside, then we'll go from there,” she barks, unslinging her own marskman's rifle and wishing that she had a cavalry carbine for shit like this.

“Sergent, what-” Another questioning voice, this time from a caporal who looks like he's got quite a bit of experience, and Dash clicks her tongue, looking around to see soldiers getting carried back inside, but no one appears to be watching the perimeter, or covering the approaching crowd of Khans. Dash nods quickly.

“Get your section set up around the area. I want you guys to set up a line across the street. No one crosses that line whilst we're working. Once we've got everyone inside, we'll collapse the bag inside the gates on my whistle.” The caporal nods quickly and starts barking orders to his section.

Dash winces as she watches the section lining up, facing the rapidly advancing crowd. Ten legionnaires are not going to be enough to block the street, and that's only from one side. As Dash turns, she can see another crowd coming from the other direction and she draws breath: “Runner!” she shouts, already cursing her inattentiveness as she turns to face the crowd, stepping forward.

A clatter of footsteps next to her. “You called, sergent?” A voice, sounding very young in her ear, but Dash has no eyes for the owner of the voice.

“Get me more guys. I want another two sections at the very least right now,” she shouts, stepping toward the onrushing crowd.

“Yes, sergent!” the runner snaps and then bolts away, leaving Dash to confront the approaching group of Khans. There are at least thirty of them, and though Dash can't see any weapons, she's not in any mood to take chances.

Dash unfurls her wings and lifts her hand to stop the crowd, knowing even as she does so, that it's futile. If the crowd really wants to push the point, there's going to be very little she can do other than shoot into the crowd. Come on... someone get someone else out here! she inwardly despairs, but then she's saved by the welcoming thunder of boots behind her, and the voice of someone giving orders.

“You heard Caporal Moony, get formed up!” the voice snaps. Dash takes her eye off the crowd for just a second to see another caporal, one she recognizes as Caporal Lavelle.

“Sergent!” Lavelle smiles a gap-toothed smile as he falls in next to Dash. “See you've managed to find yourself some trouble... want us along the road keeping these guys back yeah?” Dash nods quickly, keeping her eye upon the crowd to hide her unsurety.

“Yeah, get everyone lined up in position to block the road... I don't want them crossing my perimeter until the casualties are all inside our walls.” Dash turns to Lavelle. “Mind if I leave this in your capables?”

“Sure, sergent, there you go again, giving us the shit jobs.”

“Just some payback,” Dash says with a grin as she backs out of the line, turning to supervise the scene. As much as she'd like to be back with the men, keeping the Khans back and doing something simple, she can't do that right now. She's the ranking person on scene, and until someone with higher rank gets there, she's in command. She’s responsible, which means keeping her options open so that she can deal with anything else that may develop.

“Sergent!” A voice, and Dash turns to see a couple of legionnaires with bloody uniforms trotting up to her. For a moment, Dash considers ordering them back inside with the other wounded, then she notices that neither of them are injured.

“We've got all the wounded inside,” the taller of the two says as she begins to walk toward them, and Dash almost gives in to a surge of relief when she looks around, still seeing moaning Khans scattered here and there.

“Then why am I still seeing wounded cats scattered around my perimeter?” Dash snaps, and the legionnaires look at each other, before the shorter one clears his throat experimentally, as if preparing himself to say something he knows his boss will not want to hear.

“Well, they're locals... they're not our problem, boss,” he says after a moment.

“I wasn't aware it was up to you to decide what 'our problems' are,” Dash responds sharply. “The nearest hospital is miles away -- they'll only be good for the morgue by then.”

“Well-” One of the legionnaires looks like he wants to object further, but then he blinks as Princess Twilight comes walking back out of the compound. The princess is bloody to the elbows and her face is deathly pale, but she still kneels down, her wings spread wide as she rests her hands upon one of the Khans, frowning for a moment and then rolling him onto his back and folding his arms, she then moves to the next Khan and starts groping for a pulse.

“Well, go help her then, you fucking muppets!” Dash barks, propelling one of the legionnaires backward toward Twilight with a meaty shove.

She takes a breath, inhaling the sticky, sickly odour of burnt flesh, and she scowls slightly through her good eye, taking another look around to see if any officers have arrived on the scene yet. Seeing a lieutenant coming out, Dash intends to go report to him, but he makes his way over to her.

“Sergent, good work,” he says softly. “Keep the perimeter up and report in if there are any problems.”

Problems, sure, like a grotty bunch of terrorists or whatever the hell else has decided to open up a whole new can of worms. Dash's thoughts are poisonous as she turns back to the scene, intending to get the chaos managed as quickly as she can. Though I suppose this takes care of the protestor problem rather neatly... Interesting definition of neat though. She glances around the splashed bodies lying here and there, at the blood and entrails. How she would have reacted to this two years ago doesn’t even bear thinking about. How Twilight would have reacted two months ago. Now Dash can feel the mask on her face, the hard cold mask that she keeps for moments like this, and that’s just fine. She needs that mask, it’s almost a part of her now.

But to see it on Twilight’s face? To see that ice mask on the face of the cute little nerdlinger she’d teased, fancied, danced with and… well, all the other things. Yeah, it doesn’t sit right with Dash to see Twilight’s face turn to marble like that. It just feels wrong, like a missed step in a dance, or the first slow grinding rotations of the wheels of a train as it starts to plunge down a hill and off a precipice.

Dash sniffs softly for just a moment, reaching back to brush her pith helmet off her head and sweep a grubby, bloody hand through her greasy, dirty hair. She lowers her head, massaging her temples for a second with thumb and trigger finger before she lifts her head, pushes her helmet back into place and turns to look around for the next thing to do.

---

Two hours later, Twilight is scrubbing the blood out from between her fingers in her quarters when Diplomatic Incident comes into the room, his expression grim.

“Ma'am, we haven't been able to localize a launch site for those mortars, they could have been fired from just about anywhere in the city.” Diplomatic Incident is grinding the tobacco in his pipe with rather more vigour than normal. “As such, we don't have anything formal yet to accuse the Khan government of, beyond a failure to provide security...” Twilight nods grimly, her mouth curled into a thin, dispirited line.

“There's no point.” Twilight's voice is more weary than anything else. “Everyone knows what the position is... this is a provocation, I can't respond.” Her eyes are distant, the fire in them is a dim glow. Her hands are scrubbing at her arms now, trying to get the specks of blood off as her head hangs low.

“Why not?” Diplomatic Incident asks. “You cannot afford to show weakness Twilight. This will be the third time someone has touched Equestria without a reply... That is an intolerable state of affairs.”

Twilight narrows her eyes. “We have three hundred men, no air support, and no heavy weapons. Scratch that, we have two assault walkers, five light mortars, and ten Maxim guns. We also have four skiffs. I trust you're not going to tell me that the way we're going to win this is by lighting the fuse on the war I've been told to keep from happening at almost all costs.” She ticks off the points on her fingers and Diplomatic Incident shakes his head, but the sight of the light in her eyes burning brighter lights a fire in his heart as he watches His Princess engage with the problem. The sight of her starting to slough off the despondent torpor that has hung over her since she got thrown out of the infirmary and ordered to catch some rest by Doctor Mayotte makes his heart leap.

“No, your highness. I am suggesting that you pressure the Shah, though. He has absolutely failed to provide any kind of security for our little get together and that says some fairly damning things about his commitment to the peace process.” Diplomatic Incident's tone is firm, as though he's lecturing an errant student. “Tell him that your government has concerns, quite valid ones I think. Make it sound like you're a hair's breadth from being pulled out. I think everyone's aware we're tiptoeing on a knife's edge, so I'm not sure he's going to want to play brinksmanship.”

“He said as much himself,” Twilight agrees, her mouth curling into a thoughtful frown. “I agree with your opinion though, this isn't a state of affairs I like but...” She holds up her hands in a palms out gesture, but then her eyes narrow slightly and she reaches for her quill, and she holds out her hand. The textbook leaps to her palm almost without thinking. Perception magic, for the eyes of the mind. XVI Ed.

“Give me a few hours with this, Diplomatic Incident. I think I'll have a solution in hand, in the meantime... can we arrange a visit to the Shah? I want to ask him for a favour or three.”

Diplomatic Incident tilts his head, but then he nods, his confusion showing on his face.
“I'm sure we can do that... what exactly do you have in mind?”

Diplomatic Incident considers himself an experienced statesman, yet the chill smile that curls the lips of his protege is enough to send a brief shiver up his spine. For just a second, he wonders precisely what is taking the place of that despondency.

____________________________________

Three hours after the bombing, Dash is still on the front gate, covering the crowd of Khans that have gathered outside. She tugs at the front of her shirt, her eye scanning the crowd critically. What she wouldn't give just now for an elevated position and a couple of Maxim guns... yet the crowd appears to be placid, or at least resentfully compliant. There's the occasional muttered slur and a dirty look once in awhile, but no one appears to have any desire to throw the first stone, yet.

Dash glances at the other legionnaires to her right and left. They're not her Ninth, but they know their business nonetheless. Rifles held across the chest, ready to raise their weapons, scarves pulled up to cover their faces, a faceless wall of khaki and pith helmets. Dash is about to enquire as to the possibility of changing the guard, when the crowd before her starts to ripple as though it's being disturbed by something. Whispers and mutters start to ripple from pillar to post as the crowd starts to shift in direction in response to something Dash can't see. The ranks in front start to move towards Dash in a slow wave...

At once, an icy memory sinks into the pit of Dash's stomach. The sight of that inexorable wave of people crashing upon the thin tan-clad line of soldiers at the embassy and breaking over them, swelling over the soldiers and overwhelming them, ripping them apart. Dash is not going to let the same thing happen again, and she desperately hopes that whoever these soldiers belong to, their sergent has kept them up to speed on drill.

“Platoon will prepare to fix bayonets!” She barks the order out, making sure that her words are projected in front as well as to the right and left. Hopefully that should quell the enthusiasm of the crowd to try anything funny. As one, her borrowed legionnaires reach backward for the bayonets, half-drawing them from their scabbards. “Fix!”

The sharp click of twenty sword bayonets being drawn and fixed rings down the street, but the ones in front are still coming, still being pushed from behind. Dash takes a deep breath.

“En Garde!” Dash barks. Twenty rifles are raised to waist height, bayonets pointed at the regulation twenty five degree upward angle, a glittering forest of spikes waiting to receive the advancing cats. The front khans are starting to back away now, starting to try and slow the forward push of the ones behind, but the ones behind are still pushing, and Dash can hear the fear in their voices now.

Dash suddenly hears the click-click-click of clawed feet on the cobbled streets and she can't help but swear. If these were horses, it would be easy to tell their speed, but with the lizard-mounted cavalry popular with the Khans, it's more difficult to tell, and one of her instructors had imparted a lesson that Dash is now taking very much to heart: If you can't see cavalry but you can hear them, assume you're about to get charged.

Dash has never been involved in a cavalry charge, or had to receive one. 2REP always did its charging and assaulting from airborne skiffs, and on foot, in the mountains where horses and lizard cavalry were more of a hindrance than a help. However there is one lesson she has taken to heart when it did come to cavalry: Prepare to receive a charge before they start moving, because you won't have time once they start the charge.

“Form Ranks! Front rank, kneel!” Dash abandons the formal verbiage of drill commands, knowing that she needs to get her men in position now. Her soldiers, not her soldiers but still legionnaires, with the instinctive adherence to words of command, move to obey, ten soldiers stepping forward and kneeling expectantly, rifles braced on the cobbled street.
“Rear Rank, Head-Parry!” Dash orders, and her men raise their rifles into the positions required, rifles raised to block the sabre swing of the cavalrymen, whilst the front rank keep their rifles raised upward to jab their bayonets into the throats and chests of the incoming khans.

Dash has a few seconds to see elaborately plumed shakos before the crowd parts to reveal grey-clad cossacks in double-breasted tunics carrying shock-lances raised high. Occasionally one of them lowers his shock-lance to swat a citizen too slow to get out of the way, but they rein in their shrieking mounts the moment they see the forest of raised bayonets. Dash can't help but feel her pulse quicken as the cavalrymen shift their lances in their hands.

One of the cavalrymen suddenly pushes forward. Medals and braids drip from his chest in a glittering cascade of gold and ribbon. Dash wishes she was on a rooftop somewhere, or crouched behind a ruined building. This idiot, obviously the leader judging by his immaculately manicured beard and moustache, and the profusion of medals, would be dead before he hit the ground.

“Make way!” he barks, but Dash narrows her eye and the soldiers around her hold fast. “Boy!” the old soldier thunders. “Don't you know how to follow an order! We carry the words of the Shah!”

“Runner!” Dash barks out, and one of the younger legionnaires jumps up from his position at the front rank. “Get Diplomatic Incident here on the double!” she barks, and the runner turns to dash back through the gates, which open just a hair to let him through. Dash looks up toward the cavalry, her mouth curling downward in distaste.

The cavalryman reins his mount forward, lowering his lance to point it at Dash. “So you’re in command? The thug’s legion let boys command now?” he sneers. Dash’s mouth curls beneath her scarf, but she doesn’t allow herself to comment. The cossack leans forward in his saddle, his lance coming forward until it’s inches from Dash’s throat.

Dash can hear the lance thrumming softly, the tip vibrating gently as it prickles the hair up and down Dash’s arms. She keeps her gaze level, her eyes locked upon the commander and his smirk widens.

“Your gaze offends me, gutter trash. I’d put your eye out but you only have one.” He smirks, his voice a low growl, and Dash’s hands burn with the desire to duck underneath his thrust and then ram her bayonet into his throat. “I’ll give you one more warning, muzhik. Get me your NCO, or someone I can speak to, or I will open your throat, and my soldiers will ride down your pathetic little…”

The gate behind them opens with a deep rumbling crunching sound, and the sharp ratcheting back and forth of machine gun charging handles being primed, and then a deep crunch as an armoured gun platform steps forward, the hot stink of burning fuel wafting through the air.

The huge bulk of the assault gun squats like a gigantic beetle, its tan-painted armour pitted and scarred, but its massive cannon extends forward, the huge hundred millimeter muzzle appearing to be big enough to blast the beasts out from beneath them. Two grinning legionnaires are sat in the armoured cupolas, both of them sat behind belt-fed Maxim guns, their fingers poised on the butterfly triggers of their weapons.

Dash can’t help but smile at the cossack as the assault gun slowly steps forward, its six legs beating a slow tattoo upon the ground. The cossack’s features go ashy grey, and Dash reaches up, grabbing the shaft of the spear and pulling it aside, away from her throat as she hears Diplomatic Incident’s voice coming from behind her. “Well, this is a most peculiar situation. Lord-Colonel of Cossacks, explain yourself!” Diplomatic Incident barks, and the cossack lifts his spear, his furious gaze shifting.

“This soldier was refusing to allow us entry into this area. We carry an envoy from the palace, and cannot be held back. This soldier was attempting to offer us force of violence, inside the Khanate.”

Diplomatic Incident tilts his head, and then he jerks his head at the crater just behind the colonel of cossacks. His eyes are calm but there’s a faint note of mocking to them that makes the Cossack’s ears turn a deep red.

“Now, you said you brought an envoy from the Khanate?” Diplomatic Incident says after a second, and the cossack nods.

“I do, but I’d like to bring our guests inside, into the perimeter… would this be acceptable?” the Cossack asks, his tone noticeably less abrasive. Diplomatic Incident pauses for a moment before he turns his head to glance over his shoulder.

“Would that be acceptable, Princess?” he asks, and Dash suddenly feels a tremor behind her, and she forces her head to remain level as a figure glides past the lines of soldiers, into her field of view.

Princess Twilight is a mess. Her hands are clean, mostly, but she’s still wearing a blood-spattered apron over her dress, and her dress is bloodstained. Flecks of blood freckle her face, and her eyes are agate hard, her wings half spread as she steps up.

“That would be acceptable,” she agrees after a second, and Dash isn’t quite sure what’s going on behind those rose-coloured eyes. All that is clear is that Princess Twilight is absolutely furious, as she watches the mounted cossacks come inside, followed by a covered carriage. The cossacks bring the carriage inside the perimeter, several of them dismounting, and handing their mounts to their fellows. They then move over to the carriage and form two lines on either side of the carriage’s only door.

What the fuck is this? Dash asks herself, but she’s not kept wondering for long, as the door to the carriage opens and a white Khan with black stripes comes climbing out of the carriage.
Holy shit, it’s the Shah.

______________________________________________

Twilight looks at the delegation of Khans once they’ve been brought inside the perimeter. As they climb out of the carriage that has brought them to her compound, Twilight is suddenly struck by how small they appear, quite how dishevelled and unkempt they look, like this has caught them all on the hop. Hassan Zafwan is still dressed in a civilian suit and the Shah is dressed in a simple unremarkable set of grey and black robes. His whiskers are drooping and his lips are drawn back into a snarl as his eyes sweep the compound, taking in the rows of Khans and Equestrians lying side by side outside the workshop that has been converted into an aid station, the walking wounded bringing water to the ones who cannot move with an awning stretched over the rows to try and keep the setting sun off of them.

She knows she should be welcoming and warm, friendly and pleasant, but her whole body feels worn out and empty, drained of energy. She can’t quite find the energy to care about what she’s about to say, the energy having been drained from her as she’d applied pressure to another arterial bleed, the energy having been sucked out of her as she’d stepped out of the aid station to tell another distraught Khan mother that her child had just lost his battle with the fragment of steel that had shredded his belly and ribcage. The Khan had folded in on herself and then tilted her head back in another shrill ululating howl of grief and rage, then Twilight had turned around and walked back into the aid station to do it all again.

She watches the Shah’s eyes take in the two dozen crimson speckled white shrouds resting just in one corner. Adrelana and Belial had wanted them put in a building, or out of sight, but Diplomatic Incident had made the case for the subtle emotional blackmail that those shrouds would represent. The Equestrian bodies, or what is left of them are already boxed up and sat in one of the disused warehouses, so that they won’t go off in the sun, and more stakes and helmets will be joining the Ninth Compagnie stakes tonight. The Shah is exhaling hard as he walks up to Twilight, his hands shaking with something. Perhaps it’s fear, perhaps it’s anger. Anger at who though…

Hassan Zafwan grunts as the cossack standing behind him gives him a sharp shove to keep him moving with the Shah. Twilight blinks in shocked surprise, wondering what the hell that’s about, but she has a feeling she won’t be wondering for much longer.

“I would be lying if I said this meeting was under ideal circumstances,” the Shah says after a moment. “I know that anything I do or say is going to appear… trite, hollow.”

Zafwan narrows his eyes slightly, and he draws his breath. “In the Scriptures, we must confront the Archdaemon, and there will always be an amount of collateral-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Twilight’s thinly sheet of calm fragments as though he’s struck it with a sledgehammer. “You can talk to me about Archdaemons and all that rot until the cows come home. But you do not write your OWN people off as collateral damage!” Zafwan bristles, turning to the Shah for support.

“I cannot protect the enemies of the State; I cannot protect the enemies of the Divinity, milord, I just can’t!” Zafwan’s voice quavers with simulated terror, and he looks like he’s about to cry. His tone is just an inch from petulant whining.

The Shah grabs Zafwan’s suit jacket by the shoulders and whirls him around, propelling him forward with a hard shove toward the bodies. “Zafwan, you shit!” the Shah snaps. “Son of Malik-Hussein-Zafwan, bringer of shame upon his name. They are your people. You swore an oath, an oath before me and before the Divinity to protect them!” he roars, his voice almost shaking the compound as he gives full vent to his fury. His fur is standing on end, his tail lashing back and forth like a battle standard. His ears are laid back, and Twilight, in her exhausted torpor, is almost stunned by the power of a Khan giving full vent to his feelings as the Shah bounds forward to grab Zafwan, spinning him round until they’re almost nose to nose. Huge curving blades of flawless ivory are on display, dozens of sharp teeth inches from Zafwan’s nose. The chief of police quails before those great ivory scimitars, turning his head away from the hot stinking breath lashing his face.

“I am the Defender of the Faith. I would not accept bullshit like that from Ordained clerics - what makes you think I will tolerate it coming from you?!” the Shah thunders, and suddenly Twilight sees a flash of the revolutionary that had united a nation, the awe inspiring force of nature that is the Shah giving full voice to his rage. “These people are yours. Your failure to protect them speaks volumes, Hassan Zafwan! I’m not sure I want you as the head of my police force anymore.”

“But… I have been true to you, my lord, and to my conscience!” Hassan Zafwan yowls, his face screwed up against the onslaught.

“Your conscience?” The Shah draws back one meaty paw, and for a horrifying second, Twilight thinks that the Shah is about to slash his subordinate with his claws, but then the Shah shoves Zafwan backward again. “Your conscience did this. You, you are among the worst of people!”

Zafwan’s back hunches, his fur bristling as his ears fold back, and he bares his teeth. The Shah’s answering roar of challenge could almost shake the walls. Twilight can’t help but jump a little as the sudden hammerblow of sound pounds the air in front of her.

“Finally got your claws out have you, betrayer of brothers?” The Shah’s voice drops almost to a purr as his claws extend, wicked sickles of shining bone. “Come on then, I would positively welcome it. Come at me with your handful of kinjal. You have the courage to kill for your convictions, let’s see if you have the fortitude to die for them, too, if you can wash away the dishonour of your inaction with your blood. Let’s see if you can live up to your name, Zafwan, descendant of Samak-E-Ayyar!”

Zafwan stares at the Shah, his eyes widening as he stares at his ruler, suddenly seeing his death in the Shah’s hard eyes. His cheeks quiver for a second and his eyes close intently. His shoulders lift, and he inhales a deep breath, which he then exhales. Then his lips close and he lifts his head, exposing his neck in a gesture of submission. The Shah hisses, his claws retracting. He nods, as though an expectation is being confirmed.

Twilight, watching in stunned amazement, has never seen anything like it. The Shah lifts his head, turning to Twilight. A grimace of disgust curls his lips. “Welcome to my world, Princess,” he says grimly, brushing his hands together as though trying to cleanse some kind of dirt off of them. “Anyway…” He takes a deep breath, looking at Twilight. “Would it help if I…” He falls silent after a second, the anger of just a moment vanishing almost instantaneously. “No, no it wouldn’t. You’ve taken casualties now, and my security forces are doing almost nothing to help you. This is the second attack during your short time in my country…”

“Third, and that’s counting only in your capital city,” Twilight says, summoning her voice with an effort of will. “If we’re including all the times I’ve been shot at, attacked, or someone has attempted to kill me inside the borders of your country, that goes up to five. Two of them I’m prepared to excuse, one because the people involved were bandits, the other because they may not have been aiming at this compound. I’ve had my aide arrested by representatives of your government. Villages have been raided by people claiming to be representatives of your government. My people have been shot at, I’ve had people killed in the name of your regime. Five legionnaires are now dead… ten more are seriously injured, just referring to today’s events.” Twilight fixes the Shah with a steady look, her tone as level as a prosecutor. “These are just my legionnaires, to say nothing of your own people which are not, strictly speaking, my responsibility or my problem.” Twilight folds her arms under her breasts, her mouth fixed into a hard line, trying to act like a diplomat and not the livid woman underneath. “The bottom line, Shah Khalid, is that Celestia’s patience with your government has reached its finite limit. I am instructed to break off negotiations with your government forthwith and return home.” Twilight says, her tone flat and emotionless, pitching the delivery just right.

The Shah, to his credit, merely nods slowly, drawing his shoulders back and stiffening his spine.
“I see,” he says, his voice wavering just slightly.

Twilight then fixes him with a look. “Those are my instructions from my government… however, I would like to know something from you, if I may?”

“You have only to ask...” the Shah says, a little nonplussed, as Hassan Zafwan’s gaze snaps to Twilight, shocked to hear the Shah’s conceding tone.

“How absolute is your control of your news media?” Twilight asks. “You see, the Equestrian Broadcasting Corporation mobile correspondent got shot a few days back and so the only journalists in the city are yours and the United Federation’s.”

“My control is absolute, Your Highness. The Synod of Censors and the Ministry of Truth are both firmly in my camp.” The Shah’s eyes are speculative. “You want to control the spread of information… why?” he asks, and Twilight clicks her tongue.

“I’m flouting the boundaries of a technicality here, Shah. Princess Celestia’s patience with you may have run out, and if not, just... but… I know how destructive a war here will be. Princess Luna may be the military face of the nation, but some of the components and compounds for her war machines and shells are fabricated in university laboratories which I run, and receive reports from.” Twilight looks up at the Shah, her eyes calm.

“I can’t prove that attack was directed at me. I can’t prove it wasn’t aimed from inside the city. I don’t have something I’d feel comfortable hanging my hat on if I want to start a war. Bottom line, you’re now paying reparations. I want additional security around this compound, provided by Admiral Neydin.”

Hassan Zafwan’s mouth drops open. Out tumbles, “We can’t commit troops to protect the unholy; we have a duty to the souls of our men.”

“Or I can click my fingers right now and be back in Canterlot in a fraction of a second.” Twilight raises her fingers, her tone steely as a lavendar spark dances between her fingers. The lie rolls convincingly off her tongue as thumb and middle finger come together. “Five minutes after I return, a telegram will be sent to the Khan embassy, notifying them that a state of war exists between Equestria and the Khanate. The telegrams have already been written, the orders have already been prepared. Five minutes after that, the guns will start firing. Events will take on their own momentum, and stuffing this particular djinn back into his bottle might prove more challenging than any of us can comprehend.” Twilight’s gaze then sweeps the yard, taking in the dead bodies and the shattered corpses. “At this point, I literally do not care any more.”

The Shah blinks in surprise and Zafwan’s mouth drops open in horror, and Twilight offers them both a flat hard stare, her fist clenching and unclenching. “Those are my terms, take them or leave them.”

“I… well, yes, those terms sound reasonable. I will get some marines posted here as soon as possible, and of course I shall offer a sum of reparations, five hundred thousand Equestrian bits, in reparations,” the Shah says hastily, and then he turns to Zafwan. “Consider yourself dismissed from my service. I shall be appointing a replacement in due course.” The Shah grates. “You’ve proven yourself singularly unfit. I was willing to excuse a little hostility from your men, but your abject failure to do your fucking job very nearly dropped the continent into a war today.”

“It still might,” Twilight says. “The Red Valorossiyan ambassador was over for tea and cakes with my attache. She’s asked me to convey her supreme irritation to you. Her words, not mine. She’s back in her embassy now.”

The Shah blinks in surprise, and then he nods slowly, his expression darkening. “Well… that’s a turn for the books,” he says. His whiskers flick, and then he shrugs quietly. “Still, on balance, I’d rather have her than you angry with me… Anyway, that’s none of your business, so I think we’ve discussed everything. Those marines will be here by tomorrow.”

Twilight nods slowly, a faint smile spreading across her face, a feeling of relief coiling through her chest. War has been averted once more, maybe for the last time. “One more thing, though,” Twilight adds. “You don’t need me to tell you that my patience, whilst slightly more elastic than Celestia’s, has its limits. If I get the sense that I’m being misled or dealt with dishonestly…” She trails off, her point clear.

The Shah nods in understanding, knowing it would perhaps be unpolitik to protest about the suggestion offered. “Ah. One final point,” Twilight adds. “One minor imposition if I may. That cossack, who menaced my soldier… I don’t want to see him anymore.”

“But he’s the head of my guard? He’s served me loyally for years.”

“He nearly started a war. If he’d stuck my trooper with that lance…”

“Good point. Oh, one thing Princess.” The Shah pauses for a second, weighing up his words.
“What about the mortar site? We will put up a watch if you wish.”

“No need, I’ll take care of it,” Twilight replies. “I think, if they try again, they’ll get an idea of precisely why it’s a bad idea to start throwing stones at people's’ houses… I’d like to use magic though, if you don’t mind.”

“Given what you could have asked for today… I think we can accede to that,” the Shah agrees, as another sour look passes across Hassan Zafwan’s face.

______________

“And so there you have it,” Zafwan growls as he takes a slug of his whiskey, before handing out his glass to Aznan, who calmly refills it. “I’m sorry, old friend, I did what I could.”

“You performed your role too well, you have nothing to feel ashamed about.” General Aznan smiles faintly, sipping his own whiskey as he leans back in his favourite arm-chair in front of the fire, his gaze lingering on the flames.

“If anything, this works for us.” Aznan’s eyes glitter in the dancing firelight. “You’re a pious being, you have loyally served your Shah for years, and now you’re being ejected due to disagreeing with him on matters of faith. You care about the souls of your men.” The old general is thoughtful as he turns to face Zafwan.

“You’re being kicked out for refusing to toe the party line so to speak. For refusing to agree with the Shah and putting your faith before your position… if we view the situation through those terms… anyone the Shah replaces you with will still be feeling his way into the role for the foreseeable future, and you’re still reasonably popular, so your successor will have to work against that.” Aznan smiles faintly, his lips drawing back to reveal his teeth. He licks his lips faintly and puts his whiskey glass down. “No. We can use this.”

“We?” Zafwan tilts his head.

“Of course ‘we’, you thought I was going to get rid of you because you’re not useful to me now, did you? What do you think this is, a bad stage play?”

Zafwan chuckles briefly, reaching for one of the sandwiches on the plate. “So what’re you planning to do with your newfound free time?” Aznan asks, and Zafwan shrugs.

“I thought I’d visit the United Federation, maybe see the beaches before I meet with some of our friends. I’ll be sure to give Mr. Caine your regards.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 17: The Crushing Gaze of Heaven Estimated time remaining: 60 Minutes