"Shit, they were ready for us."

The sky was the color of steel and raindrops spattered nonstop against the Valkiri; it was eerily cold and gloomy for a South African summer morning. The truck sloshed across the plain, its wipers clunking as they made a feeble attempt to keep the windshield dry.

"Doesn't even begin to cover it," Pieter said. "We're half an hour in the old bubble and the ground's soaked through. Look, we're on grass and we're still halfway to axle-deep in water."

"I didn't see any pegasi, though."

"Like they'd stick around once we could actually hit them. They were probably dumping rain here ever since we declared war."

"Guess the European birds aren't doing shit, then."

"Just means more for us."

Russell glanced out of the driver's side window and vaguely saw the shape of a short, stocky infantryman slogging through the wet field next to them, holding his automatic rifle steady even as he struggled to push forward through the rain. He was part of a platoon they'd met up with after the bubble burst, and Russell was to make sure his truck didn't outrun them. As deep as the water was, he didn't think he could if he tried.

"What the hell are we supposed to do now, anyway?" asked Russell. "We didn't have any rockets loaded when they told us to move forward. It would've been a lot easier to reload back where it was dry."

"That's 'cause the higher-ups are full of shit." Pieter grinned out of one side of his mouth, revealing a chipped canine tooth. "First rule of the army, kid. You're learning fast."

"Kind of like how they're telling us to dump rockets all over a village?"

"I thought you wanted revenge for Cape Town?"

"I do, but-"

"You'd better not be going fuckin' soft on me. You're a soldier now. Killing's our business. Right there in the job description."

"Killing soldiers is in our job description. That's what we're supposed to do. I joined to take out that barrier and take out the Princesses. Not civilians."

"They're horses!"

"They can't fight back!"

"They wiped out your fuckin' city! You know what it's like!"

"That's why I don't wanna do it to someone else."

"Quit being such a bi-"

The truck suddenly lurched forward and dipped as a front wheel suddenly sank into the mud, throwing both of them against the dashboard. Once he caught his breath, Russell threw the gearshift into reverse and stepped on the gas pedal, only for the wheels to spin uselessly.

"Son of a bitch! I can't drive out of this," said Russell. "We'll have to get the winch."

"Not a fucking chance," said Pieter. "Nothing to anchor it to. We'll need the towbar for this one. I'll let the rest of the unit know. If we're lucky there's a Ratel nearby to do the job."

Russell hoped so. The Ratels were hulking, armored things, much heavier than his Valkiri, but with six wheels to carry them they'd spread their weight more evenly. Hopefully that would get them through the mud.

Pieter talked on the radio for a few minutes, and following the conversation, Russell realized they were in luck. A Ratel unit was on its way.

He heard water splashing nearby, followed by a rap on his window. Seeing a young, unevenly shaven, fair-skinned infantryman, rifle slung over his back and water spilling down his helmet, he popped open his door.

"The Ratels'll be here in about twenty minutes. 'Til then, it looks like you'll sit and we'll soak." He stifled a yawn.

Russell nodded. "Don't know what they were thinking, making us drive through this shit. Word is this storm'll go away in time just like any would."

The infantryman just laughed. "I hear you, man. I thought we'd be fighting aliens, not out hiking in the rain."

"Don't worry, we'll blow shit up soon enough," said Pieter, having just put down the radio unit. "Besides, I'd say we're getting a pretty good deal, wouldn't you? We get our land back and all we have to do is roll through it."

"Really, I can't believe it's so easy." said the infantryman.

"I'm not about to complain about easy."

Pieter shook his head. "Cape Town boys. See what I have to put up with?" he asked, in mock frustration.

The infantryman smiled at Russell. "Oh, you're from Cape Town too? Actually, I think I might've seen you once. Which camp did they recruit you from?"

"It was-"

To the left, an orange fireball erupted in the distance with a thunderous bang, followed by pieces of metal flying high into the air before scattering and crashing into the water. The infantryman outside ducked his head reflexively, disappearing from the window's view. Russell's heart sank as he realized that, based on its position, it must have been a Valkiri in their unit. A second later, there was yelling and gunfire coming from the direction of the explosion.

"What the hell's going on?!"

There was another explosion, this one to their right and close enough to send debris fragments raining down at them, one of which bounced off of the roof and dented it. Then, in an instant, the sound of gunfire was all around them, a hurricane that they were caught in the eye of.

"Get out!" It was Pieter, who had just taken a pair of pistols from the glove box and tossed one to Russell. He caught it by reflex. "I don't know how they're blowing up the Valks, but get out or you'll be next!" He'd barely finished his sentence before popping open his door and diving into the mud.

Russell followed suit, kicking open his door and jumping out. In his haste he fell on top of his pistol as he splashed into the chilly, soupy water, and in one terrible instant he felt the gun sink into the mud beneath his weight. Undertrained and unprepared as he was, he still realized he had probably just made his only weapon useless. Cursing his thoughtlessness, he released his grip on the gun, pulled his hand out of the mud, and pushed himself up.

He'd just gotten to his feet when the rocket tubes on the Valkiri burst into flames, and in one heart-stopping instant, he was very grateful that it had been left without ammunition. Next to him, the infantryman he'd been talking to staggered away from the truck and quickly doused a flame on his own sleeve, then took aim and fired several times at something Russell didn't see. Somewhere ahead there was a splash, and the man slowly lowered his rifle.

"Unicorn," he turned and told Russell. "Gold armor. They sent in their best. They bleed and die just like we do. Looked confused, I think he's the one who tried to cook off your ammo. Get down, leave this to us."

Not inclined to argue, Russell turned and fell into the muddy water again, crawling forward so he was next to his Valkiri's front wheel. Ahead of him, a pair of infantrymen was wading towards his truck, frantically pointing their rifles back and forth and checking over each other's shoulders.

Suddenly, one of the soldier's rifles glowed yellow and wrenched itself free of his grip. He was caught off-balance and fell face-first into the mud, just in time for the rifle to spin around and unload a burst into his companion's neck. The man staggered and fell next to him, where he lay unmoving. The first, disoriented and not realizing what had happened, began trying to pull himself to his feet. His face was still in the water when the rifle swiveled and fired once into the back of his head.

Russell's eyes darted back and forth frantically. Where was the attacker? Did they see him? He hadn't yet calmed down when he heard the sound of static discharge from behind the truck, followed by a groan and a splash. The other Cape Town refugee, whose name he'd never learned, had just died. A moment later there was another static discharge sound, and another man fell next to him.

With horror, he realized he was becoming surrounded. His breathing shallow, he tried to push himself deeper in the mud in a desperate attempt to hide from the enemy, but he could hear the royal guard behind him, sloshing through the water toward him. Had it really been less than a minute ago that everything was going so well, that his biggest worry had been how long he'd have to wait for rockets?

Then, from the opposite side of the truck, came the roar of an engine. The unicorn turned on the spot, startled, and he gasped at what he saw. Then came the rattling of heavy machine gun fire from the same direction. It was a short burst, and soon a bullet found its mark; the unicorn stumbled and fell, fur and armor spattered with blood and without so much as a cry.

Opposite his side of the Valkiri, pale yellow headlight beams danced across the muddy water. He was surprised to think that the Ratels had arrived already, but peering underneath his truck, he saw not the six wheels of a Ratel but the eight wheels of a Rooikat scout car. The armored vehicle stood alone in the field, the wake it had left as it crashed through the water still fading. Its heavy main gun was sitting idle but its twin machine guns swept back and forth, challenging any of the Royal Guard to appear.

None did. Russell's Valkiri was once again the eye of a furious storm. The sound that finally broke the silence was one of the scout car's gunners yelling out that all was clear. A moment after he heard it, he saw what the rain and mist and distance turned into phantoms, indistinct shapes seeming to rise from the ground itself. They were the remaining human soldiers, beginning to pull themselves out of the mud.

Wearily, they started pushing through the water toward the scout car, and Russell shakily began to pull himself up to follow. For the moment, it was silent save for the splashing of water and the thump-thump-thump of far-off machine gun fire. The scout car was only one vehicle, and they would probably soon be back in the battle that still surrounded them, but right now he was just glad to have its protection. Having finally had a moment to pause and catch his breath, he looked to his left, then to his right, peering through the mist to see who else had survived. He counted only four other soldiers out of the two dozen that had been there; Pieter did not seem to be among them.

He had just walked around his Valkiri, which was now emitting smoke but no fire, when a horribly familiar glow surrounded one of the scout car's gunners, and a second later he was yanked bodily into the air. The other soldiers realized what was happening before he hit the ground, and in an instant they were scrambling in the opposite direction, some shouting profanities or prayers.

Still close to his truck, Russell ducked behind it and watched the scene unfold. The other gunner, realizing what was happening, pulled something loose from his own machine gun. He'd barely finished when he, too, was tossed into the sky, and his machine gun swiveled to cut him apart in midair, but nothing happened. He had torn out the weapon's ammunition belt. That was one less thing to worry about; well-trained as they were, Russell was confident the Royal Guard didn't know how to load machine guns.

The remaining gun fired a burst into the helpless gunner, ripping him apart, and turned back to the soldiers in the field and began firing again. Russell watched in horror, expecting them all to fall helplessly. Gunfire tore the air and bullets splashed into the mud like raindrops and the other soldiers scattered in every direction, charging through the water in their desperation to get as far away from the scout car as possible. Furiously as it was firing, though, the machine gun had not hit any of them; its shots went wide and it swiveled wildly. Russell found himself daring to hope they'd all get away.

"Hey! Over there! He's over there!"

In a second, the soldiers all whipped around to see where the one who called was pointing. In another, they turned to where he'd indicated and raised their rifles. Finally, muzzle flashes dotted the field as the air once again crackled with gunfire.

They failed; one man's rifle flew out of his arms, turned in the air, and shot him between the eyes. Russell cringed as his body fell into the mud, and the rifle dropped on top of it. The remaining soldiers were plainly in a losing battle, and after they fell, he would be next. But there was nothing he could do, unless...

He eyed the machine gun on the scout car that still had ammo loaded. If he went for it, he'd probably die, but if he waited, he'd die for sure, along with the others.

Before he could seize up or talk himself out of it, he was stomping through the water and towards the scout car as fast as his legs would carry him. It couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away, but as exhausted and terrified as he was, it might as well have been over the horizon.

He didn't slow down, not even when he heard one of the soldiers to his left gurgle as (from what Russell could guess) his bayonet was jammed into his throat. Two still alive. The scout car was close now, a hulking mass of metal that loomed ahead of him, but still not close enough. Another gunshot, another cry, another splash. Just one, if he could save just one...

He reached the scout car and leaped, grabbing at the metal plates above the rear wheels and hoisting himself on top of the vehicle in one smooth motion. In his haste, he banged his knee against the railing around the gunner's seat as he tried to dive into it, and fell in with his leg smarting. He didn't care; he had made it to his prize.

He gripped the machine gun and peered down the sights, looking for the surviving soldier and any sign of a unicorn. He found the first; overcome by fear, the soldier had thrown away his rifle and was stumbling in the opposite direction, alternating between cursing and shouting "No!" To Russell's horror, he saw his rifle rise from the water behind him, bayonet gleaming wickedly. Not knowing where the unicorn was and having no time to find out, he swiveled the gun in what he thought was his general direction and hammered the trigger.

The gun roared and bucked and its ammo belt shook as its rounds kicked up mud all across the field before him. If he was hitting the unicorn, he couldn't tell, but that didn't matter; he saw the other soldier's gun stop glowing and splash into the mud.

Then he found himself hoisted into the air as the other gunners had been, and was gripped by a sudden helpless terror as his machine gun glowed gold and began rotating to face him. There was nothing he could do, he was going to be shot like a practice target, and then the soldier he'd tried to save would be gutted with his own bayonet. The long, black barrel was pointing at him now, marking him for death with its cold, steel gaze. He clenched his eyes shut, and the next instant seemed to last a torturous eternity.

He wasn't expecting to feel anything after that, much less the sting of water going up his nose and the foul taste of mud in his mouth as he fell to the ground. For a minute all he could do was lift his head just enough to cough and sputter, confused but grateful to be alive.

"You okay, kid?"

He blinked a few times, sneezed, and looked up, seeing the soldier he had rescued staring down at him, ashen-faced, and holding a hand out to him. He nodded and grabbed the hand of the soldier, who hefted his numbed body out of the mud and onto his feet. After stumbling, then finding his balance, he breathed his thanks.

"Least I could do, you saved my ass back there." He looked around frantically, his eyes wide and his breath unsteady. "Dead. Everyone in the unit's dead. We...we're the only ones left. Us, and the crazy son of a bitch who saved us both."

Russell could only gather the strength to nod. The soldier nodded back, turned, and started walking away, motioning him to follow. He unsteadily walked along with him, limping slightly, in the direction he'd been firing the machine gun. Ahead he saw a human figure hunched over a limp body. A limp pony body. The human was taking some kind of tool to it. A knife. He was cutting something off of it. The horn, he was hacking off the horn. There was a snap. He held the horn high over his head and yelled, as if he had just won some sort of macabre trophy.

As Russell got closer, only vaguely aware of the growing rumble of vehicle engines behind him, he saw it was Pieter.

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