“Ideals are peaceful.”

He told me that before I could possibly have known what he meant.

My father, I mean.

“Ideals are peaceful; History is violent,” is what he’d said when I was old enough to ask about the war against the griffons. I’d been confused, but he hadn’t elaborated. Now that I have a concept of what one pony is capable of doing to another, I can scarcely begin to imagine the horrors his generation went through. The Raptors that are barely functional to this day. The bodies that never made it home. The veterans that never spoke of it.

Ideals. Is that what we’re fighting for?

I seem to be surrounded by them, now. Red Eye and his supposed crusade to create a “Better World” — its only price, the blood of a generation. The Steel Rangers, and their preservation of the Old World, even when it costs so many lives… the Enclave, and keeping their damning secrets even if it means sacrificing everything they claim to hold dear.

Even as I put pen to paper, I hardly know where to begin, all over again.

You’d think I’d get better at this after last time, but… well, let's just say things just got a lot more complicated.

It started the same day we left Neighson…

—Snap Roll’s Journal

Tailwind and I were still of a mind to show off our refurbished barding — it still had the same familiar fit, but the addition of furs and lining left us feeling actually warm enough for what we were flying into. I’d mounted my recently-rearmed energy pistol on my battle saddle, along with four fully charged spark cells. We were resupplied, our bellies were full, and we were all but broke. It was definitely time to leave, even if we hadn’t enough reason already.

There was no party to see us off — only a disinterested paladin and his squad watching the gate early in the morning.

Still, I spared a glance back towards the command tower, high above Neighson. I wondered what they saw from up there. If somepony was watching through a scope, reporting to unseen ears that we were leaving… one had to wonder.

Did they even care?

We’d been allowed to leave without any hassle at all, and it was making me uneasy. I’d expected something.

At any rate, we quickly fell into a normal march, passing the odd traveler from the North and the farmers around Neighson. It was all so peaceful, it was easy to forget the ponies bleeding their last to preserve that idyllic, if frigid, lifestyle.

But as we traveled, it quickly became evident that there were no travelers from the West — exactly where we were going.

Not a single one.

Most of the day went by without incident. The ponies we passed didn’t pay us much heed, not more than a wave or a nod at best. We made good time, and managed to approach Saltpeet Pass before the day had started to turn.

The area was covered in a sprawling alpine forest — lots of stunted trees, each barely enough for minor cover — intersected by a small hoof trail on the Northern end. Judging by our map, it skirted the edge of a frozen river that once flowed through the gorge, and was a recommended route by the locals. Supposedly, it was less actively fought over by the various factions in the area.

That fateful MASEBS tower kept silent vigil over the South entrance to the pass, stretching ominously into the clouds. I couldn’t help but stare at it, still wondering at the implications.

It wouldn’t be long before we’d be crossing that “Red Line” the locals had spoke of. It wasn’t a tangible object or anything, no formally guarded border… but as we continued West, I decided it was time to slip into tactical mode. We’d had a hard enough time in “friendly” territory, and we were about to cross the line into a potential warzone. We’d been traveling easy — small talk between the five of us, through most of the trip. Much as I enjoyed the banter, it was time to put on a game face.

Making for the small trail, I decided to issue orders — at least in part, to see if they would actually be followed. This was ostensibly Bernard’s mission, but I’d be damned if I was going to let my own training go to waste.

“Fade,” I called out, “I want you to fall back a bit. Watch our rear. If we get bumped, I want you able to move and engage.” Glancing back to Crafter, I continued without waiting for a response. “Crafter, stick with Bernard if we get separated for any reason. If things happen, they might happen fast — focus on that, if they do.” I nodded to Bernard. He knew what he was doing — if we got ambushed, there wasn’t a whole lot of mobility available to him. I didn’t have to spell it out for him. He simply replied with a grim nod of understanding. Finally, I glanced at Tailwind, finishing with, “Tail and I will try and spot anything up ahead before it spots us. I really, really don’t want to have a repeat of the other day.” I grimaced at the thought.

Tail nodded, readying her energy rifle and grinning, “Roger that, chief!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself grinning right along with her, waiting patiently for my words to sink in. I was hoping for acquiescence, but I had to know if they’d really take orders from me.

Crafter was the first to respond. “Will do,” he replied easily, cantering over so that he was closer to Bernard than he had been. I noticed him slightly squinting and looking around. I could have laughed, but he was clearly taking scanning with his EFS very seriously. I wasn’t about to discourage that, of all things.

Bernard simply grunted an affirmative.

I almost held my breath, as Fade took his time rolling my words around in his head. He was still something of a wild card — it remained to be seen if he’d actually take orders from me. He swept his eyes over the local geography. The gorge, the stubbly little trees, the mountains. Eventually, he gave a nod of understanding before rolling his shoulders and stretching his wings. In a very natural movement, he slipped the rifle from its slung position to hang at his chest. “If you think it’s best, Miss, then I’ll hang back. Should relax a bit, though.” He reached up with a talon, idly fiddling with the safety on his rifle, clicking it on and off a few times before adding, “You go spoiling for a fight and it’ll find you. The Wasteland knows, I swear it.”

I started off towards the path, leading the way as I commented over my shoulder, “There’s spoiling for a fight, and there’s just plain being prepared for when you find one. I aim for the latter, but so be it if we end up with the former.”

Looking quite uncomfortable with either alternative, Crafter piped up, “Well, I’d like to avoid both… you know, if we can.”

A grim smile was all I replied with. Would certainly be nice, wouldn’t it?

The winding pass was littered with small jutting rock deposits, an extended copse of trees on the Southern side and a steep, rocky slope on the north. The day was beginning to turn, and the way the light danced off the light fog lent the walk a surreal quality. To my eyes, I couldn’t help but notice that there were many places along our route in which whole groups of ponies could have hidden from prying eyes.

My caution ended up being quite justified.

Our otherwise peaceful walk was interrupted by Crafter stopping in place and raising a hoof. He was pointing off into the forest a little to the right of the direction the path would take us. “Uhh, guys… two of those red bars just popped up.” He spoke quietly, but still loud enough for all of us to hear him.

While I had certainly hoped for an uneventful journey… some part of me had kind of expected this. Everything the locals had said about this area had me on edge. Holding up the group, I turned to him. “Nice catch, Crafter. You, Bernard and Fade, hold up here. Be ready if we call, I want to check this out…” I glanced at Fade, taking his earlier advice into account. “Quietly,” I added.

Not so restrained, Tailwind pumped a forehoof into the air as she commented brightly, “Good job Crafty!” I glanced at her. I know she’d read what he’d written in the journal… she knew what that nickname meant to him.

Regardless of any painful memories, the effect on him was immediate and positive. A massive grin bloomed across his face. He practically seemed to glow, for that matter.

“Tail, you’re with me.” I ordered, not particularly eager to break the look that passed between them… but we were running out of daylight. “Let’s do this by the book, for once.”

She gave me a look like I’d just grown a beak, or something. “Chief, since when have you ever followed ‘the book’?”

Not an unfair assessment, I suppose…

I played off the comment, replying brashly, “I like to keep ‘em guessing every now and then. Makes for a nice change of pace.”

Understanding what was about to happen, Bernard started moving into a defensive position, just off the road. He turned to Crafter, “If anything goes sideways, stick with me and keep down.”

Fade took a seat, idly reached into his jacket and started fiddling with a pocket watch I hadn’t seen before. He cranked the little dial at the top, before setting it twirling by the chain clutched between his talons. It spun in slow circles before his eyes, and he seemed mesmerized for a few seconds. “Alright, I’ll keep an eye on the trail, make sure it doesn’t go anywhere,” He commented evenly. “Will deal with things accordingly if you run afoul of those ‘red bars.’”

I nodded, slipping into a briefing tone as I went over what we were doing — just to be sure. “We’re going to do a proper recce of whatever it is Crafter detected. I’m just taking Tailwind. If we aren’t back in an hour, pull back to the start of this trail. We’ll try and find you there, or back at the last farmhouse we passed if it takes that long. I don’t expect it to, just in case. If we come into contact, we’re headed straight back this way — support us, and we’ll all pull back together, if it comes to that. If you come into contact, do everything you can to break free and pull back. We’ll try and make our way to you. Questions?”

There weren’t any. In my experience, there were rarely questions. But you always asked.

Seeing affirmative nods all around, Tailwind and I left our saddlebags with the group before heading out. We picked a circuitous route, going about a hundred meters into the woods before heading towards where we could get a visual on where Crafter said the readings were coming from. If things didn’t go as planned, I didn’t want to be seen coming from the direction of the others.

Keeping low and quiet, Tailwind and I switched easily into communicating through hoof signals, using what cover the pathetic little trees along the way provided, moving quickly but quietly towards our targets. We drew the hoods of our newly refurbished barding up, covering our heads and blotting out the vibrancy of my own mane.

The only sound was the wind between the trees, and the quiet crunch of snow beneath our hooves.

There was an open area, where the sparse treeline gave way to a rocky plateau. Our targets had to be on there somewhere. I motioned to Tail, and we crawled on our bellies the last of the way. It was cold, don’t get me wrong. Snow stung my hide, somehow managing to get through my layers of clothing in a couple places. It was miserable — crawling, as a pony used to the freedom of the skies. I’d have been mighty peeved if we ended up finding some sort of mutated cockroach or something… but when we finally came to the edge of the treeline, I was more than grateful that we had.

We’d found Crafter’s “Red Bars,” and a whole lot more.

Before us sprawled the site of a fierce battle, no more than a day old. The fresh snow couldn’t hide the scorched ground, craters, bullet casings… and blood, frozen where it fell or flash burnt onto rock faces. We could see the armoured forms of three Steel Rangers from where we hid, all motionless. One seemed to have been ground down by small arms before being finished by a massive hole through his chest. A second had tried to maneuver, but the way the armour across her back had been opened up like a tin can… I guessed some sort of shaped charge had been employed. The third was an oddity. Where the other two bore numerous combat scars beyond those that killed them, the third seemed almost pristine, except for a small pool of blood beneath his helmet, frozen in the snow. Missing were the corpses of their attackers. Also missing, however, was a fourth Ranger. They operated in detachments of four, as I understood — and from the few patrols I’d seen heading out while at the fort, that seemed to be the case with this chapter. I resolved to keep an eye out.

It was clear which side had won, but the surrounding rocks told the other half of the story. The scars of automatic grenade launcher fire, blackened rocks, explosive scarring and pools of blood partially covered in snow told me that the battle had been far from one-sided. Whoever had attacked them had used a lot of bodies to distract them, before managing to bring some sizeable guns to bear with no small amount of maneuvering.

I brought out my binoculars.

A more thorough scan of the area — helped in no small part because we knew where to look, courtesy of Crafter — revealed the last pieces of the puzzle. They were hidden, I’ll grant them that much. If we’d continued along the path, they’d have spotted us long before we caught wind of them. There was no uniformity, but every pony we spotted wore similar, white winter wraps. The same wraps I’d once worn to keep out the cold.

Red Eye.

From our spot, we managed to make out a total of eight ponies, set in positions overlooking where the Rangers had been ambushed — no more than a fireteam in any one position. Some sported bandages and signs of recent first aid, leading me to conclude that they’d been part of the initial ambush, rather than a relief-in-place force. They carried a motley assortment of weaponry, ranging from shotguns and rifles to light machineguns.

No sign of the rifle that put a hoof-sized hole through power armour, though — ditto for the explosives.

I pulled out my journal, taking my trusty pen in my mouth. I made a quick sketch of the locations — including both Red Eye positions and fallen Rangers — before passing it back to Tailwind to copy into her own notebook.

She finished, nodding a confirmation that we hadn’t missed anything the other had seen, and we pulled back into the treeline. Tail looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to call it.

I spoke quietly and deliberately, deciding to risk speech in favour of speed. “There’s enough dead ground to worry me, and we still don’t know where that AM rifle ended up. We’ll cloudburst the area — you take the left, I’ll take the right. We’ll meet up right here in twenty minutes, tee up, and head back to the others. Either of us gets bumped, supporting fire and movement as long as we have to.”

“Gotcha, Chief,” she replied, in her all-business tone. “Stay safe.”

We shared a quick hoof bump, and she was gone. I smiled — I couldn’t even hear her hoof steps, and I was listening for ‘em.

I stepped off alone, beginning to describe a wide, uneven half-circle to the North side of the ambush point. Knowing where their positions were certainly helped — they were huddled up for warmth. No fires that I could see, but they’d certainly been out all day. A miserable task, no doubts there… but if I knew anything, I knew how effective miserable could be. Gave ‘em the edge to take out a squad of Rangers, after all.

I kept to low ground where I could, popping up only to get another angle on their positions and the ambush site. The first such movement didn’t yield much of use — though I did spot another pair of bodies, dressed in wasteland attire; all pockets, not much protection. They seemed like travelers, possibly unintended victims caught in the ambush. I didn’t know what to make of that, but I moved on after adding their position to my sketch.

I let my eyes wander during the next bound. It was quiet, despite the sound of my own heartbeat — deafening only to my own ears. Fog gently drifted across the area, and a few muted patches of sunlight managed to dimly shine through where the cloud cover was a touch thinner. It shone down, illuminating the blanket of powder snow stretching as far as I could see. It was… picturesque, I thought.

It was my distraction that caused me to catch it, actually. Just a glint, off in the distance out of the corner of my eye. I ducked down, taking what cover I could behind a puny tree.

I took out my binoculars again.

Up on the side of the mountain, maybe four hundred meters from where I lay in the snow, was a sniper roost. I’d caught a glimpse of the sight on a powerful looking rifle — probably the one that punched a hole in the Ranger, I figured. It rested against the wall of a hastily-made wooden platform set against the cliffside. Behind the rifle sat a griffon with a bandaged arm and a pony — a unicorn mare. The griffon wore matte black armour with a splayed talon stenciled on the chest, mostly covered with a white overcoat. The mare beside him simply wore the same white wraps as the others. They seemed to be playing some form of card game, killing time.

I took down their position, and keyed my TFD for voice-to-text. “Tail, sniper nest due North-East of the dead Rangers, four-fifty meters, high.” I subvocalized, practically mouthing the words.

A few seconds later, her reply scrolled across my vision.

“Rgr. Seen.”

I moved on, mind back on the mission. Couldn’t afford to be careless like that again.

The third position I took, about fifteen minutes since Tail and I had split up, was the one to bear proverbial fruit.

I’d made my way as far North of their position as I’d be able to go before I ran out of time. As soon as I crested the short hill I was using as cover, I saw what would become the focal point of my plan.

The fourth Ranger of the patrol had ended up in a small gully, just below where the two wastelanders had been cut down. It seemed like she’d been dragged there at some point. Her armour was pristine — and distinctly lacked an execution-style bullet hole through one of the eyes. I watched for long enough to figure that the slight rise-and-fall of certain segments of her armour was an indicator of life.

I could only imagine what the Red Eye troopers had in mind for the hostage, but it couldn’t be good. They must have found some way to disable her armour… hers, and the other pony.

Given how the other one had ended up, I concluded that they only needed one for whatever they had planned…

Or they only needed a mare for it.

I blinked the thought away — whatever they did have planned, it didn’t change what I planned to do about it. They either could not, or would not cut her out of that armour for the time being. That worked just fine for me — the beginnings of a plan were forming, and I had to get back.

The way back was tense, especially alone. Sound traveled far over snow-covered ground. I’d been shocked to hear snippets of muted conversation reaching me, as much as a hundred meters or more away!

It made each step sound deafening to my own ears, which were perked up, alert for any sound at all. I actually had a plan for how to overcome this obstacle, and getting spotted now would have ruined everything.

Not to mention, put everyone left in my life at risk.

I reached the rendezvous point with less than a minute to spare from my estimate. To my relief, Tailwind wasn’t in a mood to show off her skills by hiding from me, too. We wasted no time, comparing notes. While I’d found the sniper nest on the hill and the downed Ranger, she had been anything but idle.

“They’ve got a two-pony hasty observation post set up, Chief,” she was saying, “To the West. It looks like they’re trying to cut off anyone coming into Ranger territory, oddly enough.” As she spoke, she elaborated on what she’d drawn on her copy of the map. Silently, I copied it onto my own. “They have a radio — standard Equestrian Army, pretty beat up looking, but it’s functional. Seemed to be made during the Great War, judging from the serial number.” She had this grin, like she was incredibly pleased with herself as she said it.

Wait.

A flicker of amusement crossed my face, before being replaced with a slight frown and a sigh. That she was capable of getting that close to them wasn’t surprising, but the fact that she actually did it... “Tail, I know I’m the last pony to give this advice, but… be careful, hey?”

She flashed me a grin and bumped her flank against mine reassuringly, “Really Chief, I should be the one worried. We both know what your version of 'stealthy' can turn into.”

Well, she’s got me there. I suppose I did ask for it, too.

Eager to change the topic, I hid my embarrassed smile by going back to what I’d seen, and my plan-in-making. “So… That Ranger is still breathing. Doesn’t even seem wounded, for that matter. Seems like they hit her with some sort of spell matrix disruption grenade or something. They’re using her as bait, but we might just be able to use that. If we could get you to her, unnoticed, could you reboot her armour?”

She rubbed her chin with a forehoof, giving the question some thought. Finally, she asked, “Do we still have that spark battery?”

Startled, I replied, “I think Bernard’s carrying it at the moment… why?”

“I should be able to jump-start her armour’s spell matrix with that, and my TFD,” She postulated. “Might burn out the battery, but it should work.” She paused for a couple seconds before adding, “I think.”

I nodded. It would have to.

We made our way back to the group, following our own hoof prints in the snow and making sure to return the same way we’d come. The others didn’t seem surprised, so one of them must’ve noticed us before we emerged.

Maybe Crafter… he’d be able to see friendly “bars,” too.

At any rate, I spoke up as soon as we’d emerged into the small clearing. “Trouble. Circle up, I’ve got a plan.” I couldn’t see Tailwind roll her eyes as I said those last four fateful words, but I knew she did it. She always did.

Some of them work!

Bernard and Crafter trotted over, as the older stallion spoke up first. “I take it that it’s not just two guys…”

Since we’d left him, Fade had evidently decided to disassemble the watch I’d seen him carrying. Seeing us, he let out a noncommittal grunt, reassembling the device before meandering over to the assemblage. “Did you find trouble, or make it?” He asked, rolling a crick out of his neck and giving us a curious look. “I’ve found there’s a very distinct difference between the two and their resultant severity.”

“He brings up a good point…” Crafter added, quietly.

With a grin, I replied to them both. “We most certainly found it, Fade.” I laid out my sketch of the area, as well as the hard copy of the map that was already scanned onto my TFD, oriented to the lay of the ground. “We’ve got a full Red Eye ambush set up a couple hundred meters down the road. They’ve got a griffon-and-pony sniper nest set up here,” I gestured with a hoof towards the spot, away from the actual killing zone. “They managed to get the drop on a pair of ‘Rangers, killing one and knocking out the armour on the second. When the other half of their patrol went to investigate, the two sides had quite the firefight, with the Rangers eventually going down. I couldn’t tell how many ponies the Reds used to have, but I’m damn sure they’ve got a lot fewer now.”

I pointed a hoof towards the disabled Steel Ranger. “Now, this one seems to still be alive. I’m not sure if they cannot, or will not open up her armour to get at the poor mare, but it presents a unique opportunity that they haven’t. Using the spark battery Bernard’s carrying, Tailwind can reset the spell matrix of her armour, and I’m quite sure she’ll be pissed as all hell when she can move again.” I glanced up. “Fade, I want you to create a distraction.” Letting that sink in a moment, I organized my thoughts before continuing. “I want you to find a defensible spot, lay out some landmines and keep them focused anywhere other than the North side of the road. Once the rest of us are in position, I want you to hit them and fade away if you can, or hunker down in cover, if you can’t. Just make sure to keep up harassing fire to keep them looking your way.

“I don’t care if you hit anything at all,” I continued, “I just need their eyes very much pointed away from the road. Anything else is a bonus. The sniper nest will get taken out ASAP, so all you should have to deal with is ponies with battlesaddles and levitated weapons. I saw mostly rifles, with a couple light machineguns backing them up. There were indications of explosives on the Ranger bodies, but I couldn’t see ‘em. Keep an eye out.

“Once they’re properly distracted, Tailwind’s going to start making for the Ranger.” Seeing Bernard’s pensive look, I turned to him. “That’s where Crafter and Bernard come in. While Fade’s drawing their attention, I need you to be giving him supporting fire. Soon as he starts to engage, he’s going to take a lot of fire. You’re going to have to provide fire support for him, and take out any hostiles in Tailwind’s way.”

Bernard nodded, “So, keep their heads down and try to keep Fade’s intact. Fair enough, I suppose.”

Crafter spoke up next, scrunching his muzzle in confusion. “What about the… Ayy-emm, umm, thing? It sounds bad.”

I sighed, already knowing that Tailwind wasn’t going to like this part of the plan.

“They’re up pretty high on a cliff face,” I replied, “Tailwind and Fade are needed exactly where they are, so that leaves me.” I brought out my remaining apple shaped grenades, running them through my hooves before putting them back in my barding pockets. “I’ve still got some explosives, and if I wait til they’re distracted by the firefight, and… well… trying to kill you guys, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Just as I had predicted, Tailwind frowned heavily at that. Still, she avoided voicing her objections, simply nodding her assent to her portion of the plan.

Fade peered intently at the layout, seeming to commit locations to memory. Again, I was struck by the duality in him — minutes ago, he’d been absently fiddling with a watch instead of watching for enemies, now he was gazing at a map with the literal intensity of a bird of prey. With a nod, he looked back up at me. “A distraction I can give you, but I’ll need some time first.” Rising to his feet, he began to sort through his possessions. I assumed he was cutting weight, as he started placing things like his sleeping bag, rations, and other worldly possessions in a spare bag. “About twenty minutes, I’d say, before the shooting starts.” He finished, drawing the zipper shut on the bag and leaving it in the snow. “Need someone to watch after that, though. I need to be light for this.”

Crafter levitated the bag over, hooking it to his side and adjusting his saddlebags until the contents were evenly distributed.

Seeing them getting that sorted, I gave a few final orders. “For the lead up, Tailwind, Bernard and Crafter will stick together and find a spot to engage from before Tailwind moves up. I can communicate to her through our TFD’s. Fade, I can give you a radio. I’ve got it tuned to a frequency only we’ll be using, all you have to do is push this button. It incorporates cloud tech, but I do believe griffons can use it. Unless you need to send detail, one click of the radio if you encounter an issue, two clicks for ‘set.’ I’ll send two in response as the signal to start engaging, after consulting with Tailwind’s team. From there, we’ll all respond to your distraction.” I popped open the medical pouch on my saddlebags, pulling out a healing potion and passing it to Fade along with the radio, adding, “Take this… just in case.”

Fade accepted the radio, giving it an exploratory press of the push-to-talk switch, causing a muted squelch from my own radio. He stowed it in easy reach, satisfied. The healing potion he grabbed with no small amount of trepidation, tucking the bottle inside his barding and giving me a grim nod. “Havla. If all goes as hoped I won’t need it. Nonetheless, it’s appreciated.” Turning to gaze down the road, he gave the map one more cursory glance before stretching his joints, then quickly jumping up and down. A few small items clinked, and he made the necessary adjustments. Satisfied, he looked us all over, graced us with a dip of his head, and offered, “I’ll be off then. If you hear shooting before the clicks, please come help me.” That said, he loped off down the road, quickly veering off the side into the snowy bank.

With that, the operation was a go.

I gave Tailwind a quick, reassuring hoof bump and a confident smile as I offered the ritual once again, “Through the storm…”

She sighed, unable to stay frustrated with me when I was as confident as I was about a plan. She returned the hoof bump and finished with conviction, “...And the smoke, to the clear skies beyond!”

I smiled, before turning and galloping away. As soon as I had space, I flared my wings and took to the sky. Just as I was leaving, I heard Tail start issuing her own orders to the others.

“Alright guys, let's save us a Ranger!”

Flying off in the direction of the griffon’s roost, I felt my trepidation at the plan’s efficacy fading away. There was no longer room for such thoughts, and they were replaced by all that was happening in the now. The feeling of the wind in my mane, the familiar buzz of adrenaline, and the surety of impending combat all served to drive out my thoughts on our uncertain future.

It felt damn good to have targets ahead, allies behind, and a mission to accomplish. It was straight forwards. No Wasteland politics, no scavenging for the supplies to live. We’d fight our way to tomorrow, and face those challenges when they came.

Keeping to treetop level, I made a wide pass, out of any conceivable arcs of fire they might be watching. The others were making their way on hoof and paw — despite the distance involved, I had more than enough time to be careful about it.

When I got closer, I approached the roost from below, flying almost wingtip-to-mountain most of the way. Once I got within a hundred meters or so, it was simply too close to keep flying. I landed in a sheltered crook near the summit, out of sight of the roost. It took me a few minutes of crawling, but I found my way within a stone’s throw of the roost, tucked away behind a cleft in the rock. I had a decent view of the ambush site — if I’d had a rifle, I could have hit several positions of theirs from where I hid. The mare in the roost was talking, not loudly, but sound traveled easily in the open air. She was complaining about cold, the food, seemingly anything any everything about being exactly where she was right then. I almost couldn’t have hoped for better cover as I sneaked forwards.

Naturally, there was a hitch in the plan.

As I settled in to wait, a dry twig snapped off against the mechanisms of my battle saddle with a light ‘pop.’

Shit.

I silently begged Fade to hurry as I halted all movement, ears perked up as much as they’d go.

The mare was silenced by an angry bark from the griffon. “Shut it fuck meat, I heard something!” I heard the distinct sound of the action being cycled on a firearm.

Meekly, I heard her reply, “My name’s Jasmine…”

Her rebuttal was followed by a growl, “I don’t give a fuck what your name is, just get your gun up. I know I heard something. Shit don’t just go an’ make noise all by itself.” As he finished his orders, I hazarded a peek around the side of the rock.

He was looking in my general direction, with a vicious looking carbine in his talons. If the bandages wrapped around his right arm were indicative of a major injury, he sure didn’t seem to be particularly inconvenienced. He didn’t know exactly where I was, but the way he scanned the rock face seemed practiced.

I also caught a better look at the roost itself. It wasn’t much more than a firing position with a bit of light cover on top. They must have scavenged the materials from somewhere — I saw treated wood, corrugated metal, all the sorts of things wasteland shacks were usually made of. Plus, one of the short railings was literally a door that had been bolted to the side.

I doubted the original occupants had been gently evicted.

Dropping back behind the rock, I toggled my TFD. I subvocalized, just loud enough for it to recognize my throat movements as words, “Set. Small snag.” I watched it process and send the message, my heart beating at a steady pace.

“Roger. Set here. Care, Chief.” Flashed across my TFD’s screen in response a few seconds later, drawing a tight smile from me.

Just to be safe, I gave a single click of the radio clipped to my barding, making sure that if there was a reply, the sound was set to a hairsbreadth from muted. Then, I took out a grenade, keeping it close at hoof. I removing the safety tab, but left the pin in place.

I didn’t have to wait long.

I hadn’t heard anything over the radio, but off in the distance I heard a series of cracks — small caliber, probably a pistol firing — from the direction I expected Fade’s distraction to come from. I waited, mildly concerned that there hadn’t been any contact from the griffon over the radio. It didn’t seem to be quite according to plan, as I imagined that any true distraction from Fade would involve either explosions, or-

Over the radio, I heard one click, followed immediately by two more.

Snag, but Operation is ‘go.’

A half second later, the distinct sound of a light machinegun opening up tore through the otherwise quiet mountains. Tracer after tracer round ripped across positions I’d pointed out earlier, nearly point blank. Rounds ricocheted, spinning into the air as they hit rocks or trees, providing a lightshow for anypony stupid enough to be watching somewhere other than where they originated. Now that I had a point of reference, I could make out the form of Fade taking cover behind a rock, a presumably captured light machinegun in his talons. He was firing in sustained, killing bursts of four or more tracers per pull of the trigger. Heavy suppressive fire — the distraction was in full effect.

Return fire was virtually instantaneous.

The Talon opposite my position swore colourfully, screaming at the pony with him to man the AM rifle. Then he spoke, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. “Let’s have us a hunt, little mouse…” I heard the sound of claws on the wooden sides of the perch, and the “crump” of a heavy body landing, braced, in the snow. He was actively searching.

I’d done a lot of simulator work involving griffons. They’d been fighting for money since before the Great War — they were built for it, physiologically speaking. It was only natural they’d been included in that sort of program.

The designers hadn’t shirked on coding in what their talons were capable of, and I had no desire to find out how the experience compared to the real thing.

I pulled out the grenade I’d prepped, weighing it in my hoof before turning and giving it as solid a throw as I could — pin still in — with a trajectory just over his shoulder, towards the roost. No, I didn’t miss a step. I didn’t do it. You see, that griffon was looking for me. He’d certainly see a grenade, of all things, headed towards his position. He’d take cover, and if I made a move — anywhere — I’d be flying into my own shrapnel, or I’d be stuck and he’d know where I was after it went off. So I didn’t pull the pin before I threw it. I waited for the sound of the griffon diving for cover, disturbingly accompanied by an accurate burst of carbine fire, sparking off the rocks I hid behind.

Making my move as he hit the dirt, I leapt from my perch straight into the air, unfurling my wings mid-air and catching the wind. I caught a surprised “Eep!” from the unicorn, as she snagged the grenade in her magic and sent it tumbling down the mountain. That was all I saw before going into a dive, trading altitude for speed as I arced a trajectory below the roost and to the opposite side of the rock face.

In the space of a few seconds, I had to form something of a plan of attack. I didn’t have the surprise I’d hoped for, so I’d have to take them both through skill, on my part. Flapping harder, I started to build up speed — that griffon would be coming, and I had to be that many steps ahead of him if I hoped to live. More than that, I aimed to win.

At my back, I heard the griffon yell, “Jeez you’re just a fucking hatchling ain’t ya, runt?” He must have only caught a hint of movement as I evaded — he thought I was a tiny griffon! “Think you can out fly ol’ uncle Griff, ‘ey?” There was a sort of mirth in his voice, like my attempts at hostile action were amusing to him.

Well, if he wants to dance, let's fucking dance!

I flew close to the cliff before cutting sharply to my right, kicking off from the cliffside with all four hooves. Folding my wings into my body and tucking my head, I let the force of the kick and my own momentum rotate me into a rough one-eighty, watching for the griffon as I did.

As eager as he sounded, “Griff” soared around the corner a bare second or so behind me, bracing his carbine in an assault stance. He managed to fire first, filling the air around me with the sharp crack of incoming rounds. One shot ricocheted off the armoured plate on my flank, just below the cutiemark. I’d later find a bruised welt beneath the plating, but at the time I was so far in the red I didn’t even notice.

Instead, I bit down on the trigger to my battle saddle.

His rounds had been hasty, reactive fire — my own were dead on. Ruby laser beams stitched a series of pockmarks into the breastplate of his armour, which in turn seemed to absorb them like they weren’t even there.

I flapped hard, turning the momentum of my rotation back into speed. After our impromptu head-on, I was trying to angle back towards my initial position, at a lower altitude this time. Disappointing as my own pass was, all he’d need was an instant to bracket me with that carbine. Compact though it was, its rounds seemed… heavy. Something about the way the air moved as they flashed by screamed “High caliber” to me. He’d only need one good shot.

To stop is to die.

I sped towards him, banking up and over at the last possible second. As I flashed by, he cried out in surprise, that same manic-amused tone in his voice. “Skies above it’s a fuckin’ turkey! And a mare to boot!” I could almost hear the sick smile in his voice. “Oooh, this’ll be fun.”

I really, really hate fighting griffons.

He had some pretty serious reaction speed for such a large creature, I had to give him that. As I flew up and over him, he forced his wings to flap up and “forwards.” That sharply cut his forward momentum, even being enough to send him vectoring “backwards” and bleeding altitude, but it allowed him to bring his carbine up towards me. He gripped the weapon in a single outstretched talon, following my trajectory as his injured arm stayed at his side. He had all of a fraction of a second to aim and fire, but he was still a hairsbreadth from ending the fight with a solid hit, and he wasn’t shy about the ammo. Grinning from the very corners of his beak, I saw him pull the trigger with a maniac’s reluctance, aiming jagged bursts of fire at my lightly protected belly.

I did what I could to throw off his aim, but my priority was getting out of his line of sight. My gunnery pass was spent, and the best defense I had was putting the roost itself between him and me. Unfortunately, that meant I was traveling in a lot more of a ballistic trajectory than I’d normally like.

One round skimmed my right wing and another tore through the left-side weapon mount on my battle saddle, sending delicate pieces of machinery scattering down the hillside. It was sheer luck and personal preference that I’d mounted my pistol on the right.

Mercifully, I’d gained enough altitude by that point. A few final rounds embedded themselves in the structure of the roost itself — the same place the griffon’s partner still occupied. As I continued flapping upwards, I’d bought myself a split second to think.

The griffon was proving to be a fight that wasn’t wrapping itself up any time soon, and there was still a pony up there with a heavy rifle pointed at my friends. For all I knew, she could be lining one of them up as we dueled beneath her perch. Or so my train of thought went, anyways.

I flapped hard, cutting through the air as I climbed for altitude, trying to bring myself back above the level of the roost. Above me, the mare was still trying to wrap her head around the verticality of the combat happening around her when I rocketed back into her field of view. Seeing me pop back up, she let off a sporadic burst from a compact SMG held in a shaky magical field. Seeing her aim, all I had to do was drop my legs, increasing resistance and dropping my altitude by a couple feet.

It was enough to send her burst wide over my head, and she had no time for a follow-up.

My energy pistol hadn’t done nearly what I’d hoped, and in the split second I had to make the choice, I decided not to take a chance on it. Taking advantage of her surprise, I arrowed straight for the roost, directly towards a collision course with the mare. Bracing myself for impact, her confused features went from distant to intimate in heartbeats. My body hit her in the chest, sending a very physical shock through both of us. Locking my forehooves with hers, I kept flapping — propelling us both over the other side of the roost.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget her.

I’d decided on my course of action, and there was no room to adjust it at that point… but her big, golden eyes stayed with me. She had a purple coat and was wearing a white toque over her mane, but what stuck with me were those eyes, full of confusion, in the process of morphing into fear. The whole thing must have lasted a few heartbeats at most, but it felt like an eternity as I held her in my hooves, dragging that unicorn away from the solid ground she was desperately trying to cling to.

Now, I can’t carry a pony for extended periods of time. It just ain’t gonna happen, especially not in combat.

But I didn’t have to.

Once past the edge of the roost, I disengaged my hooves from the terrified mare, diving and angling my wings to intentionally begin a hard spin. Perhaps she realized what was about to happen, perhaps not. Regardless, she tried desperately to grab hold of my barding. Centrifugal force won out sooner rather than later, and her hooves were torn from me as she sailed away from the mountainside.

She must have been airborne for almost a full second before she impacted the ground most of the way down the slope. She bounced, the first time… and the second. By the third impact she was unnaturally limp, and slid the remainder of the way to a halt on a much lower plateau.

There was a lot of blood.

The… I’ll go with “brutality,” of what I’d just done hit me. Killing a pony in a firefight, that was one thing. What I’d just done? It horrified me, for a few short moments I couldn’t afford to waste as it was.

I was distracted a moment too long. My trajectory had sent me back down towards the griffon, who hadn’t given chase as I went for his partner. Rather, he’d waited beneath the perch, and greeted me with a combat knife nearly the length of one of my forelegs. His slash caught me right between my wings. I felt the knife point scrape along my spine as he punched it into my back, separated from my flesh only by a thin layer of ballistic cloth and a fur cloak. The sheer impact pulled a surprisingly feminine shriek of pain from my abused lungs.

My barding held, but it was like getting a cloud-buck to the gut — while flying.

Through vision blurred from pain, I saw him stabilize mid-air, powerful wings sending him into a stationary hover as he sent accurate bursts of fire at my descending form.

All the while, he was laughing at the spectacle of the falling mare.

“Ha, looks like they do bounce!”

I didn’t have time to be sickened. Either by what I’d done, or his reaction to it. He had me right where he wanted me, forced to either go full evasive, or give him the straight up fight he’d been trying to force for a while now.

I set my wings at an angle, giving careful correction to my spin and quickly rotating my body. Once I was fully inverted, I flared my wings and traded a sharp dive for a fast, shallow descent — a maneuver known as “wiffling.” The action brought my battle saddle to bear, dropping the reticle over his massive silhouette. I snarled as I bit down on the trigger, fast as I could.

For an instant, the air between us was torn asunder by hard rounds and superheated magical energy. My laser pistol found its mark, lancing a series of steaming holes in his right arm and wing, the one I’d noted that he was favouring in his flying pattern.

I paid for my success, however.

One of his rounds hit my left shoulder, missing the protective plate by dint of the weird angle. Blood spattered the sky, a liquid stream falling towards the forest below. I felt the leg go numb instantly, becoming dead weight even as I flew — it spun me to the side, sending a few errant energy rounds sizzling into the snow.

Neither of us were down for the count, but my shots had compromised his flight capacity.

He tried to correct, flaring his wings and flapping hard but the injured wing refused to catch enough air, folding on him almost immediately. I lost sight of him as he dropped hard to his right, hitting the cliff and skidding down the slope on his wounded side.

I stabilized my own flight, righted, and shakily climbed for the now-empty roost. My teeth were gritted against the pain, and I tasted blood where I must have bitten my cheek.

Soon as I crested the rim of the roost, I collapsed onto my haunches for a few seconds to catch my breath. The edges of my vision softened, and the aches and pains of what I’d just done... had done to me began to wash over me, as my body began to drop out of the high of combat.

My shoulder was numb, and I suspected the round had dislocated it. Blood quickly soaked into the fabric of my barding, steaming in the cold air. As I tentatively prodded the edges of the bloody wound, it became immediately apparent that the sheer size of his round had actually worked against him. It must have been some sort of round intended to pierce armour rather than bloom, because it had overpenetrated my shoulder, leaving a relatively small exit hole. If it had tumbled, I probably would have lost the leg.

Still, it isn’t every day you get to see a half-inch hole through you and think, “It could have been worse.”

I pulled a bandage from my medical pack, tore off the packaging and wrapped my shoulder using my free hoof and teeth. I pulled it taught, til the pain brought tears to my eyes and stole my recently regained breath away.

But I managed to staunch the bleeding.

I took a few seconds to clear my head. I couldn’t have jumped off that ledge more than twenty seconds prior to my landing on the roost. It happened so fast, my brain was just beginning to realize what had happened. In the moment, my body just reacted. Combat instincts.

The same instincts that sent a mare plummeting to her death.

I tried not to think about it. What I’d done was disquieting… but it was combat. I did what I had to to survive, to make it back to Tailwind.

I keep telling myself that.

It didn’t take me long, but I got myself together quickly enough. I then cast my eyes upon the reason for all that effort. The anti-material rifle was a massive construct, with a grip designed for griffon talons. Blue-black steel with a varnished wood stock. I could have tried to fire it, and would only have managed to dislocate my other shoulder for the trouble. It sat, menacingly, braced on a bipod overlooking the killing field down below, where I could see tracer fire ongoing. I’d had no contact with Tailwind, and she would have messaged me if things went too badly… I would have hoped, at least.

I need to get back to them.

Clearing the rifle, I dumped the mag and ejecting the chambered round. The rifle itself was too much dead weight to move in my current shape, so I settled for disarming it, tossing the ammunition in a saddle bag. Then I gave the roost itself a once-over.

They’d cleared away what snow they could, there was a hot plate, a pair of cans of beans and a pair of small field stools — the kind that fold up for transport. There was also a saddle bag with two more magazines for the rifle, a healing potion, some rubbing alcohol and pressure bandages.

Perfect.

I tried to get the rest of those supplies into my saddlebags… with only one working leg, I kind of failed. Ultimately, I swept all but the stools into their saddlebag, and slung that over my back.

Just about set, I spared a glance over the side of the roost, to see where the Griffon had ended up. I didn’t intend to re-engage him, not in the state I was in — and once I caught sight of him, maybe fifty meters West of me, but at the bottom of the cliff… he seemed of similar mind. He was tucked down beside a large rock, still in the process of applying first aid in the form of a potion, and what looked like an injector of Med-X on his wounded side. Despite the potion, his wing was clearly broken from the impact.

I grimaced. He must have gone down harder than I thought, because he had to know the injuries from my pistol wouldn’t heal from a potion.

He wouldn’t be placing accurate rounds at me anytime soon, was what I got from that. With a quick, shaky jump, I leapt off the roost and opened my wings. I bled a bit of altitude to speed my way towards the fight. No longer worried about stealth, I spoke freely as I activated my TFD, on Tailwind’s channel. “Roost neutralized. One contact still active, mobility kill. I’m airbourne, headed your way.” I hesitated, before adding, “I’m… hit. Not life threatening.

“Tailwind, what’s your status?”

For a few moments that seemed to stretch on forever, the chill winds of the North were my only reply...

Author's Notes:

Hey look, not as much of a wait as last time! Hopefully the trend continues, as I'm sure there's a bit of chafing at being left hanging like that.

This chapter, or, the way it's been recently revised to, the coming series of chapters is an arc I've been looking forwards to writing for a long time. At long last, the party has had a chance to shake things out, and Snap's head is back in the game, as you've seen now for the first time. I suppose there's not much more to say, but I hope my writing manages to properly convey my excitement at writing this sort of thing at last.

Big thanks to the usual suspects, as well as a new Face. Belmor, PersonalGamer and newly, PromptAnon gave me a bit of much-needed feedback. Naturally, it's the holidays and people are busy, so a couple editors were unavailable this time around.

That's pretty much it, and thank you all for sticking with us this long. The ride's far from over, and things are gonna be speeding up a bit in the coming chapters.