***

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Han Solo, Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

***

En route to HLF/Red Cross temporary HQ, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.

Yarrow and his squad were driving up in the direction of the Red Cross and HLF camp in their APC, the ride more than a little bumpy thanks to the somewhat less-than-stellar condition of roads recently. Looting had become common, and so had the propensity for the roads to become covered in debris. That wasn’t even counting the abandoned cars left to rust in the street by panicking owners who had Converted and fled now that the Barrier had made landfall. The APC driver, Thomason, had even pointed out the massive queue for the local Conversion Bureau.

“Makes you sick, don’t it,” the driver had mused. “People so quick to jump ship and go somewhere else.”

“They’re just scared,” Joe had pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“‘Scared’, huh?” Thomason had said with a snort. “Fear makes people do some damn crazy shit, then.”

The way to the Red Cross camp had been relatively easy to find, with makeshift signs pointing them in the direction of the camp everywhere, something for which Yarrow found himself grateful. He supposed a lot of people would be going in through the camp.

“So,” Joe said quietly from behind him. “We’re helping evacuate a bunch of people, right?”

“That's right,” Yarrow said quietly. “Personally, I'm still not sure where we’re supposed to be evacuating them to. The President was pretty vague on that.”

“I guess ‘anywhere we can’,” Joe said with a shrug. “It’s not like we’ve got many places left. Europe’ll be the last to go.”

“So it will,” Yarrow said quietly. “And Britain with it.”

Joe’s face fell. “Didn't think the world would end like this, I've got to admit. When I ever bothered imagining the apocalypse, there were less ponies.”

Yarrow nodded. “I hear ya.” He glanced at two other members of their squad. “How are they?”

Joe glanced back at the two Yarrow was staring at.

Not too far away were two younger marines with the Reaver symbol on their shoulders. One of them was a young man with a cropped dark brown hair and a grim face. To Yarrow, who had known his friend for a long time, the young man looked surprisingly like a younger Joe. Next to the man was a slightly smaller woman with the same hair cut to shoulder length. Her face was softer but no less dour than the young man beside her.

Yarrow had only recently met Andrew and Elizabeth Rither, Joe’s kids, but he could see their father’s influence. Both of them were consummate professionals when the need came for it, and surprisingly florid speakers at other times. He had seen the two of them in combat and they seemed to have done a brilliant job of copying Joe’s ability to exhibit cold mechanical skill whilst screaming the most fierce and unusual war-cries at the same time.

It was at times like this, when he saw his friend’s own son and daughter bearings arms, that he wondered what things would have been like if he had encouraged Sam to sign up like he had.

Joe looked back at Yarrow with a guilty expression. “Look, I know it wasn't professional of me to have them in our team, sir, but -”

Yarrow held up a hand. “It’s ok, Joe. We’ve known each other too long to piss about with formality at a time like this. They followed you. You wanted to have an eye on them, make sure they were safe. If my Sam was a Marine, don't you think I’d be the same?”

Joe smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Maxi. Good to know I can trust you to understand.”

“You're me mate,” Yarrow said with a chuckle. “‘S what I'm here for.”

***

They got to the camp a few minutes later, the squad disembarking smartly.

Yarrow frowned slightly as he looked around - it was an odd setup to be sure. A few armoured soldiers - though they didn't exactly look like professionals - were wandering around, armed with a mixture of AK’s, shotguns and other things, some of them wielding older gear still. A few of them glanced at the British soldiers, but only one came up to them. He threw a crisp, British style salute.

“Sergeant John Idle, HLF unit 1041,” he said smartly.

“HLF?” Joe said from behind Yarrow. “What are you lot doing guarding a camp?”

“We’re the folks helping guard the Red Cross here, sirs,” Idle replied without dropping the salute. “Got to say, though, it’ll be good to have proper squaddies on hand.”

Yarrow saluted back. “Captain Maximilian Yarrow, Royal Marines.” He dropped the hand and Idle did the same. “What's the situation?”

Idle shrugged. “Would ‘utter shite’ be concise enough, sir?”

Yarrow chuckled. “Just possibly. Though I’d prefer a more detailed report.”

“Understandable,” Idle said quietly, looking thoughtful. “I'd say talk to Captain Jennings, but he got hit by a nasty one a few days ago and he's still under. I guess Lieutenant Packer is somewhere, but she’s with the Rock Riders, so she's a bit… y’know. Psychopathic.”

“Who’s in charge of the Red Cross?” Yarrow asked.

“That’d be Miss French, over at tent six,” Idle said, pointing into the camp. “I’ll take you there now if you’d like, sir.”

“Thanks,” Yarrow said quietly. “That’d be much appreciated.”

“If you'll come with me then, sir,” Idle said, before heading off, leading the group into the camp itself. Yarrow threw Joe a look, then followed the HLF man.

***

Equestrian Embassy. Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.

Shining Armour was staring out of the canteen window at the crowds beyond. They were still protesting fiercely, but they had died down a tad, for which he supposed he should be grateful.

“Fancy should be down soon, Sergeant Hoof says,” Cadence said from behind him. Shining waved a good airily in response, not really listening.his eyes were still fixed on the crowds.

“How did we get this bad?” he asked with a sigh.

“Hm?” Cadence asked, as she poured a cup of coffee from a rather battered old coffee machine. “What do you mean?”

Shining Armour shook his head, turning away from the window. “Five times the PER have attacked people in this city. Fourteen dead. Eighty three forcibly converted.” He growled almost unconsciously. “Five attacks. I've asked the Princess a dozen times if I can do something - lead a Guard contingent, speak with the local Conversion Bureau, something!”

“And she hasn't replied,” Cadence replied quietly, sitting opposite him with her coffee. “I guess that's to be expected.”

“It wouldn't have been ‘to be expected’ before,” Shining growled. “It just wouldn't. There's something - something wrong, something we’re missing. I’m sure of it.”

As he spoke, a stallion in a collar and tie entered, his blank flank revealing him to be a Converted - a ‘Convie’, as Shining’s troops occasionally (derogatorily) referred to them. He smiled in greeting as he got himself a cup of coffee from the machine.

“Prince-Captain,” he said. “Milady Princess.”

“Mr Greaves,” Shining said wearily. “How are you adjusting?”

“Not so badly, sir, not so badly,” the Converted said with a broad smile. “Been… well, adjusting. I guess life in Equestria won't be so bad after all. Lots of opportunities, brand new land…”

“Did you convert long ago, Mr Greaves?” Cadence asked politely.

“Oh, I was caught by the PER, ma’am,” he said with a slight sigh. “Very distressing at the time. I recall being a little… unhappy, shall we say. Not so much now that I’m used to four hooves. I guess you sort of acclimatise to it.”

“I guess you do,” Shining said with a slight frown. “Last time we spoke you were set on staying here.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been rethinking,” Greaves shrugged. “Being a pony and all, my life here’s going to be different anyway. Might as well go the whole hog and move to where things aren't gonna disintegrate in a few months. Been half thinkin’ about changing my name too.”

“Don't,” Shining said, perhaps a tad harsher than he intended. “Your name is yours. You're still you, even if you've - changed a bit.”

“Yeah, that's true,” Greaves said, frowning slightly. “I just… I guess ‘John Greaves’ doesn't feel like it fits anymore.”

He sighed, before finishing his coffee and bowing slightly. As he left the room, Shining gave Cadence a pointed look.

“What?” she asked with a frown.

“You saw that, right?” he asked.

“I saw that he was clearly a cheerful person - well, pony,” Cadence replied. “What did you see?”

“When he came here, he swore and shouted and demanded we find him a cure,” Shining said, scowling. “He only came here for his own protection - Whitman’s idea, mainly because of the anti-pony violence.”

“So he's, what, reconsidered?” Cadence asked, frowning in turn. “Strange, I admit, but he has a right to change his mind.”

“Change it to the point of not being the same person, basically?” Shining asked. “There's something off about the PER’s potion. There has to be.”

“You think they've tampered with it?” Cadence asked. “Can they?”

“It's either that,” Shining Armour said grimly, “or the Princess did something to the main potion - but strange as she’s been acting recently, I find it difficult to believe our Princess of all ponies would condone… that. She's finding times hard - we all are - but she's still Celestia.”

“True,” Cadence said with a nod. “Who’s in charge of the Bureau in Washington?”

“Pony called ‘Well Met’,” Shining said with a slight smirk. “Fussy sort. Don't think he actually likes the job. Still, the Convies - sorry, Converted-”

“Convies?” Cadence repeated, scandalised. “Where did you pick that up?”

“The Guards,” Shining shrugged. “It does the rounds. Anyway, the Converted Well Met’s sent my way seem universally well-treated and well-balanced, so I've ruled him helping the PER out. He's just not the type to do that.”

“Could the potion be being made without pony help?” Cadence asked. “Maybe Aunty Celestia thinks it's an internal matter, humans attacking themselves.”

“Impossible,” Shining replied, shaking his head. “I even asked Twily this - she said something about ‘needing a magical element added’, how the magia of the brewer is a catalysing element that .”

Cadence nodded. “Sounds like a suitably dry Twilight response.”

“Yeah, which makes her ‘the potion is the solution’ response more worrying,” Shining said quietly, a even bigger frown on his face. “She's never been the kind to accept an imperfect solution when she can do better, and she can always do better.”

“You're right,” Cadence said quietly. “Do you think there's an explanation?”

“I do,” a new voice said with a somewhat upper-class air. Cadence and Shining looked up to see Ambassador Fancy Pants enter, a smile on his face. He had a similar coloration to Shining, but he was a thinner, altogether less sturdy-looking stallion, a this moustache under his nose. “Hello, Cadence, my dear, how are you?”

“I'm well, Fancy,” Cadence replied with a smile. “How's Fleur?”

Fancy’s face fell. “She's not well. Last message I got from her sounded… anxious. I think she’s worried I’ll be hurt out here.”

“Given the crowd out there, can't say I blame her,” Shining said with a dry smile. “You said you had a theory?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Fancy said quietly. “I suspect there's some great threat in the works.”

“Great… threat?” Cadence said, frowning.

“Indeed,” Fancy said. “Remember, when Nightmare Moon was coming back, the Princess did not appear to be preparing - but we know she was. We know the results of that preparation.”

“The Elements of Harmony,” Shining said quietly. “So you think there's another threat that needs her to… what, lie?”

“Of course,” Fancy said with wide eyes. “It makes sense - she's lulling her enemy into a false sense of security. When the time is right, she'll strike and defeat this enemy, and we’ll be able to… to save what's left of humanity.” His face became downcast. “If only this were less of a bally wait.”

“Surely we’d know something,” Cadence said quietly.

“We didn't know about the Elements before the Nightmare Moon crisis,” Shining pointed out. “Why would we know about this?”

“Because we’re her family, and more importantly we’re representatives of Equestria to these humans, and this is the kind of thing we need to know!” Cadence snapped. She took a calming breath. “We need to be kept in the loop.”

“Regrettably, Princess, we only want to be kept in the loop,” Fancy Pants said quietly, a morose look on his face. “There isn't a matter of ‘need’.”

Cadence looked to Shining, but his expression had become grimly resigned.

“It makes a kind of sense,” he said quietly. “If there's some threat that requires this.”

Cadence scowled. “But if there is, why not -”

“Think about it,” Fancy Pants said. “She's lived for eleven thousand years, ruled for very nearly all of them. This all might seem horrible - but if anypony knows how to play long games, she does.”

Cadence sighed. “I guess that makes sense. I just wish we weren't the long game she was playing.”

***

Opposite the White House, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.

A suited figure stood among protesters and complainers, hands folded behind his back. A small smile graced his features. He pulled a small cellphone from his pocket, tapped in a number on the keypad, and waited. After a moment, the other line answered.

“Hello,” the suited man said. “I'm where I need to be. Yourself?”

“Where you need me, sir,” the voice on the other end said quietly. “Our men are moving into position - they should be ready for tomorrow.”

“And there prepared to do what needs to be done?” the suited man asked.

“They're aware of the sacrifices we need to make, and they're prepared,” the voice said grimly. “We’ve convinced most of the more reluctant ones - and those we couldn't convince won't be a problem.”

“I’m so glad,” the suited man said quietly, that soft smile still gracing his features. “It is a shame that it won't be possible to do this on a more symbolic date, but…”

“We’re with you, sir,” the other voice said. “We’ll make March 6th a symbolic date all its own.”

“Yes,” the suited man said, sounding slightly happier. “Yes, I suppose we will. Thank you Colonel. You may begin final preparations.”

With that, he ended the call. He put the phone back in his pocket, and folded his hands behind his back again. His smile stayed on his face.

Tomorrow would be the dawn of a new era.

Tomorrow would bring their salvation.

***

Washington D.C. Conversion Bureau, March 5th, 2023.

Dr Well Met looked up as Fenwick entered his office again. The human scientist looked… troubled, and Well Met frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“My ‘friends’ want to stage a raid on the Bureau,” Fenwick said with a frown. “Apparently one of their friends in the military is convinced that something bad’s about to go down.”

“‘Something bad’?” Well Met repeated with a derisive snort. “Please tell me you're joking. They want to stage a raid, steal our stock, because ‘something bad is going down’?!”

“Their man is with a military unit on its way to D.C,” Fenwick said grimly. “He says they're planning on instigating some kind of martial law, but beyond that he doesn't know the details.”

Well Met paled slightly. “Martial law? You're certain?”

“He suggested that we get as many of our… friends together as we can,” Fenwick continued quietly, “and hope we can continue do our work. My friends want to stage the raid in order to replenish stock but leave us as legitimate -”

“No,” Well Met said, suddenly turning around. “Tell your friends… tell your friends that I’m seeking sanctuary with the embassy. Today. I’ll take the rest of the pony staff with me. You go with them when they come, and we’ll… I don't know. Hopefully meet up on the other side.”

Fenwick looked troubled for a moment, and then nodded.

“If you think that's the best course of action,” he said. He paused. “Good luck, Walmart.”

“You too, Wick,” Well Met said quietly. He turned away as his friend exited the room, feeling a sense of foreboding creeping up on him.

Martial law? He'd known things were getting bad, but not that bad.

I just want to go home, he thought miserably. I wish I’d never come to this miserable world.

***

HLF/Red Cross temporary HQ, Washington D.C, March 5th, 2023.

The first thing the Royal Marines noticed about the camp was the smell. There was blood in the air, and the smell of chemicals and cleaning fluid.

"So, Idle," Joe asked conversationally. "How did HLF come to be guarding a Red Cross camp?"

The HLF - or Human Liberation Front - had been formed as a loose coalition of mercenaries, ex-soldiers and volunteers from across the world. The Front's stated goals were to liberate human beings from areas where the Barrier was overtaking civilisation, as well as protecting them from PER terrorists, looters, raiders and bandits.

Unfortunately, due to the ad hoc nature of the organisation, a lot of HLF units were notoriously under-regulated. This had led to more than one situation when HLF had forgotten that they were there to evacuate civilians and focused too much on fighting PER, or worse, to situations when rogue HLF soldiers had acted no better than bandits themselves. There had been moments where men and women under the HLF banner had raided camps, killed or extorted refugees, and even murdered Converted ponies or even trueborn Equestrians who had simply been visiting Earth, or even helping humans. There were more than a few anti-pony undertones to the HLF - an unfortunate side effect of their mission and the events that had caused them to be created.

Because of that, and instances of criminal activity, the organisation had a somewhat mixed reputation. That being said, most people were usually happy to see HLF when they showed up. The UN had been notoriously slow to respond to the Barrier and the subsequent refugee crisis, and they were still being far too slow (at least in Yarrow's opinion) to act against PER terrorists or other threats.

"Well, that one is easy," Idle said, smiling at the question. "A bunch of HLF got together around Portland and met up with the Red Cross people helping evacuate people. There were some of the Kraken Grenadiers -"

"I thought those guys were in the Middle East still," Joe put in. "Last I heard they were up with the Hounds of Hades in Israel."

"They were," Idle said. "The guys we've got with us are a small offshoot. There's also Neptune's children - they're a bunch of sailors and ex-Marines from various places - the Rock Riders of course, buncha loons, and there were a few people under some crazy guy called Birch, claimed to have known some secret about the town of Fairport that needed to be said." He shrugged. "Birch's lot went off to try and get to Fairport and kill some PER while they were at it - no idea what's happened to them, but with Barrierfall comin’ they're probably screwed - and the rest of us came with the Red Cross here. Wasn't all that easy, either."

"Oh?" Yarrow asked.

"We've got a few Convies and Trueborns with us," Idle explained, sounding irritated. "On the way we ran into some guys - called 'emselves the Redmanes - old HLF ‘buddies’ of mine. Bastards had a habit of scalping any ponies they found."

"'Had'?" Yarrow repeated.

"Yeah, 'had'," Idle grinned. "Not so much anymore, on account of 'em being dead. We lost some good folks though, and that's how Jennings got laid up."

Yarrow nodded. "Sounds like you guys have been doing well, though."

“Hopefully we have,” Idle said quietly. “Miss French’s tent is just down here.”

‘Miss French’, when they finally reached her tent a few moments later, turned out to be a calm, polite woman with long hair tied behind her in a ponytail. She had a quiet smile on her face, though it was more than a little strained.

“Hello,” she said as Yarrow entered. She looked at John. “More of your friends?”

“These guys are the real deal,” Idle replied with a slight shake of the head. “Royal Marines. Whole squad of ‘em.”

“I’m sure they'll be a great help,” Miss French said tiredly. “I am Miss Stella French, currently the person left trying to organise this… mess.”

“Captain Maximilian Yarrow,” Yarrow replied, nodding respectfully. “We’re here to talk evacuation of this group.”

“Moving again?” she said, a sigh escaping her lips. “I don't know that we’ll be able to.”

“Is there some problem?” Yarrow asked. “Can we help?”

“I don't know if anyone can,” French said with a wry smile. “We’ve been under-resourced, under-equipped, and there's been so much…” She stopped, shaking her head. “I’m not even supposed to be in charge here - I was a High School principal before this nonsense. Then the PER decided to attack my school.”

“And the Redmanes and Birch’s lot decided to attack them,” Idle said with a low growl. “Bit of a cluster-”

“In any case,” French said sharply. “What little of the faculty and student population we could save are part of our little group.” She paused. “Too few.”

Yarrow nodded slowly. “You volunteered to help the Red Cross group out.”

“A Mr Paris was in charge of this group,” Miss French said quietly. “He was killed by PER on our way here. I have some experience of organisation, so I was put in charge. Only Samantha was really left of the main body of the original volunteers, and she was content to let me be the one calling the shots, though Captain Jennings and Lieutenant Packer seemed able to deal with our… ‘security’ issues..”

As she spoke, a girl with red hair streaked with blonde entered, a frown on her face as she passed French a clipboard. Miss French looked over the clipboard with a sigh, before putting it down.

“And now it seems I am the one in charge properly,” she said. “I'm afraid Captain Jennings is dead.”

Idle cursed. “Dammit, I liked Jennings. Where's Packer?”

“The Rock Riders left this morning,” the girl said quietly. “Packer said something about ‘following Birch’.”

“Psycho bitch,” Idle swore. “I guess you really are in charge then, Stells.”

French frowned at the nickname. “I'm hardly a fit person to be in charge of the HLF guard contingent. You -”

“No way!” Idle said, holding up a hand. “I’m not leadin’ this mess. I’m not -”

French held up a hand and sighed. She looked at Yarrow. “Perhaps that’s how you can help, then, Mr Yarrow. If you could take care of our security, organise our forces, we might all feel a bit safer…”

Yarrow frowned. “I'm not really here to lead anyone. I’m here to help, but -”

“Then you can help by organising our security,” French said simply. “I trust that isn't beyond your skills?”

“It's not,” Yarrow replied, “but it's also not what I came here to do.”

“I don't believe any of us are doing ‘what we came here to do’ anymore, Captain,” French said with a sad smile. “Perhaps you should settle yourself for what you can do.”

Yarrow sighed. “Alright. If that's what you need from us.” He glanced at Idle. “Mr Idle - I’d like a full count of what we’ve got, and I want estimates on how quickly we can pack up and move out. There's an evac ship waiting for us in New York.”

French frowned. “It might take time to get people ready to move - and there are a lot of critically ill people amongst our wounded.”

“Yes,” Yarrow said quietly. “But we’re going to have to be quick. We don't know how long we have.”

Idle and French nodded, and the HLF man headed off to start organising his troops. French began speaking with the girl.

Yarrow sighed, frustrated. This was becoming far more complicated than he would have liked.

Author's Notes:

Apologies that it's taken this long to get out :-) Real life's made writing something of a crawl at the moment :-)

Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Jed.