Chapter 10: Taking the High Road

Taylor gripped the stick in his hands, feeling its rough edges. He felt the ridges where his fingers were placed, noting that the bump between his pinky and his ring finger had been slightly worn down from the way he gripped the yoke. He knew that this was his plane, nothing had changed about it, save the colourful ponies attached to the wings. This was his heaven, he held his life in his own hands, they didn’t rest in some jarhead’s or in some eternal flying unicorn. It was his and his alone, he was free again.

He was so caught up in the flight that he almost forgot where he was and when he looked out the canopy window, the sight of the ponies attached to his wing almost scared him. The hard stare of Golden Sword snapped him out of his trance and forced his mind back on the mission at hand, albeit a bit carelessly.

Out of sheer reflex, he glanced at the instruments, a casual scan that he had done literally hundreds of times, but the one quick glance revealed the same charred panel in front of him. The airspeed indicator was completely obliterated, and his altimeter currently showed him cruising at seventy-two thousand feet; a quick glance out of the window definitely confirmed that measurement was way off. Not to mention the fact that he was still breathing comfortably without an oxygen mask. A quick visual estimate put them at about seven to eight thousand feet, right where he wanted to be. He returned his gaze to the forward windscreen and listened carefully to the steady thrum of the radial engine in front of him. The pitch of it sounded fairly normal, but his climb rate after takeoff had seemed to be a bit slower than was usual, and he made a mental note to mention that to Stivers.

Taylor glanced out his right wing, past the form of Shadow over to where the other Avenger lay just below and behind him in perfect step-down formation. He could see Stivers alternately glancing down at his instruments and then up again, out of the cockpit and all around. Even in this environment, the other pilot had his head on a swivel, Taylor noted with approval, keeping an eye out for anything that might appear.

Taylor reached up with one hand and activated the throat mike he wore. “Lead to 117. I’m a bit sluggish in my climb rate, how about you?”

Stivers’ voice crackled in his ears with a crisp tone. “Roger lead, same here. I’m guessing it has something to do with our wingmates.”

“Shit, I should have thought of that,” Taylor mumbled, still holding the throat microphone with a loose grip.

“What was that? I didn’t copy.”

“Disregard. Okay, noted, just keep an eye on it.” Taylor glanced once more at his instrument panel, then swallowed his pride like a professional. “Keep an eye on your temperature gauges and make sure they don’t creep up on us or something. I can’t get any readings from this panel and if it’s something slow I don’t want to find out after my engine blows.”

“Roger lead, will do. Out.”

Glancing once more at the other bomber, Taylor returned his gaze to the landscape that was passing by slowly under them.

He watched as the mountain where Canterlot lay slowly slipped into the distance behind him, the environment being replaced by the grassy fields much of this new land was covered by. The landscape around him was dotted here and there with forests, lush and green.

Glancing over to his left wing, the Lieutenant saw Captain Sword, hanging from his new mounts like a spider in a wind tunnel. “Hey Sword!” Taylor yelled from the open cockpit, trying to get the grey pony’s attention over the drumming of the engine. He was rewarded by the same pony looking his way with an inquisitive look in his eye. “How you like the speed?” he yelled again.

Sword opened his mouth and started speaking in an inaudible low tone, drowned out by the cataclysmic noise before him.

“Speak up! We can’t hear you!”

“It’s really loud!” he shouted, his ears pinned back to ward against the obnoxiously repetitive noise that was berating his senses. “Any way to make it quieter?” he pleaded.

“Not without shutting the engine off, sorry. It’s military grade: heavy, noisy and messy, but it gets the job done.”

Sword, who couldn’t hear him, had evidently learned to read his lips and replied with an evil glare, before going back to covering his ears. Taylor felt somewhat guilty about the pony’s discomfort, but there was really nothing he could do about the noise level. The pilot glanced past the Captain to the other occupant of the port wing. Crimson Hoof appeared to be humming to himself, if that was at all possible. The Corporal was crouched slightly, his wings outstretched and even bouncing a little in time to whatever tune was running through his head.

Taylor grinned to himself at this and glanced once more down at the passing landscape. Taking note of a particular stream they were crossing over, he looked down at the map Luna had provided them with, mentally gauging the distance they had crossed since leaving the clearing earlier this morning. He reached up and activated the microphone once more. “Lead to 117. Twenty degree right turn in two minutes... I think.”

Stivers amusement carried clearly over the radio waves. “You don’t sound very certain about that, Taylor.”

“Yeah, well, this map ain’t standard issue, either. Like the man said once, we’re navigating by guess and by God.” He tucked the map back into a leather pocket mounted to the sidewall of the cockpit and settled himself back into the seat.

Two minutes later both aircraft banked smoothly towards the southeast, the contours and color of the landscape below them slowly changing as they flew on. The deep, lush greens of the plains and grassland below them began to fade out, beginning to be replaced gradually by warmer tans and brown. The area appeared much less developed, and in the distance, the land below took on a more earthy tone in general, the green disappearing almost entirely.

As the sun overhead reached its zenith and began a long, slow descent towards the west, both the pilots and the ponies began to detect an increasing dryness in the air. The ground below them became gradually more desolate, with the greenery fading out almost entirely. Scrub brush was evident off towards their right, with ravines dotting the ground here and there where rain had washed out sections of the land. Off to their eastward on the left, the scrub gave up its fight and surrendered to the golden brown of sand dunes, their sinuous curves arching away into the distance as far as their sharp eyes could see.

Taylor made a quick comm to Stivers, and then raised his voice to shout over the engine. “Captain! Hey, Sword!”

The grey pegasus had been riding on the wing with his eyes closed for some time now. He opened them and regarded Taylor with a long-suffering gaze. “What?”

“I need you to start keeping an eye out ahead. Let me know if you see any place that looks white and shiny when the sun hits it.”

Sword tilted his head curiously. “Shiny? Are we prospecting for gems now, too?”

“No, salt.”

The pony blinked at that. “What in Celestia’s name for?”

“Because if we’re going to land these things and use them again, I need someplace flat and open to land them in.” Taylor pointed out the cockpit at the hilly crests of dunes that lay ahead. “If we try to touch down on that, we’ll crack up.”

Sword stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then awareness dawned on him. The pegasi could easily touch down on any terrain as light as a feather. The heavy aircraft they rode on, however, was not as nimble. Sword relayed the request to Hoof, and Taylor did likewise for Shadow on the opposite wing. Together, the occupants of both aircraft began scanning the ground ahead and to both sides intently as the minutes passed by.

After a half-hour of searching along their course, doubt began to slowly creep into Taylor’s mind, nibbling at the edges of his consciousness with sharp rat teeth. They’d been lucky up to this point, rolling sixes and sevens, but it really had been presumptuous of them to assume that just because they could get the aircraft fixed and useable again, that they would be able to find landing spots when they were needed. One of the cardinal rules of flight was that you needed to have as many landings as you did take-offs. A shortage in that particular ledger was going to have bad effects on your flight record, and possibly your life expectancy as well. All of the Flight 19 crew had parachutes strapped on; that was basic flight procedure. Bailing out of an aircraft was always a tricky proposition, however, as you were then gambling on the damned parachute actually opening without fouling, as well as hoping that you didn’t drift down onto something sharp and pointy.

The Avenger bombers were simply too handy to just throw away, however. They would shorten the journey considerably, and were able to carry supplies that the adventurers would otherwise have to carry on their backs. They had heavier armament than anything else the pilots had seen in this strange land thus far. Plus, Taylor admitted to himself, they were a familiar piece of home that he couldn’t just walk away from. That fact alone carried with it a strong connection to the machines that was more intense than he’d ever experienced before. Being a pilot, actually performing the act of flying, was Taylor’s natural element. Up to this point, he had simply been going through the motions and generally following Stivers’ lead. Right now he felt like he belonged, like he made a difference with every decision, every maneuver that he made, and that was something that the Navy pilot wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to give up. If they failed, if they were trapped here… No. I will not think about that, dammit. Get your head out of your ass. Taylor shook himself out of his reverie and began scanning the ground from left to right again.

A shout from Stivers over the headphones grabbed his attention. “Tallyho, three o’clock. Think there’s an old lake bed over there.”

Taylor’s head snapped to the right, and he leaned over, eyes straining against the distance and the heat waves rippling in the air. “Are you sure? I can’t eyeball it from here.”

Gruebel’s voice crackled in his ears. “Confirmed, sir, at our three thirty position off to the west. I’ve got my binocs on it now. Damn, you have sharp eyes, Cap.” There was a moment’s silence. “We goin’ for it?”

“Let’s take a look at it and see if it’ll work. Ninety degree starboard turn in three, two, one, mark.” Taylor shifted the bomber into a gentle bank to the right, easing back level as they flew towards the afternoon sun. “Okay, I see it. Let’s go to line ahead, drop down to two thousand and check it out.”

“Roger.” Stivers aircraft slid backwards out of Taylor’s sight, drifting over until it was directly behind him. The two Avengers slowly descended together, the detail on the ground becoming more clear. The dunes lay behind them now, the land before them an arid plain with creosote bushes and the occasional cactus making an appearance, the growths becoming more numerous the further west they flew. The object that Stivers had sighted was indeed an old lake bed, its contents long evaporated into the dry air. Leftover salt deposits glittered a vicious silver-white in the sunlight, the whole object stretching out for a good three to four hundred meters from east to west, and about half of that as wide. It looked reasonably level from altitude, but Taylor knew from experience that there would be random drops and bumps when you touched down. They would have to ride out the landing by feel, trying to keep the aircraft straight and level until their airspeed bled away enough to avoid getting bumped back into the air by an unexpected lump in the surface.

“So, we goin’ for it?” Gruebel’s voice asked again.

“It looks good enough to me, and I don’t see any reason to push our luck further today. We might as well stop and rest here for the night.”

“Roger.” Stivers’ reply was short and terse.

“Thank God.” Thompson, who had remained virtually silent since takeoff, breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I have to piss like a horse.”

Taylor laughed. “I’m guessing our passengers do too.” He glanced over at Sword on his port wing. For all Taylor knew, the ponies could simply let fly into the slipstream and you wouldn’t be the wiser. They had the option of simply dropping off, however, landing to take care of business, and then rejoining like a fighter coming back to land on a carrier at sea. It would require the bombers to slow down considerably, however, and Taylor was willing to bet that the proud guard captain would sooner burst than admit discomfort of any sort.

Taylor tilted the Avenger into a slight bank to port and let it settle back into level flight of its own accord. “Okay, looks like what wind there is up here is out of the west, so let’s treat this as our upwind leg. We’ll circle around, do our downwind leg and touch down.”

“Roger.” Stivers’ reply was again clipped and terse.

Taylor frowned at the windscreen before him. “Everything okay?”

“Affirmative. I’ve just never done a rough landing like this before, that’s all.”

Taylor banked the bomber to the left in a gentle turn, beginning the descent. “No sweat,” he said, his voice taking on what the other pilots had called “Professor Taylor” tone. “Slide up here on my wing and we’ll go in together, okay? You’ve done rough field landings before in basic flight with the Piper, this is practically the same thing.”

“Yeah, that was on a grass strip, Lieutenant.” As they finished the turn and headed back east, Stivers’ Avenger slid up until it was even on Taylors right wing. “Not exactly the same thing, ya know?”

“Still got the same problems to deal with on touchdown. Just keep your plane level and let the speed bleed off on its own. Stay off the brakes until your tailwheel touches down.” The two aircraft continued to descend, and Taylor began another bank to his left in preparation for the landing leg. As they straightened out and lined up again once more, he leaned over and shouted out of the window. “Captain Sword!”

The pony looked at him wearily once more. “Yes?”

“I want all of you to take off. I mean, jump away from the aircraft and land on your own, okay?”

“Certainly. Why?”

“Because landing is always dangerous for us, and we normally try to land on special strips of ground that are smoothed out for us.” Taylor kept his voice level. “If we fuck this up and blow up, I don’t want to take the five of you with us.”

Golden Sword’s eyes grew wide. “That’s... understandable. Thank you for the warning.”

Thompson’s voice sounded from behind Taylor in the cockpit. “Gee, thanks Lieutenant, I feel so much better back here after hearing that.”

A confident grin snuck its way onto Taylor’s face. “You know your comfort is my only desire, Thompson.” Even with the possibility of smashing his plane into tiny tiny bits on the hard ground below, Taylor was relaxed as ever, and he couldn’t let the chance to ruffle the feathers of his new crewmates escape, both literally and metaphorically.

Drawing his attention back onto the impromptu landing site, Taylor flicked the switch that extended the landing gear. There was a thump and a whine from the hydraulics underneath him, and he felt two satisfying bumps as the wheels locked into place. A quick glance over at Stivers’ aircraft showed him matching the maneuver as well. Taylor’s peripheral vision caught the ponies on his wings moving upward and back away from him as they spread their wings and dropped away from the aircraft. As they moved off, his engine noise changed pitch abruptly, and Taylor quickly added some throttle to the aircraft to maintain his airspeed.

“Next time we do this,” he said into his microphone, “the ponies come off before we’re on final.”

“No argument here,” Stivers’ reply came back immediately. “Mine took off right after yours did, and it was like I’d dropped flaps completely or something. I almost shit myself.”

“No problem, we’re not exactly following a manual with that procedure, there.” Taylor looked ahead. “And speaking of flaps, time for ours.” He flipped a switch on the blackened control panel in front of him, and the trailing edges of the bomber’s wings extended to the rear and down, slowing him even more and providing enough lift to keep him airborne at landing speed. Another quick glance at Stivers showed his flaps in position as well. “Okay, here we go. Just stay on my wing and ride her in easy. Main gear only; don’t try a three-point on this shit or you’ll bounce like a rubber ball.”

“Roger.”

The two aircraft flew in tandem, descending slowly down toward the hard, baked surface below them, their shadows trailing behind them but creeping closer as they neared the ground. The edge of the dry lake bed passed beneath them, and both planes seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost straining as if they wanted to climb back up into the clear, blue sky where they truly belonged. Finally, the main landing gear touched down, throwing up an immediate plume of dust and salt behind them that shot up and then curled away in odd patterns from the swirling vortices of the propellers.

Taylor felt the gentle bounce, and then a rapid shuddering as his speed bled away on the desert floor. The aircraft rattled and banged, loose items in the pockets on the sides of the cockpit bouncing around and threatening to fly up into his lap. Easing the throttle back, he concentrated on holding the airplane as centered as he could, pushing the rudder pedals with his feet in gentle taps to keep from drifting to one side or the other. As they decelerated, the aircraft began tilting slowly backward, the nose beginning to climb and point to the sky again, and there was another bump as their tailwheel touched down. “How you doin, Stivers?”

“We’re all good over here, boss, thanks.” The Marine’s voice was shaky but relieved, the tense note gone from his words. “Got three good wheels on the ground. That was a nice landing, Charlie.”

Taylor felt a warm glow inside, but he kept his voice normal. “They’re all good if you walk away from them.” He glanced around, easing the throttle back up just a bit as he finished his rollout and began taxiing. “Let’s park them over there on the right, next to that funky little tree.”

“Tree?” Gruebel’s voice sounded amused. “I didn’t know a plant shorter than I am could be called a tree.”

“Oh whatever, wiseass.” Taylor chuckled nonetheless. If they were joking, they were in fine shape. It had been a textbook landing, not really as bad as he’d feared, but it was the little things like this that gave a nugget pilot confidence and kept him willing to go back up in the air and cheat death again one more day. The two planes pulled in together, parking side by side, and came to a stop, their propellers windmilling for a moment and then coming to rest as the engine noise died away, the low whisper of the arid desert wind slipping in to fill its place.

“Okay kids, take five. Anyone need to use the little boys room?” The chorus of groans that answered him lit Taylor’s face with a boyish grin.

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The group reformed together after a few moments in the welcome shadow of the aircraft and began work at setting up a temporary camp, with Gallivan unpacking their bags from the planes and handing them over to Crimson Hoof, who stood on the wing and handed off each pack to its rightful owner. The packs were larger versions of the ones the ponies had originally had on when the pilots had first met them; these were traveling packs, designed for bulk and not ease of movement. Star grunted as he took his from Hoof.

“Thank Celestia I don’t have to lug this through the air all day.” He glanced over at Taylor, who was inspecting the recently repaired wheel on Stivers’ aircraft. “Thank you for hauling these for us, Lieutenant.”

“No problem. No sense in you just standing out on the wing with all that crap on.” Taylor finished his inspection and walked over. “Besides, you never know when you might need to get off in a hurry, and those things are kinda big for fighting.”

Star blinked at that. “I never thought about that… do you think we’ll have to?”

“I hope not.” Taylor shrugged. “Still, it was Sword’s idea.”

Star glanced over at the Captain, who was talking to Midnight about something while they stood under the wing of Taylor’s airplane. “That’s just like him,” he said, pride showing in his voice. “He’s always got ideas like that, and they always seem to work out.”

“Yeah, he’s a real smart cookie,” Taylor agreed, fishing in one pocket of his trousers. “Ah, here we go. Okay, Flight 19, you did good today, now you get your treat. You’ll have to step away from the aircraft first, though.”

The pilots all followed Taylor as he walked a short distance away from the aircraft. “What’s up, Ell-Tee?” Gruebel asked.

“Just this.” Taylor turned around and grinned as he brandished a battered white package in his palm, then tossed it to Gruebel. “Share ‘em around.”

“Holy shit! Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.” The Marine fished a cigarette out of the pack and tossed it to Gallivan. “Where’d you find ‘em, sir?”

“Brought em with me, I was gonna hand em out after we landed from the training flight. I guess this counts.”

“Looks good in my book,” Stivers said with approval. He took a smoke from the pack and passed it on, then produced a lighter. The ponies all looked on in confusion as the humans all lit up the white tubes they held in their mouths, and then emitted a stream of white smoke that drifted away on the light wind.

“What in the world are you doing?” Shadow asked. “Is… is that magic?”

Thompson, caught in mid-inhale, coughed for a moment. “No, no. It’s... I guess it’s a kind of ritual thing with us. We do this to relax, or to celebrate sometimes. I always have one after a flight.”

Shadow cocked his head. “Can... um, can I try one?”

The pilots all shared a look. “Um, I don’t know,” Taylor said. “They’re... it’s kind of an acquired taste.” He glanced at Stivers, who simply shrugged. “Besides, you might not like it very much.”

Shadow arched his neck, sensing a hidden challenge in the statement. “I’m not afraid. Let me try.”

Star stepped forward from behind him. “Hey, Shadow, maybe it’s not a good idea. I mean, they do eat meat, and we don’t like that much either, right?”

“Ahh, that’s just food. This is for real pilots, right? Ponies who aren’t afraid to fly.” Shadow extended his wings to full length.

Gruebel shook his head and grinned. “Yeah, sure.” He emitted a startled whoofing sound as Gallivan elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow, dammit.”

“Come on, it’s like giving ‘em to kids. Don’t egg him on,” Gallivan said.

Shadow snorted. “I told you, I’m not afraid. Give it over.”

Thompson shrugged. “Okay, it’s your call, fella.” He crouched down, wincing as his knees made low popping noises with the motion. “Just hold it between your lips and inhale through your mouth,” he said, holding the cigarette in front of the pegasus with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t swallow it. Or eat it, either.”

“Gotcha.” Shadow gripped the cigarette between his lips and took a long pull, the lit end glowing a bright red. The experiment lasted somewhat less than three seconds, and the cigarette became airborne, the pony coughing and choking violently. “Oh Celestia, what... that’s...”

Taylor bent and patted the pony on his back firmly until the coughing fit subsided. “I tried to tell you. You okay?”

Shadow nodded and made a wheezing noise. “Yeah. Thanks... but you can keep that tradition to yourself.”

Thompson retrieved the half-smoked cigarette, brushed the sand off of it and stuck it back in a corner of his mouth. “More for me.”

“Okay, troops, let’s finish up here and get to work.” Stivers glanced around for a moment. “I guess this’ll do for a campsite as well as anything. Gallivan, you and Thompson see if you can scout around and try and find some dead wood or brush we can use for a fire.”

Gallivan looked around their soon to be encampment. “Just did sir. I found nothing.”

Stivers gave him an exasperated glance. “Then yank some branches off of Taylor’s tree or something. It’s gonna get cold as hell out here when the sun goes down.” He gave their surroundings another look. “I’m gonna grab some rocks and make a fire pit. Taylor, you wanna give Sword and the others a hand and set up camp?”

The Lieutenant snapped to attention and gave Stivers a three-fingered Boy Scout salute. “Sure thing. I’m still short my merit badge.” He turned and walked toward the ponies who still stood near the airplanes. “Okay, who’s got the marshmallows! Oooh! I get to tell the first ghost story, right?”

Shining Star gave Stivers a look. “Captain, is he always like that?”

“Ever since I’ve known him.” The Marine smiled to himself, then patted the pony on the back. “I’d send him back and ask for a replacement, but I don’t think anyone else would take him. C’mon, let’s get to work.”

“Captain,” Sword’s voice rang out in the clear air. “Before you get too busy with housekeeping, you might want to grab your weapons.”

Stivers looked over at Sword in surprise. “Why? What’s up?”

Golden Sword now stood next to Crimson Hoof on the wing of Taylor’s aircraft, both ponies staring off towards the south. “We’re about to have company,” Sword said tightly. “Unwelcome visitors, I guess you’d say.”

Stivers ran over to join them, vaulting up on the wing in one smooth motion. He held his right hand up, shading one side of his face as he stared off in the same direction. A low plume of dust was now visible, slowly but steadily moving their way. “I can’t see anything other than the damned sand. What is it?”

Golden Sword sighed heavily. “Zebras.”

“What?” Stivers asked blankly.

“You heard me, Captain. Zebras. They are black and white creatures that—” Sword began.

“I know what a damned zebra is. We have them where I come from. It’s just that I didn’t expect to find more talking horses. No offence,” Stivers said flatly.

“None taken,” Sword said, giving him an odd look. “You seem to find the idea of communication surprising when it happens outside your species, Captain. Is there no creature besides yourselves that speaks in your world?”

“No, not really.” Stivers flushed, feeling suddenly provincial, as if he was a gawking farm boy who had just stepped off a bus in New York City, pausing to marvel at the towers of steel and glass while others pointed and laughed. “I mean, I’m sure they talk to each other, I guess, but not to us, no.”

“How very strange.” Sword replied. He looked back at the advancing cloud of dust, which was beginning to resolve itself into individual shapes.

“Have the zebras here always lived in the desert?” Stivers carefully moved forward on the Avenger’s wing and leaned into the cockpit, rummaging for a moment. “I can think of a hell of a lot of nicer places to set up shop and raise the kids in, you know?”

“I suppose they live wherever they wish, just like everypony else,” Sword said. “I’ve heard there’s even one living near Ponyville, in the forest we passed through when we found you.” The guard Captain kept his gaze fixed on the approaching animals in question. “All of the ones I’ve encountered have been nomadic wanderers, however, like this bunch.”

Stivers frowned. “What are they, bums or something?”

Sword’s expression screwed itself up into a moue of distaste. “In a word, yes. Vagabonds who amble about aimlessly, spouting nonsense and trying to pawn off anything to anypony foolish enough to part with his bits.”

Stivers straightened up, holding the pair of binoculars that had been, surprisingly enough, stowed precisely where they were supposed to be. Holding them to his eyes, he focussed in on the dust cloud, and the images jumped sharply into view. “What the... it looks like they’re hauling a covered wagon or something.”

Golden Sword spat, the dry ground quickly swallowing up the moisture. “Free traders. One step removed from outright thieves, in only that they’ll give you something worthless in exchange for your valuables. Take my advice, Captain. Let’s send them packing and let them bilk somepony else.”

Stivers lowered the binoculars and gave the pegasus beside him a long, thoughtful look. “Let’s see what they have to say, first. The last time I shot before talking, I ended up a prisoner. Let’s try the other direction, first. Maybe we can make a friend or two, or at least pump them for information about the area.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Golden Sword sighed. “Very well, if you insist. Let’s meet them halfway, then, over on the other side of the flat. I’d prefer it if we don’t let them get any closer to your machines than we have to.”

Stivers glanced back at the bombers, a cold chill sweeping over him. “You think they’d try to steal them?”

“Steal them, take them apart, who knows? All I know is that I’ve never seen anything like your machines, Captain, and neither has anyone else in Equestria that I know of.” He turned a gimlet eye on Stivers. “How much do you think that’s worth to a trader?”

“Well shit-fire,” Stivers breathed. He slung the binocs around his neck and carefully jumped down from the wing of his airplane. “Okay folks,” he called out, “let’s go meet our visitors. Gallivan, stay here and keep an eye on the birds. Anybody gets too close to them, feed them some knuckles.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“Star, you stay with him. Fly top cover and keep an eye out,” Sword ordered.

“Yes sir.” Unlimbering the spear from where it was strapped across his back, Shining Star crouched and leapt, wings flapping slowly as he rose up and began circling in a deceptively lazy pattern. He glided easily on the thermals wafting up from the hot desert floor as he watched the rest of his group move across the open salt flat toward the zebras, who were still working their way northwards towards them through the patches of brush. A half-mile to the east or west, and the caravan would have missed them entirely, lost in the ground clutter.

“I don’t like this,” Star muttered to the uncaring air.

Taylor stared at the zebra that stepped forth to greet them. The animal was decked out in an eye-watering array of odd colored decorations; beads, feathered earrings and necklaces swung from every possible place they could be affixed about the zebra’s head. On its back was a saddlepack similar to the ones his own ponies carried, with large cargo containers and even more pouches slung over the shoulders and chest in an arrangement that made it look like some sort of deranged bandito from the American southwest, one that sported leather pouches instead of ammunition, and dyed such a washed out olive-green that it almost looked like the field fatigues that were standard Marine issue.

“Greetings, beings, new and strange!” it said, the deep basso-profundo voice startling from its small frame, and clearly identifying it as a male. “What brings you out here on these plains?”

“Just traveling, and stopping to rest,” Stivers said carefully. “How about you?”

“Traveling too, from spot to spot, and taking breaks when it’s too hot,” the zebra replied, grinning hugely.

Taylor snorted. “Guy’s got a one-horse rhythm act,” he said. “Do you do nightclub gigs, too? Or birthday parties?” He jerked, wincing as he felt a sharp pain in his ankle, and looked down to see Midnight giving him a glare.

“Behave yourself,” she whispered.

“Fine,” he sighed, and raised his voice again. “So, you headed anywhere special? You seem like you have a lot of stuff.”

“We travel over burning sands, heading towards the pony lands,” the zebra replied without missing a beat. “We sell our things from place to place, looking for a buyer’s face. If there’s something lacking, never fear,” he intoned, winking at Taylor, “I’m sure we’ve got it somewhere here. And if you’ve not got much to do, why not stop and buy a thing or two?”

Taylor rolled his eyes. If that wasn’t a rehearsed sales pitch, he’d eat the shorts off a twelve-legged tree sloth. Although considering how wacky as this world had been so far, a twelve-legged tree sloth showing up wearing shorts was not something you could just write off entirely.

“Zimmer, stop it!” A smaller zebra came trotting up from behind the first, wearing a similar saddlepack but dyed blue instead of green. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He got lost on a caravan trip one time, and when they finally found him, he wouldn’t stop talking like that.” She stomped a forehoof and shook her head in an odd motion that seemed to be a form of greeting. “I’m Zinnia. It’s always a pleasure to meet new folks out in the wilderness.”

“Likewise, ma’am.” Stivers raised an open palm in return. “My name’s Stivers.”

Taylor glanced around himself; the ponies remained in stone cold silence. “And I’m Taylor,” he said slowly. There was an undercurrent going on here he didn’t like. He’d been to a dinner party once with a girlfriend who had wanted him to meet her family. It had been a family reunion kind of thing, and he’d lost track of the various aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents he’d met, but the feeling was the same. Some of the people were openly friendly, and others reserved, depending on which side of the family you were talking to.

This feeling was plainly obvious to the zebras, but Zinnia made no mention of it, introducing herself to each of the humans in turn. “We’re all delighted to meet you. You’ve met Zimmer, of course.” She half turned and motioned to the other zebras in the group. “This is Zachary, my brother, and Zoe is over there behind the wagon, being all shy.” The zebra in question flattered her ears and gave Zinnia an irritated look. “And those three are Zip, Zarek, and Joe.”

Taylor blinked. “Um, Joe?”

Zinnia leaned toward him, her voice lowered. “He’s from up north,” she said.

“Oh,” Taylor said, nodding, as if that explained everything. “Gotcha.”

“So,” Zinnia said brightly, “since you’re here, and we’re here... would you care to look at some of our wares?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You never know when that special something might turn up after all, and who knows when the next time we’ll meet is?”

“In about a thousand years would be nice,” Midnight muttered just loud enough for Taylor’s ears.

“Um... sure, I guess. Why not?” Taylor looked over at Stivers, who nodded in confirmation. The pilots followed the zebras toward the wagon, with the ponies pointedly hanging back and displaying their clear lack of interest. Only Midnight followed them, keeping close to Taylor’s side and turning her head from one zebra to the next, watching their movements.

Gruebel walked over to where Taylor stood and tapped the Lieutenant on the shoulder. “Hey, Ell-Tee?”

“Yeah?”

“Check out the zebra over at the end of the wagon, the one wearing the pow-wow rig on her head.”

Taylor glanced over at the animal, the shy one named Zoe. She sported a headdress with a riotous arrangement of feathers which stuck out at haphazard angles. “What about her?”

“I’d swear she’s got a set of dog-tags hanging around her neck.” Gruebel lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Check her out when she moves, you can see ‘em swinging around.”

Taylor gave the zebra a closer inspection. As she moved around, flipping open cases for the pilots to inspect, the object around her neck dangled and swung, flashing as it caught the afternoon sun now and again. She noticed him staring at her and shrank back, ducking behind the wagon out of sight.

“Yeah, I guess it does look like it, doesn’t it?” Taylor shrugged. “Probably some necklace she cadged off a customer, or maybe her boyfriend gave it to her as an engagement present or something. Girls like shiny things.”

“Yes sir, I guess so. Damndest thing, though.” Gruebel looked absently at the cart, then stopped dead. “Hey, what’s in those cans?”

The ears on all of the zebras perked up instantly at his tone. “You like?” Zinnia trotted over and made sure Gruebel could see the items clearly, shoving another box to one side. “I thought you might be interested in those. They’re canned preserved food we got from the gryphon lands to the north. We really don’t have much of a market for them in the pony lands, so I might be able to cut you a deal on these.”

“Food’s never a bad thing to have too much of,” Stivers said, ambling over. “What sort of food?”

Zinnia seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Well... it’s meat. Sort of.”

The expression on the pilots’ faces obviously took her by surprise. “Fucking-A,” Gruebel said. “Lady, I’ll take however much of that you have.”

“Well, I just have the one box,” Zinnia said, a bit flustered from the ease of the sale. “Twenty cans worth. You’re welcome to it... what did you have in mind to trade for it?”

The pilots all looked at one another, their momentary elation sinking. Regulations forbid them to go flying with any personal effects, and that included their wallets. American dollars were likely to be worthless as well in this land anyway; no one here had ever heard of the Federal Reserve Bank or seen a picture of George Washington on a one dollar bill.

“No.” Stivers’ voice was flat and brooked no argument. “Uncle Sam issued those to you. They come off when you get planted in the ground, not before.”

“Aw, come on, sir,” Gruebel pleaded. “You really think Graves Registration is gonna come all the way out here to get ‘em back?”

“I said no.” Stivers folded his arms. “If you can’t find something else, we’ll do without the stuff. We’re not starving, and we have food in our packs.”

“Yeah, dried fruit and granola bars, and a shitload of oats.” Thompson shook his head. “Trail food. Pony trail food. That’s gonna get old real fast, Cap.”

“Getting old will be something you won’t have to worry about if you keep arguing with me,” Stivers warned. “Look, we’ll just have to let it go.” He turned to Zinnia, palms spread. “I’m sorry miss, we didn’t exactly come prepared to do business.”

The glum looks on the zebras’ faces matched those of the pilots. “It happens,” Zinnia said, slowly flipping the lid of the box closed. The other zebras began to repack the display items with an equal lack of enthusiasm. “We appreciate your time, though.” She offered a small smile. “I guess it’s still good to meet new folks.”

Midnight stirred from beside Taylor and took a step forward. “I... I’ve got a little bit of money, if you’ll take that. Equestrian bits.”

The pilots all looked at her in surprise. “Whoa, wait a minute,” Gruebel said. “Lieutenant, you don’t have to do that. Cap’s right, we can do without it.”

“Equestrian money’s good; we’re heading that way anyway,” Zinnia said eagerly. The other zebras froze in place, awaiting developments.

“How much do you want for the box?” Midnight tucked her head to one side and opened one of the smaller pouches hanging near her shoulder.

The expression on Zinnia’s face altered suddenly, becoming the cold, calculating look of a salesperson on the hunt. She was clearly trying to weigh the money pouch Midnight was fiddling with in her mind. “Tell you what. Twenty bits and you can have the whole lot.”

“Twenty bits, a steal of a deal, tall folks have a tasty meal,” Zimmer added, holding the corner of a tarp on the other side of the wagon.

Midnight slumped, letting the flap of her money pouch fall back into place. “I’ve only got eight left,” she said weakly. “I only brought a little with me when we went to Ponyville and I didn’t pick up any more while we were in Canterlot.”

“Oh shit,” Taylor said, holding a hand to his forehead as the realization struck him. “I’m sorry, Midnight.” She had bought their lunch with the little cash that she’d had.

“Eight might buy a can or two, but that won’t feed your hungry crew,” Zimmer intoned.

“Zim, stop teasing the customers,” Zinnia said crossly. She looked back to Midnight. “Well, girlie? You want to buy part of the box?” She was a hunter on the scent now, and cold, hard cash was in the offing. “I’ll give you, say half of it for your eight bits. And I’m stretching it as it is.”

Stivers frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t have much demand for the stuff. You can afford to cut her a deal.”

“Yeeaah, I can, but then every customer from Fillydelphia to the Three Peaks down south would know old Zinnia’s a pushover. I have a reputation to keep up, not to mention a business to run.”

Stivers glanced behind him where Golden Sword and the other ponies stood waiting. The pegasus Captain said nothing, but the patient look on his face spoke volumes. I told you so.

Taylor cleared his throat and held up a hand. “Wait. I have a counter-offer for you.”

“Go on, I’m listening.” Zinnia leaned against the wagon, crossing one forehoof behind the other like a man leaning against a wall while waiting for the bus.

Midnight Arrow frowned. “Taylor, I can...”

“Lemme try this,” he said in a low tone. “Keep your money, we may need it later.” He reached into a shirt pocket and removed a small velvet pouch. Opening it up, he shook the contents out into his palm and held it out. The gold anchor and shield gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, the wings on either side stretching out proudly. He heard the gasp the zebras made and grinned inwardly; he had them right where he wanted them.

“Navy ‘Wings of Gold.’ Manufactured in the good old U.S. of A. You’ll never find another like them, ever.” Which was true. The aviators all bore a leather patch on their flight gear with the wings embossed on it; the metal pin was only worn on their duty or dress uniform. Taylor only carried his with him for personal reasons, and he had no mind to explain that to the greedy zebras in front of him. “These are the wings I earned when I graduated flight school. This for the whole box, all twenty cans. Take it or leave it.”

Zinnia’s jaw dropped. “You want the whole box for that?”

“Take it or leave it,” Taylor repeated, his voice firm. “Otherwise, no deal.”

“Take it, Zinnia!” one of the other zebras hissed. “I’ll trade you a case of cider for it!”

“Hey, you said I could have that!” another yelled.

“Quiet, all of you!” Zinnia snapped. She glanced back at Taylor, the crafty look resuming its place on her face. “You almost had me there, except for that last little bit. Nobody goes to flight school and then walks around on the ground. And you don’t have a pair of wings on you either, except the pair you’re holding in your hand. Care to explain that, flyboy?”

Taylor gritted his teeth. “I don’t fly, I drive a machine that does.”

“Oh this just gets better and better.” Zinnia snorted. “I’d take you in trade for the food; I could make a fortune with you as a storyteller. Sure you don’t want to come with us? I can cut you in for a percentage.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Come look, if you don’t believe me.” Taylor re-pocketed the gold wings, did an about-face and stalked back the way they had come. “They’re just up the rise, here. You’d have damn near run over us if we hadn’t come out to meet you.”

The other pilots stared as Zinnia began to follow Taylor. “Uh, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Stivers said.

“Shit on that. No half-pint stripey bitch is gonna stand there and call me a liar to my fucking face.” Taylor walked past Sword and the other ponies, trudged up the short hill that hid the salt flat from view and stopped, waiting. “Well? Come on up here and look.”

Zinnia trotted up behind him, a world-weary expression on her face. “If you insist. But that last little remark is going to cost you something extra.” She stopped beside him and stood, staring. On the other side of the flat, the two Avenger bombers were clearly visible, their blue paint startling against the tan and brown background. The pilots had parked the planes canted inward at an angle, almost facing each other, their insignia showing. The large roundel on the side just behind the wing stood out sharply, the white star on a blue circle with white bars on either side, and next to it in tall letters stood the word NAVY.

“Well?” Taylor snapped. “You want me to give you a ride or something, or is this good enough?”

Zinnia stared at the planes for a moment, and then looked at Taylor, her eyes widening to show a white ring completely around her pupils. Utter and abject horror stood out clearly on her angular face. “DOOMBRINGERS!”

Taylor jerked back, startled. “What?” This wasn’t exactly the effect he’d intended. “What the hell are you...”

Zinnia uttered a thin shriek and spun around, galloping back toward her wagon. “Doombringers! They’ll kill us all! Pack up everything and run!” She stumbled at the foot of the hill, rolling in a cloud of dust and then staggering back to her hooves again. She ran to the wagon and swept the box the pilots had been haggling over out, sending the cans tumbling every which way. “Take it! Just take it and leave us alone!”

Ponies and pilots alike stood in complete shock as the zebras ran back and forth, slamming all the boxes back into place on the wagon and tying the tarp down over them hurriedly. Shining Star, who had heard the screams and seen dust flying up, had dropped quickly from his circling pattern and come zooming towards them, spear at the ready. He flew low overhead, making a quick pass, and the zebras all ducked, emitting yelping cries of panic as he flew by and banked around. Sword took off in a cloud of sand and dust, rapidly overtaking his subordinate and aborting the guard’s attack run.

The zebras quickly hitched themselves up to the wagon and began running off toward the west with a great rattling and an occasional lurch as they ran over a hummock. Zimmer stopped for a moment, glancing fearfully up at where Star and Sword hovered, and then back at Taylor. He began chanting rapidly, a rhythmic verse that repeated itself over and over for a moment. Star emitted a loud yell, and the zebra turned and bolted after the others, his tail flagging back and forth.

As the dust settled slowly, Taylor looked at the others in bewilderment. “What did I do?”

“You called her a half-pint stripey bitch,” Midnight said calmly. “Really Taylor, you have horrible manners with strangers. You need to work on that.”

Stivers and Thompson burst out laughing as Gruebel headed back down the hill. “Hey guys, food’s down here. No sense looking a gift horse in the mouth.” He started picking up cans, and then glanced up at the ponies. “No pun intended.”

“I will be double-damned,” Gruebel said in disgust. The group sat around a crackling campfire, built up with dead limbs and not a few branches from the scrubby bushes that lay along the edges of the salt flat. The temperature had plummeted rapidly after the sun had gone down, and the crackling warmth of the flames was comforting to everyone, pilots and ponies together.

“What?” Shadow looked over at the Marine private. “Has it gone bad or something?”

“No, it might taste better if it had.” Gruebel held a stick with a chunk of the canned meat speared on the end over the fire, his face screwed up in disgust. He pulled it back, blew on the end, and took another bite. “Be double-damned,” he repeated. “I get yanked through God-knows what, end up on a planet full of talking Technicolor ponies, and I’m still eating fucking Spam.”

“Look at it this way.” Taylor sat on the other side of the fire, chewing busily. “At least it wasn’t issue meat hash.”

“Damn, Ell-Tee.” Thompson coughed and swallowed, laughing. “Thanks for reminding me of that shit.” He began humming, and the other pilots joined in one by one. “Spam Spam Spam Spam, wonderful Spaaaaam!”

Crimson Hoof looked at Thompson warily. “Do you always sing to your food?”

“Technically, this isn’t food, in my opinion, but nah. Only to Spam.”

“You come from a strange place,” the corporal declared. “You went through all that trouble to get meat,” he said, shuddering for a moment. “You finally get it, you burn it in the fire, even though you said you can just eat it out of the can, and then when you don’t like it, you sing to it?”

Thompson took another bite and chewed for a moment, considering. “Yeah, I guess that’s a bit weird. But you guys have fully functional hospitals, you fly around in chariots when you have your own wings, and you use spears and bows and arrows.” He emitted a resounding belch. “Now that’s strange.”

Gallivan leaned over and patted Hoof on the shoulder. “No offence, kid. We’re all kinda goofy in our own way, I guess.”

Gruebel finished off the last bite of his meal with grim determination, then stood up and stretched. “Goofy or not, I’m beat. I’m gonna hit the sack. Or sand. Whatever.”

Stivers nodded. “Sword and I have the first watch, so yeah, if you guys want to nod off, go ahead.”

Taylor stood up as well. “I’ll take second. Wake me at midnight, all right? Don’t get all noble and stay up all night.”

“When I have to fly in the morning? No chance.” He gave Taylor a light punch on the leg. “Take off. You got the dog watch.”

“Figures. Speak, Taylor! Speak, boy! Ruff, ruff!” The lieutenant curled up with his head perched on his pack and closed his eyes. “G’night, gramma.”

The quiet night slowly surrounded them as one by one, the members of the group dropped off to sleep, some more quickly than others. A chorus of light snores soon arose to greet the dark sky, and Sword stood up to survey their surroundings. “Well. It’s a good thing we’re on duty. I don’t think I could sleep through this noise.”

“Yeah, right.” Stivers stood up as well; it was a bad habit to sit down when you were trying to pull guard duty. Especially with the fire so close by. It would be frighteningly easy to stare into the flames, mesmerized, and drop off into sleep without even realizing it. “You seem like an old campaigner, Captain. You must have been through the grinder once or twice.”

The two began slowly walking together, pacing around the limits of the circle lit by the fire. “True enough,” Sword admitted after a moment. “I’ve not been in the service of the princesses as long as others... but I have seen my share.” A wry smile curled about his muzzle. “And yes, I’ve slept through noise like that before many times out in the field. You learn to do it, or else you don’t sleep.”

“Oh yeah.” Stivers bent and picked up a gnarled branch that Gallivan had dropped earlier, intending to throw it on the fire. “So... what’s your story, Captain?”

“Excuse me?”

“How’d you end up in the guard? And how’d you end up being such a hardass?” Stivers grinned to take the sting out of the words. “Speaking as one hardass to another.”

Golden Sword had slowed almost to a stop. The two captains stood next to a grassy hummock, looking out over the darkened desert to the east, where the moon was beginning to rise.

“There she is,” Sword said, smiling at the moon for a moment before turning to Stivers. “Well... nopony’s really asked me that before.” He frowned. “I don’t think anypony was really interested, to be honest.” Shrugging, he resumed their slow trek around the perimeter. “Really I guess it all started when I—”

A low hissing noise emerged from the darkness to their right, and the two stopped immediately, Stivers crouching down next to the pegasus. “What the hell is that?”

“I’m not sure,” the pony replied, his whole form tensing. “I heard stories back in Canterlot though, when I was asking about the desert. I think it may be...”

The sand erupted in front of both of them, flying up in a shower. A low, hunched shape stood there, red eyes glowing out of the twisted ruin that served as its face. About three feet high, it emitted a piercing screech as it jumped into the air, membranous wings flapping madly as it hovered before them. The desert air in all directions was suddenly filled with identical screeching, and numerous shapes darted in and out just beyond the illumination of the campfire.

“...Dust Devils,” Sword finished, his ears pinned back against his head. “You might want to draw your weapon, Captain. We aren’t getting much sleep tonight anyway.”

Stivers fell back, instinctively reaching down and opening the flap on the leather holster strapped to his belt. Before he had so much as gotten a grip on the .45 pistol that lay there, however, Golden Sword had drawn his namesake weapon and surged forward. With one quick swing, he bisected the noisome creature before them in one smooth motion. It uttered a garbled shriek, shivered for a second and then, quite literally, fell apart before their eyes, the two severed sections trembling and then exploding into a cloud of sand and dust.

The rest of the group that had been sleeping around the campfire started awake immediately when the horrific shrieking had begun; ponies and pilots alike fought to shake off the feeble beginnings of sleep they had just begun to indulge in. Shining Star, who had barely begun to nod off, was the quickest to regain his wits. The pegasus immediately shot into the air and impaled one of the creatures directly in the torso with a lunging stab of his spear. It writhed for a moment like a bug on a pin and then detonated in another spray of dust that surrounded the pony in a cloud, filling his eyes with a burning sensation as he was momentarily blinded. “Oh Celestia, that hurts!”

The creatures began flitting past from every direction, zooming in at them from out of the darkness surrounding the fire. Only two or three headed towards Sword and Stivers; the rest seemed drawn to the light like moths to a flame, and the beleaguered warriors began backing up until they could feel the heat of the flames singeing their fur and hair.

“Jesus Christ, how many of these damned things are there?” Taylor had nocked an arrow in his short bow and was searching for a target to aim at. “Shit, I can’t even see anything.”

Stivers ducked as another of the creatures swooped at him, snatching away a lock of hair. He resnapped his holster closed and drew the short, broad bladed dagger at his side. His automatic only held seven shots, and there seemed to be dozens of the damned things flitting just in and out of sight around the fire. As quick as they were in and out of sight, the chances of him hitting one were small. The chances of him missing and nailing one of his companions or one of the airplanes were a lot higher, however. Guess it’s time to put this thing to use and see how good I am.

Another of the beasts grabbed at his elbow from behind. He jerked away and spun around, taking a swipe at it with the dagger. The gleaming weapon scored a long, bloodless wound along one of the thing’s wings as it jumped back, and it hissed at him, uttering a string of nonsensical gibberish that Stivers supposed was its version of a curse.

There was a howl of pain from overhead and everyone involuntarily glanced up at it. Shining Star, who was still hovering in place and trying to clear his fouled vision, had been grabbed by three of the creatures at once. Two had attached themselves to his wings, one on each side, and they tugged at them as if playing an impromptu game of tug of war. A third had grabbed ahold of the buckles on the front of his armor with one claw and was scratching and clawing at the pegasus’ face, clearly going for his eyes. The pony had instinctively sensed this and was thrashing his head about rapidly, snapping his teeth and neighing in fear. His own wings immobilized, the monsters were holding him suspended between them as they headed toward the fire, apparently intending to dump the helpless pony into the open flame. Several of the other ponies had prepared themselves to go to his aid, but the imps were swooping down and snatching at their own wings as well, using their strength of numbers to keep the guards from becoming airborne.

“Stay on the ground!” Golden Sword bellowed. “Don’t let them separate you! Keep bunched up!”

The miniature sand demon attached to Star’s chest had tired of trying to claw at his eyes and was preparing to simply bite the pony on his throat near his jaw where the neck armor ended. It emitted an evil hiss and spread its jaws, clearly savoring the moment... and then uttered a strangled cough. An arrow appeared to be growing out of its open mouth, the barbed tip protruding through the back of its neck.

As it dropped away and burst, Midnight Arrow crouched down near Taylor’s knees, drawing and nocking another arrow in one fluid motion. As she took aim at the beast holding Star’s right wing, she spoke to Taylor without turning. “Get ready to catch him when he falls.”

“Got it.” Taylor slung his own weapon and watched in admiration as the little pegasus beside him calmly shot the other two imps off of Star as if she was plinking tin cans lined up on a fence. The freed pegasus uttered a shout as he dropped, upside down, frantically trying to right himself, legs flailing wildly. Taylor lunged forward and caught him in his outstretched arms, the pony’s weight knocking him to the ground. The pilot landed on one of the rocks that lined the firepit and rolled away, cursing as he felt the hair on one side of his head crackle as it was singed by the flames. Star lay in his grasp for a moment, still wriggling frantically, and then stopped as he realized he was safe, at least for the moment.

“Whoever it is, thank Celestia you have arms,” he breathed, panting heavily. “I could feel the heat... I thought I was done for.”

“No problem. That’s why I joined the Navy. Screw seeing the world, I wanted to fight baby devils by the romantic glow of a fire.” Taylor moved one of the pony’s forelegs aside and brushed gently at his eyes, wiping away a crust of sand. “You okay?”

Star blinked rapidly, his eyes watering. “Oh yeah, that’s better. Thanks, Ell-Tee.”

Taylor grinned reflexively at the nickname, leaning over to pick up the pony’s spear where he had dropped it. “Sure thing. Here you gooHHH GODDAMMIT!” One of the tiny devils had swooped down and snatched at Taylor’s ear with a claw, cutting it open and scoring the side of his cheek with a triple furrow of bloody marks. The pilot lashed out with one bare hand and seized the pocket demon in one clenched fist. He slammed it to the ground, drew the dagger from his side with the other hand, and stabbed the thing directly in the face, pinning it to the dirt. “Fuck you, you little asshole!”

Midnight crouched, drew and fired again, vaporizing another devil in mid-swoop, and sidled over to where the two lay, her gaze darting back and forth as she searched for another target. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Taylor swiped at his cheek and looked at his bloody palm. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

Stivers and Sword had finally managed to work their way back to join the rest of the group, and they all formed a solid ring around the fire, watching as the creatures flitted about. “We have to figure something else out,” Sword said. “If we keep this up, they’re going to wear us down one by one. They keep going for the face and eyes.”

Shining Star stumbled to his feet and shook himself. “Yes sir, I noticed.”

Thompson, who had been swiping ineffectually at the creatures with his spear whenever they drew too near, straightened up suddenly. “Captain,” he said, “think we ought to try using something a little stronger?”

“I thought about it, but it’s hard enough to get a clear shot, and I don’t want to hit anyone else.” Stivers grimaced. “Besides, we only have a couple of magazines left for the pistols, and not enough ammo for all these bastards.”

“I mean something stronger than that.” Thompson looked over at the officers. “Throw some of the burning wood out there where they’re flying around us and light the place up.” He suddenly grinned, the flickering firelight giving him a fiendish look that made him look uncannily like one of the miniature demons. “Then we make a rush for old 117 right there.” He pointed at the nearest Avenger. “Everyone back up against the airplane; I’ll take care of the rest of it.”

Stivers glanced at the aircraft and the realization of the private’s plan hit him. “Good idea, let’s do it.” Sheathing his dagger, the Marine grabbed at the unlit end of one of the sticks in the fire and hurled the brand out into the darkness. “You heard him! Let’s light the place up!”

Each of the humans seized a piece of wood and lit it in the fire and then tossed the makeshift torch into the darkness in the direction they were facing. The burning branches landed in the darkness, widening the circle of visibility and providing a more clear outline of the flying pests that circled and swooped around them. They kept chucking the brands into the darkness until little of the original fire remained; the light was scattershot now, burning sticks lying randomly around them in a wide circle, with some of them lighting the dry brush on fire to provide even more light. With the source of the illumination diluted and dispersed, the miniature demons ceased their constant circling and began to swirl about aimlessly, screeching and howling at one another.

“Okay, everybody GO!” Stivers uttered a parade ground bellow and took off, ponies and pilots moving together in one group as they rushed for the nearby bomber. They surrounded it on all sides, pressing their backs against the fuselage, and began fending off the increasingly random attacks from the Dust Devils.

Thompson vaulted up onto the portside wing. Still holding his spear, he swung it like a baseball bat and struck another demon with a solid hit that sent the thing sprawling. The Marine dropped the spear and quickly vaulted into the aft turret on the spine of the aircraft, slamming the hatch closed behind him.

Taylor looked down at Midnight. “Better duck your ears, hon, it’s about to get noisy.”

She cursed as her shot missed its mark, winging the beast she had been aiming at. “What do you mean—”

The rest of her reply was lost as the .50 caliber turret Thompson was manning opened fire, the noise bellowing the night into tatters. Flame spat from the end of the barrel as Thompson rotated the mini ball turret, firing into the largest cloud of milling demons. The creatures did not even have time to emit their characteristic shriek as the heavy slugs ripped into them, sending them bursting into clouds of dust. Those unlucky few too close to the turret were shredded by the sound and flame blasting from the machine gun, and even a near miss seemed to have a traumatic effect; the stream of bullets caused many of the Dust Devils to cartwheel crazily through the air as if disoriented before bursting into nothingness.

The ponies all flattened their ears at the fearful din, the whites of their eyes showing clearly as the unknown sorcery of the aircraft spewed its deadly cargo into the dark. The muzzle blast lit up the area in a series of staccato flashes, illuminating the pegasi guards as they crouched down in terror. They were guards in the sworn service of the princess of Equestria, bound by duty to give their lives for her if need be, and were no cowards, but this was something beyond their ken. They had seen the small handguns and what their self-contained sorcery had done to the bear back in the Everfree Forest, but this was that sorcery increased beyond an order of magnitude, a continuous ripping roar of noise surpassing what they had endured from the aircraft engines on their way here. The fact that none of them bolted in fear was a mute testament to their bravery, and one the humans were never to fully appreciate.

Midnight Arrow lay crouched down, trembling, near the nose of the aircraft. She glanced up at Taylor, who stood beside her, his face illuminated in the stroboscopic flashing of the machine gun as he watched the carnage, a look of grim satisfaction on his bloody face. She shivered, and all at once wished that Fluttershy was here, and at the same time, was glad that she wasn’t. Swallowing heavily, she tore her gaze away from the sight and picked up her bow once more, preparing to pick off any of the Dust Devils that strayed too close to the front of the airplane.

None did. The scattering of the fire had removed the focus of the creatures attack; they were little more than semi-intelligent animals that tracked their prey by light, sound and motion. Their brains were rudimentary, but developed enough to realize that whatever particular prey they had seized upon, it was decimating their numbers in wholesale lots. Instinct took over, and the vile beasts began scattering in all directions, their shrieking cries becoming weaker and weaker as they fled into the dark night.

The bursts from Thompson’s turret slowed, becoming intermittent and then finally stopping entirely. The others could hear the whine from the turret as it moved back and forth, searching for targets, but finding nothing worth wasting any more ammunition on. Eventually it stopped, and Thompson’s head emerged from the hatch, his face covered in sweat. “I think we’re clear, Cap. If they’re still out there, I can’t make ‘em out, anyway.”

“I think we’re good, for now. You can stand down, Marine.” Stivers glanced at the remnants of their makeshift battlefield and then patted the wing of the aircraft. “Grumman and Browning, my two best friends. Nice work, girl.”

“Hey, I did the shooting.” Thompson clambered out and sat down on the wing, drooping tiredly. “You can thank me, too.”

“Yeah, you did okay.” Taylor looked up at the dim outline of the private. “Not too bad for a trainee. I’d say you passed your gunnery test with that one.” He reached up and touched his own wounded cheek, wincing; the wounds were starting to hurt like a sonofabitch. “Anybody else hurt?”

“My wings are still attached, even if they don’t feel like they really want to be, right now,” Star groaned. “Otherwise, I think I’m fine.”

“One of the little bastards dive-bombed me in the balls,” Gruebel said, his voice strained. “Feel like I got kicked by a mule down there.”

“Remind you of your first date?” Gallivan was practically untouched, except for his hands, which were bruised and scored from beating at the imps. “The Gorilla from Manila that you used to hang out with before the war?”

“She was from Olongapo, asshole.” Gruebel straightened upright, wincing. “And it was her sister that kicked me.”

“Oh yeah, now I remember. She was the one with the beard, right?”

“Knock it off, you two,” Stivers growled. “All right, let’s police up the area. Put out the damned brush before we burn the whole desert down around our ears.” He glanced down. “Thompson, grab your brass.” Most of the expended cartridges had fallen inside the aircraft, but a few had fallen out of the turret area and lay on the sand, gleaming.

“Are you kidding?” Thompson stared for a moment, then at the answering glare from Stivers, he jumped down off the wing and began picking up the spent brass. “What, are we on the firing line, now?”

“I just don’t want to leave any of that shit behind when we leave.” It was a gut feeling Stivers had that he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t want to try. “The same goes for any empty cans or the rest of our trash. Police it up and stow it. I don’t want to leave a trail of our used crap all the way from the castle to the mountains.”

Crimson Hoof, who had been sniffing at a pile of dust and sand that had recently tried to bite him, glanced up with a frown. “Are you afraid of being followed, sir?” He looked around uneasily. “Is that how those... things found us?”

“I don’t know, Hoof.” Stivers shrugged. “It just feels better this way... safer. Call it a hunch.” He glanced around. “What do you think, Captain?”

Golden Sword made no answer. His blonde tail drooping, the pegasus gave Stivers one long, measuring look and then turned away.

Stivers glanced around quickly, taking note of what the rest of their group was doing. Thompson was busily grubbing away in the sand under the Avenger and uttering a low string of particularly juicy curses; the few that managed to float across to Stivers indicated that the private was not exactly enthused about the task at hand. Most of the rest had spread out cautiously, beginning to retrieve the burning brands they had cast around their camp; Gallivan and Shadow were busily stamping out a small creosote bush that had caught afire and was burning merrily. None of them were paying any particular attention to either of the two Captains at the moment, and that suited the Marine just fine.

Breaking into a slow jog, he caught up with Sword near a knee-high outcropping of rock that lay near the edge of the salt pan. It might have lain undisturbed under the former lake bed for millennia, but the water was gone now, and the wind was brushing away the sand bit by bit, exposing the rock, which was in turn being slowly brushed away itself by the abrasive grains blowing across its surface. The pony was leaning against it, staring off to the eastward at the still rising moon, and Stivers walked over and sat down on the rock behind him, looking him over carefully. “Hey, Captain. You okay? One of those little bastards clip you?”

The grey pegasus uttered an odd little laugh. “No, no, oh no. I’m fairly well untouched. I always am, you know, no matter how bad it gets.” He uttered a low snort and stomped the sand with a forehoof. “One of my troopers almost gets pulled apart in mid-air like some sort of treat at a birthday party, but I hardly had my mane mussed.”

Stivers blinked at that remark, the bitterness in it almost palpable. “Captain... he’s fine. Just a bit sore, is all.”

“Yes, I noticed Mr. Taylor asked after him, even before I thought to.” Sword paused. “I have to tell you, he’s risen a bit in my estimation today. I was wrong about him... quite wrong, actually. About all of you, really.”

Stivers shifted on the rock, leaning back and folding his arms. “That’s normal, I guess.” He looked over at the pegasus. “If you were one of my people, I’d tell you it’s only human.”

Sword shook his head slowly, then glanced around to fix the tall pilot in his gaze. “And even now you offer me support. Why, Captain?” His voice grew rough. “Why do you care how I feel? What I’ve done? You play the part of the compassionate leader very well, Stivers. Even my own hoof-picked troops now look to you for advice, more and more. I’ve seen it happen again and again since we left Canterlot.”

Stivers uncrossed his arms slowly, holding his palms open toward the pegasus. “Hold on, Captain. Take it easy. I’m not trying to sideline you or subvert your command. They’re still your troops.” He offered a wry, humorless smile. “If I did try to take over, I think I’d end up in ten different pieces before I could bat an eye, if your executive officer didn’t shoot it out first.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before, guns, arrows... I mean, Jesus.”

The compliment seemed to mollify Sword somewhat; the pegasus relaxed a bit, leaning back against the rock next to the pilot. “She’s a bit of work, I agree. Yes, it appears each of us has our own little deadly talent.” He frowned. “Which reminds me... your man Thompson. That... thing he used. It’s like the little ones I gave back to you before we took off, only larger, and more deadly.”

“It’s just a machine gun, but yeah, it’s a damn sight tougher than these.” Stivers patted the .45 holstered at his hip.

“I noticed.” The pegasus peered at him warily. “Were you planning on telling me about those at some point? Or did you overlook that particular detail in the rush to leave?”

Stivers had the good grace to blush heavily. “I... I just thought it might be a good idea to keep it to ourselves, just in case.” He shrugged, “With the way Celestia was acting before we left, I didn’t know how she would react to it, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to ask you to choose between her and us.”

Sword nodded. “And having something to fall back on just in case I and my guards didn’t turn out to be entirely trustworthy wasn’t a bad idea either, was it?”

Stivers looked down at the ground and said nothing, feeling his cheeks burn.

“Again, I misjudged you, Captain. You’re smart, intelligent, and cunning as well.” Sword sighed. “And I can’t fault you for that. In fact, I admire it. I had thought the lot of you as nothing more than a bunch of large, noisy, blundering buffoons. Dangerous, but something we could handle, like a wild Manticore.” He reached up and removed the plumed helmet he wore, setting it down on the rock and rubbing a forehoof through the sweat-matted mane that cascaded down his neck. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“I doubt that.” Stivers sat down on the sand, his back braced against the rock. “You were doing your job, Captain. Part of it is knowing when to keep your mouth shut, even if you don’t want to.”

“Again, you offer yourself up as the wise leader, imparting comfort where needed.” The pegasus smiled wanly. “I always wanted to be wise. I tried to be.”

“You’ve been doing pretty well so far.” Stivers shifted uncomfortably. “Captain, I... well, look. Both of the planes have several guns like that, top and bottom for defence, and on the wings, too, for attacks. And we’ve got some heavier stuff loaded, too. Rockets, under the wings.”

Sword looked at him curiously. “Rockets? Like New Year’s candles? Why do you carry those?”

“These aren’t fireworks, Captain. We could probably level your princess’s tower with them, if we tried.”

Golden Sword’s eyes widened. “Sweet Celestia. It’s a good thing you didn’t tell me about them before we left, then. I would have flown back to the castle and tried to call this whole thing off.”

“No shit?” Stivers stared at him.

“No shit.” The pegasus laughed again, the bitter sound in it reaching in and tugging at Stivers. “You’re an accurate judge of character, Captain, while I...” Sword glanced behind him and up, peering for a moment at the rising moon. “You could have waited until we were out of sight of the castle, shot us all off of your wings, and continued on your own. Made up any story you liked when you got back. If you got back.”

“I still can,” Stivers said levelly. “But I didn’t, and I won’t. We don’t operate like that where I come from. I took an oath when I became an officer, and being a liar to those I’m supposed to trust wasn’t in that oath.”

“Ahh, so now I’m trustworthy, am I?” Golden Sword looked at him, his blonde forelock falling over one eye. “Comrades to the end, through thick and thin?”

“We’ve shed blood together now, and fought off a common enemy. And I remember your words before we left. Like you said, we have to start somewhere, don’t we?” Stivers drew up one leg, clasping his hands around his knee and lacing the fingers together. “We’ve got a good start. I’d hate to ruin that.”

“Well spoken.” The pegasus fidgeted in place for a moment, and then breathed a long, slow sigh. “Well. Since we’re tucked in cozily together and sharing secrets, let me tell you one I’ve carried about for a while now. You asked me earlier how I ended up in my position, how I became a...” He frowned. “A ‘hardass,’ I believe you called it.”

“No insult intended.” Stivers smiled. “Like I said, I was asking as one hardass to another.”

“Well then. Let me tell you how the all knowing, all wise Golden Sword managed to stumble into being the leader of an elite group of royal guard ponies, when by all rights he should have been a charred corpse in a no-name village long ago.” The pegasus looked up at him. “And don’t interrupt me, Captain. I’ve never told this to anyone, and I don’t think I shall ever do so again, so be kind and pay attention, hmm?”

The Marine nodded silently, his eyes reflecting the gleaming light of the moon.

“Have you ever seen a dragon up close before, Captain?” Golden Sword paused. “No? I thought not. Well, neither have I. I almost did, but I missed my chance. Call it fate, call it blind luck, call it Discord’s Whim, whatever you like. I was a sergeant in the regular army, several years ago. Our unit had been ordered out to a small village near a lovely little stream that went all the way down to the Brighttail River, if you followed it far enough. From there, you could go to Fillydelphia, or all the way to the sea... but I digress.

“The village was named Sugarcube. It wasn’t on the map. It was one of those little places that happens to spring up because a pony or two just stopped one day and decided to build his house there, because it suited him. A few farms, a couple of houses, a store or two. No inn, it wasn’t large enough to have anypony visit. Nobody really cared about it, except the ponies that lived there. They cared a lot. I’m not sure why. It certainly wasn’t a place worth dying over. But that’s what happened.”

Sword flicked his forelock out of his eyes with a lithe twist of his head. “My unit was ordered there by the Princess Celestia to evacuate the town. The dragons... they migrate, you see? Every year. And the path they take varies. Well, this particular year, they decided to go along the route that the stream followed, heading back toward the mountains. And so, to protect her subjects, the princess had decreed that the ponies who lived in Sugarcube should evacuate their homes and move, temporarily, to a camp that was safely out of the way. It was a journey of a couple of days away, and not very difficult, and they could return when the dragons had passed... assuming, of course, that the dragons didn’t level the town while they were away.” He laughed harshly. “Dragons are possessed of a unique sort of whimsy in that regard. They might torch your house, or leave it alone and tear the roof off of mine instead, just because it was next door, and it suited them. Just because they could, you see?

“Well. We arrived in town, and made our pronouncement. I felt proud. Here we were, servants of the princess and of the ponies, here to lead them to safety. They would follow us, worship us as heroes, and we would have done our duty to protect them. A few days of roughing it, just a lark of a camping trip, really, and we’d lead them back, safe and sound. Life would return to normal, and we would have done our duty. No more, no less.

“Except they wouldn’t leave.” Golden Sword’s jaw clenched, and the pony stamped at the ground. “The fools refused to leave their damned thatched-roof cottages and grubby farms and take a short bucking hike to someplace safe. They’d built their homes with their own hooves, they said, and they’d stick by them. Dragons don’t care about farms, they said. They’d be fine on their own. Well, we hadn’t expected that. We’d been sent out there to get them and move them, and we really didn’t have time to argue about it, because the dragons were coming. So my captain set off upriver, and found a spot about three leagues away that was a perfect ambush site, at least for an aerial attack.” He fell silent for a moment, lost in memory.

Stivers sat silently, feeling a creeping dread as he waited for the pony to continue. Unable to hold his tongue any longer, he spoke up. “So what happened?”

“He ordered me back,” Sword said, his voice uneven. “The bastard ordered me to go back to the village and get the ponies out of there while the rest of my squad caused a... diversion. That’s what he called it. A bloody diversion. I was to leave my squadmates and captain, who I would have followed anywhere, and go back and round up those ungrateful snobs and get them to safety while my friends died.” He uttered an odd, ratcheting cough and scrubbed angrily at his face with a foreleg. “So what did brave, fearless, wise Golden Sword do?”

“Your duty,” Stivers replied quietly.

“Yes. My damned duty. I went back, as slow as I dared, trying to keep my friends in sight as long as possible. I went back to that hole in the ground of a village and told them at sword point to pack their things in five minutes and assemble in the town square.” He snorted. “Square. It was just the largest bald spot in the grass there. I forced them out of town, the oldsters, the cursing mothers, the crying fillies, and practically whipped them all the way to the camp. I reported in there and told the officer in charge of the camp what had happened. And that was the worst of it.” Sword looked up at Stivers, his eyes streaming. “They called me a hero for what I’d done. For saving innocent lives. I got a promotion and a bucking medal and a parade. And my friends were still gone.”

Stivers nodded and said nothing, waiting.

“I didn’t even get to go back to my own barracks. I got promoted to Sub-Lieutenant and got my own office. Somepony else cleaned out their lockers and sent the letters to their families. Some stranger.” Sword drew in a deep breath and blew it out shakily. “So, you can see, Captain, my own talent seems to be putting my men in danger and watching them die. Are you so certain you want to trust me by your side, now?”

Stivers waited until the pegasus was able to meet his gaze. “I’d say so. Part of being a leader... part of being an adult... is taking responsibility for your actions, and learning to live with the consequences.”

“Oh yes, that sounds so wonderful,” Sword spat. “Do you use that line on the ladies, too?”

“Sword... where I come from, there’s this island. A really pretty place, probably a lot like Sugarcube was. The people that lived there called it Okinawa.” Stivers swallowed. “It got caught between some soldiers we were fighting and our troops. A lot of people lived there, too, innocent people like in Sugarcube. Simple people. Farmers.” He picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the dark, listening to the clatter on the stones. “I used to be a sergeant, too. I decided one day that we were going to get the people the hell out of the sector I was in. They were in the way, and would have gotten blasted by our own troops if we didn’t do something.”

Sword nodded slowly. “You had to force them out, too?”

“No. They wanted to come. They were frightened to death, they were afraid they’d be punished if they left. The enemy soldiers told them so. I told them we wouldn’t let that happen, that we would protect them.” Stivers threw another rock into the dark. “The enemy troops shelled the village. They waited until the people were all in the street, ready to follow us, and then blew them up in front of my eyes. Just because they could.”

“That... that sounds hateful,” Sword managed. “Their own people?”

“Yep.” Stivers paused for a moment, peering at his fingernails in the moonlight. “I kind of came apart for awhile after that. The Marines had some pretty good people who talked to me, told me it wasn’t my fault, that I’d tried.” He glanced at Sword. “I could understand what they were saying up here,” he said, tapping his forehead with a forefinger. “But when I went to sleep at night, I’d wake up after an hour or so, seeing those villagers’ faces again, looking at me. Because I didn’t understand it here.” He patted his chest over his heart.

“So... so what did you do?” The pegasus looked at him with an odd expression, his head slightly tilted, ears perked upright.

“After awhile, I had to find something to do. Anything. Something to occupy myself. I discovered I liked airplanes, and liked flying. I went to officer school and passed the tests, and found out I was still pretty good at leading men. Eventually, they let me go to flight school.” He smiled slightly. “I was still working on that when I ended up in your backyard, so to speak.”

“How long ago was this?”

Stivers folded his hands around his knee again. “Maybe six months ago. The war’s over now, has been for a while. But things like you and I did... they don’t really go away, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” Sword looked down. “Captain, I think I owe you an apology. Again.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been doing what you were supposed to be doing all along, all you can do. The best you can. That’s all any of us can do. After all,” Stivers said with a small smile, “you’re only one pony. Even if you are a hardass.”

“Yes. Well.” Sword exhaled again, slowly, and then put his helmet back on, the golden armor gleaming with a cold light under the white orb that hung overhead. “Perhaps we should get back; it’s well past our watch. I wouldn’t want Mr. Taylor to get used to the idea of oversleeping.”

“Oh shit,” Stivers said, standing up quickly. “Hell yes. Let me go wake that lazy bastard up.”

“Get Sub-Lieutenant Arrow up as well, while you’re at it, if you wouldn’t mind.” Sword chuckled. “I don’t want her to go soft on me, after all.”