The ponies who pulled the troop carriages that brought in the General's reinforcements were more than happy to give us a lift to the nearest train yard. From there, we'd find a locomotive en route to Canterlot. For now, we were at Las Pegasus, a thriving city in the sands. One of the carriage pullers told me this city was known for its gambling, specifically breaking more than it makes. It was all up to whether or not I wanted to run those odds. I opted out, only having some questionably acquired bits from the battlefield.

I ordered Crimson to get some rest and relax for a bit, but to keep their radios on. The team happily agreed. Pizza and I would have to send word to the Princesses about how our operation went down. The carriage stopped at the train yard, and we disembarked, some of us more eager to see the sites than others.

I grabbed a train schedule from a nearby kiosk. It showed the earliest train to Canterlot would leave in three hours. I passed the info on to the team before letting them loose on the city. “What's the plan?” I asked Pizza in idle talk.

“What do you mean? I thought we were just going to try and catch a certain persona non grata?”

“I mean about the city. We have three hours to kill, and I think we've both earned some R&R.”

“We could always hit up the casinos.”

“With what money? The only local currency I have I scavenged off a few kills of mine. Not enough for any more than a few hands of blackjack.”

“Well. It ain't much, but weapon maintenance is never out of the question.”

“You've really got nothing, do you? Maybe we've just been in this kind of shit storm so long... we just don't know what to do without it. Last time I had nothing to do, I reenlisted at the urging of a certain Spartan-III. Before that, the Covenant cut my leave short.”

“Guess it was just action followed by more action... with an explosive chaser.”

“You're starting to sound like Tarkov, the poor bastard,” I let out a light chuckle.

“You know, I was on the Dawn when he bit it. Mind filling me in? On Requiem, it seemed we never had time to just chat.”

“Yeah... Tarkov and his squad (including me) were set up in Voi. We holed up there, waiting for the Chief to arrive in a convoy. Once he got there, we pushed our way through the Covenant positions. Eventually we made our way to the AA gun the Brutes set up, and the Chief took it out. Tarkov ordered our squad to stay behind and defend the warehouse, cover the Chief's ass.”

“Wow, you fought by the Master Chief!?”

“Yeah, the best fighter I've ever seen... and a hell of a team player. Anyways, all of a sudden, this Covenant ship popped out of slipspace and crashed pretty damn close to our position, but something seemed off about it. Tarkov ordered us to set up defensive positions. We did so, and Coady, another one of our team, went forward to try and link up with the Chief. Then... then this horrible screaming was heard all throughout the warehouse,” my blood ran cold just remembering that sound. That horrible sound.

“Then what happened?” concern was on Pizza's voice. I pressed on.

“We heard gunfire from outside, followed by the screaming of several Marines. I set out to try and see what was happening. I was almost to the exit door when it opened and the Chief was looking directly at me. Instantly he pointed his rifle at me, and... then he fired.”

“The Chief almost fratted you?”

“No, but I thought he was for a moment. You remember the Flood, right?”

“Yeah...” he said with more than a modicum of trepidation in his voice.

“A swarm of those little infection forms were sneaking up on me. One was already lunging when the Chief fired, popping the fucker. He emptied his mag in the parasites and continued to run deeper into the warehouse. I hate the Flood worse than even the Covenant for what I saw next.”

“I didn't think it was possible for you to hate anything more than the Covenant, Joe.”

“I didn't think so, either, Pizza. What I saw was all of these different Flood forms swarming the facility. I hadn't left Tarkov for more than a minute and he was already being overrun. The Chief tossed some frags just in front of the sandbags they had set up. The bags protected them, but not the Flood forms. I did the same all throughout the warehouse. The fighting was hard, but we eventually emerged on the other side of the warehouse.

“Tarkov ordered us topside, onto the roof. We were all better than your average shot, so I guess he figured we'd support the Chief, maybe flank the Flood. We got out onto the roof in time to see the Shadow of Intent drop some Sangheili warriors onto the field. We saw that they had the situation under control, and pushed on across the roof to the other side of the complex. We got to the main gate in the other sector, and were about to open it when Combat Forms rained down us. We gave them everything we had, but had to fall back.

“We went through mag after mag. The flood was thinning us out. The tricky thing with those bastards is you can't just shoot them, you need to shoot the Infection Form controlling the body. Everything else is non-vital. They do not feel pain, nor compassion. And sometimes, even after you drop them, they'll get back up anyways. They had to have some healing factor going for them.

“The Flood shifted positions to block us from falling back to the Chief and the Elites. Instead, Tarkov ordered us to go along the upper pathway that paralleled the ramp up to the gate. Infection and Carrier Forms started to move in on our position, but the Chief was going through them like a hot knife through butter. But even he was too slow. An Infection Form climbed up to us and hopped onto Tarkov. It burrowed through his armor and hijacked his body.

“I only wish he died instantly. After that, I realized I was all that was left. I popped a smoke grenade and hid in the nearest dumpster I could find. It felt like I was in there for hours... maybe days. Reports said it was minutes. All I could hear was the grotesque, fleshy sound of the Flood. Eventually, once the noises stopped, I emerged, gun at the ready. I was alone. I didn't know if I should be thankful or mortified. I eventually found what was left of my squad, and radioed for evac. I was picked up by the same Phantom that picked up the Chief a little later.

“When we got back to a friendly ship, I found my way to Lord Hood who had me assigned to your team. Then I left as the Chief entered for what looked like a very critical debrief. You know the rest.”

“Damn... the Flood got Tarkov?”

“As far as I could tell, but I didn't see any body. You know how the Flood is.”

We sat there for some time, in quiet solitude. The memories were crossing my mind, reopening old scars, and I could only assume they were weighing heavily on Pizza's. Tarkov was a good soldier, he pulled my tail out of the fire (quite literally) back on Miridem. All that was left of that son of a bitch was our memories of him and his infamous drink, the War Cocktail.

I snapped back to my senses when I heard the sound of a bolt lock back. I turned to face Pizza. He had just ejected his magazine, and had already pulled out a cleaning kit. I did the same to my Sniper Rifle, joining Pizza in basic weapon maintenance.

We cleaned and cleaned, until there was absolutely nothing left to clear out of the guns. My Sniper Rifle was working like it was fresh from Misriah. My SMG was clean enough to shut up any drill instructor. Pizza had cleaned up his DMR and had his Rocket Launcher cycling smoothly. I holstered my SMG and was about to pick up my Sniper Rifle when I gave pause, hands on the gun.

“Pizza, you know how some units customize their firearms with certain paint jobs?”

“Yeah. Personally I've taken notice that soldiers who do that don't tend to leave those guns behind all that much. Something about it being 'theirs', I'd say.”

“Well, you've had your DMR since Reach, right?”

“Yeah, I just threw on a few bits and bobs every now and then to keep it up to snuff to its more modern counterparts. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about naming this here Sniper Rifle. Its serial number even matches a rifle I had back on Requiem. I think it was when we were sent out after Parg Vol and wound up recovering a UNSC supply cache. The one with the tanks.”

“Oh, yeah! That was a fun time. We shot down SO many Phantoms, I think those Covies just gave up and rage quit on us.”

“Yeah, well. This is that same rifle. So, what do you think?”

“What are you going to name it? 'Cause if it is anything like 'Mr. Pointy', I don't think it's going to fly.”

“I was thinking... how about 'Strike Three'?”

“Strike Three? As in ‘you’re out’?”

“Yeah,” I held up a hand, counting off, “Strike one: Harvest, 2525. Strike two: Miridem, 2544. And Strike three: Arcadia, 2549. The three glassings I've survived.”

“You're not counting Earth?”

“That wasn't the whole planet, and I was only there for half of it, with the Ark and all that jazz. Plus, it was the Fleet of Retribution glassing it, the Sangheili separatists. And with the Flood, no one can blame them for what they did.”

“So Strike Three it is.”

And so it was, my Sniper Rifle had a name along with the Mighty Magnum. Between storytelling and gun cleaning, those three hours ticked by rather quickly. Before we knew it, our train was pulling into the station. The team regrouped and boarded. With the rest of the team around, we managed to settle into things a lot more easily... with the added tension of one of us being a traitor. A tension we couldn't let our faces betray. Thank god for polarized visors.

When we finally disembarked in Canterlot, I waved for Pizza to get the team settled in the HQ. “I'll go and debrief the princesses on what's gone down,” I told him.

I went right up to the castle. It felt strange now, like it had been years since I was last here. Nevertheless, I gave little more than a second of thought to that idea. I pressed forward. The sun had set, but twilight was still lighting the streets. The Night Guard had already taken to their shifts. They let me through unmolested, and I approached the princesses, both of whom were in their respective thrones.

“Miladies, I need to debrief you on the recent events that occurred at Marecago, the Unicorn Range, Neighagra, the Marejave, and Trottingham. I'd recommend we get to this without delay, and without stray listeners.”

“I'm ready to turn in for the day. Should we take this up to our chambers?” Celestia asked her sister.

“I think so, sister. If we are concerned with stray ears, we should go some place much more quiet than our throne room,” came Luna's response.

We went back behind the thrones, this time heading left. A pair of thestrals joined our formation, providing escort to the princesses. Luna and Celestia lead me up to what looked like a landing pad for pegasi. Celestia casually took off, but Luna loitered a little longer. She dropped one of her wings low. “Climb on, Joe. It is much faster to travel by air than to climb a hundred flights of stairs.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, saddling myself onto the princess. Personally, I wish I still had my wings, but necessity called for otherwise. Without another word, Luna took off, accompanying her sister into the twilight sky. We were lazily spiraling upwards, heading towards one of the higher towers of the castle. I spotted more than a few rooms with open balconies, but we past many of them. It looked like we were headed towards the highest spire. There were two balconies, one on either side of it.

I spotted a pair of thestrals standing guard on the balcony facing away from the city. A pair of Royal Guards, pegasi, were at the balcony overlooking the city. We were headed towards the latter. Celestia set down gently and Luna followed closely behind. The thestrals and the Royal Guards visibly tensed at seeing one another. The presence of both princesses probably staved off any squabble they would have had otherwise.

With a wave of her hoof, Celestia had the Royal Guards dismissed. They took off into an aerial patrol route. Luna did the same, and her thestrals left as well. “Now, what is it you had to say about the battles?” Luna asked.

“The battles are but a footnote for what is going on here. The Zebras were after something, and it looks like they found it. They pulled out of the fray at both Neighagra and Trottingham. I believe the forces they dedicated to the Marejave and the Unicorn range were merely to delay the rest of Equestria's forces. That being said, they may have been after something in Well-met, Stalliongrad, and the Frozen North. Is there anything there that they could be after? Remember, they chose all these targets for a reason. I need to know what links them.”

“Well,” Celestia chimed in, “Neighagra, Well-met, and Trottingham are all very important trade cities.”

“How does Stalliongrad and the Frozen North factor in?” I countered.

“Potential avenues? They could just be a way to get what they need.” Luna pointed out.

“Stalliongrad and the Frozen North were secured before the battles of Trottingham and Neighagra. The Zebras would not launch an attack with their supply lines severed, that would just be plain stupid.”

“And yet you dismiss the idea, making it viable for an opponent.” Luna had a point.

“Then where did their forces come from, and what were they after? We secured those points of entry long before the attacks actually occurred. If the Zebras did have their supply lines cut, they'd have attacked immediately, rather than have time whittle away at their resources and troops.”

There was a pause for thought. Then Luna spoke, “What if their supplies were never cut to begin with, but their evac route locked down?”

“You're saying we blocked their only way out? Possible, but then where did they get their supplies?”

“Simple: the supplies were already here. A few Nightmare Nights ago, I met a Zebra in Ponyville, Zecora I believe her name was. She's been in Equestria for a long time, from far before the outbreak of war. The thing is, she lives in the Everfree Forest, and can even thrive there. It wouldn't be too incongruous to assume that other Zebras share a similar knowledge of plants to be able to survive, undetected, in a forest.”

“So you want me to track down Zecora, and have her point me in the direction of the Zebra's main forces?”

“No, not at all. She's a trusted friend of the Ministry Mares, and has proven herself loyal to Equestria thus far. I want you to talk to her. She knows Zebra culture better than anyone in Equestria, and might know why they attacked those cities. If you know the why of it all, you can break any enemy's will.”

“You really believe I can trust this 'Zecora' figure?”

“The Ministry Mares do.”

“Alright, I'll check her out, but if I get a hint things are going wrong, I'm scuffing the mission. Which brings us to another reason why I needed to talk to you two alone. Do you remember that list of personnel you gave me to recruit?”

“Yes, some of the best. Lockheart, Starfire, Daze, Pane, Solace, Liberator, Footfall, Keen Eye, Cupcake, and Heartstrings were all on the list, as I recall.”

“Well, can you tell me where their personnel records are being kept? I need to get my hands on them without making a formal request.”

“And why is that.”

“Given what transpired in Trottingham, and the fight just outside our own HQ, I believe there is an enemy spy in the ranks of Crimson.”

“But I double and triple checked all those ponies, how could one be a spy?”

“Back in Cloudsdale, I codenamed the intelligence leak that got Liberator killed 'Chuck Finley'. Our HQ locale is known only to you, me, my team, and anyone who we tell directly. The Zebra infiltrators that attacked and almost killed Pizza were waiting for us there. Additionally, they mentioned the same codename as the leak. In Trottingham, I believe Chuck Finley had supplied some of the Zebra forces there. I found a UNSC detonator, and a member of my team, Keen Eye, went missing. It looks like he was taken. We pursued, but the trail ran cold.”

“Do you remember who was with you in Cloudsdale?”

“The team wasn't at 100% back then, but I think I had Starfire, Fencing, Pizza, Spectacles, and Lockheart with me then.”

“Then I would start my searching there.”

“The only problem though is that I have the team review previous operations, Cloudsdale included, for tactical analysis and plans of improvement. The only member on the team I know isn't Chuck Finley is Pizza.”

Celestia spoke up, “Although you know, how do we know? I heard some time ago that it is good to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

“I've known Pizza for damn near my whole life. He wouldn't defect so easily. You would have to convince him that the best course of action for everyone was to betray his side. Regardless, he wouldn't hurt me. He's like a brother to me, and that road is two-way. He knows I'm fighting for Equestria, so he wouldn't fight against Equestria. Plus, the leak in Cloudsdale was around long before Pizza and I arrived. It checked out in Sunny Capony's ledger. Sunny was paying off their leak, but the payments were labeled as dead drops.”

Luna spoke, “Then maybe you should talk to Capony. He's in the dungeon, your old cell.”

“I think that what I'll do is try to follow the money. From there, I'll see if Zecora has any input on the situation. Then, I'll try to diffuse the threat of Chuck Finley, and maybe stop these intelligence leaks. Or... maybe I can get Chuck Finley as a double agent?”

“A double agent?”

“An espionage term for someone who is believed to be working for one nation's intelligence service, but in fact is working against it. Essentially the ultimate spy, capable of feeding info to your enemy that may or may not have them reinforce positions that aren't actually in any real danger. If we can get a double agent, Equestria will be one giant leap closer to winning this war.”

“Then I advise you capture Chuck Finley, and coerce him to work for us.”

“That may be easier said than done. I'll go check back into my team, and see if I can covertly review their service records. I'll compile the information and take what intel I have to the Shades. Luna, I'll need you to assemble an investigative team there. Officially, I'll be there to complete some thestral-specific training, like honing my enhanced senses.”

“I will form the team myself. Did you have any particular rendezvous point in mind?”

“I think that my house in the Shades would suffice.”

Celestia interjected, “You have a house in the Shades?”

“Yes, Luna provided me with a residence there day-one of me being a thestral. Seeing as the Zebras called me their version of a demon when they looked me in the eye, I don't think that they would ever work with the thestrals due to such religious reasoning.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“I've dealt with religious zealots before. They fought just as hard as any Covies I've faced in the past, and with just as much of an ardent passion. It was like they realized their only life goal was to kill me. As such, they rushed when they should have waited... zigged when they should have zagged.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck in your investigation.”

“We make our own luck,” I said as I walked over to the balcony. Without hesitation, I jumped over the edge. The thestrals that were out on patrol diverted to try and catch me, but before they could reach an intercept point, I activated my reentry thrusters. I landed light as a feather and began walking across the city towards the Shipping District. I glanced over my shoulder to see Luna taking to the skies and heading back for the landing pad that lead to the throne room.

I arrived at the HQ, with the smell of cordite in the air, and gunshots ringing out from the range. Lyra was taking a few more shots at some of the evil traffic cones. I headed right back to the mess, unloading my weapons en route. I grabbed some hardtack and some honey. Not exactly the most delicious of food combos, but it would last an eternity.

I started thinking about what to do next. Greetings could mean a lot when dealing with any Mafia members. Personally, I thought we put that stuff behind us back at Cloudsdale. I would also need to gain access to the royal archives if I wanted to view the personnel records of Crimson. I think I'd pay Sunny a visit sometime around midnight. If I knock out the guards, he would probably be scared about what I'd do to him. Or maybe I could exploit the close family organization of the Mafia by torturing Sunny in front of Al Capony? I'll call that Plan B.

I heard a series of explosions from overhead, in the killhouse. Pizza was training them in EOD? It sounded like Spectacles was trying his hoof at it. I finished off my meal.

I laid down across the bench of the lunch table, staring up at the ceiling. Things had gotten very big, very fast. I was always used to fighting the battles, but to see what connected them? That was a first, and it sounded more like ONI's business than my own. My knowledge of espionage only went as far as what books and movies would have someone believe. I hoped that was good enough.

I heard a click from the range. It sounded like Lyra had finished her mag. I still had my weapons on me, maybe I should join her? I sat up. I'd need to kill some time anyway.

I walked over to the range, casually gripping my SMG while I walked. Up close it was apparent Lyra was trying to dual wield using her magic. Her accuracy was lacking, but that was normal for dual wielding.

“You know, dual wielding ain't a normal fighting tactic?”

“Joe! Didn't hear you come in.”

“Let me show you how Spartans handle multiple weapons. It might come in handy some day.”

“Oh, sure. They're unloaded,” Lyra levitated her guns over to me. They were twin pistols, standard issue to the Equestrian military. 10mm. I grabbed one in each hand. They were a little more robust and bulky than any pistol I've handled before. They had lateral grips so they could be fired using one's mouth, given one was a pony. I had to hold them sideways to get a good grasp on them.

I checked the chambers of the pistols, both were locked back and empty. I slapped a fresh mag from the table in each. The downside to holding these pistols at a 90 degree cant is that the casing are ejected vertically. Regardless, I leveled them down range and let a few rounds find a few cones.

The recoil on these guns were light. I aimed at the farthest target. My HUD provided good crosshairs for hipfire accuracy, but not quite as good as a smart-link scope. A few rounds missed, but by the last shots, I was on target.

“For being my first time with those weapons, I think I did alright,” I switched to my SMG, “Now I think it's time to rock and roll. How about a mad minute?”

“Mad minute?”

“Just fire as fast as you can down range. Great for relieving stress, like after a battle.”

I grabbed a mag and counted down from three. We open fired on the traffic cones. My SMG spit out a 60 round magazine in no time, and Lyra seemed to smile a little as she zeroed in on some targets in rapid fire. I pity any cone that would stand in our way. Just as the last shot rang out, another explosion sounded from upstairs. My money was on Spectacles. Again.

“How'd you fare in Trottingham?” I asked our medic.

“It was a little daunting being alone in a hostile city, but the flyers helped with that a lot. I didn't see very many Zebras, but that sorta added to the feeling of trepidation that I had just walking through those war torn streets.”

“I understand. It's one thing to be able to see the cause of your weariness, but to not see it is just plain terrifying sometimes. Imagine if you're walking through your home and you feel like you're being watched. As you journey through those dark halls in the pitch black of midnight, you turn. Behind you is a burglar! That there is horror, but let's say nothing was there. You could still hear footsteps, still feel like you're being watched. That is terror.”

“So what causes terror, then?”

“The fear of nothing. The most primal of fears. You fear nothing because you don't know whether or not if you should, so you do anyways to play it safe. Terror is the fear of something that is best described as nothing. Not being able to know where the threat is, or even what it is. Not being able to prepare, physically nor mentally. Eventually, you'll realize how to read a battlefield. That helps, but not to 100%. The 100% comes from knowing your enemy.”

“And you know the Zebras?”

“Not as much as I'd like. Analyzing them in combat and hearing tidbits about their culture leads me to compare them greatly to the Sangheili, a once-foe, now-friend that I had the opportunity to train beside. I know the Sangheili, and as such, I know most of what the Zebras are, but even that has limits. Later I plan on heading over to the archives to analyze all I can about the Zebras,” I handed Lyra a pair of extra mags, “I'll leave you to it. Practice is the best way to shoot accurately, once you have a good technique. Find what works for you.”

I headed upstairs to check on the rest of the team. Another explosion blasted outwards, but it was still muffled. I rounded the corner and saw Spectacles. He was dripping with red paint. The rest of the team all had splatterings of paint on them, except for Pizza and Starfire.

“Hey, Joe,” Pizza said, “I've just been trying to teach the team how to handle pressure-release explosives. Spectacles is still trying.”

I turned to Spectacles, “Do you have a knife?”

“No,” he said. I face palmed.

“Well, you're going to need something to keep the plate depressed. Pizza, can you give me one of those mines?”

“Sure,” he handed me the explosive device.

“Now, with these explosives, they don't go boom when we step on them, but rather when you step off. If you step on one like this,” I planted my foot on the now-armed mine, “the mine is ready to go off. To prevent that, you need to fool it. You can't just replace your weight with a bag of rocks, this isn't Hollywood. What you need to do is engage the safeties of the mine, and check for anti-handling devices.”

I crouched down, keeping weight on the foot that armed the mine. I felt around the edge of the disc for any AHDs (Anti-Handling Devices). Finding none, I drew my knife from my left vambrace. “No AHDs marks a sloppy sapper, and you shouldn't be too worried of clever explosives if that is the case, unless if there is more than one sapper. Just keep the pressure plate depressed, and the mine won't know the difference. I like to try and replace the safety pin.” I lowered my knife down, just below the pressure plate, and move it in towards the center slowly. Handling mines isn't something I've done in a long while, but it was like riding a bike.

I felt my knife slide into a slot. Fingers crossed, I stepped of the mine. Bomb disarmed! I let out a shallow breath. “Now, it's best not to step on the mine in the first place, because you'll probably lose a perfectly good knife doing so. But then again, there are other options to disarm it, aren't there, Starfire?”

Starfire looked at me with a slight head tilt, and a coy smile. With a wing, she drew out a bobby pin from her mane. “Bobby pins a quite effective at holding back one's hair, picking locks, and disarming mines. I always carry more than I need; they weigh next to nothing and don't take up much room,” she said.

“Anything like a small pin, including the very tip of a knife, can be used to engage the safety mechanisms on a mine. Not every mine out there will have a pressure-release device; some may have a proximity sensor, or a contact plate. For those, avoid them whenever possible. AT mines are another story, and unless you weigh over 250 pounds, you shouldn't worry about them,” I concluded.

I let the team go back to trying to diffuse the paint mines Pizza had rigged. I started thinking, studying how various members of Crimson went about their disarms. I might even be able to have our training programs force Chuck Finley into the open, but I'd have to be careful about it. I don't know much about Zebras aside from offhand information the princesses gave me, my combat experience with them, and and my impromptu dissection of one. I needed to talk about it to Zecora to learn more, if she proves to be a reliable source.

I left Crimson training, reloading my SMG and Sniper Rifle before heading out into the Canterlot streets. Thestral air patrols had picked up as night had fallen. I made my way over to the Ministry of Peace. I needed to have a conversation with a Ministry Mare about a particularly potent potion.

I found it odd that the whole ministry building was modeled after a giant tree, but I have seen odder fighting the Covenant. I walked up to the receptionist. “I need to see Fluttershy on some matters pertaining to the war effort. It involves the Crimson Guard,” I told her. Without a word, the receptionist worked a few buttons on what looked like the most archaic terminal I've ever seen. Those were new.

“You can go right on up. Big double doors, can't miss it. Better make it quick though, the ministry visiting hours are almost over,” she said.

If the ministries were supposed to spearhead the war effort, I think they'd need better security. Regardless, it looked like I was going to get the audience I requested. I walked down the halls and pushed open the double doors. Inside was a wide variety of small animals meandering about unabated. Behind a desk in the middle of the room was a butter colored pegasus mare with pink hair. In front of the desk was an orange mare in a stetson. On the desk, was a rather stern-looking white bunny rabbit. He seemed to be assessing me. I locked gazes with him, until he diverted his attention back to the orange mare.

I walked up to the mares, who fell quiet at my approach. The rabbit seemed to get tense. I'd have to keep my eye on him. “Fluttershy? I'm Lieutenant Joe of the Crimson Guard,” I depolarized my visor.

“H... hello.” It looked like she was trying to hide behind her mane. The orange mare got up and moved behind the desk, placing a hoof over her shoulder. The white rabbit seemed to not mind this at all, never breaking his focus on me.

“What I'm about to tell you is classified tier-one. Are you sure the present company is cleared for it?” I had a feeling this orange mare may be a good friend of Fluttershy's, judging by the white rabbit.

“Ah'm cleared. Ah run tha Ministry of Technology, after all,” the orange mare said. She must be Applejack, then.

I glanced back at the doors, double checking they were closed. I took a seat and leaned in towards the two. Applejack had since taken her hoof off of Fluttershy. The rabbit tensed some more, ready for action.

I whispered, “During the battle of Trottingham, a soldier gave me this flask, telling me to drink it all,” I held up the flask of the purple stuff that seemed to work wonders on stab wounds. “Of course, I left a little behind. I was hoping you could analyze what it is, because I was mortally wounded until I took it. What is in this vial has substantial healing properties the likes of which I've never seen before,” I placed the vial on the desk. The rabbit was quick to snatch it, eyeing it closely. He shot a handful of looks my way, before handing it over to Fluttershy.

Fluttershy seemed to settle in to my presence a bit more, relaxing a little. This was reflected in the rabbit, though almost imperceptibly so. “A healing potion? Those are common enough, but only for scrapes and bruises. If this can do what you describe, it must be significantly more powerful than any previous potion made. Who gave it to you, if you don't mind me asking?”

“He called himself Buckshot, but he looked far too young to be a regular. I think he was a civvie in armor, but his eyes said anything but.”

“Speakin' of armor, what kinda fancy shmancy suit ya got on there?” Applejack asked.

“Mjolnir MkVI Gen2 Powered Assault Armor. Air Assault helmet, Stalker breastplate, Soldier pauldrons, and Contoured vambraces and greaves, with Legendary visor. The Crimson Guard have been testing some power armor variants for equine use, and to great effect. I believe Spectacles should have been sending you his designs.”

“Ah remember hearin' that name around the office a lot lately. He does good work.”

“He ain't much of a fighter, so I'm trying to keep him off the front. Developing this tech is a good enough incentive to keep him home in most situations.”

“And the other situations?”

“He goes in guns blazing, gets shot to high hell like the rest of us, and we all end up sharing a drink over it in the end.”

“Must be some pretty good armor, huh?”

“Yeah, it can block .308 rounds for days. But like with any power armor, there are going to be several problems along its development. More recent models make more efficient use of its power supply and enhances servo sensitivity. I still think strength amplification needs to be more of a priority, but that's more of a stretch goal.”

“And how does your armor handle those problems?”

Applejack seemed really interested in my armor, or even the topic of power armor quite a bit. “My armor uses a micro-scale fusion reactor to generate enough power to provide sufficient energy output for 60 years. I've only had my armor for a year or two now, so I'd don't need to recharge anytime soon.”

“Huh, that sounds like one heck of an armor system. Sorry about distractin' ya from that healin' potion ya got there. Where did ya leave off on that?”

“I believe I was about to ask if Fluttershy could get this potion in full production. It could save thousands of lives for years to come,” I turned to face Fluttershy. She seemed to perk up and the idea of saving lives en masse.

“I'll see if any of Twilight's ponies can take a look at it. Thank you, Joe.”

“If it gets into production, I should be thanking you,” I stood and started walking out of the room. The rabbit eased at my leaving, but Applejack tagged along.

“Where'd Spectacles come up with his designs?” she asked,

“For the armor? I caught him trying to steal it from classified documents. I instead directed him to files that had a lot less black ink. Not quite the same as Mjolnir PAA, but a well-tested and proven design regardless.”

“Where exactly does your armor come from? It seems rather exotic to me,” she followed me out of the ministry building.

I looked up at the stars. I pointed to one that looked rather familiar, “Buffalo Breaker Yards, just outside Abilene, Texas, at Sol-III. That's where my helmet and breastplate were tested and made by Naphtali Contractor Corporation.” I pointed at another star, “My pauldrons were tested and made at the Damascus Testing Facility in Vhalkem, on Chi Ceti IV by the Materials Group.” A third star, “And my greaves and vambraces originate from the Lethbridge Combat Fields in Lethbridge, Corsica, on Concord. They were made by Lethbridge Industrial.”

“Wow... and here Ah thought that Stalliongrad steel was far off...”

“It ain't that far, just a few hundred light years away. I guess being in the UNSC gives you a new idea of what 'large-scale' really means. Regardless, do you mind me asking why you've been digging for info on power armor?”

“Well, ya got me... I was hopin' some better armor could keep our boys alive a while longer, hopefully until wars' end.”

“That's an arms race for you: measure and countermeasure. Mjolnir ain't what you want to look at, though. It was specialized later in the Human-Covenant War to be resilient to plasma and laser damage more than bullets and bombs. As such, it can easily ablate heat, has a plasma shield, and EMP resistance. In fact, Covenant weapons often release ionizing radiation, so Mjolnir was optimized against that as well, though a bit later in the war. All Gen2 armors have those mods standard on it.”

“And you're wearin' all o' that?”

“Yeah, and a little bit more, but some of that stuff is classified. The weight caps out at about a thousand pounds, including the user. You'd need to get clearance from ONI or the Materials Group for more information. See you starside,” I broke off down an alleyway, headed towards the dungeon. I needed to talk to Sunny Capony.

There was a guard outside, and he seemed tired, judging by the yawning. I grabbed my SMG. If I wanted Sunny Capony to believe that I am a whole lot worse than the Zebras, I'd have to prove it. I moved in from the side, going unnoticed by the guard. I'd need to take him down, but I didn't want to kill him. I snuck up on his left side. He let out a yawn.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He groggily looked my way. I swept the SMG's butt from right to left across his face, then reversed the motion. I finally hit him with one final upward swipe, laying the guard out on the ground in his shiny golden armor. Blood was coming from his face, but I was gentle enough to leave him breathing. He wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, so I went into the old dungeon.

“It's rather damp in here. Hope it ain't doing too much against your health. I want to enjoy this,” I said as I descended the stairs, looking at Sunny Capony in his lonely cell.

“You! Why are you here? You ain't gettin' nothin' from me!” he said.

I brought up my Silenced SMG and fired a single round into his leg. “You and your daddy's boys were a real pain in my ass back in Cloudsdale. What makes you think I'm here for intel? I'm just here to have some fun,” I punctuated that last line with another round to the same leg. He screamed again, but this time with more sobbing.

“You're a psycho! You hear me, a psycho!”

“Please, Spartans show no signs of psychopathy. Rather, the best of us show mild sociopathic behavior,” I landed a three round burst into his other foreleg. I made sure these shots were just flesh wounds. “Did I mention how my fireteam was regarded as one of the best?” I put another round into his leg, stacked atop the first hole.

“Guard! Help, there's a psycho in here! HELP!” he yelled.

I shot one of his hind legs, “The term is 'sociopath', okay? The guard outside was easy enough to handle. By the way, these are 60 round magazines. Pretty nice for long, drawn-out combat... or pleasure in doling out punishment,” I fired a barrage into his last good leg. He was writhing in a corner in his cell.

“What do you want from me? Please, just stop!”

“What I want is simple: revenge. You did wrong by me back in Cloudsdale, funding every gangster that you did. Come to think of it, the only others out there that did a greater wrong to me was the Covenant and the Zebras. Both of them waged war against me, but I'll take whatever win I can,” I fired five more rounds into his least damaged hind leg. He was done with the whole “screaming” part, and was now just sobbing.

“Aww, no screams left?” I began, “Damn, and I was expecting to go all night here. Might as well wrap this up. I'm sure the other mobsters from Cloudsdale and Marecago are around here somewhere...” I swapped to a fresh mag for emphasis, “Maybe I should give Al a visit?”

“Wait! Please, wait... You said the Zebras did a worse wrong to you than I did?”

“Yeah, but they're not here, now are they?” I racked a round into the chamber.

“They are! They are... The Zebras have a spy, from Cloudsdale. That spy wanted us to run interference for them, keep the princesses distracted. In turn, the spy told us where all the good loot was.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You do realize my not killing you is because I'm interested in what you have to say, right?”

He continued immediately, “The spy told us about Liberator. His investigation was military, looking into some weapons shipments we intercepted. Our contacts in the CPD never heard of such an investigation, but it checked out. The EAF asked the CPD to halt all Mafia investigations.”

“Yeah, I already know all that. What I'm interested in is this spy. Liberator would be in my team if it wasn't for him.”

“All I know is that this spy spent some time in Zebra military training. Some of our boys crossed the spy, and it was nasty. We found parts of them in three different counties. I never saw the guy, he always used dead drops to give us intel and to receive payment.”

“How much did you pay him?”

“A few thousand bits per dead drop. The boys that crossed him didn't pay him the stated amount.”

“Stated amount? Can I see this statement?”

“It's at Dodge Junction. I'm not sure why he had us make all of those drops so far and wide...”

The blood was pooling beneath him. It wasn't much, but it was concerning. I needed to wrap this up nonchalantly. “Your ledger mentioned a locale in Dodge, amongst other places. Is it at that building?”

“He stuffed the dead drop into the insulation in the attic. The Ministry of Morale might have missed it, but they will find it unless if you hurry.”

“I'll be sure to do that. Thank you for your cooperation. Before I go, let me remind you that if I come back here not thinking too highly of you, I won't be so superficial with my aim. Now, is there anything you'd like to add?”

“Dad might know more, I just handled the payments. Please, go easy on him.”

“Let's call that Plan C.”

“And Plan B?”

I simply checked the mag on the SMG. He gulped back his fright. I reinserted the magazine and headed up the stairs. I found the nearest thestral on patrol and walked up to him. “I think someone's bleeding in there,” I said, pointing at the dungeon. He chuckled a little seeing the Royal Guard out cold, but headed in without delay.

I quickly made my way back to Crimson HQ. The explosions had subsided. Apparently Spectacles had improved his game. I caught Pizza on his way down from the killhouse. “Joe, nice to see you again.”

“Same here, Pizza. I've just got a new lead in Dodge Junction, so you'll need to keep Crimson training for a while longer. The official story is I'm completing my thestral training. I'll also need you to follow me for a bit. We need to see Dr. Aegis.”

“Is this about that stolen rifle prototype?”

“That's the half of it, make sure you grab it.”

“And the other half?”

“I need to study up on Griffin culture.”

“I see. You know, you're about the only Spartan who will actually study not only his opponent, but also their culture, religion and psyche. Why is that?”

“They said 'know your enemy' in OCS, I guess I took it to heart. Turned out for the better in the long run, huh?”

“You know it.”

I walked toward the back of the HQ, and boarded a Mongoose. “Hop on. We'll take this to Aegis, then I'll head straight to Dodge Junction afterwards. You'll hoof it back here and get the team training some more. I'll keep you posted about any developments.”

“Copy that, Joe. Let's drive to the castle!” Pizza said as he climbed aboard the Mongoose's passenger seat. The engine roared to life, and we were headed straight out the front door. In moments, we were back in the Canterlot streets. I went towards the castle, and the thestrals seemed somewhat confused at what to do with an ATV driving into the throne room. I honked the horn plenty of times to get any bystanders out of the way.

“Hi Luna, bye Luna!” I said as we drove between the thrones, heading up the stairs before she could even turn her head to try and figure out what was going on.

We made our way atop the stairs, and dismounted before heading into the Nerve Center. The thestrals on guard merely nodded as we approached. “Aegis! You in here?” I yelled out, only for the griffin to land in front of me.

“Yeah, Joe. Need anything?”

“In Marecago we recovered this prototype rifle, and we'd like to know more about it. Also, is there anything you could tell me to explain why a griffin was in possession of such a gun?”

“Oh, this thing is a beauty! And that griffin... he was probably doing some contract work or something. All griffins have this code of honor that has us bound to various contracts. It's a culture thing that has been around for thousands of years. I'm actually under a contract from Celestia to research various technologies to forward Equestria. The termination of that contract is entirely up to Celestia.”

“So griffins are honor-bound to whatever contract they sign off on?”

“That is correct. Any griffin that breaks their contract (and there a very few who do) isn't really considered a griffin amongst griffins after that point. Honoring the contract is a cornerstone of our culture.”

“So if this griffin was contracted by a mercenary company, like Talon, they would sooner die than fail their contract?”

“Yes, but if the merc is from Talon, you've got bigger problems. Talon is one of the biggest griffin contracting corporations out there, and almost all of their profits are blood money. I'm amazed they even still get representation in the Griffin Kingdoms.”

“Griffin Kingdoms? As in plural?”

“Yes, the various kingdoms operate independently, but govern one another in a Senate of the Kings. It helps make sure no one griffin kingdom takes on contract work that's up another's alley. Talon is almost exclusively mercenary and related services, and is generally frowned upon in the Senate of the Kings. Other kingdoms focus on other endeavors, like science, agriculture, and even archaeology.”

“So Talon's bad business unless if you're holding their contract?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And what can you tell me about that prototype?”

“Hmm... this isn't a project I worked on. Hey do any of you guys know what this thing is?” Aegis asked the swarm of eggheads behind him. They only paused a second to look at the weapon before returning to their work. “Sorry, but it doesn't look like it was developed here. You might want to talk to the MWT or MAS about this. I hear they have their own teams dedicated towards weapons research.”

“Pizza, you think you can handle that?” I turned to my Spartan friend, handing back the AER-1 prototype.

“I've got it, Joe. See you later, then?”

“Affirmative on that one. Catch you later.” I hopped onto the Mongoose again and immediately sped off. I would probably need to rearm in case if things escalated at Dodge. I set course for the Whitetail.

Some time passed before I found myself at the old LZ again. I opened up the door and drove the Mongoose inside. Things were still dark, but VISR helped significantly. I parked the Mongoose by the entrance and went back to the cached weapons. Dodge Junction was even further away, so I was looking at several days from the nearest resupply. I'd need to load heavy.

I grabbed a rucksack from amongst the crates and dumped out its contents. I tossed in the dossiers that we had on all current members of Crimson. Next, I cracked open a weapon crate and started loading my gear. I took the Mighty Magnum and placed it on my left hip holster. I grabbed my Energy Sword that I was awarded on Sanghelios and placed it on the opposite holster. My twin SMGs went on the lower back holsters. A belt of grenades went around my waist, all of our remaining frags on it (six in total).

It looked like I had mid range and close quarters down, but I'd need something for longer range. I grabbed a DMR for added measure. Not quite like Strike Three, but it could last a while in a fight. I loaded up the rucksack with as much ammo as I could muster for my chosen weapons. Mjolnir started giving me a weight limit warning, as though I was carrying a dismounted turret. I sat down and re-tuned my armor with the Gunner Package. The warning went away and I could move around without hindrance. Great.

Next, I would need a good Armor Ability. Thruster Pack hadn't done me wrong, but the rucksack would block its thrusters. I instead grabbed the Hologram ability. It would work great to confuse or distract any hostiles. I made sure that I had the Mobility package on my armor as well before I mounted up and set course for Dodge Junction. Time to find out who Chuck Finley really is.

On the lengthy drive over I started tallying up everything I knew about Chuck Finley. Apparently he was the leak back in Cloudsdale, and managed to catch Liberator before he could catch Finley. So that meant Chuck Finley was involved in the CPD in some way, possibly a contact. I had also somehow wound up recruiting Chuck Finley into my team, but I had only seen a handful actually strut their stuff. Finley would probably have Zebra training, and given their lethal close quarters combat, that makes Fencing our lead suspect. He also had ties to Dodge Junction, and is a pegasus. But there isn't any incontestable evidence to suggest he is Finley.

So that leaves our lead suspects as Fencing (due to his CQC training), Starfire and Lockheart (due to their previous deployment in Cloudsdale). But I'd need solid evidence if I wanted to out Chuck Finley without having everyone on my team turn against me. I did have that UNSC detonator and Keen Eye's dog tags. That fireball in Trottingham would suggest it could have been Starfire, but Footfall had eyes on her the whole time. It looks like I have nothing but a dead Zebra's testimony to suggest Chuck Finley even exists.

I gunned it the rest of the way to Dodge Junction, it was a long drive East. If that intel falls in the hands of the MoM, who knows how many rats are in their ranks?

I followed the train tracks until Dodge Junction came into view. I brought up a local map on my HUD and marked the house I needed to investigate. The town itself was sparsely populated, there wasn't more than a couple dozen homes here. I moved the Mongoose in front of the building I needed to get in, and sure enough, crime scene tape marked off the entrance. A few sets of wayward eyes found themselves on me, but I didn't pay them any more than a glance in return.

I racked a round into my DMR before kicking down the door and walking through the tape. Sunny Capony said it'd be in the insulation in the attic, so I went room to room until I found a way up. The stairs dropped down as I pulled on the string. I kept my rifle ready. I didn't exactly trust a mobster's word all that much, and could very well be walking into an ambush. I sent my hologram up ahead of me.

He made it to the top of the stairs and stood still before dissipating. It looked like it was clear. Motion Sensor was blank. I moved up slowly. As soon as my head crested the top of the stairs, I spun 360 to check out the rest of the attic. It was empty, didn't even have flooring, like it was going through a renovation when the MoM cracked down on it. I set down my DMR, not being able to sling it onto my back, and began sifting through the insulation. It took a while before I found a note.

It was a request for information on the Crimson Guard, and its technology. The first time I mentioned Crimson Guard was after the attack on the first warehouse in Cloudsdale, so that gives this note a date. It also eliminates Lockheart and Starfire from the list of suspects, along with Spectacles and Fencing. It looked like that was all I was going to get from here.

I grabbed my DMR and headed back outside. Some local police had arrived, so I mounted up and got the hell out of Dodge before they could do anything about it.

I couldn't return to Canterlot, not yet at least. I cruised right back to the Whitetail LZ and parked the Mongoose in the secondary base. While I was down below, I checked our supplies to see if we had a spare sling laying around for me to use on my DMR. I was coming up empty on that search, so I checked on any captured munitions we had. Apparently the Covenant weren't fans of slings either. I decided to call it quits and headed back topside.

Next I began searching for the entrance to the Shades. I found the familiar tree and waited a second. “What is the password!” a voice yelled at me, seeming to come from all directions at once.

“Nocte est eternum,” I responded.

Immediately, the local foliage shifted around and what was once several bushes and shrubs turned out to be a full platoon of heavily armed Night Guards. One of the guards walked over and opened a hatch that was just as well concealed. I walked in without hesitation and heard the hatch close behind me. I followed my senses through the tunnel, following even the faintest of hints until I came upon a door some distance later.

I opened it up and walked inside the underground city. It had been a while since I had last been here, and I was a little foggy on the whereabouts of things. I did remember one thing though: my house was the one without any decorations on it. Every other building seemed to be decorated for Halloween or the Equestrian equivalent of it.

Finding my way to my barren abode, I placed my hand on the biometric lock and heard a distinctive click. I gave the door a gentle push and it opened right up. Inside was nothing. Not even furniture, not even the kitchen sink. It looked like I would have to get some hardware for this place.

“Joe, didn't expect to see you here!” Luna was looking at me through my open front door.

“I needed a place to operate from while I pursued Chuck Finley. Figured this would do nicely, especially if I wind up picking up a tail.”

“Well, it looks like you're going to have to do some shopping for some of the more basic amenities.”

“Shopping? With what money? Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever received a single paycheck ever since I started working alongside Equestria here, and Credits aren't accepted locally.”

“I will see if I can establish a line of credit for you and your team to spend however you see fit. Also, the Shades' economy operates very differently than Equestria's, with it being an isolated community and all. All that you have to do is file a request for the desired item, and you will receive the ration chits to get once you are cleared for the item. Extensive dossiers are kept on all Lunar Guards in the record hall here in the Shades because of this.”

“So everything is free, just it gets given to those who need it most first?”

“That is correct. I would check your mailbox, it should have some ration chits for some of the more basic amenities that a household should have. Also, with Nightmare Night approaching, decoration ration chits are being handed out quite frequently. You should be able to get some of those with ease.”

“Also, Luna, I'm not exactly a lone wolf type of Spartan. Are there any thestrals down here that are available for some clandestine operations? I could use some help tracking Chuck Finley.”

“I will see if there are any available.”

“And one more thing: I'll be giving you status updates via my dreams. It seems as though it is the most secure form of communications we've got. Just remind me to give you the update whenever you find me snoozing.”

“That is standard procedure for long-range patrols and high-profile operations. I guess great minds think alike.”

Luna left me to my own devices as I figured out a shopping list. It wasn't long until I had my ration chits (plus the decoration chits) and was en route to Quarter Masters to get some things. I quickly selected what I needed and reconnoitered what else was in stock before taking everything back home. Lucky for me Quarter Masters has a free installation policy for such goods. While they were doing that, I figured it'd be best for me to see who was available for temporary reassignment.

I went to the training fields. “The Dirt” is what it was called, judging by the tattered wooden sign. I watched the thestrals grapple and spare with one another, each giving it their all. There was about a dozen soldiers here, each in a fighting pair. The thestrals seemed to move silently and with precision. Each blow that they landed I at first thought was intended to be lethal, but upon closer inspection I found that they were modifying their strikes moments before hitting.

On occasion I saw one draw blood, but nobody seemed to notice it. It seemed as though it was commonplace. Eventually, a platoon of thestrals came marching by, and joined up in pairs. Their lieutenant, left unpaired, was moving from pair to pair. From time to time, he'd stop them, mid attack, and point out the most minute mistakes I've ever seen before having them resume. He had a very sharp eye, and leading these thestrals suggested he had a sharp wit, too.

Eventually, he settled in and grew satisfied with the Lunar Guard's combat routines. He found his way over to me. “Looking for somepony to fight? Or just looking for some recruits to adopt for your little unit?” he had a gravelly texture to his voice.

“Hoping to find a couple good soldiers for a little assignment I was given. Any recommendations?” I didn't take my eyes off the sparring pairs.

“Night Bloom! Nocturne! Get over here!” he barked. Immediately, one of the pairs untangled themselves and rushed over to their grizzled officer. The stood at attention, and remained unflinching.

“These two your recommendations?” I asked.

“They're jack-of-all-trades warriors in my book. Pitiful excuse for not being the best, but they should fare you well, regardless of the assignment.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“They've been through my training, and aren't in the hospital.”

I looked back at the Lunar Guards. They were in the standard purple plate armor of the Lunar Guard, but they also had overstuffed saddlebags hanging off either side. It looked like they were carrying over 300 pounds of equipment each. The two looked very much alike, both with a slate grey coat and dark blue mane. One, a stallion, had his mane cut short and had noticeable scars all over his face. Behind his slit, amber eyes, I could tell he was a cheerful spirit.

For the other one, a mare, her gaze said she was more irritated and harsh at her core, but she seemed a little relaxed. It was as though something comforting was near her. Her mane looked as if it might be violating UNSC regulations. She had just as many scars as the stallion, but not nearly as many on her face.

“What makes these two special?” I asked. I had seen them sparring, and they were good. The million Credit question was if they were Spartan good.

“They seem to have some sort of precognition going on betwixt them. I think it's a twin thing.”

I turned to the recruits, “You're siblings?”

“Yes, sir,” they responded in tandem. Guess that answers that.

“There's one thing I want you to do for me first,” I dropped my rucksack and weapons, then held up my fists, “You think you can handle a Spartan?”

They passed one another a look, then turned to their CO. He nodded, and they lunged at me. Fighting is typically the fastest way to learn a lot about who you're fighting against.

One went low, and another went high. I jumped right to avoid it, and spun around to stay facing them. The stallion, Nocturne, rolled onto his hooves. His sister rolled, but launched herself off of Nocturne instead of landing. I stepped left and struck her with my left forearm. Nocturne moved in as his sister maneuvered around my strike.

He swept my legs as Night Bloom was bringing her elbow on top of me. I tucked in my legs and bucked Night Bloom away with enough force to flip a Warthog. Unfortunately Nocturne finished what his sister couldn't, and I took a nasty blow to the face. I managed to roll away from Nocturne, but that put me between the two of them. I saw a contact on my radar move around me, Night Bloom, I'd take it. I heard a whoosh of wind and the contact started moving in quickly, I deployed my hologram and backpedaled away from it. It march forward without a clue, and the contact pursued it, Nocturne diverting to me.

He tried to close the distance but not before I planted a roundhouse kick upside his head. Night Bloom went crashing through my hologram, and after a brief moment of confusion diverted her attacks back to me. She charged, down low this time. I jumped high to avoid it, but she stopped short and changed direction right towards me. I brought up my arms to block, and she hit me hard. I came crashing back down to the hard ground.

I rolled to my feet, remaining in a crouched position, ready to strike. A contact appeared on my left moments before something smashed into the back of my head from that general direction. I landed face first on the ground, so I rolled right to try to get face up. Night Bloom had continued with her aerial assault and was charging down at me again. I had little choice but to bring my legs to bear and try to keep track of Nocturne.

I pressed the attack on Night Bloom, forcing her to block my mad kicks. A contact popped up on my six o'clock. I cast a glance in that direction, and saw Nocturne readying a haymaker. I rolled off my back and onto my shoulders, then lifted myself into a handstand so that I could keep Night Bloom occupied for a short while with one leg as I surprised Nocturne with the other.

Nocturne never saw the kick coming, but Night Bloom then had her opening. She went in for a strike on a rather sensitive part of male anatomy, but instinct took over and I cartwheeled to the right, dodging the attack and getting back on my feet. Before Night Bloom could do much more, I hit her with an open-palmed strike to the side of her face. The blow stunned her.

Nocturne had picked himself up off the ground by then and charged me. I dropped my stance as if I were going to brace against the tackle, but at the last moment I lunged upwards and brought me knee into his jaw. Judging from how much my right knee hurt, he couldn't be faring too well. Night Bloom had maneuvered behind me and latched onto my back.

She was trying desperately to land several blows to my head, but I tilted my head forward, away from her reach. I then returned the favor by landing several elbows to the sides of her head. When it looked like my blows were getting through to her, I jumped into the air and spun around, bringing the weight of Mjolnir on top of her. I rolled off of her and onto my feet, but I was the only one standing now.

“You two done yet?” I asked the downed thestrals.

Nocturne lifted himself up off the ground and shook his head, trying to clear it. “Just about. Where did you learn to fight like that, sir?”

“Good, 'cause I don't think I could keep that up much longer. I picked that stuff up at Miridem, Reach, Earth and Sanghelios, and then I just sort of blended the techniques together. Is your sister alright?”

Nocturne lifted her off the ground. She was breathing, but was definitely out of it. I guess having a thousand pounds dropped from ten feet onto you can do that. “Sir, she'll be fine... in a week... or two.”

“You two also managed to sneak up on me from time to time in that fight. I take you're both very adept at stealth?”

“Thank you, sir. We train very hard at stealth,” Nocturne started carrying his sister over to a field medic tent, only it looked more like a longhouse. Injuries must be very common when sparring here. The grizzled officer followed us inside.

A nurse inside glanced at us, then handed Nocturne a bottle of pills, “Bed 63,” she said, then returned to her other patients. There were bunks on our left, and regular beds on our right. It looked like the ones on the right were reserved for the more serious injuries, and they were all even-numbered. We went back some ways and Nocturne set his sister on Bed 63, lower bunk.

“I think I'll take 'em,” I told the officer.

“That you will, then... I never did catch your name. I'm Lieutenant Iron Sides.”

“I'm Lieutenant Joe of the United Nations Space Command, currently serving as acting Captain of the Crimson Guard.”

“Well, Joe, they're all yours then,” Iron Sides patted me on the side and shuffled out of the field hospital.

“So, Nocturne, what's your story? How'd you and your sister end up here, if you don't mind my inquiry?”

“We were on our own for as long as I can remember, sir. One night, we decided to wander the Whitetail at night, and found our way here. We haven't been outside that much since.”

I nodded in appreciation of the shared story, but it seemed as though there was more to his story than he was telling me. He would probably tell me when he was ready, I have a feeling the rest of his tale may be much more severe than what he said. “Well, when she comes to, rendezvous with me at my home, it's the house that’s still bare. We have a lot on the table.”

I left the two there as Nocturne started popping some pills. A few minutes passed before I found my way to my house and I began the descent to the basement. Again it was barren, so I decided to turn this room into a Combat Information Center. I moved some pedestals I had requisitioned down here, ten in total. I then sorted through my rucksack, pulling out all of the team dossiers, excluding myself and Pizza's dossiers. I placed each one on a pedestal.

I moved a table from the living room down into the center of the room. The pedestals were poised on opposite walls, five per wall. The stairs leading up were against the back wall, and that left one wall unadorned. On the table I placed the UNSC detonator, and the document I recovered from Dodge Junction. On Keen Eye's pedestal, I placed his dog tags.

I looked over at the evidence we had recovered. One piece of busted equipment and a piece of paper. That is all the hard evidence we had on Chuck Finley. He would be a slippery son of a bitch to catch. I would probably still have a few minutes before Nocturne and Night Bloom showed up. I headed out to see if I could find a large map of Equestria, thumbtacks, and plenty of yarn. I still had some amenity chits left over, and the decoration chits could probably cover the yarn.

When all was said and done, I had the map mounted to the previously unadorned wall. I put the thumbtacks into the various locations Crimson has been and connected them with red yard. I used gold yarn to track confirmed locations that Chuck Finley was at, or involved with. There was some consistency, but it wasn't absolute. I needed more heads in on this, with more evidence on the table, in order to figure out who Chuck Finley was.

There was a knock on my door upstairs, so I ascended from the depths and let in Nocturne and Night Bloom. “Follow me,” I told them, before heading back down to the basement. “This mission is classified tier-one. Here we have dossiers on all the members of Crimson placed atop each member's pedestal. On the center table is all the evidence accrued against priority target codename: Chuck Finley. All that we know about Chuck Finley, is that he or she is embedded with the Crimson Guard, a minor snafu during recruitment. Our mission, is to find out who he is, and take him down. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” the two responded.

“Then let's get to work. This document here was recovered a few hours ago from Dodge Junction. It indicates Chuck Finley requested more information on the Crimson Guard. The information requested, all members of the Crimson Guard are privy to, indicating this request is older than Chuck Finley's membership. Chuck Finley is known to have been recruited into Crimson, due to the plotting of an ambush at Crimson Headquarters, a classified location. The name 'Crimson Guard' was not coined until after the initial raid on a Mafia-controlled warehouse, meaning Chuck Finley was not recruited or even aware of Crimson until after such an incident. Prior to the Crimson Guard, Chuck Finley had some degree of involvement in the EAF, enough to know of a Master Sergeant Liberator's investigation into a potential information leak in the Cloudsdale Police Department. That leak is now suspected to be Chuck Finley.

“The only suspects that can be eliminated are: myself, Ensign Pizza, Spectacles, Private Fencing, Corporal Starfire, and Colonel Lockheart. They were known members of Crimson prior to the christening of the group. It should be of note that Technician Fifth Grade Keen Eye was captured at Trottingham, Chuck Finley being the lead suspect, the Zebras being the captors.”

“What do you want us to do, sir?” Nocturne asked.

“First thing: stop calling me 'sir', our pay grades don't determine our effectiveness here. Second: we need to acquire incontestable evidence to indicate who Chuck Finley is, then once we have a positive, verified ID on him, we kill the bastard. Equestria's legal system will not be involved in this investigation, unless if absolutely necessary.”

“So, we've managed to eliminate five suspects from the list, but that leaves seven still on the table. How do you think we'll get any more intel on Chuck Finley?” Night Bloom asked.

“Pizza is a close friend of mine and second-in-command of Crimson, under me. We're going to have to sabotage Crimson in order to route out Chuck Finley, and Pizza will help us from the inside. Officially, I'm here to brush up on my thestral training. No one knows how long that will take, so we've got plenty of time. Princess Luna will provide assistance as necessary.”

“So you want to send Crimson into a trap, spring it, and see who reacts like a Zebra?” Nocturne asked.

“Roughly. It can't be a trap, through. Crimson would recognize it, and so would Finley. I think we'll have to force Finley's hand on this. We'll need to make Crimson vulnerable, give Finley an opportunity that is too irresistible, but have it be believable. When he makes his move, we'll take him down. I'd like to interrogate him, figure out what has happened to Keen Eye, if he isn't Keen Eye, then neutralize him.”

“Your plan is to betray your own team just to see who acts like a traitor?” Night Bloom deadpanned.

“It seems like good plan, and the damage won't be permanent. We'll just leave some very valuable intel in the open, and pounce on whoever goes for it. But we'll have to be subtle; using a city-wide lockdown to force Finley to act will have him back down. If he uses agents, we'll interrogate them until it splashes back on Finley.”

“And our job?” Night Bloom asked.

“I'm very easily recognizable. You two, however, could easily be transferred to the Night Guard that patrols the city at night, making you go unnoticed. To further conceal your presence, we'll spread rumors of an assassination plot against the princesses. They should up the guard details accordingly. Finley wouldn't suspect a thing.”

“And how would you spread such rumors, yet have them be empty?”

“Easy,” I pulled out the piece of paper I got off the Zebra officer I sniped through his scope back in Trottingham. “I have no idea what this message reads, it hasn't been translated yet, but we could say that it says the princesses are a priority target for the group that retreated from Trottingham, and that the Neighagra force was merely diversionary. We're going to turn the intelligence game on its head, but the princesses need to be kept out of this for them to react legitimately.”

“We'll be telling the princesses that there is an assassin after them, even when there isn't?” Nocturne asked.

“No, we'll have an assassin on standby, to help sell this all the more. We hopefully won't have to go that far, it wouldn't be beyond reason that Chuck Finley would be privy to such an operation if it was ran by Zebras.” I thought for a moment, “We'll introduce it as a rumor, get the orders here translated and decrypted, then debunk our own rumor as a translation error, leaving you on the patrol routes in the city.

“Once that is done, I'll have someone tip off the MoM that Crimson has been doing less than legal activities on Equestrian soil. When they crack down, they'll seize everything, even Spectacles documentation on the Steel Ranger Power Armor. That is the juicy target the Zebras will go for. You'll need to cover it as it goes to the MoM for processing. When Luna hears about the raid on Crimson HQ, I'll have her send orders to the MoM via courier. The courier will carry the designs over to the MWT. En route, Finley should engage, either personally or via an agent. You'll go down and intercept. The courier is expendable, the intel and the attacker are not. You need to be there before any guards or police arrive, but be mindful of response times. Too soon and Finley knows something's up.

“Once that is done, take the attacker to the cells in the MoM. Crimson should have been moved there, as per the arrest, and that is where I'll rendezvous with you. We'll jail the attacker, and Crimson will be released by Princess Luna's orders. Once that is done, we'll get the attacker 'transferred' to another prison, a high-security facility, depending on the severity of his attack.

“The three of us will be making the transfer at night. I don't want any of the prisoners or guards to see me, it might blow the operation. We'll complete all transfers that aren't the attacker. Once all prisoners have been delivered, we'll take the attacker to the edge of the Everfree. There, we'll drug him out of his mind, and drag him all the way into the Shades or Crimson's secondary HQ, depending on what is available. In there, I'll interrogate him. My absence from Canterlot will be explained with advanced thestral training.

“Once I'm satisfied with the answers I get, we'll plan phase 2, and keep the attacker close at hand until he proves useless. Are you ready to rock?”

There was a pause, but then they responded, “Let's do this.” If this works, making elaborate plans on the fly might just be a talent of mine.

I didn't even try to translate the document, I just radioed to Pizza that a specialist in the Shades translated it for me, even though such a specialist didn't exist as far as I knew. I told him what the “translation” said, and to forward that information as needed. I'd give it a week, let it simmer, and then we'll have our pieces in place. Via my dreams, I told Luna to add Nocturne and Night Bloom to her guard transfers in response to the upcoming assassination attempt. I had to urge her not to question it.

The two thestrals packed up and left some time ago, and I had several days to get things ready. I performed thorough weapon maintenance on all of my guns and even my Energy Sword. I trained hard with Iron Sides and the other thestrals, honing my newfound abilities as well as my older, tried and true ones. At one point I even practiced a dual wielding technique with my knife and sword, to great effect.

The second day was much like the first, training and boredom. I started learning the layout of the city much more thoroughly. I got a reloading bench installed in my house and I started breaking down my ammo, reforming it into match-grade and overpressure loads. I wish I brought some Battle Rifle TTR rounds, I could probably make some sort of bullet to hand load into it. The new rounds I made were hitting harder and more accurately than normal, and Misriah's over-engineered bolts were holding strong. I continued to practice my training with the thestrals.

The third day I decided to go for a run throughout the city. Folks were putting up more and more decorations for Nightmare Night, yet my house's façade remained barren. I was just passing the machine shop when hostile contacts appeared on my motion sensor. I stopped and turned to face them, drawing my DMR. All that I saw was nothingness on both my flanks and six o'clock. Not the first time I started chasing ghosts. The contacts appeared again, and I moved down an alley, towards the nearest contact. Again, I found nothing. The motion sensor could be malfunctioning, or I could be in serious danger. I decided to head home.

Once there I locked the door and put a chair against it to barricade. Next, I sat down at my reloading bench and removed my left pauldron. The contoured armor plate is where the motion sensor's delicate crystal is housed. I removed my duster and set it down on my chair. Next I pulled out a few minute tools resembling a lockpick set. I carefully started disassembling the armor piece as I kept my ears as attentive as I could, letting them serve as eyes in the back of my head. I opened the housing of the crystal.

Personally, nobody would tell me how the motion sensor functioned, just how to maintenance it along with the rest of my armor. Luckily, that is all you need to know sometimes. From what I could tell, this crystal vibrates when motion is detected near it, which is why Spartans appear on their own motion sensor. The sensitivity the sensor is set to determine how much motion needs to be detected before it will display it on the HUD, this is so that a forest doesn't appear as a solid mass on the motion sensor. The down side to the motion sensor is it can very easily fail if anything is on it, so it must be kept extremely clean. Even the moisture of someone's breath is enough to cause failure.

Good thing this helmet is hermetically sealed. As I set the housing down, motion sensor crystal resting atop it, I noticed something in the housing. Water. Not much, maybe half a teaspoon at most, but enough to cause failures, such as false positives. Looking more closely, I saw some contaminants in the water. Now where could water have slipped into the housing?

I started retracing my steps, trying to remember when the water could have gotten in. My mind eventually reached back to the battle of the HMS Harmony. There, I was fully submerged at one point, same goes for Pizza. And the Mantis was submerged at Well-met. Looks like I now had something on my to-do list. I grabbed a spare, dry rag and started rubbing down the housing and its crystal. When it was clean of all contaminants, I reinstalled the system. When I booted up the sensor, my radar was clear. It looked like Stalliongrad had no ghosts after all. I donned my duster again, then grabbed my DMR and made my way out of the Shades.

I found my way back to the Whitetail Crimson location and went all the way back through the dark halls. The Mantis was standing just as I left it. Good. I turned tail and went into the storage area, opening up one of the UNSC crates, retrieving the necessary toolkit. The Mantis was based off of both Mjolnir and Cyclops technology, and I know just as much about it as I do my motion sensor.

Maintenance took the better part of the day, but the Mantis was thoroughly cleaned. The gargantuan mech was never meant for aquatic combat. I grabbed a datapad on my way out, boosting its signal with my armor's comms. I quickly got a connection back to Crimson HQ's UNSC computers. I fired up some translation software (meant for Covies, it should work with Zebras). I used my optics to scan the Zebra document for translation.

What it said shouldn't have surprised me:

Target: ~1.75 meters tall, bipedal, heavily armored, leader of Crimson Guard.
Objective: eliminate, kill. Means: 12.7x99mm Armor Piercing ammunition.
Weapon: captured Equestrian prototype Anti-Machine Rifle (Ironshod Firearms).
Station: telecom tower, five stories, East of plaza, Trottingham.
Operatives will assist in bait and takedown.
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE: target credited with hundreds of confirmed kills.
Ever Faithful, Ever Vigilant,
Legate Fortis

It seemed the stripes were extraordinarily precise with their planning, something I'd have to take note of for future operations. They also seemed to want me dead, no matter what. Between them and the Covenant, I'm proving to be harder to kill than Rasputin. Even so, I'll stay away from wine that may or may not be poisoned.

Next on the to-do list: debunk the assassination rumor. I fired up my comms and tried to connect to Pizza. “Joe, glad to hear from you. Your training finished?”

“Sadly no, Pizza. I do have an update, though. I had the translation of that Zebra document verified. Turns out the target isn't Luna, but me. The Legate put a hit out on me, sending at least one assassin and a team of supporting operatives to take me down. That sounds a bit like those cloaked bastards that ambushed us right outside of the HQ, right?”

“Solid copy, I'll go tell the princesses about this foul up.”

“I'd also tell them to keep the additional guards, the Zebras may still try to make a move on them as a secondary target to Crimson.”

“Yes, sir. See you starside.”

“See you later, Pizza.”

I killed the comms. This should free up Night Bloom and Nocturne for standard patrol routes. I'll give it a day before outing Crimson. I'd need to take myself down with them in order to make sure the intel was confiscated as evidence.

Before leaving the base, I changed my loadout again. I kept my weapons mostly the same, trading in my DMR for my Battle Rifle. I didn't have any live ammo for it, but I did have plenty of TTR rounds, which I grabbed in a heartbeat, swapping the ammo in my rucksack for it. I traded the Hologram for a Hardlight Shield. As a bit of an after thought, I decided to swap the Mighty Magnum for the Sticky Detonator.

It didn't take long to get in the Shades, and start doing an extra round of training with Iron Sides. This time it focused more on thestral-unique techniques (the sono-mapping I used beneath Stalliongrad, scent tracking, bomb sniffing, etc). Turns out a thestral's ability to suck the juice from various fruits can also be reversed, injecting something into a bite, if there is anything to inject. That gave me more than a few ideas about sucking up some poisons and using them in CQC, which Iron Sides recommended, but with knockout drugs or hallucinogens instead of toxins. It would be very easy to screw up, he indicated.

The Dirt had a tournament setting up, an annual event. On Nightmare Night, “Attrition”, as it is called, starts. A platoon signs up, their CO handles the first few rounds solo, every three victories netting him an additional squadmate, the next highest of rank in the group (veterancy breaks the ties), to join in and fight by his side. If they get eliminated, they are out of the game, permanently. If the CO goes down, it's game over. The battles last fifteen minutes on, five minutes off, until the opposing CO gets eliminated. Once that happens, the victor advances up the bracket, only allowed water between fights. The eliminated gets candy, with each sugary stockpile increasing in size for the number they eliminated, with a baseline awarded for each participant.

“Iron Sides,” I asked the grizzled ancient, “This sounds like one hell of competition, but it doesn't sound like there's a time limit. What's the record for the longest fight?”

“Oh, Joe... the longest fight is something of a legend around here. The two platoons posed for a photo afterwards, and now their likenesses adorn the first and second place trophies, one silver, the other gold, all showing both platoons. The platoons were Garuda and Endurance. Believe it or not, it actually came down to the last two men. Once the semi-finals start, the whole city becomes the area of operations. Garuda ran Endurance into the maze, started fighting from off the beaten path, but they were recalled by Luna once their EODs started blowing open new routes. The fighting lasted twenty-four days, ending at the same time of day it started, to the hour.”

“I've only ever heard of Spartans fighting that long, but those events are seldom heard. Can you introduce me to those platoons?”

“Sorry, they both died out. That fight was five hundred years ago. Back then, this contest was simply called 'The Tournament', but after that fight, it started taking on the name Attrition, given Garuda and Endurance's fighting techniques. Those platoon names are sealed now, the highest of honors saved for only the greatest of platoons. No other platoon can don such a name now, it might blur the history of such a legend. Doesn't stop an unfathomable number of '2's from showing up, though.”

“Where do I sign up?”

“You'll need a platoon of your own, Joe. And you can't take your buddies in Crimson down here, it's a bit of a thestrals-only club. Just think of what Luna would have to say about it, showing this place to outsiders...”

“What makes it so that I'm not an outsider but the rest of Crimson is?”

“You were a thestral once, which grants you a lifetime membership. We view you as an equal here, but you must remember that during the Downfall, our isolation kept us alive. The Downfall was that black mark on our history when the Nightmare stole our princess from us and we were too blind to see through her false façade. We entered a lockdown of sorts, lasting a century. Long enough for most of Equestria to stop persecuting us as turncoats and villains. Even established our own nation for a time, until the Nightmare returned. This time, we saw her for what she was, and refused to recognize her rank. Why else do you think the bearers of the Elements of Harmony found her in the Everfree Forest? We refused to assist her, and she took the Old Entrance to the Castle of the Royal Sisters, completely unaware of the new main entrance that was built at the end of the lockdown. Sorry for the tangential history lesson, I'm a bit of a history buff.”

“It's a good story, but why is it that one century of persecution has lead to an eternity of isolation?”

“The Royal Guards never took too kindly to our presence; our ranks were formed out of defiance. When the Nightmare returned, the persecutions resumed, but thankfully were countermanded by both princesses before any undue deaths occurred. When our scouts reported back that the Nightmare had been vanquished, and our princess had returned to us, we were skeptical. Our caution served us well before, and it has never done us wrong. We sent our best to greet her, and to make a demonstration of our prowess. Ghost Platoon was selected, that year's Attrition champions. Luna let slip about the Shades, prompting Celestia's further inquiry. To this day, she remains the only breach in security, but a minor one at that.”

“You mentioned your ranks were formed out of defiance? How exactly?”

“That goes back well over a thousand years. If our records are accurate, Luna asked her sister if she could form a group much like our own today out of the vagrants, destitute, and outlaws of the old Equestria. Celestia wasn't liking that idea very much, so she refused to give Luna the authority to bring such a group to fruition. Luckily for us, Luna had two options in mind. Her 'Plan B' was to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. The Royal Guards were rather surprised to see the new thestrals pulling Luna's chariot. Celestia was not happy, and refused to provide barracks for the thestrals, hoping the lack of housing would have the group disband.”

“Clearly, that didn't work. I take it that's where the Shades enters the story?”

“Right you are. Luna went into the Everfree Forest, not too far from the Castle of the Royal Sisters. She used the same magic she used to form the craters on the moon to forge this underground cavern. At the Hall of Histories near the Old Entrance you can find some of the original rocks still on display. Most of the materials mined here are refined into usable items, like armor or weapons, something Luna established the precedence for. After she pulled so many raw materials out of the ground, she let her thestrals refine them and find utilities for them. Most of the buildings here are made from such rocks.”

“Thestrals aren't the ones to waste something I take it?” He nodded in the affirmative. “The Hall of Histories sounds like a good place to visit, can you point me to it?”

“It's all the way to the West, just South of the Old Entrance.”

“I'll head over there now. Thanks for the history lesson.”

“It's more than just a lesson Joe, it's the weight that is carried with every action a Night Guard makes, whether if they know it or not. And one more thing: if history has a tendency to repeat itself, then doesn't that mean that history also holds the answers?”

“I guess it does, considering where we are now is a solution to where we were,” I headed off to the Hall of Histories. The walk was long and gave me ample time to make a call. “Pizza, you reading me?”

“Your signal's a bit patchy, but I got you, Joe.”

“I double-checked that document putting a hit on me, just to clarify things. It turns out it was mission orders for a sniper in Trottingham that I eliminated. The supporting operatives may have either been the cloaked figures we found at the HQ or the bastards who snagged Keen Eye. My money’s on Keen Eye. How copy?”

“Good copy, anything else?”

“Negative, I've got to finish my training, just some basic history lessons for right now. See you later.”

“See ya, Joe.”

I killed the comm and continued my walk. All that was left for me to do now was to tip off the MoM to some very illegal activities Crimson did and get them to crack down on us.

There was a stretch of about 20 yards of barren ground between the last few buildings and the Hall of Histories. Glancing right, I saw a pile of boulders plugging what used to be an archway. I take it that would be the Old Entrance, leading to the Castle of the Royal Sisters in the Everfree Forest. I'd have to keep note of that. Might come in handy.

I knocked on the stone door to the Hall of Histories, knocking loose some dust from the frame. I could hear some hoofsteps on the other side of the door before it opened up. A very old looking thestral mare with a pair of reading glasses greeted me. “Hi there,” she said, “What can I do ya for?”

“Is this the Hall of Histories? I'm rather new here and I'd like to know more about this place, mainly it's history.”

“Ah, a fellow history buff I see, well, right this way,” she lead me into the building. It looked like this structure was built into the West wall of the Shades, and expanded outward as necessitated by the passage of time. “In the South Wing you'll find personal histories of the various folks who lived here. In the North Wing is the history of the Shades and the Night Guard as a whole (I wouldn't trust those shoddy Canterlot records as far as I could throw them). The history gets more recent the farther out you get. In the entrance hall here, we have up-to-date personnel records, floor plans, and other things of the sort. The kind of stuff that ain't history just yet. Would you like a tour?”

“I think I'd like to explore on my own for now, maybe later.”

“Very well. Not many come by here all that often, mostly just Iron Sides.”

“I take it he’s a regular here?”

“I had a cot requisitioned due to how often I found him asleep in the North Wing. He reads so much...”

“I can tell. Well, I'll leave you be.” I wandered into the North Wing, focusing first on general history, then the minutia that interested me most, namely wars.

I emerged several hours later, finding all of what Iron Sides said to be accurate. A lot of the tensions between the Royal Guards and thestrals seemed to make more sense now that I knew the why of it.

Sleep started trying to creep up on me, but I fought it back just long enough to get home. The sofa was comfortable enough for the time being.

An alarm went off overhead. “That's the signal boys, let's rock this world!” the sarge said. I made my way over to the weapon rack. I grabbed an M7S and a Automag. I chambered a round in both as I put my helmet on and made my way to my pod. I sat down and watch as the hatch closed tightly, placing my SMG in its slot to my right.

The sarge's face popped up on the screen to my left. “Alright troopers, OPERATION: AEGIS is the name of the game. We're going to be holding the headquarters of the shipyards until all those little civvies get off world. The colonel is already dirtside, so's best not to keep her waiting.”

The three tell tale beeps went off before my pod was hurled downward. Gazing down I could see the surface of Skopje, with its industrialized centers and interconnected islands. I gulped at the number of enemy forces down below. As we entered the lower atmosphere, I could see a veritable sea of purple, and that I was headed straight for it. “This zone is going to be hot!” yelled the sarge.

The next thing I knew my pod hit the ground. I hit the switch for the door hydraulics, but they were unresponsive. I slammed the explosive bolts instead, blasting my door into a pack of Grunts. I didn't have time to draw my SMG, instead I leveled my pistol and fired on the surviving Covies. “Troopers, regroup at my location,” the sarge ordered. I looked around for his IFF tag.

Spotting it, I hurriedly withdrew my SMG from the pod and made my way over to him. It was a blur for me making that sprint, I recall being three mags lighter by the time I got to the sarge, but I couldn't recall emptying them.

I entered the complex that had the sarge's IFF on it. I ran down the hall, heading towards the sarge when a Jackal rounded the corner up ahead. The bastard nailed me thrice with his carbine before I could drop him. I put a pressure bandage on my left arm, where one round penetrated. The other two rounds merely burned with radiation. My HUD said my mag was still more than half full.

I entered the room up ahead, finally rendezvousing with the sarge. He was toting his SAW, and pointing it at me. “Trooper, drop!” he yelled. Without hesitation I dropped down into a prone position, his rounds tearing overhead. I looked back and saw a pack of maybe forty Grunts clambering after me. One of them threw a grenade. I saw it soar overhead and stick the sarge right on the visor. He dropped the SAW and removed his helmet. He tossed the helmet, plasma grenade included at the pack of Grunts.

The sarge, being the sarge, followed it up by grabbing a frag, pulling the pin with his teeth and tossing it after his helmet. He then walked past me before the smoke could settle. I saw him punch the controls for the door, and as they slide shut, he walked backwards, watching pace with the doors. He was firing his Automag, one-handed, at any remaining Grunts in the hall, the door providing excellent cover.

“Trooper, you could've helped me out there,” he said, offering his hand to me. I took it and was lifted to my feet.

“What, and steal your fun?” I retorted with a chuckle. “That was some next-level badassery, sir. Where'd you learn to fight like that?”

“Right here, just now. Anyway, as the rest of the boys regroup, we need to proceed to our objective,” he picked up his SAW, “That being said, there are some CEO business types still here. We're to cover their evac before linking up with the colonel.”

“Another civilian evac op? Seems like since Miridem that's all we get to do.”

“We'll these stuck-ups are also needed for wartime resources, so they get the special treatment from HIGHCOM. These execs are going on an early vacation to Mars, if they survive this.”

“Alright, sir, so where are these VIPs?”

“Half a click North, this complex should connect. I think we should be quick about this. Normally, Jackal-Grunt formations have Elites not that far behind.”

“Then let's hoof it, sarge.”

“Right this way,” he turned and walked down the North corridor. As a precaution I quickly rigged a frag and some paracord into a tripwire for when the Grunts break through.

“Joe, what is this?” a feminine voice was barely coming over my comms.

“Colonel, is that you? You’re patchy as hell.”

“Joe-” the comm went dead.

“Colonel? Colonel, you're breaking up. I can't hear you.”

“Comm trouble?” the sarge asked.

“Sounded like the Colonel wanted me for something, but I couldn't tell for what.”

“Well, whatever it is, she can wait until after we get the VIPs out. It's not that far now. Make sure you take some KI, helps against complications from hostile Carbine fire.”

“Yes, sir,” I pulled out the small green bottle. It only held about thirty doses, enough for just as many days. I swallowed a pill. It wouldn't help against any radiation already taken on, but if another Carbine round hit me, it probably wouldn't burn as much. Probably.

The sarge was one of the best ODSTs I've ever known, and I was glad to be put in his unit. He was a foot taller than me and a hundred pounds heavier. If what the other boys say is true, he fought at the First Battle of Harvest before joining the Helljumpers. Having lived 22 years on the front in this war, he had to have something going for him to keep him alive this long. I found it to be wise to stay close and do whatever he tells you to. Some rookies learned the hard way why that was good advice.

I quickened my pace to keep up with the sarge. The objective marker was a couple dozen meters away. When we got to the spaceport, we found an entire company of ODSTs fighting frantically to hold the area. “Sergeant, we've got three transports left and that's it,” a major said, “Take a platoon and defend the West pad, Grunts are crawling all over that transport like it's one of their damned food nipples.”

“Yessir,” the sarge said without even breaking stride. We both turned left, the sarge would point to the occasional ODST, then point forward. The troopers who he pointed to would fall into our ranks and match pace. We eventually marched to the West pad and saw the scene before us.

A trio of ODSTs was surrounded by two dozen of their dead allies, with a horde of grunts closing in on their position. The sarge just pointed at me and another trooper, then opened and closed his hand repeatedly, then pointed at the Grunts. We knew what to do. I primed my last grenade and tossed it beyond the trio's cover. A second grenade followed a similar trajectory, landing a few meters away. Both blasted apart a dozen Grunts each.

By the time the smoke settled, we had already linked up with the trio of troopers that had survived. It looked like our grenades had blasted apart what little was left of their cover. Across the pad I could see more grunts climbing up. I pointed this out to the sergeant, who got four troopers to cover us as we tried to refortify.

“Sir, what are we going to fortify with?” I asked him, suddenly realizing we didn't have an engineer.

“Stack up the dead like sand bags. Their body armor will protect you.”

“Sir?” one of the troopers asked, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“Them being dead ain't gonna help us none unless if we stack 'em,” the sarge clarified, “else, we're all gonna die.”

I didn't need much more encouragement than that. I started dragging dead troopers and Grunts into an approximate skirmish line. I also stripped the fallen ODSTs of their weapons and equipment, piling it up behind the fortification.

“Nice work, Joe,” the sarge said, “We ain't gonna be able to hold this place forever, but we'll be able to hold it long enough for the transport to get off.” The sarge propped his SAW against the dead. As the four ODSTs that covered us withdrew to the skirmish line, the sarge fired on the loitering Grunts.

“Corporal, have your men engage the targets on the right. Everyone else, take the left. I've got the middle. Our overlapping fields should make for superior fire support.” The seven of us assumed our positions, myself covering the right as the sarge ordered.

“Don't forget to divvy up your targets. We don't want multiple guns on the same baddie, that's just a waste of ammo. Start talking guns; sequential firing,” the sarge added.

Left to right was the order we'd be going in. I flicked my SMG's fire select to semi-auto, as I heard the rest of the boys do as well, save for the sarge.

We propped up against the dead. The Grunts were coming at a steady flow, with the occasional surge that an entire pack brought. The pad was covered in their fluorescent blood. Leaking methane was making it hard for the sarge to breathe due to his lack of a helmet. One of the dead troopers was more than happy to remedy that problem.

It was hours of combat later before we started having to rely on scavenged weapons and our pistols. Then something unusual happened. A Spirit dropship came out of nowhere, buzzing our location. “One rocket left, make it count!” I heard one trooper yell to another, handing an M19-B SAM to him. I ducked down as the rocket burst forth from the tube. I looked up just in time to see it impact the Spirit, sending it crashing down. The Grunts stopped their advance.

The soldier with the SAM let out a cheer, “Woo! We nailed that fucker, didn't we sar-” he was cut off when a fuel rod hit him center-mass, sending chunks of the trooper in all directions.

“Hunters!” the sarge yelled, “Disperse!”.

I turned back to the wreckage, seeing the hulking frame of two Hunters pulling themselves out of the Spirit.

I heard all our SMGs click to full auto. I only had half a mag left. I ran from the cover the dead provided and headed to the left to flank the beasts. The other troopers did the same. The sarge, having ran dry, simply threw his SAW at the Hunter pair. “We've got Hunters at the West pad and no ammo, we need assistance, ASAP, or we will lose this location!” I heard the sarge radio.

I saw the wriggling mass of worms in the back of one of the Hunters and fired at them. The Hunter immediately let out a guttural roar as the other moved in to block my shots. I heard my gun go click just as the rounds started bouncing off its armor. I tossed the gun aside, drawing my Automag. The Hunter returned fire as its brother engaged the sarge. I dove to the side to dodge the fuel rod.

“Can anyone hear me?” the sarge radioed, “We need reinforcements, ordinance, anything now!”

No response came as the Hunters kept up their onslaught. “Sarge, the methane!” a Private radioed, “if we blow enough of these Grunts, it might kill the Hunters.”

“Enough of that MacGyver shit, rookie, we'd lose the pad and our asses! And what makes you think they'd let us rig up those Grunts without wanting to 'help' us out?”

“Sarge, I was just-”

“I've seen rookies try that before. They're all dead. It doesn't work, so drop it. Troopers, we are falling back to the major. On me!” the sarge ordered, narrowly dodging another fuel rod.

We quickly sprinted back to him and the path East, abandoning the pad. I only had the loaded mag for my pistol, 12 rounds in total. We emerged back at the North pad, where the major was last seen. We saw some troopers hunkering down behind some crates.

“What are you doing?” one of our PFCs hurriedly asked, approaching the hunkered soldiers.

“Get down!” the sarge yelled, tackling the PFC to the ground as a Beam Rifle round cracked through the air.

The PFC crawled across the ground to the hunkering soldiers, the Covie snipers narrowly missing him, until one got lucky and hit him in the leg. He managed to get to cover, where one of the hunkering soldiers injected him with biofoam.

“Sarge, we're pinned. Hostile snipers. What do we do? ...Sarge?” We all looked at the still-prone soldier. Then we saw the pool of blood seeping out from under his helmet.

“Sarge!” I yelled. He was down for the count. Unresponsive. No amount of battlefield medicine could fix that wound. I started looking around, trying to figure out what to do. These were my men now, my responsibility. I spotted a Sniper Rifle on the ground, next to a dead trooper. It was ten meters away from me, in open ground. The sarge was half that distance away, and much faster than me, when he got hit. I wouldn't be able to get it with those snipers on me.

“Joe, tell me, what is going on?” a concerned, feminine voice said again over the radio. It sounded familiar now that it was much more clear.

“Colonel?”

“Try 'princess'.”

“Ma'am?” suddenly my world was washed out to white. Shortly thereafter, it was replaced by an azure starscape. “What the-?”

“Joe, you were having a nightmare,” princess Luna said, “and a rather nasty work of fiction at that.”

“Luna, that actually happened,” I deadpanned.

Luna's eyes widened a little bit. “But then how did you-”

“Survive? A Spartan came in via an SOEIV, I used that as a distraction to dive for the rifle. The Jackal snipers were easy enough to drop from there.” Off to the side, my memories of the events unfurled in the third person. We were gazing at it from the looking glass.

“But why this memory in particular?”

“The battle of Skopje is where I found my freaky talent with rifles. Those Jackals were taken out in a split second when I didn't even know their location. It was the first notch that lead to my being a Spartan, but it wasn't quite the determining factor.”

“What was?”

“Arcadia, my baptism of fire, and biggest success prior to the Spartan program.” I glanced to my right and saw an orbital view of Arcadia, and the Covenant ships assaulting it. My gaze didn't wander from it. “Back at Skopje, we fell back to a castle that was there, apparently the Colonel had the same idea. With her guidance, we managed to get out of there in one piece. Deaths were all too common back in those days.”

“The Covenant was a powerful foe, you did your best.”

“We all did. If we didn't, we wouldn't be here. The Covenant would've fired the Halos, wiping the galaxy clean of all life, or worse, they could've unleashed the Flood... they did unleash the Flood for that matter,” I turned back to face the princess of the night. “This war, between the Equestrians and the Zebras, it's very different than against the Covenant. The Covenant were fanatical zealots, the Zebras are much more calculating. Often times, it seems that Equestria is lagging way behind. If it wasn't for mine and Spectacles' designs for new weapons and armor, Caesar would be sitting pretty in Canterlot already. That being said, we need to do some counter-surveillance... figure out how they have kept pace with us. I already have the beginnings of an operation in the works, but I can't tell you any more than that.”

“And why is that?”

“Loose lips sink ships. I'll tell you what needs to be done and when by way of these dreams, other than that, we can't risk talking about this operation.”

I awoke on the sofa a little groggy, but rested. I got up and stretched. Now was the time to set the trap. I made my way out of the Shades, returning yet again to the old LZ. The secondary base there was just as I had left it the night before, and I made my way over to the equipment crate. I grabbed a datapad and uploaded the neural implant footage of all of Crimson's illicit operations to it. I tossed it and an Active Camo armor ability into my rucksack and made one last stop before my trip back to Canterlot.

“Iron Sides, you got a moment?”

“That I do Joe, you wanting some more tips and tricks?”

“Negative, what I need is a courier. I need this datapad delivered to the Ministry of Morale, and I need it done yesterday. It's classified top-secret, you think you can manage that?”

“Sure, but I'm expecting some more work from you in turn. These recruits are getting a little soft in my opinion and I think you can whip them into shape. What do you say?”

“I'm in a bit of a rush right now, my team needs me back in Canterlot. Afterwords, I can spare some time.”

“Sounds fine by me.” I handed over the datapad, found a Mongoose, and drove back to Canterlot. It would take some time for Iron Sides to make the delivery, time I could use to brief Pizza and get the whole team caught with their hands (and hooves) in the cookie jar.

The sun was setting once more when I made my way back to Canterlot. I worked my way into the Shipping District and found the HQ entrance. I checked my motion sensor and did a full sweep with VISR before unlocking the door, quickly locking it behind me.

The Ratatat of AR fire was going on overhead, I guess the team was running some wargames. I checked the ammo for my BR... TTR. I set down my rucksack and all my other weapons outside Red Base. I made my way up top. I took a deep breath before walking through the shield door. I popped Active Camo and found Pizza's IFF tag. I snuck around the corner on the left side, finding the MG nest laying down suppressing fire against the Spartan. I inched across some open ground, carefully avoiding Starfire's mines, approaching the MG nest with ease.

I saw that the gun was manned by Footfall and nopony else. I got within inches of him, then I struck. I grabbed his left shoulder with my left hand, and yanked hard. He sprawled out on the ground in clear surprise. Before he could react, I used my other hand to fire a burst from my BR into his face. The rounds weren't lethal, but their numbing effect would make it hard for him to talk for the time being.

Assassination!

I cloaked and moved towards Pizza's IFF again, trying to see how long it'd take for Crimson to find out I'm back. Seeing a wall still dividing us, it looked like Pizza backed himself into a corner. No way to run, no way to get flanked. I inched further around to see what was chasing him. He fired a round, and I followed the vapor trail to where he was shooting. It looked like he had the rest of the team pinned, as Footfall did him just moments ago. The downside to their positioning is one couldn't move without exposing the other.

I snuck up to my old friend. “Pizza, SitRep.”

He jumped a little at my de-cloaking, “Shit Joe, didn't expect to see you back so soon. We're doing an elimination round here, one versus all. I've got most of Crimson pinned, but their MG has got me covered. I can't budge and neither can they. They also have the MG field mined, damn that Starfire. I shouldn't have given them any prep time, let alone five minutes.”

“You got your Hardlight?”

“Always, damn thing's impervious but it don't last long without support.”

“I'm support,” I suggested, “Maybe we can mount up and rodeo this?”

“You really want to do a rodeo here? Haven't ever done one myself.”

“Nor have I, but it's worth a shot. I've already handle Footfall on the MG, all that's left is what's in front. Mines are still live, FYI.”

“Alright, mount up Joe.” Pizza leaned forward a bit and I clambered onto his back. I kept one hand on his shoulder, my boots attached the his lower back magnetic holsters (where I had my twin SMGs earlier). I held my BR at the ready, one-handed. Pizza stood up with audible protest, but was quick to find his balance. Last I checked, Mjolnir should be able to handle this weight, though with some difficulty.

“Ready when you are, Pizza,” I said. My BR had 33 rounds still loaded. It should be plenty.

“Let's rock!” Pizza charged forward as best he could. He moved like he had an HMG in tow. Just before leaving cover, he brought up his Hardlight Shield. I, being on his back, could just barely aim above the shield. I cloaked to help sell the illusion even further.

We rounded the corner, coming face to face with Crimson. The team looked a little shocked at the sudden charge. I smiled a little at seeing them again. Starfire managed to deftly load a grenade in a breach-loaded launcher before sending it against Pizza's shield. It bounced off with no discernible effect. I scoped in and began to open fire on the team, nearest to farthest.

Most of them went down quickly, but two, Lockheart and Starfire managed to head out the back. They were probably heading around for a flank. No doubt they saw me, Camo and opening fire don't really blend all that well... for some reason.

I jumped off of Pizza's back now that the charge was complete. “Joe, you know that's the first time I've ever seen a rodeo done effectively?”

“Yeah, same here. Honestly, I think it was inspired by Rocket Racers. Damn effective if done properly. Sorry about the weight, Mjolnir and all that.”

“No problem, it was good fun. Let's hunt down those last two and then we can laugh over it.”

“Solid copy,” I loaded a fresh mag in my BR and turned 180 to head back to the MG nest. If those two were flanking, we could head them off at the gun. But then again, Lockheart earned his rank. I held up a fist ordering Pizza to halt, “Starfire's got Lockheart with her. Lockheart would know we'd fall back to the MG nest, and is probably going to try and ambush us en route. I'll cloak and sneak by, you give chase and flush them out my way.”

“Yes, sir,” Pizza responded before following the Colonel's last known path. I went invisible and set up at the doorway leading back out to the MG field. There were a lot of mines strewn across the floor. To set them up properly in five minutes is a testament to Starfire's skill with explosives. It ain't the kind of job you want to rush, after all.

Pizza's DMR range out, truncating the AR fire the preceded it by milliseconds. An explosion followed that before Starfire flew out from the other side of the MG field, just as my Camo died. I pushed the Armor Ability too much in too short of time, Camo being especially picky like that.

She saw me and this time pulled a paint grenade out of her saddlebag. As I scoped in, she pulled the pin. The grenade flew threw the air like a rocket, only my rounds intercepted the thing moments later, plastering Starfire with red paint.

Game Over. Red Team Wins!
Pizza came running around the corner, seeing the defeated Starfire.

“Haven't done one of those since Paradiso. What do you think, Pizza?”

“What, shooting a grenade out of the air? It looks like you nailed her good with that one, Joe.”

“I take it you bagged Lockheart?”

“Hell yeah, he almost got the jump on me, but I was more accurate.”

“I didn't even know it was possibly to do that, Joe. How can you even make that kind of a shot?” Starfire asked.

“Mind you, I got perfect range scores some time ago, plus I'm a Spartan sniper and the BR is my preferred rifle. Mostly, I got lucky, it's been a few years since I've done a shot like that. It's a ridiculously small target moving at fast speeds, and it won't be available for long. It's easiest to intercept the grenade, and with me being the target, it was a zero-deflection shot.”

“Regardless, I'm calling BS on that hit.”

“The paint says otherwise, and the tie-breaker is traditionally a 1v1 slayer match. I don't think it makes much of a difference. Besides, it was a solid strategy your team employed. If not for me, I think Pizza would've gotten his ass kicked. Anyways, let's head back to the mess hall. We need to shift our priorities.”

On the way down I visited the HQ's smithy and found Spectacles hard at work on another Steel Ranger armor variant. “Working hard or hardly working, Spectacles?”

“Oh, hey Joe. Definitely the 'working hard' part. I'm trying to see if I can make a Steel Ranger variant that is just as effective as the previous models, but using materials that are more readily available. All the prototypes Crimson's used have been proof-of-concept version, but use exceedingly rare materials. If we want to be able to field Rangers as front-line infantry, they'll need to be mass-produced. They mostly involve the use of steel plating right now, which needs coal to be made, which the Zebras have in bulk but Equestria is being starved of. I need something better, but it looks like I'll have to rework the entire power system by opting for a different material.”

“What alternatives have you looked at?”

“Diamond was one, the Crystal Empire has enough for an entire regiment, but it would be too heavy for the load-bearing system to handle with its current reactor. I was also thinking of ceramics, but they tend to shatter upon heavy impact. Any suggestions?”

“Well, I've noticed that most units are still using the old plate armor from before the war. Ceramics would be a good option, but have you tried coupling it with viscous, non-Newtonian fluids or high-tensile fibers like Kevlar? It still won't be Ranger-quality, but it'll provide a good level of protection above the current standard.”

“Well, I guess that'd work but it's a little half-assing it, don't you think? With fluids I can't mount the servos. With ceramics only a direct mount is possible, but that connection would be destroyed upon impact. I can't have powered armor until I can find a better material and get the reactor situated. I'd have to limit the amount of armor for comfort, dexterity and weight in the meantime. The power supply needs a major upgrade to be mass produced and remain desirable for field deployment. Currently, the reactor only lasts about a week. Mjolnir, however, shows no such compromises and is centuries ahead of what we're capable of.”

“I hope you're writing this down, the ministries should be able to help us out. Let's head to the mess hall, can't leave the others waiting for long, now can we?”

“Alright, just let me grab my files. I don't want to forget a breakthrough in the trot over,” Spectacles grabbed a thick manila folder and followed me to the mess hall. The rest of Crimson was waiting for us there.

“Crimson, things ain't looking too hot,” I began, “Thus far our operations have been responsive, not preemptive. Given the range of our last deployments, it is unlikely we can maintain our current operative status of intercepting any and all Zebra threats on the mainland. Instead, our priorities have to shift. Right now, we are the best Equestria has, and that is a weight we've carried well. The time has come to get this nation to carry itself through this war and beyond. Eventually, everything comes to an end, and our actions from now on will determine Equestria's fate more than any bomb or bullet. We need to rearm the land, retrain its soldiers, and steal the victory out from under Caesar.

“To do this, we'll need to split up. You are all great fighters, and other units out there can be taught your skills. If we do this well, every unit in Equestria will be just as deadly as Crimson is now. I'd recommend brushing up on your teaching skills, then heading back into your old units. From there, train those troopers as best you can. Once you're satisfied with their capabilities, get that unit to train other units, and so on and so forth.

“While you're busy doing that, Pizza, Spectacles, and I will be focused on developing the technology of the ministries to out pace the Zebra's own industry. This tech will trickle down to your own units, bolstering their increased combat effectiveness. Once your units are trained and have gotten used to the new tech, we'll rendezvous back here for the next phase of this operation. Any questions?” I wrapped things up.

It was clean-cut, but before I could answer anyone's questions, there was an aggressive knocking nearby. The team sat up and readied their weapons. I did the same. The knocking happened again and I zeroed it to the front door. “Stay here. Pizza, with me,” I muttered to Crimson. I switched to my Sticky Detonator for lethal firepower.

Another round of knocking was truncated abruptly, not lasting nearly as long as it did previously. I aimed for the door. If it was Zebras, the defense turret would have engage... and there wouldn't be knocking. Better safe than sorry. I motioned for Pizza to stack up at the door. I took the opposite side. I cloaked and pulled the door open, Pizza yelling for whoever was outside to identify themselves.

They responded with a flash bang. Luckily, our visors and armor completely nullified its effects. Pizza rolled out of cover, yelling, “We've been engaged!” He fired out into the hostiles. Once his mag ran out and he took cover for a reload, I shut the door and locked it. It wouldn't keep back a determined enemy, but it would buy us some time. I placed a sticky on the ceiling and motioned for Pizza to fall back into the base.

The Sticky Detonator's motion sensor would tell me when to blow it for maximum effect, but it was only one shot. We'd need something better. “Two coming through,” I yelled to Crimson so they wouldn't engage us. “Team, we need to fortify, hostiles are coming. Engage at your own discretion. Spectacles, grab any gear you've got and move it up. We might need it here. Lockheart, you and Footfall take the MG upstairs and bring it down here. Make sure to load it with lethal rounds.”

The team scrambled to do their assigned tasks. Starfire started laying down mines and rigging booby traps. Fencing was positioning sandbags for cover. Pane was bringing weapons and ammo over from the armory, as Lyra pulled over a medical crate. Solace and Daze helped Fencing with fortifications as best they could. It wasn't going to be optimal, but it could hold... at least for a while.

Another flash bang bounced into the main room, but we were fast enough to take cover to avoid the blinding effects. Aside from Pizza and myself, Crimson was still concussed by the explosive. I checked my Sticky Detonator. I had multiple contacts on screen, only they appeared to be friendly. I think I know who these mike foxes are. “Stay put, I'll be right back,” I told Pizza. I cloaked and ran at a half-crouch across to the entrance way. I saw those contacts from earlier, they were definitely ponies, but the real question was if they were Zebra sympathizers.

Only one way to find. I holstered the Sticky Detonator and raised my hands before de-cloaking and walking up to them. They seemed rather startled at my sudden appearance. I made sure to patch my helmet cam video into Pizza's HUD. “What's going on here?” I asked the group.

“The MoM has issued a warrant for the arrest of the Crimson Guard. You're coming with me,” one of the ponies said.

“Under what charges? As the officer in charge, I need to know.”

“Multiple counts of assault with various deadly weapons, the desecration of corpses, and the destruction of properties both public and private.”

“And who are you pressing these charges against, specifically?”

“We have warrants for: LT Joe, ENS Pizza, Spectacles, PVT Fencing, COL Lockheart, CPL Starfire, MAJ Pane, MCPO Daze, RDML Solace, PVT Footfall, T/5 Keen Eye, and SR Heartstrings.”

“I take it we will have access to lawyers and a trial by a jury of our own peers?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Lay down your arms and I will comply. These men are my responsibility, and I will not have them wantonly hurt.”

“You will comply, then we will lower our arms.”

I locked gazes with the pony, attempting to intimidate him, but with little success. “Fair enough,” I spat. I turned around and marched down the ramp into the main room, staring at Crimson's fortifications. I could see my team ready to strike but holding their fire with me in the line. “Crimson,” I said, “At ease. These boys claim to be with the Ministry of Morale. They wanted you to lay down your firearms and submit to arrest.”

“Arrest? For what?” Starfire called out.

“For some of the operations we did. Don't worry, I'm sure we can get the charges waived in due time.”

“Yessir...” Starfire responded, sounding none-too happy about the turn of events. With much clicking and cycling, Crimson secured their weapons and were detained with haste. I noted that they missed the concealed sheath for my and Pizza's knives. They took all of our gear, and put crime scene tape over the entrance. What they didn't take from us was the clothes on our backs and the attached armor abilities, helmets not included. Looks like we'd have a Plan B if the shit hit the fan. The cuffs were tight, but not uncomfortably so. We were marched directly out of the caves onto the streets of the city proper. It wasn't long before we wound up at the MoM hub for processing.

I had to scratch my head a little when they asked for a hoof print, but figured a hand print would suffice. They seemed to think so too. We were then transported underground and thrown into a single, large holding cell. “What do they think they're doing arresting us like that?” Lockheart said.

“I think that maybe that leak in the CPD got wind of us taking down all his Mafia friends and decided to try for some payback. Makes me wonder what they're planning that they need Crimson out of the picture for,” I responded.

“So what do we do now, sir?” Footfall asked.

“One of two things. We can either sit here and wait for our release, or we can break out and stop whatever is going down. Given we have no idea what is going down, I think we should lay low and keep our ears to the ground. Make them think they've won. Then we prove them wrong,” I moved over and sat down next to the bench. Mjolnir's weight requires reinforced seating, which I doubt this cell has.

“All we can do is wait and remain vigilant,” Pizza said. And wait we did (the guards were certainly taking their sweet time).

I was sitting at the Arcadia bar sipping on some whiskey. I took a deep breath and let it out, for once I was getting a break from the action. I had secured furlough for the first time in my military career. Skopje was two years behind me, and although things were looking a little bleak, there certainly was a silver lining to be found at Arcadia.

Officially, the space here was lawless, but local police still kept order. It used to be quite the vacation resort, but all that changed when the Covenant invaded back in '31. Now, it is a very quiet little place, mostly small farming communities. The population I'd estimate at about 5000 in this small outcropping, less than a million on the planet. The whiskey was nothing short of eighty proof.

“Nice piece you got there,” a man said, taking a seat beside me.

“Thanks, it served me well these past few years. Can't beat a Magnum for personal defense,” I replied.

“What variant is it?”

“Can't go wrong with the G variant in my mind, though I'm hoping to get an H model at some point.”

“Nice choice. I keep one just like it under the pilot's seat of my ship. Damn boat broke down last supply run, so I'm grounded for the time being. Repair crews are certainly taking their sweet ass time about it.”

It went on for a few minutes with just bits and pieces of small talk, but then an unmistakable sound screeched through air. It was the kind of screech caused by exiting slipspace in atmosphere... something only Covenant ships are capable of. Shortly thereafter, a passerby burst into the bar claiming exactly that. I racked a round into the chamber of my Magnum.

“Damn Covenant, can't leave me alone,” I muttered, turning to the man next to me, “We're going to need to get to the spaceport and get off-world as soon as possible. I'll cover the evac, but we're going to need all the firepower we can get.”

“Who put you in charge? There's no UNSC out here, the Covenant should leave us be.”

“What? Like they 'should' have left Harvest alone, too? Last I checked, I'm the highest-ranking UNSC soldier here, meaning I'm in charge. Now, can you help, or should we start praying?”

“You're UNSC? Shit, what's your rank?”

“Corporal, why you asking?”

“I used to be a PFC, but then...” he trailed off.

“Then what? We can't be stalling, the Covenant are in the air and they're going to burn this world.”

“Then I joined the Insurrection. My job is to 'redistribute' 'misplaced' items. There's a stockpile of 'misplaced' UNSC hardware not far from here. You might be able to make use of it.”

“Take me there and I'll forget about that 'Insurrectionist' part.”

“Right this way,” he lead me out of the bar. Spirits and Phantoms alike were dominating the skies, it looked like they were swarming towards the port. We'd have to hurry. I sprinted down the road, following the Innie pilot. He rounded a corner and burst into a building on our right side. I entered through the now-open door and watched him toss a rug aside, then he lifted the newly revealed hatch. Inside was several crates of ammo (mostly 12.7x40mm), and an absurd number of 40mm grenades. He pulled out an unmarked crate. When he opened it up, I found myself looking at dozens of M6 handguns and several M319 Grenade Launchers.

“This will do it,” I said with a grin on my face. I grabbed an M319, opened the breach, and threw a grenade into it. Everything seemed to be working on it. I proceeded to grab as much ammo as I could reasonable carry, “This ain't gonna last long in a firefight. I'll need you to transport this to the port. That way, I should be able to make a reasonable stand. You also said your ship was in for repairs?”

“Yeah, it's a cargo vessel. Why'd you ask?”

“I need you to get a repair team and get to that ship. It's our Plan B. The Covenant are focusing on the port because they believe it's our only way out. If your ship's in dry dock, the Covenant might not attack it, probably considering it already out of the fight. Of course, that's assuming we're fighting Elites. Brutes would destroy it anyway.”

“I'll do that. I just need to hotwire a car and I can tow this and you over to the port.”

“I'll keep you covered.”

We ran out into the street, I did a sweep of the area. There wasn't any infantry in the area, but the air was still thick with hostile craft. I saw a Banshee break off from its flight. It looked like it was heading for us. I took cover and waited for the Banshee to get in range. I was listening to the reports of its cannons as it strafed the road. When I guessed the range was right, I jumped out and let a grenade fly. I held the trigger down, wanting its EMP to take down the craft. Damn, did that grenade fly true. The Banshee was enveloped in static as it dropped right out of the sky. I think it crashed into the bar.

I heard the rev of an engine and knew it was time to bail. I kept the window down to provide fire support for the ride over to the port. The Innie had put everything on a convenient trailer for easier transport.

“Joe, what is going on?” a familiar voice said.

“Still monitoring my dreams, Luna?”

“That is not why I am here. I heard your team has been arrested.”

“Oh, that. Well, now's the time for you to play your part.” I bounced down the road with the Innie, watching as Luna flew beside the vehicle. “I need you to tell the MoM that a manila folder recovered from the Crimson HQ needs to be transferred to the MWT. Send a courier of your choice, then tell Nocturne and Night Bloom who the courier is and where they'll be. This is very important.”

“Joe, there is little chance I will do anything for you until you tell me what has transpired.”

“Ma'am, this is necessary to out our spy. I gave a datapad to Iron Sides with explicit orders to get it to the MoM. Crimson's resulting arrest was part of the plan, because with that file transfer, some very valuable intel will be out in the open. That is something Chuck Finley would not pass up. Someone will bounce the courier, but they won't suspect Nocturne and Night Bloom to bounce them. When I find out who, I'll be able to trace them back to a member of Crimson, outing Chuck Finley. This plan may go deeper, but things are best kept need-to-know. So, can you find a courier and get those two thestrals in overwatch? We'll have to keep a very close eye on Crimson to make sure whatever intel slips out has a known source.”

“So, this was all a part of your plan? To get your team arrested?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll point out to Crimson the value of that folder while you cut through the red tape. It should help us set the table for taking out Chuck Finley, and hopefully finding Keen Eye.” We were pulling up to the port when a Covenant carrier popped up overhead. I told the Innie to divert to the dry dock instead. There was no way those ships could make it out from under a ship like that.

“Keen Eye, he’s your missing member?”

“Aye. Got captured in suspicious circumstances during the Battle of Trottingham. Once we find him, I'll green-light phase two of Crimson's operations.”

“Phase 2? Joe, you need to keep me in the loop about these things.”

“Keeping Crimson moving forward isn't giving Chuck Finley much time to plan. Phase 2 is where Crimson effectively gets disbanded, albeit temporarily. The members are to return to their old units and train them up to be on par with Crimson. Reason being the Zebras have an easy time against Equestria's forces. Most of the time, it's Crimson that has to steal the win from the jaws of defeat. We can't be everywhere we're needed at once, and we won't be around forever. But if we can get a dozen or so Crimsons out and about, the Zebra's would have hell trying to take even an inch of Equestrian soil. That manila folder is the first step towards Phase 2 operations. Now are you looking at things how I am?”

“Very much so. Thank you, Joe. While we are here, mind explaining this dream?”

“More of a memory, like the one before. Happened about two years further down the line from the Battle of Skopje. This here is the Second Battle of Arcadia. We won the first battle, but the UNSC pulled out, leaving the civvies be. Officially, we're in lawless space. Unofficially, the local police are crack shots. I was on furlough, but I kept my sidearm handy. Right now, we're almost at the battleground. Where, years later, the Spartan-IV program raised an eyebrow at my performance.”

My perspective shifted into third person, then ascended to an overhead view, as though from a satellite. I could see the hijacked vehicle speeding towards the dry dock. We clambered out of the vehicle and rushed inside. “Turns out we weren't the only ones with the idea of repairing the ships in dry dock and heading out. We found a band of survivors, maybe 400 in total. Amongst them, a repair crew. I ordered the crew to repair the Innie's ship and the civvies to pull out all cargo, except for the food and water. Damned thing is, great minds think alike. A pair of Phantoms were spotted headed our way. I took the Grenade Launcher, my Magnum, all the ammo I had, and went out to greet them.”

I saw a figure leave the building as Phantoms passed overhead, deploying troops. “Unfortunately, this Covenant battlegroup, as I'd later learn, had just picked up a bunch of greenhorns from the planet Te. Arcadia was to be a training exercise for the new Mgalekgolo. I turned it into a baptism of fire for them. I had no armor to hinder my mobility, not that it'd protect me anyway. Later, I found out that Rtas 'Vadum was leading that battlegroup. He was so impressed with my defense of the dry dock, he gave me his sword when we finally met face to face as allies, from one warrior to another. Even the Hunters seemed impressed.”

“I take it these 'Mgalekgolo' are the ones you call Hunters?”

“That is correct. Nasty sons of bitches, all of them. 12 feet tall, over five tons of 'fuck you'. Covenant like to use them as tank busters.” I gazed down below as I saw myself responding to the Hunters. A dozen were dropped off, then the Phantoms skedaddled. I was running around like a madman, firing grenades at the hulking masses of worms as fast as I could load the launcher. One charged up his cannon, and I saw myself dodge to the side. “I had already done some very extensive training on Reach. The slightly lesser gravity of Arcadia was rather relaxing and helped me maneuver around the Hunters. Of course, Te has 4 times normal gravity compared to the ship-board weight room's times 2 gravity max. Overall, things turned out alright. I had to review the reports and see the footage to figure out how long I was fighting.”

“And how long did this fight last?”

“At the dry dock? An hour and a half. Everywhere else... even less. That Innie's ship was the last off-world. We took all those survivors with us... the sole survivors of Arcadia. I had to fly the thing past the Covenant formations and did a jump into random deep space, as per the Cole Protocol. The Innie had no combat flying experience. After the jump, I wiped the nav data, something the Innie forgot to do, and jumped again when we were ready. I did one more random jump just to make sure they lost us before I jumped back to the inner colonies. Of course, the Innie wanted dropped off at some rock en route to Reach. The non-standard slipspace drive he had installed on his cargo ship was something of a godsend, even if it was meant for smuggling. Port authority at Reach damn near shot us down with our unexpected arrival.”

“After all of that, you were almost killed by your own forces?”

“Yeah. The Insurrectionists had a lot of the UNSC boys spooked. Epsilon Eridani seemed to be a hot spot for rebel activity, despite being so close to Earth (hence Reach's name). For 27 years all we, as a species, did was fight the Covenant. They fought us halfway to extinction before we scored a killing blow against them. You know the story from there: Covenant Remnants fighting a war that already ended, the Second Battle of Requiem, and my deployment here to wait and listen for 'Mdama. Seems war can never leave me be.”

I awoke in the holding cell. The rest of Crimson was still asleep, so I'd have a little time to myself. These MoM pinks would have to put us on trial, either as individuals or a group. That would mean that we'd get lawyers, and hopefully some form of communication with the outside world. That communication is what would allow us to find Chuck Finley and his associates.

In the meantime, I still had to talk to Spectacles about the Steel Ranger file that the MoM has most likely secured. Doing so out loud would more than likely lead to Chuck Finley hearing about it, and sending word for the file. I relaxed. If this went down smoothly, it would be a very easy operation. If this job fails, continuing with Phase 2 would be the best option. Our Plan A doubled as our Plan B.

I still needed to find Keen Eye, wherever he may be. The Legate put a hit out on me, so I was still the priority target in this fireteam. Additionally, the Legate knew we were headed to Trottingham. My train of thought was derailed when a guard banged his baton against the bars. “Hey, wake up, you lot. One of ya's missing. Where's Keen Eye?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied as Crimson stirred, “He went MIA back in Trottingham. What you see is what you get.” He growled in reply, but returned to his post shortly thereafter. “Spectacles, remind me to put IFF tags in all of Crimson's dog tags.”

“I'm including them standard on the Steel Ranger armor. Speaking of Steel Ranger armor, I had an idea: what if the problem isn't reactor output, but coolant?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I chose the power supplies I did because the armor could keep up with the demand of the armor, but what if a coolant system could allow for a better reactor? All this time, I've been trying to improve the reactor... maintain heat loads but increase output. I might be able to find a solution if we can find sufficient coolant. Either that or go with passive joint systems, negating the need for a reactor entirely.”

“I believe Mjolnir went through similar phases. I can actually quickly switch to air cooling for my reactor, but only for an instant. The heat loads escalate quickly, and the air expands nigh explosively. That's how the reentry thrusters work. Last I checked, the Thruster Pack is mostly an additional coolant system, providing additional vents. If I use the air coolant too frequently, the armor overloads and explodes. That's why there is a security lockout. If the occupant is alive, they need to give the code, otherwise another suit is needed to shut off coolant systems.”

Starfire joined in, “I thought Steel Ranger armor was already in production?”

“It never was, we were just given Spectacles' prototype suits. It was more of a proof-of-concept than anything, but right now he's trying to make the design feasible for main-line production. The reactor has been a bitch and a half to figure out. The reactor needs to provide sufficient output to make the armor function, but it also needs to last long enough to make sense for deployment. The suits you got would only last a week at most. Ideal for a strike team like ours, but too damn short for anything else.”

“And I take it a bigger reactor just couldn't be duct taped to the thing?”

“Exactly. Spectacles needs something that provides massive power outputs, but provides them for a very long duration. The candle needs to burn twice as bright and twice as long. A passive joint system would negate the need for power altogether, but would make the suit under-equipped. Whereas a coolant system would be dangerous, but would allow more powerful reactors. A problem with the coolant system, and boom goes the operator. The more powerful reactor would allow additional systems like an auto-doc or improved comm gear.”

“And how long does the reactor need to last?”

“Long enough for any foreseeable operation and then some. A year at least. Mjolnir lasts 60 times that. Come to think of it, Mjolnir might have more answers than we initially thought. What if you could produce the coolant within the armor system, and then use it as a battlefield implement once it's expended?”

“What are you getting at, Joe?” Spectacles asked.

“What I'm saying is, for the Covenant, they used hydrogen fluoride in their reactors, and once it was super-heated, they used it as ammo, firing it out of the main guns. Mjolnir was reverse-engineered from Covenant technology, such reverse engineering being evident in the integrated thrusters. Maybe you could find a coolant that, once superheated, can be used as a weapon?”

“Now we're just getting ahead of ourselves here. I need the reactor figured out before I can start weaponizing everything. Besides, I'd prefer defensive options. Plus, I don't want to get too far ahead in the designs without writing something down. Don't want to forget it and have to go back to square one.”

“Right. That leaves us here, waiting for our release. Time to play the waiting game, I guess.”

And wait we did. Several hours passed, each member of Crimson occasionally being pulled aside for interrogations, then promptly lawyering up. They weren't coming back from the interrogation rooms, telling me things were going to be drawn out. They were playing a game of attrition... against a bunch of soldiers. Clearly, they weren't the wisest of cops.

I hoped everything played out, and via a lawyer, Chuck Finley got word out of the Steel Ranger armor file. If so, the trap was set, baited, and ready to fuck a spy over. If not, Crimson would be divided, making it even easier to find Chuck Finley, us only needing to follow the leaks.

“Lieutenant, come with me,” a guard said. It looked like my number came up... last, I noted.

“Where are you taking me?” I countermanded.

“Just across the way. Now are you gonna walk or are we gonna have to drag you?”

“For your well-being, I'll walk. A fair bit of warning: you don't want to make an enemy of me.”

“Oh, is that so?” I walked past the guard, only for him to strike the back of my right knee with his baton. “Who's the tough guy now, huh?”

“If you’re so sensitive of your own stance here so as to necessitate the assertion of your dominance via aggression, you are already lesser of a man than I, for I have already won by making you so insecure.”

“Shut it, crook!” he landed a blow to the back of my head. If it wasn't for the Carbide Ceramic Ossification augmentation, the blow probably would've cracked my skull. I wish they hadn't taken my helmet.

I managed to get back to my feet, and I walked the rest of the way to the interrogation cell. I opted to stand, but with a motion of his baton, the guard made it clear I was to sit. I shrugged, then sat down on the flimsy chair. The poor thing wasn't nearly strong enough to withstand Mjolnir's weight, and was flattened. I stood back up, locked gazes with the guard, and shrugged. He seemed aggravated. All the better to make mistakes with.

“You're going to tell me what happened since you showed up in Cloudsdale. Now,” he was trying to play things tough, but having faced the Flood, I knew much worse.

“How about I don't?” I queried.

“Oh, you will.”

“Your lack of physical aggression tells me this room is being monitored. As such, I will not answer any questions until I have an attorney present. Is that understood?”

“Fair enough,” it would seem I struck a nerve citing legal procedures, “And who would this attorney be?”

“Does princess Luna count? She did form our team, place me in charge of it, and grant me the authority of an acting Captain.”

“Unfortunately, no. Looks like you've been hung out to dry. So are you going to answer me or am I gonna half to leave you here until you do?”

“Sir, I am a sniper. And a Spartan sniper at that. I have waited days to take a single shot, I can out wait you with much more ease... and comfort for that matter. Get me a lawyer, then we'll talk.”

With a huff he left me in the cell. Just me and my thoughts now. I started looking at the big picture of things. Right now, Equestria has been on the defensive since the onset of the war. Unless if that changes, defeat is imminent. Problem: how to change it. Solution: send a Spartan. I would need to eliminate hostile administrative forces, officers and key politicians, while Equestria advocates for peace. I should only strike after it becomes known that peace has failed, if it does. If peace talks see success, then I abort and RTB.

But that wouldn't do it, not in the long-term of things. I'd need a plan for total dominance. We'd need an invasion force. Before any invasion could happen, we'd need to push the Zebras back and put them on the defensive. Maybe cut off support from their allies. As their supplies dwindle, I can advance on more officers and political targets. Their assassinations would cause chaos and shift the political scale of things, hopefully, towards peace. If that fails, in the wake of the chaos, an invasion would be prime.

It would probably be best to model the invasion after that of Normandy: multiple beaches, coalition force, and an enemy clueless about where the target is. All we'd need is a sufficient fleet to launch the assault from, a target coastline, and several supporting operations. I'd need a map and volunteers before I can go any further in the invasion planning. Until then, Equestria is best off turtling: focusing on research and defensive measures until forces are sufficiently equipped to launch a counter-assault. Problem is, this strategy only works if the enemy doesn't have an endgame planned. We need to know what they know. All the more important I find Chuck Finley.

If I find Chuck Finley, I could potentially sway him to Equestria's side of things, and get intel on the Zebra's endgame, if it is in play. If I can't find Chuck Finley, a different agent would be necessary. It was looking more and more like we would need to operate with additional support in order to win this war. When things go to Phase 2, I'd need to talk to each of the ministries to figure out how they can find a solution to the war. Then, I'll need to get together with the commanders of Equestria's armed forces and lay down the groundwork for a counter-assault.

Now that I have a very rough game plan, I can focus on the here and now. I took a deep breath and listened closely. I could hear two sets of hoofsteps followed by the closing of a jail cell. Some voices from two others started up from somewhere else. I reached for my fiber optic cable, only to find it missing. Apparently they were more thorough than I thought when they confiscated my equipment. After little thought, I concluded that all I could do was listen. So I did.

I still couldn't make out the voices, but they sounded familiar. They weren't from Crimson, that much was certain. One of the guards, the one who was interrogating me, was talking to them. He sounded as pissed off as always, but a tad bit weary with his word choice. Did his boss just walk in? I heard a set of hoofsteps approach my door. I returned to behind the table and stood at parade rest, staring directly at the door. I wasn't sure his intent, so I activated my camouflage just as the door clicked open.

“Joe, you're free to- where'd he go?!”

“Nowhere,” I said as I de-cloaked right in front of him. Looking past him, I saw the source of the two familiar voices: Nocturne and Night Bloom. I stepped out, right past the guard as he was still trying to figure out what he just witnessed. “I take it the operation went smoothly?”

“Yessir,” the two responded in tandem.

“And the VIP is in custody?”

“Cell 209, Lieutenant,” Nocturne said.

“Well, let's have a chat with him. But first, I need you to make sure he was stripped of everything. I'll sort through his confiscated goods for anything suspicious. Try to get as much out of him as you can, but make sure you let me reveal that we know he's a spy. Nocturne, I'd suggest you open up interrogations. Night Bloom, strip him of everything then find Pinkie Pie. Knowing the MoM, she'll be a valuable asset in interrogating this turncoat.”

The two popped salutes and ran off to the cell. I turned to the guard, “I need my gear. Get it.” He promptly returned with all of my supplies. It was nice to have my duster back on, as weathered as it may be. I loaded up all of my weapons and made sure my helmet was still in working order, albeit cracked since Trottingham. As I was situating my gear, Night Bloom ran past, dropping of all of the targets confiscated goods. She left, headed up the stairs towards the Ministry Mare.

I sorted through the materials. Amongst the gear was a Zebra crossbow, matching the kind I saw being used by the pirates way back during the hostage situation on the island. An antique given today's arms, but whisper quiet all the same. There was also a lonesome gemstone amongst his things. It looked like there was a design embedded in its core. More than likely, a talisman of sorts. I set it aside. Next was his apparel. It was just a cloak, nothing unique about it. There was no indication it had any Zebra enchantments on it, and it didn’t match the stealth cloaks recovered outside the HQ.

Next, I sorted through his saddlebags. There was a book on Zebra stealth tactics, and a letter. I set the letter aside for the time being. I checked the padding on his saddlebags, feeling no unusual textures or bulk. In the opposite bag, was a pouch of bits and spare bolts for the crossbow. I picked up the letter.

Dear friend,
We seem to have lost a package between the MoM and MWT. If you could pick it up for us before someone else takes it, we would be grateful.-The Private