//HOL CRY SWT
//CHECKSUM READ
//CHECKSUM GOOD

// … decoding …

// … decoding …

// … decoding …

Desert Storm

I placed the two pills in my mouth, one right after the other. First, the sertraline. Then, the gene snipper. I levitated the glass to my lips, slurped a slug of water, tilted my head back, and swallowed. There was an annoying momentary sensation of pain, like swallowing broken glass, from the rough edges of a too-large caplet.

I let out a long, low sigh. The anti-depressants made me feel surprisingly normal. Not good. Not bad. Just okay. In my case, being in a mildly satisfied haze was better than screaming in the halls or having nervous breakdowns in front of a superior officer.

With normalcy came a strange sense of confidence. Arrogance, even. I felt like I could take on the world by my lonesome. That foolhardiness had to come with some drawbacks. There had to be a catch. I hadn’t felt like this since I was a blank flank. Only when the tension had soaked out of my body did I realize that I’d been struggling with anxiety for years and years, tightly wound from head to hoof like a twisted rubber band.

To make matters worse, we all had minor anemia from radiation exposure. Physically, I felt a little on the weak side, even over a week later, but there was no telling how much of it was rad poisoning and how much of it was my other ailments combined with plain ol’ blood loss.

While I was mulling over the day’s plans for the stretches and light activity I aimed to do in order to help me stay limber, heal, and recover, Commodore Cake barged into the barracks, holding one of the Sterling Lance medals in her wingtip. It was weird to see her out of her armor. She was wearing a gray hooded vest. She looked surprisingly normal except for the visible aug ports in her hips and shoulders.

“Never, ever lose these, you stupid git!” She marched up to me, teeth bared as she tossed the medal right into my face. “They have priority aetherbits in them and they’re worth more than you are!”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly in any position to retrieve them, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

“Two Dragoons are dead because of you glory-seeking morons!” the Commodore roared.

“Two?” I raised an eyebrow. “But I thought—”

“I know what you thought. I know what you’re thinking before you even think it, because your body twitches one way or another and it gives away the plot.” The Commodore circled me in an intimidating manner as she spoke, carrying herself like some leopard ready to pounce. “Did you know that not all Dragoon exosuits are equipped with barrier fields? One must be Commodore-rank at minimum to qualify because of how scarce they are.”

“Hey, hold on,” I said. “Her armor stopped it. It didn’t go through.”

“Officer Dart took a hit dead-on in her chest from a Lupus. A Vargr positron rifle. You don’t live through that. The moment she got back, she started throwing her guts up. A few days later, she went into a coma and her skin started peeling off. This morning, they pulled the plug. There was nothing that could be done for her. A direct hit is like putting your head inside a nuclear reactor. It doesn’t matter if your armor stops it. You’re completely bathed in intense gamma radiation. You’re fucked!”

“Wow.” I smirked. “You actually swore!”

The Dragoon slapped me with her hoof, hard enough to whip my head to one side.

“You bloody fool. I had to watch two of the Empire’s very best—first, my mentor and now, my apprentice and best friend—die in the worst ways imaginable, and then, I have to put up with your lip, you cheeky fuck. Your disrespect is going to cost you dearly, one of these days. That’s the problem with you. I know your kind. You don’t believe in anything.”

My brows curled into a frown. That wasn’t fair at all. Not after all we’d done to try and save the Crazy Horse cell from total destruction. “Ma’am, if there’s any way I could make this right, I—”

“Stow it, you contemptible little nitwit. You didn’t just kill two of my closest friends. You killed the whole resistance with that weapon. The Confederacy is sending in the entire Fifth Fleet. We’d been able to stay under the radar until what you and Bellwether did. It would have been better if Captain Garrida and all the rest had died on that mountain. They would have accepted their own sacrifice. There are other cells that would have carried on in their place. Instead, you went right up with a feather duster and tickled the dragon’s tail!”

“I was just—”

“I don’t care. You’re bad luck, pilot. Things have gone pear-shaped since you showed up, and now, you’ve escalated the conflict in a manner that we are completely unprepared to handle. Thousands of rebels will die because of what you’ve done. Their blood is on your hooves. Don’t ever ask me for any favors, Storm. The next time you hit that responder’s button, guess what?” Layer leaned in close, squinting at me. “I’m going to watch you die, and I’m going to bloody well enjoy it.”

I smiled. She was so close that I could smell what she ate last. I had no idea what came over me, but in that moment, I wanted her. I latched my lips over hers and pulled her into a deep, aggressive kiss, tonguing the inside of her mouth. Her name was apropos. Layer did indeed taste like a fine strawberry cake. The Commodore was so shocked, she didn’t react for three whole seconds, even with those enhanced reflexes of hers. With surprising force, she shoved me off of her and onto my back. She pressed her hoof into my muzzle as she stood over me, her body coiled and taut as if ready to mete out retributive violence.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” she shouted.

It was a fair question. The rational side of me questioned whether or not it was wise to deliberately provoke somepony who could crush me like a bug in an instant if they desired. And yet, I didn’t stop there. I took up that figurative shovel and kept on digging myself deeper, all the way down to the bedrock.

I grinned wide. “I could be Dart’s replacement, if you like, gorgeous.”

Layer was so shocked, it took a few seconds for her to formulate a coherent response, her face warping into a contemptuous scowl. “You sick little cunt. I said she was a friend, not my lover. Furthermore, who in their right mind would share themselves with a rotten bitch like you? One little push and I could pop your head like a grape. Try me again, you twisted little cockroach. Do it!”

“You were right,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore. My sisters are gone. My mom and dad are probably dead. My fiancé’s almost certainly dead. I got mind-fucked and fuck-fucked by a manifestation of pure fucking evil, and now, I’m being scapegoated for something I didn’t even do. Really, why should I give a damn, anymore? About anything? Just fuck me or kill me already, you big, dumb turkey!”

The Commodore gritted her teeth, her eyes alight with rage as she raised her hoof to stomp my brains out. Those weren’t eyes I’d seen on any mare. There was murder in them. In those hollow pupils, there was the kind of reflexive, primal hate that I thought only a stallion could have. Hatred pure. The Commodore let out a savage cry as her leg came down.

She smashed her hoof into the concrete beside my head, leaving a spider-webbing pattern of cracks. I was shaking with fear, my eyes slowly tracking to my left, where her right forehoof had left its mark. The air was filled with concrete dust. If she’d been wearing her exosuit, she would’ve buried her leg in the foundation.

“Dartwing knew she was doomed.” The Dragoon’s eyes filled with tears, her anger melting away. “She was so scared. I kept trying to talk her down and reassure her that she’d make it as they removed her ruined armor from her broken body, but all she could say was ‘I’m dead’, over and over. I knew she was right. I lied. The last time I saw her conscious, and I lied to her! I fucking lied!”

The Commodore sobbed softly as she turned and departed the barracks. After a few moments alone, I regained my nerve, rising to my hooves.

“That’s right,” I said. “Fuck off, Test Tube.”

// … // … // … // … // … //

I stared up at my Mirage, sitting pretty in her bay. The last of the robot arms retracted as the final reassembly was completed. A few pegasus technicians were milling around on the top surface of the Courser’s torso with diagnostic instruments, performing various tests. They used laser scanners to make sure the plating was aligned correctly, which was important for aerodynamics. A raised edge could create drag. They also had several access panels open and had plugged in hoof-held readers to check each system one by one.

“Finally.” I fell on my gaskins melodramatically. “Fucking finally!”

“She ain’t quite completely back together, yet.” Wind Shear walked up to me, his hooves clicking across the concrete as he grinned one of those shit-eating grins.

“Well, what in sweet Luna’s perky blue tits is left, Specialist?”

“You.” Wind Shear reached out and hoofed over the keychip to my Charger. “With this, you can bypass the voiceprint analysis and open any of the hatches or start ‘er right up, of course. She’s hull-complete, painted up, and ready to go. Still a few things left to do, rearming-wise. The cannons are in for servicing and the HBCs have to go through requalification before we can mount ‘em. It’ll take a few more weeks for that. So, what kind of loadout were you looking to have installed?”

“Two forties, two HBCs,” I said. “Normal ammo load. A couple drums per cannon. The standard for the type. Why would I need anything else? Oh, that reminds me. Are the casters in the head ready to go?”

“Yep, they’re all squared away, but they’re currently locked out. Captain’s orders.”

I nodded. “I understand. She still hasn’t cleared me to touch a caster, yet. Apparently, I’m too fucked in the head.”

“You seem pretty normal to me, Sergeant.”

“Well, it’s the meds. I’ve been feeling a bit better. To be honest, I had no idea how sick I was. I guess this shit really does work, sort of. Maybe. Not sure if it’s any better than a placebo, but it feels like it’s doing something. Just not sure what.”

“Well, that’s pretty typical,” he said. “Something like more than a third of all Charger pilots ended up sucking down an anti-depressant of some kind. No big surprise, there. Being a Charger pilot is depressing. Just watch out. You definitely don’t want to be drowsy or intoxicated while in the saddle.”

I looked up at my machine’s dark, inky composite curves. “She’s black. The fuck? Where’s my old tan paint job? Where’s the damn nose art?”

“All that armor had to be replaced.” Wind Shear gestured at the great big pile of scrap LAMIBLESS in the corner of the hangar. “Not even one single bit of it was sound enough to stay on the frame. We didn’t have enough paint in that color, either. Black, red, and blue are all we got, and mixes thereof. Wanna try purple?”

“Well, she can’t be Dust Devil if she’s not dust-colored, can she?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

I grinned as I admired my Charger’s grim visage, framing her with my hooves. This was the instrument of my vengeance. Equestria’s last howl in the dark. “Black Devil. From now on, you’re Black Devil!”

The Mirage’s head rose slightly, her five eyes glowing red. “Affirmative, Sergeant. New designation, Black Devil, accepted.” Her Anima’s booming voice echoed through the hangar. “Shall I go get the mascara and the hair dye?”

Wind Shear and the techs broke out in peals of laughter.

“Sick burn!” Wind Shear said.

It took me a few moments to regain my composure. “Fuck you, BD!”

“We dug out some other stuff you might like,” Wind Shear said.

The pegasus tech dragged a pallet jack right up to me. On the wooden pallet were several large, brightly colored polymer hard cases. Using my magic, I curiously flicked the latches open on one of them. Neatly packed inside was a syncsuit in my size. Like a kid opening Hearth’s Warming presents, I gleefully unlatched one case after another. I pulled out a slightly wrinkled brown bomber jacket, my eyes widening in surprise. Tucked inside, a light tan beret bearing the sword-and-eight-ball patch of the Eighth Cavalry fell out on the floor. I quickly scooped it up and set it aside before returning my attention to the garment held aloft in my magic.

“My old jacket! My beret! Where the hell did you find ‘em?”

“They were in a locker on the Mirage. Kinda flood-damaged, so I had one of my upholstery goons clean them up. There were some mage rank badges in there, too, miss Silver Illusionist.” He winked, hoofing over my Illusionist and Arcanist cards.

I frowned as I took them in my magic. Last I remembered, I’d left my jacket in my quarters on our unit’s old Charger transport. It could’ve been a simple oversight on my part. Left ‘em in the Charger and forgot to bring ‘em back. In any case, I was glad to have them. I donned the green-plated syncsuit, finding with great satisfaction that it fit like a glove. I threw the bomber jacket over my shoulders, slipping my forelegs through the arms. Finally, I tossed my cards in my pocket and donned my old beret.

“How do I look?” I said.

Wind Shear smiled. “Like a real fuckin’ pilot, Sarge.”

// … // … // … // … // … //

In one of the common rooms of the base, Mardissa Granthis sat at a table, playing cards with Ket and teaching the rules of the foreign game to an interested Stormtrooper guard. She was wearing her suspendered overalls, fidgeting by kicking her legs under the table. It was clear that she was quickly becoming bored out of her mind. I aimed to correct that.

As I walked into the space in my full pilot’s garb, Mardissa’s eyes lit up when she saw me. She immediately tossed her hand of cards aside, got up and strode towards me. “Storm! What’s that you’ve got on? You look cool!” She knelt slightly so she could throw her arms around me in a hug.

Her childlike cheer never ceased to amaze me. The Demon-Breaker was a sweetheart when her augs weren’t making her froth like a rabid dog.

“Hold on, now,” I said. “Let’s not get too excited about that. I had a little proposal you might be interested in.”

She let go of me, her expression curious. “What sort?”

I walked over to the counter, levitated the coffee pot and poured myself a big, steaming mug. I stirred in a few teaspoonfuls of sugar, but otherwise left it black.

“Well, Mar, my Charger’s ready for a test run, and Captain Garrida wants me in the saddle in the next fifteen. I’m going to assume you’ve never ridden one.” I chugged the mug of still piping-hot coffee in one go, getting strange looks from Ketros as a result. “Wanna take a ride with me?”

Mardissa was so delighted, the corners of her mouth rose and her eyes glimmered, like I’d just told her we could each eat like a pound of MDMA and rub coochies for the rest of the night while tripping balls.

// … // … // … // … // … //

I’d spoken with the Stormtroopers and we agreed that I’d be Mar’s security escort for the time being. Cicatrice’s orders, apparently, were that Mar and Ket should be treated as guests of the Liberation Front until they could be interviewed and cleared to enlist, but they couldn’t go anywhere without eyes on them at all times. They knew about the Archons and the Vargr. That meant they were part of the circle of trust, now. Their own people would surely persecute them for what they now knew to be the truth.

I’d set my jacket and beret aside with the rest of my belongings and me and the cleomanni woman had donned helmets. Mine was a typical syncsuit helmet with its transparent half-face visor to keep debris and spalling out of one’s eyes, while hers was an ill-fitting Bulwark armor helmet with the chinstrap tightened all the way for her tiny head, extra foam padding on the inside to fill the gap, and a couple openings drilled into it with a hole saw for her horns. Safety first.

Mardissa and I crossed the boarding gantry and ducked into the Mirage’s hatch, entering the darkened cockpit beyond. Mardissa was awestruck as she peered around the space, taking in every little detail.

“So, this is what they’re like,” she said. “Exquisite. No expense spared on your engines of death, I see.”

“Should be,” I said. “Each one of these babies cost as much as a whole tank battalion. Also, this is far from exquisite. This is a rough, low-rate initial production prototype.”

“Gods. Are you joking?”

“I wish.”

I pushed the key into the console and gave it a twist. Immediately, the viewscreens and MFDs lit up. I was treated to a panoramic view of the hangar through my machine’s eyes, spread over three large monitors. I reached up and raised the backup periscope just to make sure it was working, lowering it and folding up the handles when I was satisfied.

“BD, you there?”

The holotank flickered as my Mirage’s demonic-looking Anima materialized, startling Mardissa. “Right here, Sergeant.”

“Okay, I’m taking you out for a spin in the gorge. A little mobility test. Basic shit.”

I got in the saddle and put my hooves in the hoofcups, cracking my neck from side to side. “Ready for the sync arm.”

The arm lowered from the cockpit’s overhead and clicked into the ports in the back of my suit, securing me in place. There was a momentary stabbing sensation from the synchronization, and then, I felt my Charger’s limbs with surprising tactility.

“Eighty-seven percent sync rate,” Black Devil reported. “Not your best, but it’s been a while, hasn’t it, partner?”

It was a much better sync rate than with the Coloratura and Tiamat, but it wasn’t perfect. I gave BD a curt nod. “It’ll do, for now.” I looked back at Mardissa. “You’re gonna have to sit on the saddle with me, scoot your ass forward, and hug my back real tight for this, like you’re riding bitch on a motorcycle. Otherwise, you’re going to bounce around in this thing like a microwaved cat.”

Mardissa giggled. “That’s a horrible analogy, Sergeant, but I get your meaning.”

Mar sat down on the rear edge of the saddle, leaning forward and hugging my back, ducking to one side to keep her head out of the way of the sync arm.

“BD, initiate startup sequence,” I said.

There was a soft hum as the polywell began the beam injection and plasma formation process. “Reactor online. Electrostatic conversion efficiency, nominal. Ready to close.”

I pressed a few buttons with my levitation, watching the frequency gauges and waiting for the output from the inverter to stabilize. “Okay, we’re good. Close the breaker and shift the load from batteries to the reactor.”

“Closing,” BD said.

There was a loud pop and Mardissa jerked as she was startled again. “Damn, this thing’s scary!”

“Relax, Mar. It’s just the main breaker. It’s got like a hundred fucking megawatts of juice going through it.”

“Why so much?”

I snickered. “Chargers are hungry fuckers, that’s why.”

The cockpit was filled with the hum of transformers, and then, the ascending whine of the electro-magical transducers. My Charger slowly rose to its full height as the gantries retracted and the battery chargers were disconnected. Yellow strobe lights flickered and sirens blared through the hangar, warning the hangar crews that there was an active Charger in motion and to stay clear.

Wind Shear’s mug appeared, picture-in-picture, in one of my viewscreens, seated at an operator’s console by our main servers. Captain Garrida was leaning over his shoulder, looking tense and concerned.

“Okay, Sarge, Captain says you’re clear to take her into the gorge. Take it slow at first. This is the first time she’s moved in years.”

“Got it,” I said. “Hey BD, status!”

“Reactor output is nominal. Self-diagnostics indicate operational readiness rate of sixty-seven percent, but you can ignore that. It’s mostly because the metrics take into account the lack of armaments. With that aside, I’m basically in near-pristine shape. They did a damn good job.”

“Good to hear,” I said. “Alright, we’re heading out. Someone get that damn hangar door open!”

The doors to Camp Crazy Horse’s hangar slowly began to part, revealing clear skies and the perpetual evening light beyond. I rolled my shoulders and stretched a bit in preparation for what was to come.

“Here we go.” I nodded. “Hold on tight, Mar.”

I started off with a light walk, getting her up to about thirty klicks an hour. We cleared the hangar doors, the augmented-reality readouts shifting to track the terrain contours and provide me with attitude indicators and other helpful information.

“This is so fucking cool!” Mar said.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” I grinned.

I lined us up with the gorge’s length, a long straightaway in front of me, at least a few kilometers from one end to the other. I twisted the hoofcups and the pyrojet boosters barked.

“What’s that?!” Mardissa was shocked by the noise and the flashes on the viewscreens from the engines’ exhaust plumes.

“That’s the sound of the fastest mech in the universe clearing her throat.”

I pushed the hoofcups forward. A walk became a trot. A trot, a gallop. The hoofbeats came so fast, they blended from one into the next, the saddle gently heaving up and down from the Charger’s motions. The speedo quickly climbed to a hundred and fifty, the canyon walls becoming a blur. We were already moving far faster than any Ifrit ever could.

“Holy shit!” Mardissa said. “Holy shit! Holy Shit!”

I clicked my tongue dismissively. “Fuckin’ grandma’s fuckin’ pony-drawn carriage. Rouncey speeds. Here we go for fucking real.”

I slammed on the boosters, the acceleration forcing me back into the sync arm.

“Whoa, whoa!” Mar screamed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Slow down! My legs! My legs are in the air!”

I looked back, and sure enough. Mardissa was a flapping cape wrapped around my shoulders, her legs dangling behind the saddle in mid-air from the sheer acceleration. I’d made plenty of satyrs fly with my forties and casters. I’d never made one fly inside the cockpit before. It was the funniest fucking thing I’d ever seen.

Soon, the acceleration leveled off as we entered a bounding gait and we topped out at three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. My Charger wasn’t actually galloping across the ground at this point. Its hooves were briefly touching the ground as it leapt in graceful parabolic arcs. We were airborne for a couple seconds. Wham. The thrusters fired downward to loft me skyward again, and then braked my descent a couple seconds later. Wham.

“This is incredible,” Mar said. “It’s unthinkable that any walker could move this fast.”

“Well, she ain’t just any walker,” I said. “She’s mine. That means she’s the very fucking best. Ain’t that right, BD?”

“Damn straight,” Black Devil said.

Mar pointed ahead of us at the cliff face that we were mere seconds from smashing into. “Oh fuck, oh fuck! Dead end, dead end!”

“Hold on tight!”

I fired the pyrojet thrusters downward, jump-jetting us over a hundred meters into the air. We cleared the rim of the gorge, landing in the clearing beyond and skidding across the ground. As we continued to skid, I fired the rear boosters to lift the ass-end of my machine up, turning and pivoting on my Charger’s front hooves like a ballerina. I pulled a one-eighty, my hind legs coming down with my machine facing the opposite direction. A hoofstand turn, something every Courser pilot needed to practice dozens of times. I then poured on the boosters to brake us to a stop.

Mardissa was hyperventilating, her face dripping with sweat. “What the fuck? What did they pay you suicidal maniacs to drive these contraptions?!”

“A whole lot less than you’d think,” I said.

I leapt back down into the gorge, braking my descent with the thrusters and coming to a soft landing that kicked up a huge plume of dust. Then, I began picking up speed again on the way back towards the base.

I shook my head. “You’re gonna have to hold on real tight for this one.”

Mardissa’s arms gripped me tighter. With a complicated dance of thruster power, I shifted towards the wall of the gorge, my thrusters defying gravity as I leapt towards the vertical surface.

“No, no, no!” Mar whined.

“Aww, quit being a big baby,” I said.

The Mirage’s hooves connected with the cliff face and I rode up onto it, my thrust vector shifting to keep me aligned with the surface and forcing me downwards relative to my new orientation as I galloped along it.

I was now tilted ninety degrees to the right and running along the wall of the gorge, kept from falling by the sheer power of the Mirage’s vectored pyrojets, bright blue streams of exhaust knifing into the canyon floor.

“You can run on walls?” Mardissa clung to me for dear life. “You can run on fucking walls?!”

I laughed, looking over my shoulder at the panicked woman. “Yeah. Can run straight up ‘em, too.”

“What the fuck is that?!” Mar pointed at the viewscreen.

An eel had stuck its head out of a hole in the wall of the gorge, its scales glinting red. Its eyes tracked towards me, its jaws widening in what must have been horror as it realized its mistake.

“Dammit!” I yelled. “Quarray Eel!”

Before I rammed the damn thing’s head clean off and splattered its guts all over BD’s glacis plate, thus earning the eternal enmity of my technicians, I boosted away from the cliff face and did a torso roll, momentarily inverting us before landing with all four hooves down and continuing to smoothly gallop down the gorge.

“This is insane!” Mardissa laughed. “You’re insane!”

I grinned wide. “I know!”

Captain Garrida’s visage appeared in the viewscreen, and she wasn’t happy. “Hey, I can see what you’re up to on the feed! Cut it out with the showboating, you moron! We just got that fucker back together!”

I sighed with disappointment. “Yes, sir.”

“I think that’s pretty much it for the mobility test.” Wind Shear coughed a bit as he went over the numbers. “We got some good telemetry data and I think I can see where we can make some adjustments to accommodate your—uhh—unique piloting style. Nice moves, Sergeant.”

I nodded. “Good, very good.”

I brought the Mirage back into its bay, the gantries automatically connecting and the battery chargers locking in place. I transferred the load from the reactor to the batteries and then shut down the polywell, the transducers letting out a soft, descending whine as the Charger’s systems spooled down. When Mardissa and I disembarked and headed down the gantry and onto the hangar floor, she was very disoriented and stumbled around a bit.

I helped her stay upright, nudging her with my forehooves. “You okay? I didn’t overdo it, did I?”

Mardissa looked up at my Charger, transfixed. “Is this the machine you used to murder my countrymen with chemical weapons, pilot?”

My smile fell. “Yeah. The very same.” I swapped my helmet for my beret and donned my jacket to ward off the hangar’s chill.

Mardissa shook her head, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s such a damn shame it had to be a weapon. It’s so finely made. Piss on the war. With this, you could go anywhere. See the world from every angle.” Mardissa giggled. “What do you think? Too sappy?”

I took in a deep breath. “You think we can beat the Vargr, in the shape we’re in?”

Mardissa scanned the hangar. The empty bays. Night Terror’s Selene, off in the far corner. Sierra’s piece of junk, Scofflaw. The salvaged Chargers, sitting under heavy tarps. The battle tanks and artillery recovered from Pur Sang. The piles of recovered ordnance. Not nearly enough. Any of it.

“We have to be clever,” Mardissa said. “In our culture, there is the legend of Zurak the Small. He was pursued all his life by giants the size of mountains, their bodies shot through with tree roots, leafy branches sprouting from their shoulders. He set traps for them. He lured them into ravines and dropped boulders on them. He set their trees aflame with fire arrows. He entangled their legs with heavy ropes. After thirty days and thirty nights, the giants fell, depleted by the struggle. One by one, he crawled into their mouths and took their gemstone hearts, and they troubled him no more.”

“And he had a pile of sweet-ass gems, too,” I said. “Lemme guess. He got all the pussy afterward?”

Mardissa turned beet red. “He lived as a king and had many concubines, yes.”

“Yup, it’s definitely a cleomanni story,” I said.

Mardissa frowned and crossed her arms. “Well, you got any better ones?”

I looked up at Black Devil’s expressionless face. “My mom always used to tell me about the story of Nightmare Moon’s redemption. Over two thousand years ago, Princess Celestia’s sister Luna betrayed her and became a creature of darkness. Celestia had no choice but to seal her sister in the moon with her magic. For a thousand years, she remained in exile, until she returned to bathe the land in eternal night. Six mares and a baby dragon traveled to her castle deep in the Everfree Forest to challenge her. They used the Elements of Harmony, six powerful magic artifacts, to purify Luna’s spirit and cast the Nightmare force out of her body. The Princess of the Night returned to her sister’s loving embrace.”

“That’s such a pony-like myth.” Mardissa grinned. “So sickly-sweet.”

“Ast neim argennan,” I said. “Ast hiactas. Laroa oskenne. As enkefte ut kovan tonnase astebre Havoro Hazka, Yanakii Ulnu, Soelesanna, Ustakaberen, Lanasnei, ia Renleus Tika.”

Not myth. Fact. It actually happened. The names of the six mares were Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, and Twilight Sparkle.

Mardissa eyed me with a concerned look on her face. “Twilight Sparkle? The Twilight Sparkle? As in, Empress Sparkle?”

“The very same.” I nodded.

“Who was she? Back then, I mean.”

“Apparently, she was Princess Celestia’s personal student and protégé. I think she ran a library? Our history is kind of fuzzy on the details.”

“How did she live so long?” Mardissa scratched her head.

“She’s an Alicorn. How else? They live practically forever. It would take a fairly extreme act of violence to end her life.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” Mar said.

I smiled. “If it’s you, my friend, I’m sure I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“You serious about that?” Mar’s long, elfin ears perked up. “We’re friends?”

I nodded. “I know. Who would’ve thought? A Charger pilot and Salzaon’s own daughter. We’re an odd pair, you and I.”

“The reason why I’m worried, Sergeant, well, uh, it’s because you might not want to be friends anymore after you hear what I have to say.” Mardissa nervously scratched her sideburns.

“What is it?”

Mar swallowed hard, her voice thick with emotion as she spoke. “I watched Twilight Sparkle die.”

The corners of my mouth slowly fell. The hangar got a few degrees colder. Any cheer I’d felt had basically evaporated into the ether with those five words. Then, there was naught but growing dread and panic, my stomach doing somersaults in my guts.

“What? What?!”

“Hanged. Shortly after she was captured.” Mardissa’s contrition was evident on her face. “You didn’t know?”

I thought back to Bellwether’s words. The radio transmissions mentioned an ‘Aubergine’. That’s Confederate military code for Twilight Sparkle.

“Impossible. There are still ongoing encoded communiques that we’ve intercepted that make mention of Aubergine. That’s Twilight Sparkle, Mar. It has to be. She has to be alive!”

“Don’t believe me?” Mar said. “See for yourself.”

Mardissa produced a small, circular holoprojector and held it upright in her palm, tapping a few invisible haptic controls that only she could see. The recorded vidstream started to play, the news cameras zooming in on Twilight’s face. She’d been beaten severely, her face black and blue. They’d gagged her and bound her wings. She wasn’t even allowed the satisfaction of any last words. The noose went around her neck and was pulled tight. She struggled. She was afraid.

With the pull of a lever, she was no more.

My ears drooped flat and my legs collapsed from under me. In that one, single moment, my entire world had been turned upside down.

“I’m so sorry,” Mar said. “This must be difficult for you to accept, I know.”

“How could you?” I whispered.

“What?”

I rose to my hooves, fixing my enraged, teary-eyed glare on Mardissa. “She was the last living Alicorn. A divine being. A link to our past. To what we used to be. We used to be pure. We used to be kind. We weren’t—we weren’t this!”

I ripped my beret off, tossed it on the concrete floor and stamped it flat, grunting with exertion.

“Storm, I—”

“Why didn’t you bastards kill us all? Why didn’t you do the right thing and bombard every square centimeter of this planet to end our suffering? Why? Why did you let us live?” I reared up and clapped my hooves on Mar’s shoulders. “Why?!” I buried my sobbing muzzle in her shoulder, the tears soaking into her overalls. “Why? It’s not fair. It’s not fair! I fought so hard. I failed. We failed. Just kill us. Just get it over with.”

Mardissa wrapped her arms around me, running those gentle hands of hers through my mane. We stayed like that for what felt like forever.

“You showed me the truth, so it was my turn,” she said. “I couldn’t keep it from you. It wouldn’t be right. For what it’s worth, Storm, I—I can’t even begin to apologize for what my people have done to yours. I was fooled. We all were. I was taught that your lives were worth nothing and that you would destroy everything we held dear if not kept in check. Then, I met you, and I discovered the horrifying truth. You’re lovely people who’ve been tarred with the most insidious propaganda. I felt so hurt and so betrayed, I lashed out at you with anger. I hurt you, too. Everyone who taught me all those lies—I trusted them. I trusted them with my life. I aided in their crusade. I spilled Equestrian blood without hesitation. So many times. It makes me sick.”

I could have told her the truth. I could have told her I felt exactly the same way, word for word. Instead, coward that I was, I selfishly turned her words back against her.

“I was told that none of you could be trusted,” I said. “I was told that, to a man, every single one of you sought to do us harm. I had no reason to doubt that. You, on the other hoof, had every reason to believe we were people, by the cities that we’d built, by the tools that we used, and by the language we spoke. It wasn’t ignorance that kept you in the dark. It was callousness. We reached out to you, time and time again, begging for peace, only to be ignored. Only to be victimized. Again, and again, and again. And now, the one mare who could have saved us is gone. We are surrounded by monsters that want nothing more than to devour and torment us and strip us of our dignity. I’m sick of hurting like this. I want to die. I want my rest. I want it. I deserve peace!”

“Storm, please, you’re—you’re my friend! I—”

I pushed her away, giving her a dead stare. “You never cared. You don’t care about us. You don’t care about me. I’ll probably be dead within the year. Your father will come rescue you and carry you back to your lavish palace or whatever the hell you live in. You have hundreds of boring years to look forward to. Plenty enough time to forget I ever existed. To forget all of this.”

Mardissa tossed her modified helmet away, grabbing me and pulling me into a hug. “Storm, I will never forget you. I promise you that. I will stand by your side and I will fight the Archons and their lackeys to my dying breath. When we go, we’ll go together.”

I let out a wearied sigh, my hooves cradling the woman’s back. “I wish things had been different. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” I sniffled and leaned back. “I need some time. I need a little time to be alone.”

I slowly backed away from her, retrieving my crumpled beret and straightening it out before donning it.

“Storm,” she said. “Don’t go.”

I ignored the shaky hand that reached out to me with entreaties of peace and kindness, and I turned and departed the hangar. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t afford to lose it in front of her. In front of everyone. Not when I’d been doing so well.

I stumbled into the passageway to the brig. The hall seemed to stretch into infinity. There was nopony here, except me. I was all alone. Being alone, my thoughts began to wander. My environs became unreal, like watching a movie through my own eyes. Reality briefly became a shoddy imitation of itself, like I was a film camera on a tripod and the walls were made of plywood. Everything around me was cast in plaster. A prop. Set dressing, and nothing more.

An indescribable sense of dread and paranoia began to consume me. I felt like I was being watched, like some deity would notice that I was a misplaced, shoddy figurine in their diorama, reach down with their giant hand, pluck me off the floor, and cast me into the abyss in a fit of anger. I struggled to steady my breathing, sweat beading up and dripping off my brow. Don’t panic. Don’t panic! It’s nothing. There’s nothing here.

I held a hoof to my chest, taking a deep, shaky breath. I allowed myself a smirk of self-satisfaction. I hadn’t collapsed in a screaming, crying fit. I’d held it off. I’d kept it together.

I had to go see Bell. I had to know the truth. They’d tossed him in a cell, somewhere around here. It was the price he’d paid for saving us all. I navigated the maze, eyeing the slots in the doors.

I slid the shutter to one of them aside. “Bellwether?”

Inside was a mare with a light coat and a stringy white mane. She was rocking back and forth, her eyes wide and bloodshot. One could’ve confused her for Placid, but this was an earth pony, not a pegasus. “Not him, not here,” she said.

“Well, did you happen to hear which cell they took him to?”

She looked up at me with those crazed eyes of hers. “You’re gonna die, you know. I’m gonna die. We’re gonna die. All of us are gonna die. Your first mistake was being born. Your second mistake was having the gall to be optimistic about it.”

I slid the shutter closed. “Right. Not helping.” I walked a little further down the hall. “Bell? You in here?”

“Over here, Storm,” Bellwether muttered, his voice muffled.

I slid open another shutter, peering inside. Bellwether was amusing himself by bouncing a ball off the floor, then the wall, and then back into his hoof, over and over again.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“What does it look like? I’m working on my chemical engineering degree.”

I sighed. “Bellwether, I have a few very important questions to ask you.”

“Shoot. Not like I have anything better to fucking do.”

“How much did you know about the Vargr? Before Cicatrice told us everything he knew, I mean?”

“Plenty enough. Enough to know they were bad news, anyway. Enough to know that Cicatrice knows more, and he’s not telling us. Instead, he’s feeding us full of bullshit. Even at the Empire’s height, we were never a serious threat to them, and right now, we’re less than a gnat next to those bastards. Crusher’s little gambit is more than just desperate. It’s insane.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” I shook my head. “Another question. Did you know the Empress was murdered in public by the Confederacy?”

Bellwether quit bouncing his ball and shot me an irritated glance. “Oh, great. You saw that video.” He shrugged. “If you look real close at the pixels over Empress Sparkle’s shoulder, you can just barely make out the faint white outline of Celestia’s ghost.”

I stamped my hoof. “Bell, this is serious! What gives, dude? Why has this info been suppressed?”

“It’s fake, that’s why. Her scars aren’t in the right place and she’s not the right build.”

I threw up my hooves in exasperation. “Then—wha—who—who did they hang?”

“Beats me. Probably spray-painted some poor mare and sewed wings on her back to look like her. It’s a pretty close imitation, but there are noticeable discrepancies. Our verdict? They executed a very half-assed body double. So, we decided it’d be better not to spread it around.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or furious. The Confederacy’s lies were so flagrant, they beggared belief.

“Last question. Why are you in here? What in the hell are they doing with you?”

“Crusher has ordered a special tribunal. He wants to know how the hell I even set off a nuke in the first place, when they ordinarily require dual authorization to arm them. He doesn’t know that BASKAF furnished their agents with a backdoor, or that this backdoor involves the access and usage of unencrypted, plaintext nuclear codes stored in every Anima’s memory banks.”

I held a hoof to my mouth, my horror barely disguised. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah. It’s not like it’s a security risk or anything, or our enemies couldn’t discover and exploit that.” Bellwether’s tone was acerbic. “I mean, it’s just a random-looking string of numbers that you can only access if you have an Anima handy and know the exact voice commands to read out the exact memory block, and then, you need an actual Imperial nuke to be physically present next to you in order to enter the code. It’s so unlikely that any Satyr would have the aforementioned combination of things in their possession.” Bell shook his head. “Actually, it is pretty unlikely, but dammit, it’s still a security hole in our nuclear arsenal that we, ourselves, created.”

I winced. “Why?”

“Simple,” Bellwether said. “A backup in case the standard authentication methods aren’t available and you need to blow some fuckers to Tartarus. We used aetherbit-based communications for almost everything. Some of the finest security in the galaxy, except if your base with your fancy-ass quantaetheric mainframe gets blown to fuck and all your bombs become paperweights. We wanted a way around that, and oh boy, we got it.”

“That’s a lot of power to entrust to just one agent,” I said. “Weren’t they worried it would be misused? Say, if somepony went completely off her rocker and decided to set off a nuke because her hubby was cheating on her with her best friend and she no longer had the will to live. What then?”

“Not my call. The higher-ups made the decision. The Liberation Front benefited from it, however temporarily. We’re probably gonna get fucked hardcore when the Confederacy wakes up and decides to do something about a whole division getting nuked.”

“I had a very, uh, heated encounter with Commodore Cake. She repeated what Captain Garrida told me a week ago. Apparently, the Confederacy are sending a whole fleet.”

“Well, there’s your answer.” Bellwether reached out a hoof and let it fall and illustratively smack his flank. “We’re fucked.”

“We’ve got to be able to do something,” I said. “There has to be somewhere we can hide while all this blows over.”

Bell shrugged and looked me in the eye, his expression strained. “Where? Under Canterlot Castle?”

I let out a chuckle. “Not a half-bad idea.”

“Good luck. That’s ganger territory, now.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out with a huff. “Bell, my Charger’s back in action. Just took her out for a test run.”

“Yeah? Well, how did that go?”

“She runs perfect. Took Mar for a ride in the cockpit. That was fucking dangerous. No rumble seat, no restraints or anything.”

“Did you at least make her wear a helmet?”

“Oh yeah. No way I was gonna be responsible for busting her fucking skull open. Besides, I’m pretty sure the techs would make me wipe her brains off the dash if that happened.”

“How you holding up?” Bellwether said.

The question came completely out of left field, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to receive it. Those four words had a sort of angularity to them like knives in my head, and I wasn’t prepared.

“Fuck off, Bell. I’m sick and tired already of people asking me that damned question.”

“You know it’s different for me.” Bell shook his head slowly. “It’s not just out of courtesy that I’m asking you this. I was there. I felt like I could’ve stopped it, if the stars had been aligned right.”

“You could’ve done something, Ket could’ve done something, Mar could’ve done something, and I could’ve done something. We all could’ve done something, and one or more of us might’ve died.” I took a deep breath through my nostrils and let it out in a huff. “Whatever. Fuck it. We’re all still alive. I call that a win.”

“Are you upset with me?”

I set my jaw, my ears pinned, looking down my muzzle at him. “Who gives a fuck about you? Don’t you dare try and make this about yourself, you fuck. I don’t give a fuck what you saw, I don’t give a fuck what you think, and I don’t give one solitary fuck about your feelings of inadequacy or powerlessness. You think that’s the only time I’ve ever had to deal with shit? I had my cry. I’m done. It’s just one more thing on my plate. Just one more motherfucker I have to kill. If you expect me to stand here and mope about it and validate you and your insecurities, you don’t know me very fucking well!”

“Oh fuck,” Bell said. “You’re bottling harder than a soda factory.”

“Just drop it. Just let it go. Don’t make me get any nastier than I have to be. I’d rather save it for the fuckers I need to kill, you understand?”

“I do. More than you know, Sergeant.”

“You better come back from your little meeting with the Admiral in one fucking piece, ‘cause we ain’t finished,” I said. “You and I, we have more fuckers to blow to bits, and I don’t know anyone else who’s such an artist with CycloHex.”

Bellwether grinned devilishly, his teeth seeming to glow stark white in the darkness. “You got that right.”

Without another word, I slid the shutter closed.

I could’ve told Bellwether the truth. I could’ve told him that the world seemed a little more drained of color. I could’ve told him I that I couldn’t stand being alone for more than an hour at a time without feeling like the walls had eyes and they were going to close in on me and swallow me up, or that there were moments where everything around me seemed as if it was a poor imitation made of cardboard. He had enough problems without me adding to them. He wasn’t my hero, my knight in shining armor. No one was. I had to push them all away. I had to keep them safe. If I let him, or Mardissa, or any of the rest get too close, they’d fall right in the pit with me. I would never be able to forgive myself if I let that happen.

I made my way back to the barracks, passing through the infirmary along the way. As I turned and glanced through the window into the converted office space beyond, I saw Mardissa, accompanied by a pair of Stormtrooper escorts. She was comforting the dying mare from Pur Sang who’d had three of her legs amputated by the Vurvalfn and their vicious attack. She had the pony’s hoof clasped in her hands and was saying something to her. I pushed the door open a crack and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Did we—” The mare broke down in a coughing and hacking fit. “Did we do it? Is the war over? Are we at peace?”

Mardissa nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s over.”

The mare slowly smiled, her one remaining eye misted with tears of gratitude. Her neck went slack on the pillow, her eye rolling back in her head. The heart monitor flatlined. Mardissa swept the mare’s eyelids shut and placed her limp foreleg on her chest, the satyr’s shoulders heaving with silent sobs. She and her escorts left the infirmary, passing me on the way out. She cast me an enigmatic look, but we said nothing to each other.

I continued on my way, and once I was back in the barracks, I undressed, stowed my gear and belongings, and threw myself into my bunk. I stared at the underside of the upper bunk, shaking my head, my teeth gritting with anger as I took deep breaths through my nostrils.

“Why didn’t she have the courtesy to lie to me?” I muttered.

Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.

What felt like hours later, I was roused from sleep by the uncanny sensation of someone looming over me. I peeked open one eye, and then the other. Mardissa was standing over me, her face unreadable, her escorts not present.

“Mar?” I said. “What is it?”

As she coldly gazed down at me, she reached out a hand. Her arm blossomed open and a pulse gun appeared from within. I didn’t even have time to gasp.

The flash of light consumed my whole world. The light resolved into a terrible scene, a crowd chanting and jeering at me as I stood atop the gallows.

Salzaon was there, too, giving a grandiose speech. Finally, the enemies of our great nation will be dispatched! Finally, after centuries of bitter conflict, justice will prevail, and we will be safe and secure once more!

The rope was drawn tight around my neck. I looked to my left, and Bellwether was being prepared to be hanged, his stare fixed on the horizon. On my right, there was Twilight Sparkle. She was shaking her head and grinning, her eyes downcast.

Her gaze met mine. “You can’t trust a fucking imp, you idiot. This is what happens, Sergeant. This is what you get. You get fucked!”

The lever was pulled. I fell. And I fell. And I fell. I fell headfirst. Down, into the darkness. Down, and down, and down. The shadowy forms of the Archons were laughing all around me as I descended into hell.

A soul. A mortal soul.

Our food. Delicious food.

Ravish her. Ravish her eternally.

I went splat in the muck and filth at the bottom. I was sinking up to my neck in black ooze that smelled of decaying seaweed. The sunless sky was filled with roiling clouds of ash and smoke, and yet, everything was bathed in an even, dim light, such that nothing could cast a shadow. The far shore was littered with bones, the earth stained a dark brown. There sat the great, rotting carcass of a creature the size of house. Black, oily birds—alien things that were like a cross between a gull and a manta ray—swooped down and plucked the putrefying flesh from the dead giant. Great obsidian manses of decadence towered in the distance, their columns and statues a dire warning to any who would dare approach. The air was filled with a sonorous, distant groan that seemed to come from everywhere at once—an unending tone of pure misery.

This was their realm. The Archons’ plane of existence.

The Seneschal of the Second Legion was there, towering over me, its tentacles slowly extending towards me. Its flickering, cyclopean eye centered itself on me. The shifting multitudes of other eyes and mouths that made up its face seemed to draw into an unsettling rictus.

Did I not tell you, child? You are my property. You pathetic worms should safeguard your lives more adeptly if you wish to delay the inevitable.

Hands and hooves reached up out of the sea of black, their owners a chorus of moaning, agonized voices. Their limbs wrapped around me, dragging me deeper into the soup of death and rot.

No, I cried out. Please, no! Plea-hee-heese! Somepony, help me! Celestia!

A star erupted as if from nothing, its orange glow tearing a hole in the heavens. The Archon growled in anger, shielding itself with its tendrils. Purifying and holy flame washed over me, burning away the filth and decay, leaving an endless white expanse of nothingness punctuated by a brilliant star. Deep within the light, there was a voice, gentle and soothing.

Oh, my little one. It was never my intent that any of you should suffer so terribly.

I shielded my eyes from the light with a foreleg. Who are you?

Do not be deceived. Twilight is not dead. She lives. If my student had passed this way, I would know, for she would be at my side.

I turned and gazed into the light, and there, in the center of it, was the Martyred Maiden. Her glory had faded, her soul in tatters. There was a hole in her chest, a beating heart squeezing rhythmically within it, surrounded by the barbed rows of her shattered ribs. Her eyes were the crimson of a blood-filled tick ready to burst, her lips decayed and her teeth showing through the side of her muzzle.

I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut. Celestia was terrifying to behold.

Don’t look away, she said. Please, come closer.

I slowly approached the alicorn’s spirit, my hooves shaking with trepidation. She was seated on a white marble throne surrounded by golden vines. She radiated such immense power, it felt like I was being pushed back, like two identical magnetic poles repelling each other. The light that radiated from her ghost was blinding. Still, I struggled to reach her. I knelt before her mighty form, almost overcome by emotion. The warmth that emanated from her was so unlike anything I had ever experienced before in my entire life. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Truly safe. If I was crying, it was with tears of happiness. This was an honor I did not deserve.

Close enough. The Sovereign stood from her throne and approached me effortlessly, placing her hoof on my chin and raising my head to meet her judging, penetrating eyes. Her lips drew back in a snarl, her eyes aflame with anger. A murdering wretch. Anathema to everything our kind was meant to be. My first visitor in eons, and this is what I get. Scum!

Celestia shoved me to the ground, or floor, or whatever the endless field of light was. I was so upset at having been rejected by her, I could do nothing but whimper breathlessly for a few moments. I was—I was only following orders!

Do you think it’s in any way acceptable for a pony to use her strength to kill and maim like this? The Martyred Maiden drew her hoof in an arc over her head, filling the space with visions—glimpses of my own memories, I realized. Me twisting the arming key and depressing the ignition pushbutton for my Charger’s surface-to-surface missiles, dozens of times. The vandals I’d methodically shot dead. The scavenger I’d killed. The concentration camp staff I’d ordered slain. Emlan’s son, breaking under my hooves. Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Speak, reprobate!

I—I don’t—

It is one thing for a soldier to kill in defense of innocent lives. It is another thing entirely to revel in senseless bloodshed as you do. Sergeant, there is no excuse for one of our race to do the things that you’ve done. You should know better, damn you.

I had no choice!

There is always a choice. You have consistently made the wrong ones. With every life you take unjustly, you grow closer to becoming like one of them. The Night Princes. The Great Devourers. The Lords of Matter. The Archons corrupt and pervert everything they touch! There were tears of blood welling in the eyes of Celestia’s tattered spirit, spilling trails of red down her cheeks. The white field surrounding us began to fade, morphing into the ruins of a bombed-out city, Chargers marching beside us in neat rows while artillery shells exploded in the distance. I sacrificed everything, just so that we could become this? Centuries of teaching my little ponies the ways of harmony and peace. All for nothing. The shame. The shame of it! Celestia clutched at her ruined chest. For me to have failed so profoundly. It hurts!

I scrambled back as the ground beneath me lit aflame with Celestia’s rage, yelping and patting my singed fur. The orange glow slowly resolved into individual symbols that were inscribed in the air with trails of fire. I recognized it as a spell of some sort, the Old Equish words as clear as day. I quickly committed it to memory before it was washed out by the blinding aura of Celestia’s light as the illusory battlefield faded from view. The endless, blank field of white was disorienting. There was no way to tell which way was up or down. It felt like my head was spinning.

I was mad. Unutterably, incandescently angry. I don’t need this. I don’t need your fucking—opprobrium or whatever the fuck this is. You’re going to heap this shit on my head, after all I’ve been through? Who the hell needs you, anyway? Where were you, when our planets were invaded and our cities were razed? You know, it’s silly. When I was a child, I used to cling to a fucking toy of you and beg you to whisk me away into the distant past whenever my life got to be unbearable. To this day, ponies still fall down and pray before idols of you, when you barely rate a footnote in the history books, for all the good that you did. If you’ll make an enemy of me, then guess what? Guess what, you old bag? I’ll crush you, too! Who needs goddesses? You never did anything that forty tons of titanium and a battery of casters couldn’t do better. To hell with you!

The Alicorn’s apparition nodded slowly. I’m already there, you petulant foal. Take the gift of my light, given with the utmost of scorn. Use it to pacify rather than kill. The Martyred Maiden leaned back in her throne, resting her chin on her hoof. Now, away with you. At least have the decency to let a dead mare rest in peace.

I was dragged from Celestia’s light, the white plane slowly resolving into colors as the base’s sirens lulled me back to the world of the living. I reflexively patted myself down. No pulse gun wounds. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d dreamt it. Nopony would believe what I’d just experienced if I’d told them. Perhaps Placid Gale would, seeing as she was a Starrie herself, but the rest would’ve said I was crazy. I wasn’t even sure if it was in any way real, or if it was a figment of my own frayed psyche. I had to keep this encounter a secret, for the time being. One thing was for certain, and that was the fact that her rebuke had cut deep. I was blinking away tears as I struggled to right myself.

The green blob next to me slowly began to resolve into a pony. Sergeant Sagebrush was shouting directly in my ear, holding out my Bulwark armor and communications helmet. “Storm! Armor, caster, now! Tack the fuck up!”

The heaving rumble of an explosion nearly shook me from my bunk. “What the fucking fuck?!”

“We’re under attack! Gaffs and Karks in the fucking base!”

“Oh shit,” I whispered. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

I practically leapt into my armor and saddlebags and threw my helmet on. My home was no longer home. Just another target. They had not yet invented a word or phrase to describe how screwed we all were. Fornicating with the pointy end of a jackhammer? No, too long. It needed fewer syllables and more angularity. Drinking the dourine dick? No, too soft and round. The harsher a word sounded and the more hard consonants it contained, the more profane. That was why fuck was so popular. One could chain fuck as many times as they wanted. Fucked. FuckFucked. FuckFuckMcFucked.

As I mulled over the problem at hoof, I hurriedly stuffed my Orbit, syncsuit, jacket, and beret into a polymer hard case at the foot of my bunk and hefted it in my magic. No true pilot would ever leave their syncsuit behind, especially considering that they didn’t make ‘em anymore.

“I need to get to my Mirage!” I said. “I can hold them off!”

“With nothing but casters?” Sagebrush said. “I saw your machine, Storm. They didn’t even mount the fuckin’ cannons yet. No fucking way. You get in that thing, you’re running. You’re running and you’re keeping it intact and away from the enemy.”

It was then that I realized that I still had my machine’s casters locked out, too. My Charger was completely useless.

“Bellwether,” I said. “Bellwether’s in the fucking brig!”

“Good, let him rot! Fuckin’ prick brought this on us.”

“I have to go get him,” I said. “Either you come and fucking help me, or fuck off!”

“Dammit, Storm! Alright, fuck it. Let’s go get the geezer. He’ll know how to bring this place down on those fuckers’ heads.”

“Watch out!” I shouted.

Sagebrush ducked as a Karkadann swung its bladed tail right where his head was a moment before. I had no idea what came over me; I screamed and tackled the abomination in the side, pounding its armored head with my hooves. It quickly gained the advantage over me, twisting out of my grip and pushing me back against a wall, drooling and snarling in my face. It bared its armored prick, the one that liquefied their victims, and thrusted it towards my exposed belly while I tried desperately to push it back.

I thought of Celestia’s light. How brilliant and blinding it was. Laus, Iastowa, Bankina. I closed my eyes, filled my horn with her light, and it, in turn, filled the world. The entire barracks was bathed in a magnesium-white flash that practically burned my corneas right through my eyelids. The Karkadann stumbled back, disoriented. Sagebrush pulled his knife from its sheath with his teeth and rammed it into the Kark’s neck, right through a chink in its armor. He mounted the creature’s back, gripped the blade in a fetlock and drove it downward into the monster’s spine with both of his forelegs. The Karkadann collapsed, dead.

Sagebrush flicked the blood off his blade and stowed it. “Bell ain’t the only one around here who knows his knife work. Nice going with the flash. If you had such useful magic, why do you only do cloaks?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just figured out how to do it!”

“Just now?” Sage said.

“Yes.”

“Right. Well, good fuckin’ timing, anyhow.”

We hastily departed the barracks. I could hear the deafening report of Thumper. We followed the sounds of gunfire all the way to the brig. Captain Garrida was firing her weapon at a GARG trooper, the armor-piercing rounds denting his heavy ballistic shield and knocking him down. She followed up with a grenade that consisted of a bundle of regular frags wired together on a stick, throwing it overhand. The fearsome device landed within a few meters of her target. He tried crawling away from it. He failed and was utterly engulfed in the blast.

I gasped as I watched another GARG trooper flank her from a side hall and run her through with his sword. Garrida grunted in pain. Without hesitation, she dropped her rifle and grabbed his forearm with one of her claws, immobilizing him and keeping him from withdrawing his blade. While he struggled to free himself, her other claw latched around his helmeted head. With a mighty roar, she lifted him up, armor and all, and slammed him into a concrete wall. Once she had him pinned, she struck him over and over, the steel studs of her fingerless sap gloves crushing his helmet’s faceplate inward. Eventually, he released his blade and collapsed, unconscious or dead.

“Holy fucking shit,” I muttered. “Captain! You okay?”

Captain Garrida shook her head. “I’ve been fucking stabbed. Do I look okay, you moron?!”

The big griffon winced as she pulled the blade out, removed a syringe from her kit, and injected the wound with Hemogel. As I approached, she reached out with a keychip in her claw.

“Sergeant, take my fucking key and you and Sage go get the prisoner. You know the one. We’re gonna need him. I’ll hold ‘em off.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir!”

Me and Sagebrush headed deeper into the brig, the far-off, muffled sounds of a firefight echoing through the halls. There was danger potentially lurking around every intersection of the passageways. If a Karkadann or GARG Trooper charged us from one, we wouldn’t even have time to react.

I peeked around one corner and scanned with my casters. “Clear! Move up!”

Sage bounded to the next corner, nodding and waving me over. We encountered no resistance on the way to Bellwether’s cell. When we reached him, I pushed the keychip into the slot, turned it, and the door’s bolts slammed open.

I walked inside the empty cell’s confines, scanning for any sign of my favorite saboteur. “Bell? Where are you?”

When I turned around, the old stallion was standing perched on the narrow ledge atop the door frame, ready to ambush anyone who came inside. I practically jumped in fright. “Fuck!”

“Miss me?” Bellwether grinned.

“Fuckin’ Gaffs and Karks in the base, dude. We gotta fucking go, now!”

Bell’s smile fell. “How did they fucking find us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Fuck, I don’t know!”

“Probably one of the satyrs,” Sage said. “You can’t trust ‘em.”

“Mar and Ket wouldn’t do this to us,” I said. “No way.”

Sagebrush shrugged. “Yeah, maybe they wouldn’t. Or maybe you just don’t know ‘em as well as you think. Shoulda never let ‘em near here. That was reckless.”

“We need to move, right now,” Bellwether said. “I need my explosives. And some armor and a caster. Not much use to anyone without ‘em.”

“Fuck, Bell,” I said. “The base is fucking compromised. They’re gonna keep coming until we’re all dead. What do we do?”

Bellwether nodded tiredly, his weariness evident in his expression. “We survive, and we keep fighting. Don’t give those fuckers an inch. You got it?”

“Shit. Our home, Bell. All the fucking supplies. All these injured ponies. Fuck!”

“Griping about it won’t fix the problem,” Sagebrush said. “Kill the enemy now. Grieve later.”

I took a deep breath and let it out as an exasperated huff. “Fine. Fuck. I guess we’re just gonna have to clear the fucking base.”

“You said Gaffs and Karks?” Bellwether said. “We’ll get murdered out there if we just run out and start shooting. Both of those are very dangerous close combatants. We can never stop moving. If you get stoppered up and they outflank you, you’re gonna get stabbed. Or eaten. Or stabbed, dissolved, and then eaten. Pay attention to their movements and keep them at a distance. Cloak if you can. Use the structure as concealment if you can’t. Follow close, stay sharp, and let’s move out.”

We nodded silently, sticking to Bellwether like glue as we slipped out of the brig. We made our way back to where Garrida was, but there was no sign of her, or the Gaffs. Only blood on the floor. I cursed under my breath. The Confederacy’s finest were tough to put down for good.

“We need to regroup with the others,” I whispered. “This isn’t just some search and destroy op, or they would’ve dropped bunker busters on us already. They’re looking for something. Or someone.”

“You think Mar or Ket sold us out?” Bell said.

I shook my head. “I fucking hope not.”

We burst into the hangar. The scene before us was sheer chaos. A good half of the hangar was a sea of flame, the techs trying desperately to keep the fires away from the ammo and the vehicles. Blue plasma pulsegun blasts and micro-rocket fire streaked across the expanse, answered by green caster beams. GARG troopers were slicing and dicing their way through the militia without hesitation or remorse. Though I couldn’t identify the exact source, I could hear the booming of a Grover. That meant the Captain had to be alive, still.

The sound grew louder, like a beacon rallying us, as we approached a makeshift barricade made from rolling tool chests. To my utmost shock, a wounded Ketros was giving Captain Garrida CPR while Mardissa had Thumper propped against the barricade and was firing it at the Karkadann, even though the recoil caused her considerable discomfort. Every couple shots, she’d shake her hand out and curse loudly.

“How can she stand this horrible fucking thing?” Mardissa scored a hit dead-center on a Kark, practically blowing its guts out. “Oh, I see.”

“What the hell are these things?” Ket blasted away with a captured pulsegun, obviously claimed from a Gafalze member that had fallen.

I dived headfirst, rolling onto my back, the bulk of my armor slamming into the barricade as I took up position. Bellwether and Sagebrush weren’t far behind.

“Karkadann,” I said. “Don’t let ‘em close the distance!”

Mardissa cast a disgusted glare downrange. “So that’s what they look like. They didn’t tell us word one about these things. Not even a peep. Judging by the looks of things, I guess you’ve got to be a Gafalze to be cleared just to know about them. I worked and fought side-by-side with those creepy bastards, and they never mentioned a thing about chromed, transgenic ponies.”

While Bellwether took over trying to resuscitate the fallen griffon, delivering chest compressions with his hooves, Mardissa was rifling through Garrida’s saddlebags, trying to remove the spare thirty-millimeter magazines for Thumper. I used my levitation to quickly undo all of the flaps on the pouches and move the mags to a convenient spot behind the barricade. Mardissa nodded, dropping the giant ATR’s empty mag and slamming in another one before letting the bolt fly home.

“Mar?” I looked her in the eye. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“What I said. About you. I mean, look at you. Pulling the trigger on your own people, without hesitation. You’re one of us, now.”

Mardissa smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. What’s in the past is in the past. And these aren’t my people. These are freaks that shouldn’t exist. Eyes forward. Let’s clear these fuckers out!”

I mounted the barricade, taking aim at the nearest Kark. I let loose with the casters, to no avail. The beams simply deflected off their thick, metallic armor. This action drew the attention of six of them. Their warbling cries turned to high-pitched screeches and they charged us in unison. The lead one took a few of Ket’s plasma bolts to the face and went down, its head smoking. The rest were still coming.

Mardissa kept missing her shots, her arms worn out from shouldering the Captain’s ridiculous rifle without the assistance of her power armor. “Come on, dammit!”

I scrambled back, panicking. “Oh shit, oh shit!”

I heard Garrida gasp loudly, her eyes fluttering open. “Some waste of cum is using my rifle without my permission!”

The Captain stood and shoved Bellwether aside, running up and plucking a freshly reloaded Thumper right out of Mardissa’s hands. The griffon shouldered the massive anti-tank rifle and leaned into it. Five rounds sailed downrange. Five Karkadann fell.

Garrida reached back without even taking her eyes off her targets. “Ammo, now!”

“Aye!” Mardissa grabbed a mag from behind the barricade and fed it up to the Captain.

A few seconds later, Thumper went loud again, this time, suppressing a squad of Gaffs who were trying to move up on our position. These were lower-ranked Gafalze, not like the spec-ops leader who’d given the Commodore a run for her money. Their pauldrons were striped gray instead of yellow. They were no less of a threat, however. They advanced in unison, letting out a war cry and beating the pommels of their monomolecular swords against the backs of the heavy ballistic shields they held overlapped before them. It was a primitive display that was meant to inspire morale among their own numbers while intimidating their foes.

It was working.

“Fall back!” Garrida shouted. “Everyone, fall back!”

The Captain was in a bad way, and as she stumbled during our retreat, she ended up leaning on Bellwether for support as she fired her weapon at the approaching formation, its thunderous reports rattling my teeth. There was a click as Thumper ran dry. The Gaffs charged us, swords raised high.

Then, there came a loud buzz of sirens, the hangar bathed in yellow strobes. The sounds of the firefight grew quiet, everyone freezing in place.

We all knew what it meant. A Charger was in motion in the hangar.

Night Terror’s Selene-type Destrier, sleek and insectile, its shining blue armor imbued with the dark iridescent sheen of a beetle’s elytra, slowly walked through the flames, looking like a demon straight from Tartarus. We were like toys next to the towering monstrosity, its hoofbeats reverberating through the hangar like gunshots.

A purple halo formed above the Charger’s head, coalescing and brightening and humming with energies arcane, before spewing forth as a shock-front of eldritch flame. When it passed through the Gaffs, seemingly to no effect, their fate was sealed. There was no reaction from them, at first, but seconds later, it began. Some dropped their weapons, their arms shaking in fear. Others fell and writhed on the floor and screamed in agony. I winced as I watched one take his sword and lop his own arm off. Another put his blade right through his comrade’s chest. Hardened men—indomitable alien super-soldiers imbued with the finest in cleomanni technology—hacked each other to bits right in front of us while screaming bloody murder.

Mardissa was shocked and appalled. “What—what is this?”

I shook my head. “Nothing I would ever do.”

If I knew anything about how Night Terror’s magic worked, they had all experienced extreme, vivid, lifelike hallucinations of their bodies mutating out of control. Outwardly, they looked no different. Inwardly, their world had descended into a phantasmagoria of horror and madness. Without any understanding of what was happening to them, they’d turned their weapons on themselves and on each other.

I’d seen the Lieutenant do this to a whole battlefield, many years ago. In mere moments, an entire enemy battalion had reduced itself to a sea of gore.

“Well, what do you think, Sergeant?” Lieutenant Terror used the public address system in his Charger’s head to amplify his voice. “I had to modify it a little bit for these Gafalze Arresgrippen. They’re so unemotional because of those implants of theirs, it’s hard to give them a scare. I had to figure out a method to restore their emotions, and then some. Our esteemed teacher was in town. He helped me out with that part. Works like a charm, doesn’t it?”

“Gruesome,” I said. “Nice save, sir. We were kinda fucked for a second, there.”

“Nice save?” Mardissa said. “What the fuck did he just do?”

I raised my brows, giving Mar a lidded stare. “Magic.”

Mardissa cringed and shuddered visibly. “Yeah, fuck everything about that.”

“I’m right with you, there. Come on, let’s keep moving!”

As we left the chaos of the hangar behind, there were ponies scrambling around, trying to use low-slung electric cargo movers fitted with firefighting equipment to combat the blaze. Having run out of ammo, Garrida abandoned her rifle and pulled out her double-barreled shotgun. We headed towards Crookneck’s office. The sirens were deafening, fire suppression sprinklers running continuously.

“Crookneck!” I yelled. “You old geezer, get out here! We gotta go!”

There was no reply. I saw a militia stallion panicking and running from a side hall. Just as he turned around to face his attacker, hot lead splashed across his chest armor, knocking him down. Another booming report sounded and the second round blew his face open like a watermelon.

“Mardissa!” A voice boomed. “Where are you? Where are you little rats hiding my daughter?”

Mardissa froze, shaking in fear. We all came to a halt and a few of the others took cover as a broad and heavy figure rounded the corner. The cleomanni was wearing a suit of assault power armor painted bright blue and orange, the traditional Confederate colors, its legs clanking and whirring with powerful hydraulics as he approached. The heavy power armor was much smaller than a battlesuit, but thicker and more protective than anything that the Gaffs wore. Standard kit for high-ranking officers in hot combat zones. The suit had no helmet of any kind, instead featuring a broad, headless torso with a large, clear polycarbonate window on the front, framed with a tubular crash cage. Communications antennas sprouted like a small forest from its shoulder.

The water raining down from the overhead misted up the suit’s armored canopy, a small windshield wiper scraping it off to reveal the angered countenance of none other than Salzaon Granthis, the president of the Cleomanni Confederacy, his square cranium and salt-and-pepper beard unmistakable. The weapon he carried was some manner of oversized double rifle, its wooden stock and gleaming barrels covered from end to end in gaudy engraving. A tool befitting an accomplished hunter. He depressed the lever and broke it open, the smoking shell casings clinking against the concrete floor. By the looks of them, they were at least a few millimeters larger than even the giant cartridges that Garrida’s Grover took. Salzaon loaded another two shells from his bandolier and then locked the hand cannon closed.

We were so awed by the display, none of us had the courage or the presence of mind to even react as he raised his weapon and took aim. None except Mardissa, who, lacking any armor or weapon, rushed in front of us, her arms outstretched at either side.

“Father, please! Stop!”

“Mardi?” Salzaon said. “My sweet, what is the meaning of this? Have they meddled with your mind? Damn them! Damn that fool Veightnoch! I should have killed you all!”

“No, Father! Isn’t it enough? By the gods, haven’t we done enough to these people?”

“What manner of trickery is this?” Salzaon said. “What have you done to my daughter?”

I trotted up and stood at Mardissa’s side, my casters disarmed and the lens covers snapped shut. “Nothing. We did nothing. All I did was tell her the truth.”

“Mardissa, listen to me.” Salzaon knit his brow as he spoke, choosing to ignore me and address his daughter directly. “You don’t know how dangerous these creatures are. You can’t even begin to fathom the powers that they wield.”

“I can,” Mardissa said. “I’ve seen them in action. I know exactly what they can do. I also know why they do it. I know the sheer desperation and fear that drives them to act. Father, we’re pushing them to the brink of extinction. We’re wiping out the ones who resist, and enslaving the rest, and for nothing! What would you do, if you were in their place? They are already beaten. These people have nothing. Are you going to take what little they have left from them?”

Salzaon was visibly panicked. “Mardissa, you don’t understand! These creatures, they must already have you in their power! They warp minds. They warp bodies. They are inconceivably dangerous!”

Mardissa advanced on him, her brow furrowed in anger. “If they’re so deadly, then why are we selling them like a product? You’re willing to commercialize what you perceive as dangerous wildlife, and yet, you also want them contained and corralled. Can’t you see the contradiction, there?”

“I never agreed with the Corrector’s plans!” Salzaon shouted. “I always thought the Equestrians were too dangerous to keep alive. He acted out of his own greed, and he exceeded his authority. He has been chastised. From now on, the ground forces here on this backwater will be acting under my command, and we will contain the Equestrian problem once and for all. Now, are you going to continue to break your father’s heart, or are you going to come with me?” Salzaon reached out an armored gauntlet, his fingers curling in a come-hither gesture. “I didn’t have them put a tracking beacon in your implants for nothing, you know. Did you think me fool enough to let any of my investments out of my sight?”

Mardissa appeared visibly perturbed. Just a glance at the look on her face, and I could tell that she had no knowledge of this violation of her privacy whatsoever.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole!” I stepped out in front of Mardissa, turning to face her father. It was time to twist the knife. “Your daughter is a grown woman. She can make decisions for herself. Face it. She doesn’t need you anymore.”

Salzaon shook his head, chuckling madly. “This is why we don’t send little girls to war. They’re too soft to do what needs to be done. They’re as likely to kneel before the enemy, give them a warm milk and tuck them into bed as they are to kill them.”

“Listen to me, you patronizing ass,” I said. “This is what needs to be done. This. Right here. This talk. What did you expect, that this would go on forever until one side or the other was completely destroyed? That’s not a war. That’s an extermination. You know what sets wars apart? They have an end. Eventually, people discuss terms, they hash out a treaty, the fighting stops, and then we go back to what’s left of our lives. I cannot believe I’m having to explain this to a head of state like you’re an overgrown foal, while you’re holding whatever the fuck that big metal dick is.”

“The sheer impertinence of these creatu—”

“Look at you.” I cut him off. “You’re more of a cartoon than we are, and we ponies come in every color of the fucking rainbow, so that’s saying something. Carrying a weapon like that to the battlefield—did you think this was another one of your hunts? For you, this is obviously leisure. For us, this is something completely different. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“I am the leader of the wealthiest, most powerful, and freest nation in this sector of the galaxy,” Salzaon said. “I don’t have to use substandard ordnance if I don’t want to.”

“That’s not the point,” I muttered. “You could have chosen any weapon you liked, and yet, you brought the most impractical artillery piece imaginable to the field of battle. Like it or not, that says something about your character.”

“Isn’t it the same for you things? How much does a Charger cost? Or a beamcaster? I watched the Empire bankrupt itself with that nonsense, and now, you have the gall to lecture me about my luxuries? Why shouldn’t the victors enjoy the spoils of a long and successful conquest? Did you expect a shaven-headed monk? Some sniveling, toothless rube that you could proselytize to and force into retreat with his head bowed and his tail between his legs?”

“What do you want from us?” I growled.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” Salzaon curled his hand into a fist. “I want to reduce this entire planet to a sheet of glass!”

Mardissa advanced a few steps. “Father, there are bigger things happening, here. Things that make centuries of war look trivial by comparison. These ponies have evidence of egregious violations of the Stellar Code. Someone has been kidnapping and augmenting damarkinds and stripping them of their free will. I know about the Vargr and the Archons, and based on the things I have learned, I am forced to conclude that we are all in grave danger. Father, you have to come with us! Please!”

Salzaon’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Vargr? You can’t be—oh dear lords above. You’re serious. Thrice-accursed humans. Here, on this world. Oh gods.” There was a burst of radio traffic in Salzaon’s earpiece and he appeared briefly distracted. “All forces, withdraw immediately. We’re done here.” He turned to Mardissa, tears in his eyes. “If you would take sides with these beasts over your own father, then Silassa will get your share of the will. There is no one for me to rescue, here. As of today, I am one daughter poorer.”

“Father, please, I—”

“You’re not just dead to me. You’re dead to the entire Confederacy. All record of your existence is to be erased, nameless one. I will give you a head start. Forty-eight hours, no more. Then, this sorry excuse for a base will be struck with earth-penetrating weapons and reduced to rubble. One final mercy. After that, there will be none, for I am going to hunt you all to the ends of the earth.”

As Salzaon slung his weapon and departed with haste, his armored footfalls echoing down the halls, Mardissa fell to her knees, sobbing loudly. While the rest slowly stood from cover, I walked up to the crying woman and gently draped a foreleg over her shoulder. I pressed my forehead into hers, taking care not to knock horns. It felt almost like I could grasp what she was thinking, what she was feeling, right through her skull. It was no magic power, this. It was simply the communion of two mammals in pain. She returned the embrace, her arms locking behind my back as she cried into my shoulder. I patted her on the back with my hoof.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know any words more profound than our shared touch. Anything that I could have said would have been cheaper than the value of silence.

The sounds of the firefight in the hangar outside were dying down, the blaze nearly extinguished by our diligent crews. When we got to Crookneck’s office, there was nothing that could be done for the old Charger engineer. The Karks had gotten to him. There wasn’t even enough of him left to pile together. It was going to be a closed-casket funeral. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen Captain Garrida cry. She had a claw over her beak and was facing a corner, her shoulders trembling. It was clear she didn’t intend for anyone to see her tears. Bellwether wasn’t doing too well, either. He’d been friends with the old codger. The techs came by about fifteen minutes later to solemnly pack up all the documentation and technical information Crookneck had possessed, taking special care to wipe the blood off the drafts he’d tried to save. None of us said a word as the body bag was zipped up.

Commodore Cake and the Stormtroopers ended up being the real heroes of the day. They’d kept the enemy away from the infirmary and the wounded from Pur Sang. There were barricades with a dozen Karkadann piled up in front of each one, surrounded by the unmistakable scorch marks of high-power spec-ops beamcasters. The Commodore and I had shared a look, but her exosuit helmet’s faceplate revealed nothing about her emotions. I scanned her body language, instead. The dismissive twist of her head. It was subtle, but I’d picked up on it right away. We still weren’t on speaking terms and probably wouldn’t be for quite some time. I’d shown her grave disrespect. I had to ask Weathervane about that, later, if she was still alive. There had to be something wrong with my meds. Kissing random mares on the mouth was a pretty bad side effect.

Casualty figures were still coming in, and they were looking grim. We’d brought down dozens of Karkadann and a hoofful of elite GARG troopers. At least five times that number of ELF militia members had been slain. Even with the home field advantage, we’d suffered a devastating blow. If the firefighters hadn’t kept the flames away from the arms stockpile, the whole base would’ve been blown sky-high.

We had been that close to being wiped completely off the map.

// … // … // … // … // … //

Captain Garrida stood atop a makeshift podium in a corner of the hangar that had remained untouched by the battle, surrounded by the surviving members of the Camp Crazy Horse cell. She paced back and forth as she fixed her steely gaze on all of us.

“We’ve suffered a loss, today. One that cannot be replaced. Crookneck Squash, a close friend of mine for many years, and a brilliant mind in the field of Charger design, was killed in the fighting. So were many of the militia. President Salzaon Granthis himself was daring enough to show up right on our doorstep to deliver an ultimatum. We are to abandon Camp Crazy Horse within two days, or else be buried in it. We have no choice but to assume that he will make good on this threat. That’s why we need to pack up everything. All the high-value materiel. The duostrand loom, all the technical data, all the Chargers and Charger components, all necessary tooling, vehicle ordnance, personal weapons, body armor, medical supplies, everything. Everything has to go with us when we leave. Everything we can carry.”

One stallion raised his hoof to ask a question, and Garrida pointed at him and nodded. “Speak, soldier.”

“Where will we go?”

Garrida stiffened, her back ramrod straight. “With the assistance of the Vanhoover Cell, we’re going to evacuate Camp Crazy Horse and move our operations to the mines of Tar Pan. Two days. No time to waste. Pack it all up. Leave nothing but an empty hole for those bastards to fuck. Let’s move!”

A cheer went up, but it was half-hearted. No one wanted to leave our only real home behind.

// … // … // … // … // … //

I rode my Stampeder alongside the convoy of tanks, artillery, personnel carriers, cargo trucks, and Bull Runners. Black Devil and Scofflaw had been partly dismantled and placed on the Runners we’d recovered from Pur Sang. Night Terror’s Destrier was pacing the convoy, ready to spring to its defense should the need arise. My motorcycle’s modifications had been completed as of a few days ago, which was a good thing, since they’d called upon my levitation magic to help with the evacuation and I would’ve been too busy otherwise. In addition to the matte paint job I’d given my bike, it now had a quieter exhaust and a blackout cover over the headlight to keep it from giving away our position. Mardissa rode pillion behind me, her hands at my hips. My mane and my bomber jacket flapped in the wind. I was on autopilot, my mind wandering dark places.

I looked down, briefly. Mar had a small scar on her arm from where Argent had dug out the tracking beacon. The cleomanni swore up and down that she had no knowledge of it. I shook my head. One tiny little lapse in security had cost us our whole base. Placid Gale, Wind Shear, Cloverleaf, and Shooting Star were riding on top of a Minotaur tank that Sagebrush was driving. Someone, probably Sage, had painted Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad on the sides of the 120mm gun barrels.

A few hours into our journey, scout reports had confirmed it. Camp Crazy Horse was rubble. Confederate jets had flattened the whole area, leaving nothing intact. We’d had to leave a lot of materiel behind. At least half of the chargers we recovered from Pur Sang had been scuttled with thermite, while the rest had been broken down for transport. We’d taken only the essentials. We looked to the skies warily, the pegasi and Rocs patrolling above us and keeping an eye out for enemy aircraft.

The skies darkened as we headed northwest on a long, abandoned stretch of highway. Many exhausting hours later, we arrived at Tar Pan, the lights of the city gleaming through the fog. The Runners pulled into the quarry on the edge of town, descending earthen ramps and entering the mines.

The exhaust note of my bike turned into a hollow echo as we rode through the yawning black mouth of the mine and deep into its cold, damp, dark confines, surrounded on all sides by white caverns of salt that stung our eyes.

This hell-pit was to be our new home.

// … end transmission …

Next Chapter: Record 17//Assembly Estimated time remaining: 13 Hours, 2 Minutes