Albion: The Suicide Mission.

by Jed R

First published 24th of May, 2016

Soldiers, magicians, psychopaths - though they are a rag-tag collection of ponies and humans alike, these are the individuals we must rely upon to save our world.

In the darkest hour of both Equestria and Earth, a war comes that will shatter both realms and change the face of the world forever. In the face of such a conflict and the horror it will bring, both sides have little choice but to use whatever means necessary to protect their people.

For the newly-founded Solaminan Empire, this will be a weapon: devastating in its power, terrifying in its potential.

For the humans and ponies of the BDF, this will mean relying upon outcasts, renegades, psychopaths and the broken, to form a team that can stop the worst Equestria has to throw at this broken world…

A side story of Albion. With thanks to my friends and co-writers for their support.

Prologue 1: For the Children

***

“The ponies of Equestria have begged me to take a greater mantle, a mantle of total responsibility, and with a heavy heart I accept this mantle. I declare Equestria to be an Empire, with myself as its Empress! And in deference to my beloved Converted subjects, those who have sacrificed much to stand with us today, I shall not rule you as Celestia. I shall rule you as Astra Solamina Maxima! I am the Sun, mighty and resplendent, and none shall stand before my might! Together, we shall assail the humans and utterly annihilate them! None shall survive unconverted!!”
Astra Solamina Maxima, The Avatar of Albion: Tales of the War - The Great Exodus.

***

Canterlot, Equestria, March 18th, Year 1 of the Imperial Calendar.

An army marched in formation, in time to raucous music and the cheers of a crowd. Hundreds and hundreds of Equestrian soldiers marched along the streets, to the thunderous cheers from the crowd watching them march. Hundreds of ponies from all walks of life had come to watch the procession as it marched to war. Pegasi, Unicorns, Earth Ponies… they were all present to see the newly minted Imperial Guards, their armour a polished, beautiful Ivory, march bravely to war against a realm that hated them.

The Guards were the best that Solamina had: the bravest, the strongest, the most skilled warriors that Equestria’s children had to offer to their beautiful Empress and her people. The Imperial Guard were the successors to the noble Royal Guard - they were part of a lineage of service that had watched over the land for generations, seen wars that lesser ponies would have broken in, fought terrors that would make the average pony shrink in terror. Through all of these terrors, these ponies, their brothers and sisters in arms, and their predecessors spanning centuries, had protected the ponies of Equestria with all of their might: they had not failed in the past, and to the ponies that watched them go through the town to the sound of cheers, it was a certainty that they would not fail this time either.

Regal armour shone in the light of sun. The Guards marched on with the same rhythm.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Astra Solamina, Solar Imperator, Maxima Suprema!

Drums played in time with the marching, as though this were some gallant adventure these soldiers were marching to. Bright faces met the soldiers, wished them well on their journey, and showered them with praise and assurance. Innocents were counting on the soldiers to make Earth a better place.

In response, the Guard would nod and shout back something along the lines of, "Have no fear. It will be over by Hearthswarming!"

A cynical mind - of which there were more than a few, though few in the crowd - might say that such a belief was naive. They were going into war, and that war would be… impossible.

The civilians watching the Guard march by, however, believed the Guards when they said that. Why wouldn't they? The entire army marched under banners that bore the crest of the Sun. Solamina's symbol of hope, not just for Equestrian but for Earth as well. Whether the humans thought so or not, this was the right path. The truth would be painful for the human race but one day they would look back on this conflict as Converted and see that it was all necessary.

At the top of one balcony, a stallion named Professor Manewell Trotsworth watched the procession go by, a mournful expression on his face. His grey-maned visage was downcast, and for good reason - his own son, Freemane Trotsworth, was down there, one of many of the newly minted soldiers some were already calling the Ivory Guard. In his mind’s eye, Manewell could imagine the white-steel armour, covered in blood and filth and…

Enough.

Thinking about the danger he had allowed his son to go into (not that stopping him would be possible: Freemane was strong willed, and always had been) would not help Manewell’s fears or quell his nerves: better to focus on those things that he could affect, like the project…

It will work, he thought to himself. It. Will. Work.

It has to.

He checked his watch. In a few minutes, he would hopefully have begun the process that would end this madness - that would save his son, and the sons and daughters of Equestria.

“Professor Trotsworth,” a voice said from behind him.

Ah. Right on cue.

He turned, to see that - as he had expected - High Commander Twilight Sparkle, Empress Solamina’s adjutant and most trusted official, was standing there, a neutral expression on her face. The purple mare wore glasses, and a regal blue cloak of office was slung over her shoulder.

“High Commander,” Trotsworth said politely, inclining his head in greeting. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“I am a busy mare, Professor,” Twilight said quietly, a slight edge in her voice. “What is it that you wished to discuss?”

Manewell smiled, a grim thing lacking in mirth. So - right to business it is. Very well, High Commander.

“I wished to discuss victory, Commander,” he said. “Our victory over the humans, and how I can help us achieve that.”

Sparkle’s eyebrow arched. “Victory? Is that a fact, Professor?”

In reply, Trotsworth walked over to a nearby desk. From it, he withdrew a blueprint on a long scroll, and opened it out. Sparkle approached, looking over it slowly. She raised an eyebrow at the title at the top of the plans.

Project Sunstorm.

Sparkle nodded slowly, a grim smile gracing her face as she looked over the plans.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m listening, Professor.”

***

There is an old truism - that innovation comes from war. Perhaps it is because war brings with it desperation - the desire to end the horror that you know is coming - or worse, have already experienced - as quickly as you can.

Desperation has been the cause of many horrors. Often, those responsible for the horrors know full well what they have done, that what they have unleashed is wrong… even evil. But they do it anyway, because they must - because they believe that not acting is the greater sin, that their inaction would only lead to worse horror.

Sometimes… they are right.

Author's Notes:

Welcome to the first side story of the Albion continuity - The Suicide Mission! In which we will explore the early days of the war, encounter some characters you might be surprised by, and learn about the mysterious Project Sunstorm…

Here's hoping you enjoy it all :-)

Jed.

Prologue 2: Terminus Point

***

“Celestia was a Princess. But she’s declared herself Empress of Equestria - under the name Astra Solamina Maxima. Her intent is to invade this island and subjugate what remains of humanity.”
Doctor Hooves, The Avatar of Albion.

***

Scotland, Great Britain, March 20th, 2024.

Deep within the emergency bunker where increasing amounts of supplies and equipment (as well as key personnel) were being moved, several figures sat around a table. Two were ponies: one was a tan Earth Pony with a brown mane, a blue neckerchief on, and tired eyes, full of what might have been sadness, or might have been something else entirely. His name, according to the register, was Doctor Hooves, though most simply called him the Doctor. The other pony was a purple mare whose cutie mark consisted of three smiling daisies, a pink mane tied back to keep it out of her face. She looked like she might have had laugh lines once, though it seemed like she wouldn't smile again judging from her dour expression. This was Cheerilee.

There were also two humans: one was a Japanese man named Hiroto Sato - a larger man, despite time working in the camps with his fellows. He had a thin moustache and goatee on his face and a threadbare silver suit on. The other was a cropped haired, heavy muscled military man named Paul Anderson, now General in charge of the newly incorporated "British Defence Forces", after the resignation (and subsequent suicide) of General Lewis Grant.

This group had assembled here to discuss in more depth the troubling news that the Doctor had brought with him from the land of Equestria.

“War,” the brown Earth Pony said softly. “Celestia… Solamina… is preparing to wage war on this island, to attack and destroy the last remnants of humanity.”

“War,” Sato repeated, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Are you certain of this?”

“Absolutely,” replied the Doctor. “I’ve seen her preparing forces already, riling up the population. Guard recruitment has gone through the roof so far that it's practically hitting the stratosphere. This can only mean war.”

“She's been building up the military for months,” Cheerilee said softly. “More Guards, including a massive influx of the Converted to their ranks - and then there's the Militia that Sol Invictus headed up…”

“And there’s no doubt that we are her targets?” Sato asked.

“Not the only one, judging by the rumoured buildup on the borders of Equestria, but it seems like she sees the human race as an affront to her rule,” the Doctor said quietly. “Her inaugural speech was a war cry to the ponies of Equestria, a call for them to join up and -”

“Attack us,” Anderson said quietly, putting a hand over his face in irritation. “Fucking hell, this is not news we needed.”

“This is a war we can ill afford,” Sato said softly. He sighed. “The forces we have are depleted from the Barrier, and there will not be enough food to feed the people, especially if war shortages start.” He looked to his colleague. “General, may I ask your assessment?”

General Anderson scratched his chin. “A war on that scale with the resources we have now… it's crazy.”

“Crazy?” Cheerilee repeated. “That's a bit… vague.”

“It would be utterly catastrophic for Earth,” Anderson clarified, scowling. “We're just not ready for this.”

He paused. Silence filled the room as the others waited for him to continue. Anderson groaned and shook his head.

“What is her reason for doing this?” he asked after a moment.

“She's gone insane,” Cheerilee put in, her expression almost mournful. “I mean, we've had the feeling there was something off for a while - little things, you know? But now…”

“She’s declared herself Empress,” the Doctor stepped in, “and changed her name to Astra Solamina Maxima.”

“What does that mean?” Anderson asked.

“‘The Sun, resplendent and supreme’,” the Doctor said quietly. “It’s a whole different mentality. That, coupled with the buildup and the militarism, implies some serious mental issues of some sort.”

“What happened?” Sato asked.

“Why does it matter?” Cheerilee countered. “She’s going to attack. She wants to convert every person into a pony, using her potion, and if you won’t convert, she’ll destroy you.”

“The potion… if she should attempt to deploy it as a weapon,” Sato began quietly, “it would…”

“It would give her more workers, more soldiers, more bodies for her war effort with each battle she wins,” Anderson finished. “And she already has a warm body advantage.”

“That she does,” the Doctor noted. “With the Converted being part of her war effort…”

“We’ll be overrun,” Anderson cut him off, scowling. He pounded the desk, suddenly angry. “We cannot let a war like that begin!”

“It's already begun, General,” Cheerilee said mournfully. “The best we can all do is prepare the fight it, and hope.”

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“What, you don't think we came here just to look at the scenery, do you?” Cheerilee asked with a raised eyebrow, chuckling slightly. “We came here to help you, any way we can.”

“There's a lot of ponies amongst our group who are willing to do whatever it takes to free Equestria from Celestia's - Solamina's - madness,” the Doctor said quietly. “Ourselves included.”

“Free Equestria?” Sato asked. “Do you believe that is possible?”

“At this stage? What is possible?” the Doctor asked, shrugging. “We can’t win a battle through force of arms, she just has more resources. We can’t win a war with superior weapons, your weapons have no way of reaching through the Barrier, let alone going through the portal and reaching Canterlot!” He sighed. “A lot of the ponies who came with us want to go home. They want to free their home, make it better if they can.”

“It’s a good objective,” Anderson said softly. “If it was remotely possible.”

“At this point,” Cheerilee said quietly, smiling at him, “I think hoping for anything other than our immediate survival to be possible is a pipe dream. Having hope for a future where we can go home… might be the only thing keeping some of our ponies fighting.”

There was a pause as everyone considered this.

“We can arrange housing and training,” Sato said quietly.

“We brought some ex-Guards with us,” the Doctor said. “They can help train ponies to fight, though we’ve precious little to give them to fight with.”

“Join the club,” Anderson said with a wry grin.

“What resources do you have?” asked the Doctor, sounding less than confident, like he didn’t want to know the answer.

“In terms of food and other basic amenities, we've come up very short,” Sato said quietly. “The civilian population have been worked to the bone setting up enough food production facilities to allow for substantial, sustainable food growth, and even then, we’re… tight.”

“We can help,” Cheerilee said. “We brought a lot of farmers with us when we came.”

“What about your military?” the Doctor asked quietly.

“That is not my area,” Sato said quietly. “General Anderson, what would you say our disposition is?”

Anderson remained silent. His lips mouthed but no words came out.

“General?” Sato prompted quietly.

General Anderson gasped, caught off guard. It took him only a second to compose himself. “I'd say, if we count militias and HLF and other smaller groups as well as the major military contingents, we’ve got close to six million fighting men and weapons to keep 'em, though ammo for most of those weapons is gonna run short real fast. We’ve got stockpiles of weapons, but very little capacity to produce that many more, not right away.”

“That’s problematic,” the Doctor said quietly. “But there must be reserve weapons, foundries…”

“A lot of people brought their own weapons,” Sato said quietly. “The HLF, other militaries, militiamen, even armed civilians. It is far from unfeasible that they might be persuaded to join the fight - especially given the fact that this is a fight for our survival.”

Anderson nodded slowly, thinking things through. His military mind was already drawing battle plans, choosing locations for defensive positions, deciding who would go where - who would live, and who would die.

“Even then, this is going to be difficult,” he said quietly as he drew the lines in his head.

“No doubt,” Sato said, “but I do not see any alternative.”

“Neither do I,” the Doctor added quietly, looking forlorn.

“There's no way to stop her armies from passing through your Barrier, is there?” Cheerilee asked.

“I have an acquaintance, one of the top members of the Watcher’s Council,” Anderson said distractedly. He leaned back in his chair and began to tap on the table. “His name is Rupert Giles - he might know something that could work - but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“In the meantime is there anything that we can do to slow her down?” the Doctor asked.

Anderson said nothing. He got up out of his chair and paced the room.

“The Council might have something,” Sato said, speaking more to Anderson than the ponies. “Or there might be some weapon…”

“There's no weapon that'll get through that Barrier,” Cheerilee put in. “You tried. I heard Austrailia’s army was -.”

“I know,” Anderson cut her off. He sighed. “I was there.”

“What is stopping us from destroying the Barrier itself?” Sato asked quietly.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if the barrier is somehow connected to Celestia - to Solamina herself,” the Doctor said, correcting himself quickly. “It would make sense, something on that scale would need a physical anchor to stabilize it - and she’s impossibly powerful.” His eyes widened. “It would also explain why she took the barrier halting so personally; she would have thought it would just continue.” The Doctor chuckled sadly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a magical entity on the same level as Solamina would you?”

“No,” Sato said mournfully.

“Not yet,” Anderson said grimly. Sato glanced at him, and even Cheerilee and the Doctor glanced at him, surprised. His face was grim-set, but determined. “We’ve got a whole bunch of people who supposedly know magic like the back of their hands. If we don’t have a way to make something powerful to counteract Solamina yet, we will have soon. It’s our best option. Hell, it's an option, which is enough.”

He stood up and turned to look at a map of Britain on a wall. The map showed locations of troops, strongpoints, all sorts of other things. Anderson had already run the possibility of war with Equestria - as a worst case scenario he thought grimly, not something I ever expected - or wanted - to face - but even then, he hadn’t done everything he could have.

That was about to change.

“No more playing around,” he said grimly, turning to the others. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.”

***

A few days later, a large group of soldiers, scientists, and more than a few members of the “Watcher’s Council” (an organisation of men and women who were supposedly experts on magic) were gathered in the heart of the underground complex. Joining them were dozens of ponies - including Doctor Hooves, Cheerilee, and a good few dozen others.

At the head of the room stood General Anderson, staring out at the people gathered before him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said grimly. “You know the score. We’re at war. Princess Celestia of Equestria has gone mad - she's renamed herself Astra Solamina Maxima, and it’s been made very clear that her objective is to destroy the human race.”

There was a sudden shocked hush over the room. To hear it stated so boldly was unnerving at best.

“As of right now,” Anderson continued, “this complex is dedicated to one goal. Ensuring the survival of the human race and the defeat of Astra Solamina. To that end, I am declaring the beginning of Project Terminus. This is it. If any of you are hiding the secret to winning this war, it can't be a secret anymore. We need it. We need you.”

Everyone and Everypony looked at each other, uneasy glances and determined expressions present in equal measure.

“We might have lost almost everything,” Anderson continued. “But fuck that. We’re not gonna sit here like ducks. We’re going to pull back - we’re going to win. No half measures. No joking around. Together, we’re going to stand up to the might of the Equestrian war machine - and tell them to go fuck themselves!”

A cheer went up at that, echoing throughout the room. They were good words, strong words.

All that was left was to put them into action.

***

Author's Notes:

Hello once again, everyone :-) Apologies that this has taken forever to get out there. I've had a lot of stuff on.

With thanks to my co-authors and friends for their support.

Jed.

Assembling the Team

“Now the fate of humanity lies in the hands of an assassin, a savage, a loyalist, a psychopath… they don‘t expect us to survive, but that never stopped me before.”
Commander Shepard, Mass Effect 2 Trailer.

En Route to the Scottish Archives, Scotland, August 4th 2024.

John Idle swore as the transport truck he was in jostled slightly. The dark haired man, dressed in simple military fatigues, was already tired of this bloody road trip without the fucking bumpy roads.

“Fuck!” he yelled. He leaned over so he could address the driver‘s cab. "Can‘t you fucking dodge the potholes?!"

“There‘s more potholes than there is road, mate,” the driver called back cheerfully. “Price we pay for the world going to shit, I guess.”

Idle grumbled and leant back in his uncomfortable seat.

“I call bullshit on this whole thing,” he said quietly, speaking as much to himself as to the other individuals in the truck. “Betcha this is some sort of graveyard assignment they‘re dumping us on.”

“Shut up complaining, Idle,” a surly, dark-haired woman by the name of Elise McGuiness said, a grin on her face.

“Why should I?” Idle asked. “I happen to like killing things. Being dumped guarding some shithole ain’t my idea of a glamorous assignment.”

“This’ll get us killing Empire-horsies soon enough, I can feel it,” Elise said, still grinning. “One thing’s for sure - this ain’t no graveyard job. Too much secrecy.”

That much was true - Idle and Elise had been with some HLF remnant and some of the new ‘Long Watch of Britannia’ crowd when they had been drafted by an officer for, as of yet, unknown reasons. Besides, Idle knew he was small fry, but surely being one of Yarrow’s own from the Enterprise counted for something.

In the corner of the truck, a red haired man was inspecting his pistol. His cold eyes were focused on every inch of the weapon, checking for flaws and damage.

“Oi, mate,” Idle said to the man. “What do you reckon this bullshit’s about?”

The man put his pistol away only to take out a second one: this one had a silencer equipped, like an assassin‘s weapon.

“My name is Brian Oliver, not ‘mate’,” he said gruffly. His eyes didn’t leave the gun. “To answer your question, I don‘t know. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say something covert, hence the secrecy.”

“Covert?” Idle repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t reckon there‘ll be much call for that. What‘re we gonna do, raid Princess Celestia’s knicker drawer?”

“It’s ‘Solamina’ now,” the driver called back. “‘Least, that‘s what I’ve heard. She changed it when the -“

"It can be Sandra the Space Horse for all I give a shit," Idle said with a smirk.

"Doubt that‘d have the same effect," Elise chuckled.

Brian shot a cold look towards the two. “Try to take this seriously. It won‘t be walk in the park, whatever it is.” He put away the other gun and focused on Elise and Idle. “What are your military assignments?”

Idle raised an eyebrow. "I‘m HLF - before this little sojourn, I was busy doing sweet FA: the provisional government before this Council lot took over didn‘t like the HLF much."

"And I was HLF too," Elise said quietly. "Though I‘ve been on a running retreat from Europe for years with most of the Front‘s best. We had to fight off PER every so often, but that was about it."

"So neither of you are military?" Oliver asked.

"Not in so many words," Idle said, shrugging. "We were linked up with some Long Watch lads, so -"

"Not military at all, then," Oliver cut him off dismissively, returning his attention to his pistol. "What about your skillsets?"

"Uh, infantry," Idle said. "Rifleman."

"CQC," Elise said. "I was always good with knives, punches, shotguns, pistols, that kinda thing…"

Oliver frowned slightly, looking the two of them over slightly before returning to his work. "Whatever this mission is, we will not have been picked by accident. Your skillsets will have been evaluated by our superiors."

"So they have a mission where they need a rifleman, a shotgunner and a whatever the hell you are?" Idle summarised.

Oliver narrowed his gaze on Idle. “What I am Mr Idle, is someone very skilled at removing targets from the picture. They would not have asked for us all without a very good reason.”

"If you say so mate," Idle said with a shrug. "‘Tween you and me, I just hope this doesn‘t have latrine duty."

Oliver said nothing else, instead returning to his work.

***

Outside the Scottish Archives, Scotland, August 4th 2024.

The compound was… underwhelming.

Considering the fact that this place was, among other things, the home of the Provisional Governing Council, the home of the newly incorporated BDF‘s R&D division, the home of the Equestrian Exodus‘ representatives and the final time capsule for all humanity (at least if you believed the rumours), the small redbrick building didn‘t inspire much confidence. There were only a small number of guards, a single chain-link fence, a tank, a few jeeps and the building itself.

Two men sat outside this building, both wearing military fatigues. One was a short-haired Frenchman with aquiline features and blue eyes, a soft, rueful smile on his face. The other was a bearded Afrikaner with hard brown eyes the color of maple syrup and scruffy hair shaved on the right side of his head. Both men wore armbands with a flayed skull symbol upon them, symbols of their allegiance to a new philosophy sweeping the surviving humans: the symbol of the Dead Men.

Each one carried a heavy, second-world-war era light machinegun. One man had found a Lewis Gun somewhere, and the other had taken the first man’s old Bren. In this day-and-age, you couldn‘t really hope for better weaponry. All around this island they had seen men equipped with whatever could be given to them: the only way that this place was any better was that, somehow, everyone had managed to be equipped with MP5s or L85s, looking - surprisingly - like a modern army.

“So, this is the home of the last hope of humanity,” the Frenchman said quietly. His accent was soft, barely perceptible, save for the occasional slip. “Doesn’t really inspire much ‘ope, does it?”

“Do we even have that anymore?” his companion asked gruffly, poking the armband on his friend‘s arm. “Thought this meant we were fresh out.”

“Figure of speech, mon ami,” the Frenchman said, smiling. “Hell, Viktor, you and I both know there‘s not much left to hope for.”

“Oui, true enough, bru,” the Afrikaner - Viktor - said quietly, his French accent truly abominable. “I like hope, but I‘m not stupid enough to see it where there ain’t any.”

There was a pause as the two considered their surroundings.

“So,” the Frenchman asked after a moment. “Why’d they call us up, you think?”

“Who gives a fok?” Viktor said, smirking. “Let’s just hope they let us bliksem something soon.”

“Excuse me?” a new voice asked. Both of them looked up, to see a man in full hazmat gear looking at them both. “Are you two Kraber and Dupont?”

“‘E’s Kraber, I’m Dupont,” the Frenchman said. “And who are you?”

“Private Jones,” the soldier said. “I‘ve been ordered to take you two down to the complex.”

Kraber threw Dupont a look, and Dupont shrugged.

“Not like there’s much else to do,” he said.

***

Scottish Archives, lower levels.

Lightning Dust paced.

She hated three things in her life more than anything else in the entire world: she hated not knowing what she was doing in a place, she hated ponies (and people) ordering her around, and she absolutely hated confined spaces. So, naturally, she absolutely loved it when she was ordered to report to a secret underground base without any explanation of why.

Didn’t help that all the guards in this place were so bucking bad tempered - they gave her filthy looks and pointed sullenly when she asked directions. Then again, she supposed they were still getting used to working with ponies. They hadn’t exactly received a brilliant impression, Lightning thought ruefully.

“You nervous or something?” the Unicorn stallion she had travelled with asked. “Only you ain‘t standing still.”

“It’s a Pegasus thing," the other mare, her coat purplish-pink, her blue-green and pink mane a short, irregular cut. She was tinkering with some strange crystal device. “We hate confined spaces.”

“You seem fine,” the stallion pointed out to her.

“I’m fixing a crystal projector I stole off that one guy… well, some guy,” the mare said with a grin. “It’s… very therapeutic.”

“Right,” the stallion said, clearly unconvinced. He looked at Lightning. “Maybe you should find something like that.”

“I’m a flyer, not a gadget geek - I can‘t be satisfied poking crystals!” Lightning snapped, before throwing the other mare a slowly sheepish look. “No offence.”

“Quite a lot taken, all the same to you,” the mare said cheerfully. “Least I’m better looking than you, though, eh?”

Lightning snorted, before looking at the stallion. “You wanna field that one, pal?”

The stallion raised an eyebrow. “Er… no.”

The flyer grinned. “Wuss.” She sighed. “I need to get back in the air.”

“You’ll get your chance, Miss Dust,” a new voice spoke.

The three ponies turned, to see a human man enter the room, arms behind his back. He was in military fatigues, a grin on his face as he surveyed them.

“Sir,” the stallion said. “Am I to assume you‘re the officer who requested our presence?”

“You can assume what you want, Corporal Grit,” the man said. “I am one of the officers you will be dealing with. Formal introductions will have to wait for the time being, however. The rest of the first recruits have yet to arrive.”

“First recruits?” Lightning repeated. “For what?”

“That will be explained to you in due course,” the man said with a smile.

With that, he turned to leave, leaving the ponies alone to digest this brief exchange. The stallion threw a look at Lightning, who shrugged.

“Well, that was certainly ominous,” the other mare said, shaking her head as she continued tinkering with the crystal projector.

“Yeah,” Lightning said quietly. She had a horrible feeling she wasn‘t going to enjoy any of this.

***

In the next room, General Anderson was waiting with Cheerilee for the other man to return from speaking with the recruits. Anderson’s arms were folded, and - though it had been his idea to begin this operation - he didn‘t look entirely happy so far. He was staring out through a tinted window at the ponies, as though trying to analyse whether they met his expectations.

Cheerilee was tired - she had been up for the last few nights, helping organise ponies in civilian and military roles. She had been almost unanimously voted as the individual in charge of representing the Exodus on the Council, which brought more strains than she had ever had to face.

With them was an older man, surrounded by nervous energy. He wore glasses and a tweed suit, both battered, the glasses dirty even as he made a motion to clean them and the suit threadbare and damaged.

“So,” Anderson began. “Progress?”

"We‘ve got reports that other names are being drawn up," Cheerilee said quietly. "We’ve already got humans fitting your man‘s profile choices, though working with HLF…"

“Idle and McGuinness are ideally suited to this job,” Anderson said, cutting the mare off. "Their HLF leanings will make them more willing to step in and do some damage to Solamina.”

“I hope you‘re right,” Cheerilee said. “I happen to find the idea of working with ex-HLF…”

“Look,” Anderson said, cutting her off. “I knew of some HLF in the expansion days - sure, you had the crazy ones, like the Nu-Gileadites and the Redmanes, but then you had the Jackals, the Kraken Grenadiers and the Reavers, people pwho just wanted to save people from the Barrier or the PER. People were scared.” He snorted. “Besides, Idle’s one of Yarrow’s own.”

“I know,” Cheerilee said with a sigh. “I just wonder how many innocents died because the HLF were ‘scared’.”

There was a long pause as the two stood in silence.

“The ponies seem like interesting choices,” General Anderson said quietly, changing the subject. “Lightning Dust‘s record…”

.She was kicked out of the Wonderbolts for recklessness,” Cheerilee reassured Anderson. .Not for being a bad flyer. She’ll do the job we ask of her, albeit probably with a lot of lip.”

“And the others?”Anderson asked, glancing at her.

“Heliotrope is an expert in Equestria‘s magical tech,” Cheerilee explained. “No two ways about it, she’ll be an asset. True Grit, on the other hoof, is just a downright dependable, if inexperienced, Guardspony.”

“Which I suppose will be useful in its own right,” the tweed suit wearing man said quietly, almost to himself. Anderson threw a look at him.

“And what about your lot, Rupert?” he asked, sounding half mocking. “The Council come up with anything to help us?”

“We‘re trawling through names of individuals to help this little assemblage of yours,” Rupert Giles said quietly. “I can think of one fellow who might be good to have on hand, assuming we can find him. He’s been making that effort difficult since before I can remember. As for our researches into specialised weaponry and equipment…”

“That was one of the things we needed, Mr Giles,” Anderson said, sounding impatient.

“Yes, well,” Giles said, grimacing. “Without sufficient test subjects or test formula, working on an anti-potion defence has been proving problematic, but we do have some ideas. As for weapons, that‘s simpler. Basic strengthening and lightening enchantments, some additional - shall we say, esoteric functions…”

“And superior weapons?” Anderson asked.

“There are some in the works at early stages,” Giles said. “Unfortunately, they may take months to implement.”

Anderson cursed, saying nothing as he turned away from Giles.

“In months, we may already lose thousands of lives,” Cheerilee said softly. “The Solaminan Empire has been testing the waters, attacking the blockade. We’ve heard reports of thousands of Solaminan soldiers being killed in these skirmishes, along with hundreds of our own.”

“It’s only a beginning,” Anderson said with quiet certainty.

“Unfortunately, unless you want these weapons to malfunction horribly, we are limited to our current rate of progress," Giles said, smiling sadly. "We could, perhaps, attempt to accelerate the development of some weapons, but their integrity in the field might be compromised…”

“And we don’t want that,” Anderson finished, rubbing his nose. “Goddammit.”

“Are there any other candidates we‘ve got lined up?” Cheerilee asked quietly.

“Plenty,” Anderson said quietly. “Even with the Doctor ruling himself out, there’s always people we can look up. Hell, half the Dead Men volunteered -”

“Is that really what they’re calling themselves?” Giles asked, frowning. “Seems a little… morbid.”

“We live,” Anderson said with a wry grin, “in morbid times. In any case, their leader gave us two of their number with solid military records. Kraber and Dupont are former Foreign Legion, both reasonably experienced during the retreat from the Barrier, neither of them brilliant team players. Kraber’s also a doctor, if that helps.”

“Any others?” Cheerilee asked, not commenting on Kraber.

“I can think of a few names that might work,” Giles said quietly. “Magicians with a reputation for being able to survive insane things, along with the odd violent and lucky addition. I think most of them made it here - Zatanna Zatara, Jade Nguyen, David Canterbury, Dr Brennan McAllister from the Isle of Wight, Erin Walder, Mark Peterson - he‘s the chain man, very odd chap - then there‘s John Constantine, a fellow I know of called Kent and his wife… there’s a girl called Dawn Gleeson who‘s come to work for us in the last couple of months, but I‘d rather leave her out of it at present…”

“Make some calls,” Anderson ordered. “See who you can get.”

Giles nodded.

A moment later, the dark-haired officer entered their room, looking pensive.

“Colonel Munro,” Anderson said. “Your assessment?”

“My assessment has yet to begin, General,” Munro said quietly. “These guys don’t strike me as disciplined enough to be able to pull off what you told me they had to. Not yet, anyway.”

“Disciplined might not be all we need, Colonel,” Anderson said quietly, throwing the man a sideways glance. Munro turned to look at him, frowning slightly.

“Then what do we need?” he asked.

“We need a team of the best,” Anderson said, “and we need them to work as a team. But their strength might be in the individual skillsets as much as their ‘team spirit’.”

“You want a commando team with skills that complement each other,” Giles put in.

Anderson raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Quite an impressive military assessment, Mr Giles."

Giles shrugged. “I have occasionally been known for them. Fighting demons is a lot like fighting a war, and with considerably fewer resources than you’ve been accustomed to, as well.”

“How am I supposed to know when I’ve got that team?” Munro asked, frowning in irritation.

Anderson smiled grimly, before turning back to look through the tinted window.

“If I knew that, Colonel,” he said softly, “we’d all be happier. Are the rest of the recruits nearly here?”

“They’re on their way down now,” Munro said quietly. “There’s only one other question I need to ask.”

Anderson looked at the Colonel, whose arms were folded again.

“What’s the mission, sir?” Munro asked. “I’ve been asked to put together a commando team, with all these unique skills… but what for?”

Anderson looked at Cheerilee and Giles, both of whom looked grave, before turning back to the Colonel.

“Alright, Harry,” he said quietly. “Here’s what we’ve got.”

***

Undisclosed location, Equestria.

Manewell Trotsworth looked over his reports with a critical eye. His desk at the Sunstorm compound was, at best, an absolutely chaotic array of papers, blueprints, and pens. And yet, somehow, he understood this system perfectly.

It was only a small, cramped wooden office in this ridiculously remote place, but every inch of it was arranged in a way that - though incomprehensible to the various underlings that kept marching into this stupid place to bother him - was perfect for his needs.

Alright, he said, going over a document filled with graphs. Where did that last test go wrong…?

There was a knock at his door, and he sighed.

“Enter,” he said testily.

At once, the door opened, and Manewell stiffened as Twilight Sparkle entered, her expression dour.

“Professor,” she said curtly. “You’re behind schedule on your reports.”

“Of course I am,” Manewell replied at once, waving a hoof dismissively. “Have you seen this place? And the quality of workers -”

“You are making excuses, Professor Trotsworth,” Sparkle said, cutting him off without so much as raising her voice. “The Empress may find your work promising, but all the promise on Equus will not save you if you do not deliver results.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Alright, Milady Sparkle. You want results?”

He shoved the document he had been holding in her direction. With a deft glow from her horn, she looked over the document, her eyes darting across it.

“How soon can these calculations be corrected?” she asked, her tone not changing.

“That would depend on how many times you wish to interrupt me as I work,” Manewell retorted.

Sparkle met his eyes impassively. “Be careful, Trotsworth. You are intelligent, but your work is not irreplaceable. Do not make yourself more trouble than you are worth.”

“You just make sure that Haughty Frame’s design is prepared to take on Sunstorm,” Manewell said, scowling at her. “If I have to listen to that stallion whine one more time about the pressure on his precious super-zeppelin…”

“Mr Frame’s concerns are already noted, Professor,” Sparkle said. She returned the document and turned to leave. “Produce results, Trotsworth. For your son’s sake.”

Manewell growled as Sparkle left, and picked up the document again without another word.

Bitch, he thought, wincing as he thought it. She’ll see. They’ll all bucking see. I’ll end this stupid, wasteful war in one fell swoop.