Chapter 17 - Return to Sender
“Sometimes the past doesn’t look as good as it did through the lens of memory.”

I stopped to a hover to just admire the stunning sight before me. First, the sunset was more vibrant than I remembered. The bright reds and inky purples were breathtaking as the orange sun dipped below the horizon. The beauty of it brought a tear to my eye.

After admiring the sunset for a while, I took in the rest of the fort. Even though it had only been a year away, it felt like it was much, much longer as I looked at each building. The larger hangars were the first structures to grab my attention. They still sat in a row; the large rolling doors, closed at this time of day, overlooking the long runways. The landing lights were turned off and long shadows stretched along the flat pavement.

A little to the north sat the general barracks. A few stories tall, the deceptively large brick-faced building stood at attention, much like the good soldiers inside. Lights were on, seemingly at random in the various windows I could see from my vantage point. The Administration Building sat unsurprisingly dark, except for one window. I wondered which general was hatching what kind of plans. Maybe it was even General Cirrus talking another poor pony into service for him. I couldn’t help but to huff to myself a little.

The only building that stood out like a sore thumb, at least to me, was the Special Operations building. It sat isolated from the rest of the base, much by design. If only the poor ponies currently housed there knew what really waited for them beneath the clouds. Maybe if I had time, I would warn some of the trainees and could save at least a few of them from the trouble.

A red blip appeared at the bottom of my view. Turning in the direction of the marker, I couldn’t see anything, at first. Then I saw it; a quick blur of movement. Shit! It had to be a patrol, and I have been sitting here way too long. I could only hope the range of the patrol’s tactical headsets was shorter than that of my Pipbuck. The only direction open for evasion was towards the Special Operations building.

Leaning to my left and flapping my wings, I began to bank towards the building. I dipped down and skimmed the tops of the buildings below, flying directly into the last rays of the sun in the hopes to blind anypony behind me.

As I approached the broad, single story building, I dropped down fast onto the cloud cover. Looking around, I saw this part of the base was quiet, which was normal. Trainees trained hard during the day and spent their free time reading up on various topics for the trip down below. Whereas training in hoof-to-hoof combat and projectile firearms required hooves-on training, learning about the different types of factions and technology we would encounter was covered mainly with independent study.

I cantered up to the door set into the front wall and hoofed at it. The door rattled but failed to open against the deadbolt holding it closed. Shit! How was I going to get in? Then I saw the numeric keypad immediately next to the door handle. Of course! How could I forget! The doors were all opened with codes! Trainees rarely left the compound, and even if we did, we had to get used to not carrying anything that would identify us as outsiders to the Wasteland… now what was the code again?

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the red blip somewhere directly behind me. Suddenly, the one blip split into two. C’mon Dust Cloud! Think!

“Are you sure you saw something?” I heard a voice behind me say. “I don’t see anything. Besides, you know how the brass feels about us getting this far out.”

“I’m telling you, it was hovering there for a while and then it took off this way,” another gruff voice replied. “Wouldn’t you want to be sure there wasn’t really an intruder?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Think, Dust, think! I stared blankly at the keypad. What was the damn code? Why am I suddenly thinking of Nightmare Night? The Last Day? It happened near Nightmare Night, didn’t it? I quickly keyed in the date for the Last Day. A soft beep and loud click greeted my ears. Without hesitation, I opened the door and slid inside. I made sure I closed the door quietly behind me.

The door was solid metal so the patrol ponies wouldn’t be able to see me through it. But it was a double-edged sword since I wouldn’t be able to see them either. The red blips on my EFS, however, were omnipresent. I strained to listen through the sealed door.

“Now where the hell did it go?” the first voice from before asked, muffled by the door.

“Can we just get outta here, Wind?” the second voice said with a quiver. “We’re gonna get in so much trouble for getting this close! Besides, my display isn’t showing anything but green.” Huh. Why wasn’t I showing up on their tactical headsets?

A pony sighed deeply. “Yeah, yeah,” the first voice said with resignation. “Let’s get back on route.”

I waited several long moments and the red blips on my EFS disappeared. I slid down to the floor and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What the hell is that smell?” an unmuffled mare said from somewhere behind me. Ah shit, not again.

“Holy shit,” a second pony, a stallion this time, said with a cough. “Damn that is rancid!” The pony took a few sniffs. “Whatever it is, it’s coming from over here.”

I stood up immediately and walked to the door. I cracked it open and looked outside, making sure the coast was clear.

“Hey you! What are you doing here!” the mare called out behind me. “And what is that smell!” she added with a slight gag.

I slowly turned around and saw a rust colored buck and a pale green mare both dressed in the drab grey training jumpsuits we wore early in training. “Well, I, um, that is…”

“Whoa! Look at that armor! Isn’t that one of the old mark 7’s?” the female asked to the male, almost as if she was looking at a relic.

“Nah, that’s a mark eight. You can tell from the placement of the front ballistic panels,” he said, dismissing her excitement. “But the better question is who are you and why are you wearing outdated gear?”

My mind raced. “I am Operative Cloudburst, codename Tumbleweed,” I said as convincingly as possible. “I found this old armor set in the armory and wanted to see what the differences were with the mark nine’s.” I stood up straight. Hopefully this works. “And who are you two to question a senior operative getting ready for deployment?”

The two ponies stiffened immediately. The stallion answered first. “Sorry Operative Cloud… I mean Tumbleweed. We just smelled something and thought we should check out what it was.”

“Alright, you found it. Now go and let me get back to my training,” I said, with the same false bravado.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!” the two ponies said with a salute.

“And stop with all that nonsense! You aren’t soldiers anymore. Just go!” I barked at them, remembering how some of the senior trainees addressed me when I was first in training.

“Yes, sir.” The two spun on a dime and trotted off. “Whoa, do you think we’ll ever look and smell that bad?” the mare whispered to the stallion.

“I sure hope not,” he responded as they trotted out of view.

That was too fucking close! I better get out of here before I run into any more witnesses. I turned back to the door, but my eyes caught something instead. A nearby door had a simple placard on it that said ,”Personnel Records”. Hmm… maybe I could get some info on Muddy.

I tried the knob, but it did not turn at all. I snickered to myself. All my time down in the Wasteland wouldn’t go to waste here. I fished out my screwdriver and bobby pins and picked the lock in no time. They really needed to improve security around here, especially considering they trained you in bypassing such security systems.

The room I found myself in was no larger than my shack that was, correction to used to be, down in Coltington. There were a few filing cabinets with labels for things like “Operational Procedures”, “Emergency Directives” and other dry sounding titles. A small desk nearby, however, held a terminal.

“Piece of cake,” I muttered as I tapped the keys to bring the display to life. I bypassed the simple security system in a matter of seconds. Most of the terminals in the Wasteland had much more complex security. Is this how complacent the Enclave had become? Or was my perception now colored from my time in the Wasteland?

After navigating several menus, I found the section for active operatives. Scrolling through the entries, I saw that Special Operations had almost four dozen active operatives all over the Wasteland. Most were heavily concentrated near the large population centers like Fillydelphia. I found my entry and scrolled through it.

Most of the entry was standard military jacket information. Birthplace, family information, training results, service record; it was pretty bland reading. It was interesting to see my cover story actually written as part of my military record. I was recorded as assumed killed in action during a routine delivery run due to unforeseen weather patterns. The skywagon and my body were “found” and returned to Fort Canterbury. Huh, I wonder how they pulled that off.

The last couple of entries were interesting, however. The first entry was a couple of days before my first meeting with General Cirrus. “Private Updraft is a perfect fit for Special Operations work due to his lack of upward mobility and less-than-stellar record. Will attempt to recruit.”

The next few entries were results of various training classes. “Covert Ops: 56th percentile; Small Arms: 44th percentile; Wasteland History and Technology: 89th percentile; Leadership: 10th percentile; Hoof-to-hoof combat: 15th percentile.” Were my scores really that bad? I thought I had done reasonably well.

The following entry was labelled “Psychological Evaluation.” I remember that day. Dr. Brain Cloud spent an hour asking me stupid questions and asked how I would handle weird scenarios. I kept reading. “Operative Updraft shows the necessary mental fortitude to survive the conditions of the Wasteland. He will unflinchingly follow orders without question from any pony he feels is in a superior position to his. He shies away from leadership roles as he feels too much empathy for those around him and can not deal with loss or disagreement, therefore avoids roles which would force him to deal with it. Updraft will always do what is best for the individuals in the group rather than what is the best overall tactical decision. It is recommended he be placed with a pony with stronger leadership ability.”

Could that be right? I always did what was best for everyone regardless of the tactical considerations? Did I let One die because it was best for everyone or it was the best tactical decision? Was he really the least valuable member of our group? I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I didn’t have time to dwell on this now.

The last entry was labelled “Operative Assessment.” This must have been General Cirrus’ final assessment of me. “Operative Dust Cloud will prove to be a useful, albeit middling, asset in the field. He will no doubt follow orders when required. He will be assigned with Operative Muddy Waters for placement in Coltington. Operative Muddy Waters will be the lead pony in the team. For Operation Cleansing Equis, he will be assigned as operational support.” Cleansing Equis? What the hell was Cleansing Equis?

“I don’t have time for this,” I muttered to myself as I backed out of my record. I was about to turn off the terminal when I remembered I was originally here to look at Muddy’s record. Navigating the various menus again, I found Muddy’s record. His record started out much the same way as mine, mostly a typical service record. He was recorded as killed during routine flight training due to an accident. However, when it came to the part of his record that should have been his Special Operations record, the narratives were replaced with message: “Narrative Classified. Restricted to Thunderbolt Level Clearance only. This attempt has been logged and reported to Special Operations security.”

Time to get the Tartarus out of here before the MPs show up. After turning off the terminal, I quietly made my way back to the hallway and to the door I entered. After opening the door ajar, I scanned the area around the building. The sun had fully set and the base was covered in darkness, punctuated by pools of bright light from the street lights.

Two red blips appeared suddenly on my EFS in my periphery. “Shit,” I hissed under my breath. I had to find somewhere to hide and quick. But where was I going to hide from their tactical displays?

As quietly as I could, I went through the door and guided it shut behind me. Frantically, I looked around for some place for me to hide. There was nothing in the immediate area. I started to break out into a cold sweat.

I trotted to the corner of the building and looked around. Damn, I wish the EFS had a distance indicator. I had no idea when they would get here and I would be found out. I couldn’t get captured, and I could only imagine that Muddy had the General on his side by this point.

Then I saw it. Sitting against the Special Operations building was a short, green dumpster. Hearing the lock on the door click open behind me, I trotted over to the container, lifted the cover just enough to get in, and then carefully lowered it behind me. A soft, squishy sound greeted me as I landed on a pile of thrown out food. It was wet and cold, but, surprisingly, not nearly the worst thing I had ever had to crawl around in. But the smell! I nearly gagged on the stench inside. The smell of rotting food was overwhelming in such a confined space. It took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to vomit and give my position away.

A gruff, stallion voice was the first one I heard. “What did those two trainees say? A gray stallion with a blue mane, right?”

“Eeyup,” another stallion said. “They also said that he stunk really badly and was wearing an old mark 7.”

“And how do we know they aren’t lying to cover up for themselves?” the first muttered in frustration.

“They’re newbies. They couldn’t have hacked the security on that terminal, not yet anyway,” the gruff pony responded curtly. “Look, you go that way and I’ll go this way and we’ll meet up on the far side of the building.”

One thing that always confused me is how pegasi made sounds when they walked on clouds. I mean, it was water vapor, right? However, in this case, I was thankful for it. I was able to hear the hoofsteps approach the dumpster. Every muscle in my body tensed as they got louder. Suddenly, I was jolted by the sound of metal screeching against metal as the dumpster I was in was jostled.

“Yo, Jet Lag, what’s up?” a goofy sounding male voice called out.

“Nothing much, Cargo. Running behind on garbage pickup today, aren’t we?” the gruff voice asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. The incinerator doesn’t shut down till the last dumpster gets dumped,” Cargo said with a little laugh. Something banged up against the edge of the dumpster near the front opening. Please don’t open the lid!

“Alright, see ya later,” Jet Lag replied with a small laugh.

I gulped audibly. The incinerator? I had to get the fuck out of here before we got there. After hearing Cargo tie himself into the harness, I pushed up on the lid of the dumpster. It moved several inches but then snapped against my effort. A clanking chain drew my attention and I saw it was holding the lid shut.

“Celestia be damned,” I said, grimacing. I lifted the lid again and tried to see if I could pick the lock from the inside. Unfortunately the lock was facing away from me and there was no way I could get my tools into the keyhole. I slumped back down against the wall of the dumpster and sighed.

I could feel the dumpster begin its descent. After a short flight, we landed with a thud and I heard Cargo unhitch himself from the harness.

“‘Ey Cargo! Yer late!” a deep, rumbling voice called out.

“Yeah, sorry boss,” Cargo replied dejectedly. “But it ain’t my fault! The incinerator malfunctioning earlier today backed us all up!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the boss said with a tone of mock pity. “This yer last one?”

“Yup, this is the one from over by the ghost building,” Cargo said with a chuckle.

The boss growled. “Now don’t ya go telling me you believe in those foal tails,” he said, clearly aggravated by the insinuation.

“C’mon boss,” Cargo whined. “Have you ever seen anypony other than the security ponies coming out of there?” he asked.

“I don’t like rumors and I won’t stand fer ‘em,” he barked back. “Whatever they do in there, they need privacy. That’s all. Now hook her up and let’s get it done so we can all go home!”

“Yes sir!” Cargo shouted back. Cargo must have been approaching the dumpster so I took and held a breath. It didn’t help that my heart was racing at a mile a minute.

Cargo was whistling a jaunty little tune as I heard something slam into position from above. Next, I heard a chain slide off the front of the dumpster. The whistling faded as Cargo must have been walking somewhere else in the facility we were in.

I pushed up on the lid again and it opened several inches and then suddenly stopped. Whatever was holding the dumpster must have been securing it from above. My stomach spun as the dumpster lurched up about a foot.

The ascent continued and I risked a look outside the lid. Cargo had moved to an operator’s terminal and was manipulating the controls, presumably to dump me with the refuse into the incinerator. The worst part was that he was wearing headphones and was rhythmically bobbing his head while he whistled.

“Hey! You!” I shouted out, not caring about my predicament anymore. If I didn’t survive, all of this was for naught. “Let me out!” I also banged on the side of the dumpster, hoping to get somepony’s attention.

Unfortunately, Cargo didn’t respond. His headphones must have been drowning out any noise.

I kept yelling as loud as I could, hoping somepony, anypony could here me. The dumpster stopped ascending and began moving laterally. The sudden change of direction threw me against the wall of the dumpster, banging my head in the process.

“Son of a bitch!” I screamed in frustration. Pushing the lid above me, I kept trying to open it, hopefully enough to get out. However, no matter how hard I tried, the lid wouldn’t open more than a few inches. “Hey! Cargo!” I called out through the crack. “There’s a live pony in here!”

Cargo kept bobbing his head to the music and watching the status board and not the moving dumpster. I needed to figure something out, or else I was going to become crispy critter.

Banging on the sides of the dumpster, I was getting desperate. My only hope at this point was that somepony else would come in and notice the noise. I would have to deal with being discovered once I had survived.

Think, Dust, think! How can I get out of here? How can I get Cargo’s attention? Maybe if I shoot near him, he’ll notice. Then, once he knows there’s a live pony in here, he’ll bring the dumpster back! I wiped the sweat off my brow. Geez, it’s getting warm in here.

The last few words of my thoughts echoed through my mind. It was getting awfully warm in here. And there was a yellowish glow starting to shine in through the gaps between the lid and the dumpster.

I skittered to the dumpster lid again and peered out the opening. I couldn’t see Cargo at his console anymore as I had passed over the heat shield for the incinerator. Well, fuck! As if matters couldn’t get any worse, the dumpster started to change direction as it was being lowered in order to dump its contents.

I had no room to spread my wings to start a hover and that would probably be the least of my concerns as the heat was growing quickly. I might die from heat exposure before I hit the actual flames. Slumping back against the dumpster, I began to reflect on my soon to be death. While nopony else would miss me at this point, I felt bad about leaving Silver behind. Silver, I know you can’t hear this, but I love you...

My thinking was interrupted by a loud, buzzing alarm. The sound was joined by a flashing yellow light. “What the?” I asked out loud, yet to myself. The dumpster stopped moving abruptly.

“Celestia be damned,” I heard cargo mutter as the dumpster was swinging. “Damn incinerator.”

I peeked outside the dumpster again and saw that the incinerator was, in fact, extinguished.

“Third time this week,” Cargo grumbled while pushing buttons on his console. “I’ve told maintenance the entire system needs an overhaul.”

Cargo hit some controls and the dumpster shuddered to life, but this time moving away from the now cooling incinerator. I slumped back against the rear wall of the dumpster and took a deep sigh. At least now I wouldn’t be burned to a crisp.

The dumpster shifted direction and was descending back towards the floor. It hit the floor with a sharp thud, throwing me around a little. The wind was knocked out of me and I was hoping Cargo was still wearing his headphones. After some slight jostling, accompanied by some screeching of metal, the room became quiet.

Hoofsteps approached the dumpster. I drew in a sharp breath and held it with my entire body tensing. Two loud bangs echoed inside the dumpster.

“Looks like you get a reprieve tonight,” Cargo said. “But don’t worry we’ll get the incinerator fixed first thing in the morning.” Was he talking to the garbage, or did he know I was inside?

The echoing hoofsteps moved away and then the bay was suddenly dropped into inky darkness. I allowed myself to relax and rest inside the dumpster for a few moments. “That was too close,” I said between deep breaths.

After waiting several moments, I eased the lid open and scanned the bay I was in. In addition to my EFS not showing any markers. The night lighting cast long shadows throughout the facility, but there were no ponies visible in the darkened bay.

I climbed out of the dumpster and searched the for the way out of the incinerator bay. Finally, I found the overhead doors that allowed the carriages in, but I didn’t want to risk making that much noise. Fortunately, I found a standard door tucked way in a corner. After cracking the door open a little, I scanned the area around the garbage processing facility.

Closing the door, I began to think. I hadn’t really had time to come up with a strategy since clearing the cloud cover. Where would Muddy be? The better question to ask was about the location of the general. The only pony up here who could do anything for Muddy was him. And where would the general be? All I knew for sure was that he would be somewhere in the part of base where all the officers lived. But there were dozens of houses there.

And then it dawned on me. The Admin Building. Even if the general wasn’t there now, I’m sure there would be a way to lure him there. Like breaking into his office? Trying to hack his terminal? That would be sure to work!

Unfortunately, I had spent little time on this part of the base. All I knew for sure, was that it was the furthest from the Admin building as it could possibly be. The biggest problem was I was going to be crossing the main runway and past a few of the bunkhouses to get there from here.

“Of course, why would I expect this to be easy,” I moaned quietly to myself, rolling my eyes back in my head.

Looking back towards the Admin building, the lone office lit up possibly took on new meaning. It could mean that Muddy got to the General first. It could also mean I was going to have to convince the General that Muddy was really a threat.

But first, I had to get there. As was usual at night, the runway was empty and generally unlit. There was some spillover from spotlights on some of the hangars but it barely touched the runway, much less made things visible. At least this part should be easy.

I decided against flying since the airborne detection talismans would pick that up almost immediately, so I set off at a slow trot. I had gotten half way across the runway when the base public address system squealed to life.

“Attention all base personnel! All flight control and emergency service personnel required to report to main runway! Incoming damaged raptor for an emergency landing!” a panicked sounding pony nearly yelled through the speakers. “I repeat! Incoming damaged raptor for an emergency landing!”

Lighting gemstones began powering up on one by one with loud thuds followed by loud crackling. Small pools of light began to brighten on the runway. Lights on the sides and down the middle of the runway snapped on also. A deafening siren pierced the silence.

And there I was, in the middle of the runway, lights coming up on either side of me, and a large number of military personnel heading right for my position. What was it that Brownie kept warning me about playing games with the Wasteland?

I frantically looked around while my EFS began to fill up with red bars. Muffled orders were being barked from the hangars and lights began to turn on in the barracks. If I didn’t act soon, there was no way I would go unseen.

The only possible hiding spot was a small equipment locker off to the side of the runway. Usually, these were stocked with emergency fire suppression and first aid kits. Normally, I wouldn’t think this was a good hiding spot, but with the full mobilization, specialized personnel and equipment would be brought out here. Hopefully, this meant that the emergency locker would go untouched.

Now at a full gallop, I ran to the locker and swung it open. For once, luck shone down on me since the locker was already mostly empty. I didn’t look a gift pony in the mouth and slid into the locker and closed it behind me. As the latch slid back into place, I heard the first hoofsteps of ponies landing right outside the locker.

“Hey Glide, can you believe this shit?” a deep mare’s voice said.

“No, I can’t. My one night off and there’s gotta be an emergency,” a male voice grumbled in response. Glide seemed like he couldn’t be bothered being here. “It’s pointless for us to be here. Fire Control teams will be here shortly and the medics are already on site, why do they need us?”

“Rules are rules,” the female responded with a sigh. “Speaking of which, did you ever fill the locker back up with the stuff we, um, borrowed?”

“No,” Glide said with a guffaw. “We’d be up shit’s creek if they really needed us anyway.”

“Do you know which raptor it is?” she asked.

“The Soarin,” he responded matter-of-factly.

I heard a little “eep!” as a response. “The Soarin? But my sister…” she said but trailed off, worry dripping off the words.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Roll, we don’t know how bad it is,” Glide said, trying to comfort her.

“Have you heard what happened?” Roll asked, clearly concerned about the status.
“Nah, not yet, but it was probably another damn dirtpony attack,” Glide said with a huff. “First the Fleetfoot, then the Spitfire. Now the Soarin. They’re all monsters. We should just wipe out every last one of them.”

“Damn right!” she responded. There was a loud bang against the side of the locker which caused me to jump and hit the top of the locker.

“The fuck was that?” Glide asked, clearly surprised by the second sound.

“Eh, I must have just jarred something loose,” Roll answered. “Let’s just sit and watch the show.”

The sound of sirens and ponies shouting faded away as I reflected on what Glide had said. Did I once think the way he did of the ponies stuck in the Wasteland? Did I really think they were all monsters? Did I want to kill them all?

There were raiders and slavers, sure. They needed to be taken care of. Then there were the Steel Ranger nitwits but they were just misguided. In their ridiculous little quest to hoard all the leftover technology, at least they were taking down some groups of raiders, slavers and even mutated beasts. Of course, they did take out groups of regular ponies, too. But what had the Enclave done to help? Nothing but lie about the surface and the ponies that lived there.

I knew good ponies. Brownie, Flower, and Silver for sure. Last Stand, even though he hated me for no apparent reason, was just trying to eke out a living. Big Boss, Pot Luck, Manny, Green Leaf, the list went on and on. Those ponies didn’t deserve death; they deserved help. I’m sure once they knew more about what was going on down there, the Enclave would change their mind.

I was jolted from my thoughts by the sound of the latch being opened. The door began to open and I froze. Artificial light began to slice through the cabinet as the door inched open.

“The fuck are you two doing?” a gruff voice barked impatiently. “Those supplies ain’t gonna do shit. Just grab stuff off the wagon!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Glide and his buddy responded stiffly. Two pairs of hoofsteps faded as they moved away from the cabinet.

In what seemed to be a repeating theme for the day, I relaxed and slumped against the cabinet, thankful I wasn’t discovered, again. I leaned over near the door and opened it a crack. The sight before me made my heart sink.

On the main runway sat the Raptor-class Soarin’. While most pegasi were impressed with the Thunderhead class vessels, I was always drawn to the Raptors. Their short, wide, and flat bodies were a study in efficiency. While a Thunderhead could carry more ponies, a Raptor could be more densely packed, which allowed it to be a very effective rapid deployment vessel. While nopony would call it a luxury vessel, from friends who had served on Raptors, I had heard they were no worse than the conditions in the barracks. The large, dark, menacing clouds that floated on either side of the vessel were imposing, crackling with electrical energy.

However, this Raptor had seen better days. A large hole had been ripped in the dorsal section of the ship. Smoke was still seeping from the gashes in the jet black surface of the vessel. The exposed conduit and twisted metal contrasted jarringly with the otherwise sleek appearance of the ship. The port side cloud was not as sharply defined as usual and sputtered weak electrical arcs randomly.

Whatever weapon caused that amount of damage must have been powerful. Granted, my time in the Wasteland has been limited, but I have seen a lot of what is left. A hole that size was not from an RPG or even a ground-to-air missile battery. Either somepony in the Wasteland was hiding something big, or something else was going on.

However, I had more pressing matters to look into. First, I had to figure out a way to get away from this runway. There were too many ponies running and flying back and forth trying to put out the fires and rescue trapped soldiers on the Soarin. However, about fifty feet away sat a firewagon and sitting in plain view on the back was a full fluorescent yellow firepony suit, complete with helmet and breathing mask. I just had to get there.

The door of the cabinet creaked as I gingerly opened it. The squeal seemed ear piercing to me, but nopony around seemed to notice. Watching ponies coming and going near the bright red wagon, I waited for just the right opening. Two fireponies had just trotted away with hoses draped over their backs and this was it. I galloped as hard as I could towards the firewagon and slid in behind it near where the firesuit was.

I never imagined I could have changed into a firesuit so quickly. Especially considering the suits weren’t designed to have a fully armed and armored pony inside. The mask made it hard to breath and the eyeholes gave everything a fuzzy outline. I began to walk away from the wreck as nonchalantly as possible.

“Hey Waterjet! Where are ya going?” a male voice yelled out behind me. I kept walking, hoping he was talking to somepony else. “Waterjet!”

I froze and turned around. Another pony in a firesuit was gesturing towards me, his orange head and red mane not covered by the helmet/breather combo. “Waterjet! We need you inside looking for survivors! Get to it before the Lieutenant finds you!”

My blood ran cold while I nodded towards the pony. I had no experience with fire rescue. Well, no formal training anyway. We did have to effect some impromptu rescues in some old buildings during scavenging missions that went wrong. But never inside a Raptor class vessel.

Sweat began to pour down my brow as I trotted my way towards the Soarin. As I got nearer, I saw the start of the carnage that had been wrought. Several rows of bodies had been formed a few dozen yards away from the wreck. Since sheets had been pulled over them completely, I could only assume they had died in the wreck. I instinctively gave a small salute to the ponies.

I got to the edge of the wreck and stared up at the gaping maw that used to be the exterior of the ship. Several pegasi were actively fighting small fires that were burning on nearly every visible deck. Other ponies were using tools to separate pieces of wreckage to ease access to parts of the ship. The rhythmic hammering and screeching formed a crude dirge in my mind.

I hopped up on the deck plating directly in front of me. The deck was sitting at an unnatural angle. The slope of the floor and the angle at which the hallway now sat made the vessel feel alien to me. The deep red emergency lighting added to the effect, casting long, dark shadows around pieces of the structure, now warped beyond recognition. Small flames and burning embers cast their own eerie light, making movement appear where there was none.

Walking down the hallway, I tried every door I came across. Since the power had been knocked out, I needed to force each door open, fighting the inactive hydraulics. From the look of the small bunk rooms I was opening, I must have been in the crew quarters, and these must have been for the lower ranked ponies. The rooms were tiny and sparsely furnished. Personal belongings were strewn everywhere. Half burnt pictures of families and loved ones sat on the floors. Pages from books and magazines formed an odd mosaic laying on the floor and illuminated by the embers and emergency lighting.

Heavy hoofsteps echoed behind me. A small group of fireponies trotted past my room and further into the ship. A few seconds later, a helmeted head popped back into my room. “This level’s already been searched! We’re heading to the next level up! C’mon!” The head disappeared around the bulkhead and the thundering hoofsteps faded away.

If I stayed here too long, I would attract attention if more groups came through. But I had to find a reason to get out of here and away from the wreck. I backed out of the bunkroom and went in the same direction the group had travelled. At the end of the hallway was an open door which led to stairs. I craned my head to see if I could hear where the other ponies went. Faint voices seemed to echo from above me, so I decided to go down.

This deck was more damaged than the one above. The emergency lighting was more sparse and there were still active flames and sparking wires. Besides the sparks, the only other sound was the hissing of my breathing apparatus.

I found myself on another deck filled with crew quarters. Support beams here criss-crossed the hallway and would severely limit my movement. The first door I tried to open seemed jammed and no matter how hard I strained, it refused to budge. After the third such failure, I slumped to the floor frustrated and temporarily exhausted.

“He…. help,” a muffled, scratchy voice called out.

My heart nearly slammed through my chest as my body jolted upright. “Hello?” I called out. “I’m here to help! Where are you?”

“Heeeelp,” the voice wheezed.

Through the helmet and breather, I had trouble isolating where the voice was coming from. “If you can, bang on the bulkhead or the floor! I am having trouble finding you!” I yelled out.

At first, all I was greeted with was silence. I began to fear for the worst until I heard a soft thud, followed by another. “Good, I can hear you! Keep it up!” I strained to listen through the helmet.

Thus began a game of taking a few steps, and then straining to listen for the thud. Was I getting closer or further away? How should I adjust my direction? After a thankfully short period of time, I had narrowed it down to one of the doorways I hadn’t tried yet. Of course, this door seemed just as jammed as the others.

“Hold on! I’m right outside!” I yelled while trying to pry the doors open with my hooves. I had to say, at least Stable-Tec built in battery backups to their door mechanisms. The Enclave designers could learn a lesson from them.

After several minutes of straining and grunting, I gave up trying to open it manually. “Hold on! I have to find something to pry the door open. Please hold on!” I pleaded through the door.

Frantically searching, I trotted up and down the hall looking for some sort of tool to use to pry the door open. Suddenly, the world went upside-down as I felt a sharp pain in my leg. After tumbling to a stop, I craned my neck to see behind me. Jutting out of the wall was a small metal support.

“Luna be damned!” I whined in pain. But at least I think I found the tool I could use. Grabbing the loose end in my hooves, I bent it back and forth until it snapped away from the wall. One of the ends was flat enough, I might just be able to get it between the doors!

I galloped back towards the trapped pony and began my next attempt at opening the door. After some straining, I finally got one of the ends between the two doors. As I applied force to the bar, the door squelched in protest of being moved. Slowly, but surely, I got the doors open far enough to get my hooves between them. After a little more elbow grease, the doors gave their final shriek of protest before they slid open.

The damage inside the room mirrored the damage done to the rest of the deck. Furniture had become detached from the wall and was strewn all over the room. “Hello? Where are you?” I called out, hoping I hadn’t been too late.

“Over… here…” the voice whispered. “I’m feeling cold.” Oh shit, that’s not good.

After pushing a locker to the side, I found the poor pony. A sky blue pegasus mare with a white mane lay on the ground. Streaks of blood broke up the otherwise shockingly white mane. Her blue duty uniform jumpsuit was stained with more blood and tears in several places. She looked weakly up at me with magenta eyes that were glassy and struggled to keep open.

“Hold on! I’ll get you out of here soldier!” I said while making sure there was no hazard to moving her.

“Too late... for me,” she croaked between pained breaths. “Need… to tell… something…” Her sentence was interrupted by several soft coughs, each one splattering blood across the deck near where she lay. “Not attacked…” Her body convulsed through several more coughs. The volume of blood she produced was frightening. “Discord...” Her body shook as she exhaled with a rattle. She moved no more and I watched as her eyes became lifeless.

For Celestia’s sake, how many ponies are going to die right in front of my eyes? I slid my hoof against her eyes and closed them as I said the small prayer all soldiers knew. “From the clouds from which we were born, back to the clouds we return. May Celestia and Luna watch over,” I paused while I looked at the soldier’s embroidered name tag, “Cool Breeze as she takes her final flight.”

After having a moment of silence for Cool Breeze, I hefted her weight onto my back and began the slow trek back out of the Soarin. Walking back through the gaping wound in the Soarin’s hull, several ponies saw me carrying Cool Breeze. Almost instantly, I was inundated by medical ponies who were helping lift Cool Breeze off my back and towards the medical tent. I shook my head knowing there was nothing they could do.

“Hey Waterjet… Waterjet?” one of the nurse’s asked me, looking quite concerned.

“Huh? What?” I asked, my thoughts still focusing on Cool Breeze.

“Your leg? What happened?” she asked pointing at my front right leg.

Glancing downwards, a gash in the protective suit opened to the armored leg guards beneath it. “Oh… must have been that piece of wreckage I tripped over,” I muttered trying to remember what exactly had happened.

“Well, you better head over to the medical tent before you go back in,” she said while picking up the first aid kit she had.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said while I took off trotting towards the medical tent. After the nurse trotted and turned her back to me, I changed direction and headed back towards the firewagon I took the uniform from. With rescue and fire suppression operations going on full bore, the outskirts of the runway were pretty much abandoned. Quickly kicking off the firesuit, I trotted away and back towards the admin building.

As I trotted towards my destination, my mind began to wander about Cool Breeze’s last words. What did she mean that it wasn’t an attack? And why did she bring up Discord? The draconequis was captured before the war and was imprisoned in stone.

The sound of a slamming door drew my thoughts back to the task at hand. Sticking to shadows, I had avoided pockets of idle soldiers moving about the base at night. However, the next leg of my trip would bring me right past one of the barracks buildings. If I was going to run into somepony, it would be here.

Two ponies had walked out the front door of one of the barracks and were probably headed out to the base recreational facilities. I wasn’t too worried about being seen. The darkness was doing its job, but I was also ducked behind a low brick wall used for decoration. After the two ponies walked away, loudly chatting, I sneaked my way into the alley between two bunkhouses.

I let up my guard a little as these alleyways were rarely used. And even if they were, I would have more than enough warning to find a spot to hide. However, I still remained on alert.

As I passed the back door to the barracks, I heard the click of the door release being pushed in from the inside. I ducked behind the dumpster in the aisle. My body shivered as I remembered my experience almost being cooked alive earlier.

The door swung open and stumbling out the door was a familiar orange buck with a gray mane. It was Cloud Buster. Shit! If anypony was going to recognize me, even in my current state, it would be him.

I pushed myself as far against the wall as possible, hoping that he hadn’t seen me. As I pushed, one of my hooves slipped and I saw the glass bottle a little too late. My hoof knocked the bottle and sent it skittering across the floor and into the open. I froze.

“Who’s there?” Cloud Buster called out. I heard his footsteps approaching the dumpster.

Well, shit. I stood up and and slowly walked out from the dumpster. “Hi, Buster,” I said meekly with an awkward smile on my face.

He shook his head in confusion. “Um, who the hell…” he trailed off, the confused look on his face slowly turning into one of shock. “Updraft? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Buster, it’s me,” I nodded in response.

He trotted over to me, looking over every inch of my body. “But, how? I mean, you died during a delivery?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Buster, I wish I could tell you, I really do,” I grimaced. Yet another pony I was either lying to or withholding the truth from. “All I can say is that it’s classified.”

In a move that surprised me, Buster wrapped his hooves around me. “For Celestia’s sake, Updraft, I am so glad to see you! You have no idea how hard it was,” he blubbered. “I can’t wait to tell Twister and Windy, we were all tore up when we got the news! Oh, and your mom! She hasn’t been the same since…”

My mother. That was probably the hardest part of the entire thing. Even though my mother was a general, General Cirrus had told me that even she couldn’t know about my new post or my cover story. For the past year, she had been under the impression her only son was now dead.

“Buster!” I barked, covering his mouth with my hoof. “No pony else can know about this.” I stared right in his green eyes. “No pony.”

Buster backed up a couple of steps. “Oh...oh, ok,” he stuttered. He looked so crestfallen.

“Buster, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get going. The longer I just stand around, the more likely somepony else will see me,” I glanced up and down the alley. “I hope someday I can fill you in on everything.”

“OK, Updraft,” he said uneasily. “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know,” he pleaded.
I trotted to the end of the alleyway and then stopped. Turning my head, I saw Buster still there, just watching me go. I sighed deeply and turned the corner.

My emotions were now spinning out of control. Seeing Buster brought back memories of my life on base. My friends and coworkers were always up for a good time. My mom had supported me every step of my career, even though it was unimpressive. I always looked forward to our weekly dinners where we could just talk. She was always offering to put in a word with commanding officers in other departments to help me advance. I had always declined, wanting to progress on my own and not live off her wing feathers.

And what had I done? I gave it all up to work for a clandestine group. My actions would never be known and I was effectively erased off the clouds. Even if I did return, could I possibly repair all the damage I had done? Would my friends be able to trust me again? Buster sure seemed to, but then again, all he knew was that I wasn’t really dead. What would he think if I told him everything I had been through? And my mother? I’m sure she would forgive me, but would things ever be the same?

After a fortunately uneventful trot, I found myself at the front door of the Admin Building. Peering in through the smoked glass, I saw the security desk dominating the lobby space. The only light was coming from a small desk lamp which was throwing long shadows across the lobby. Sitting behind the desk was the same Sergeant from the morning I first met with Cirrus. He was reclined back in his chair watching something on the terminal on his desk.

Think, Dust, think. How was I going to get past him? Once the door opened, he would see me clearly. And there was no other way into the building. I needed a distraction. Fumbling around in my saddlebags, I searched for something that would make an effective distraction. I had my few weapons and ammo, some food, medkits, drugs… nothing that would distract somepony. Caps… I had caps.

I sidled up next to the door on the handle side. I hoofed a few caps from my saddebags and held them, ready to throw. I pulled open the door and then let it glide back closed. I peeked around the doorframe and saw the sergeant hadn’t even looked up. I opened the door again, but this time, I helped it slam closed. Peering through the darkened glass again, I saw the guard look towards the door and then back to his screen.

“C’mon, you dumbass, get curious,” I grumbled as I opened and slammed the door again. I watched the guard get back up and trot towards the door. I took a few steps and slid up into a small corner near the door and glanced around the corner. Waiting with bated breath, I listed for the door to open. After what felt like eons without the door opening, I stepped back to the door. The guard was back behind the desk watching his monitor.

“Son of a bitch!” I muttered to myself. This time, I knocked hard on the door and then stepped back into my little alcove. I peered around the corner again and waited for the door to open. I heard a click and watched the door swing open. The guard stepped outside and looked around.

“Whoever is doing this, it isn’t funny!” he hollered, clearly aggravated by the repeated interruptions. After he turned around, I hurled the caps towards the main pathway in front of the building. They clattered away. One of the caps, remained upright and spinning. The guard spun around and squinted in the direction of the caps. “What the hell?” he squeaked as he trotted away. Quietly, I slid my way towards the door and squeezed my way in before the it closed behind me.

The door clicked softly behind me and echoed in the large atrium. Quickly, I trotted my way past the security desk and made my way to the main stairwell. My head was on a swivel as I made sure I wasn’t going to run into any more guards. As I passed the security desk, I took a quick look at his terminal. No wonder he was so aggravated. He was watching “The Neighs of Our Lives”. Geez, I missed that show.

My hoofsteps echoed as I walked, but I wasn’t worried since I didn’t hear any other steps echoing back. As far as I could tell, I was alone in the building. The six flights of steps took almost no time to climb and I found myself on the sixth floor.

Most of the lights were out, leaving the floor in a gloom I usually came to associate with the stables on the surface. All the doors were closed except for one, out of which light was pouring. I walked my way there, carefully listening for voices, steps, anything. I approached the door in complete silence. The office belonged to General Cirrus.

Quietly walking up to the office, I edged around the open door and scanned the office. It was empty. I walked in and looked around. It felt like more than a year ago I last stood here, being sold on the idea of joining Special Operations. The big map had become more cluttered in the intervening time. More settlements had been indicated and some of the larger cities had notes under them. Some indicated they were occupied by Steel Rangers or slavers, while others had mentions of Stables.

I glanced back at the General’s desk and the terminal that sat there, softly glowing green. I trotted over and saw that it had been logged out, but I said down and put my skills to work. Within minutes, I had hacked my way past the login screen. There were many options to choose from, but the one that caught my attention were the Special Operations files. Navigating to that menu, I could choose from Personnel, Operations, and Resources.

First, I scrolled to the Personnel records and found Muddy’s record again. The text shocked me:

“Psychological: Operative Muddy Waters suffers from delusions of grandeur compounded with anger management problems. He is quick to anger and quickly resorts to violence when placed under stressful situations with those he feels are his inferior. It is recommended that he not be placed in a forward operating area.

“Operational: Operative Muddy Waters will be placed in a low priority operational area partnered with Operative Updraft. His particular skill set will be particularly useful for implementation of Operation Cleansing Equis. For Operation Cleansing Equis, Muddy Waters will be placed in charge of a quick-operations team.”

What the hell? Cirrus knew that Muddy would snap and sent him down anyway? And to place him with someone he would view as his inferior?

I scrolled back and navigated to the “Operations” menu. There were half a dozen operations, but Cleansing Equis was right on top. I opened the file and read. My blood ran cold and my mouth hung open.

“Operation Cleansing Equis. Purpose: To clear productive areas of the Wasteland for occupation by Enclave forces for agricultural resources. Operational Summary: After covert operatives discover sufficient resources for agricultural growth, Special Operations personnel will clear the area by any means necessary. Agricultural specialists will then occupy the area and implement the discovered technology to bolster the food supply for the Enclave. Local workers will be conscripted into service to aid with the necessary labor.” Holy shit. General Cirrus was ready to kill and enslave the Wasteland ponies.

As I backed out of the menu, a word caught my attention on the list of active operations. I saw one labelled “Operation Discord”. I hoofed into the file. “Operation Discord. Purpose: To convince the military hierarchy of the necessity of direct action against the Wasteland.”

Somepony cleared their throat, causing me to snap my head upwards from the terminal screen. In the doorway stood General Cirrus, Muddy, and two MPs.

“Good evening, Dust Cloud,” the General sneered. “Didn’t anypony ever tell you not to touch other pony’s things?”

Level Up!

Skills:
Science, 45

Perk Obtained:
Dumpster Diver - Sneak decreases by 5 when attempting to hide during a pursuit.