My dearest one’s old ATLAS-2 comes to life as I draw near. It's sensor dome rotates in my direction, it's largest “eye” dilates and constricts emitting an almost evil red glow. The name stenciled on the chest plate makes me swell with pride as it reminds me of when my comrades chose my callsign. The name behind the stenseling is still barely visible reading Avery “Iceman” Fallon. But over the old text it now reads Miiora “Habu”, Habu being some kind of viper on earth.

Even though it's in its birth it makes her uneasy. The fact that the humans see fit to fit the death machine with such a sophisticated artificial intelligence is still a mystery. Her dearest one speaks of the machine like a friend, and in a way I suppose it is. It keeps him safe and protects him from things that would turn her favored male into a pink mist.

“Miiora hurry the fuck up.” command Sergeant Major Brianna Fallon says. Her metallic legs click and whur as she approaches me.

“My grandson gave specific orders that this mech goes to us. Our platoon is a mech short and because of this shit. Trombley is the only other trained Atlas driver in the platoon and he doesn't have his own mech. So I had to have the techs bring a pair of fresh ATLAS-2’s from holding. We’ll be lucky to get it spoold up and ready before our half of the mission. And you have to play catch up you'll be spending the next month of transit learning to use this thing.” The senior appears to have trouble walking with her old age, but her tongue is just as sharp as her grandsons.

“Y-yes.” I respond taking a step towards the machine, it's cockpit clam shells open as it kneels to allow me access.

“Hurry up, you might not need it on mission but I'll be damned if we need a mech and don't have one.”

I climb inside taking a seet in the cramped cockpit having to wrap my tail around the seat and into my lap. The cockpit hatch closes and for a second I am literally assaulted with Avery Fallon’s scent.

‘Hammond Robotics defending the NAC for over fifty years. Hammond Robotics is a subsidiary to Weyland Corp. Weyland-Yutani buying better world's’

“Synchronize? Y/N?”

Avery “Ice man” Fallon

“I say we put the outer cordon here.” Williams says pointing to the holo map in front of us. Before thinking for a second and beginning again. “And the inner cordon here.”

“That could work, but we don't have good eyes on that portion of the jungle. I don't know.” Burbonjack counters leaning over the table. “We don't have very good intel, on this portion of the hillside ether.”

“There’s cover here and here, maybe we could place a sniper team an…” the look Williams gives me damn. I don't think I've ever felt so foolish in my life. “I don't think you need to be here sergeant. There's the door.”

“Yes caption. I've got to go piss anyway.” Could have played that smoother. Slinking out of the room I make my way to the head. Damn I wish Miiora was as hear.

How could I have been so stupid… and who the fuck is this guy. Why the fuck is he staring at me.

“Relax man in not gonna fuck you with it.” I say side eyeing the guy. The guy in question is a Tymerian corporal and he just keeps staring before looking at me, and back to himself. “Fuck man, I thought I was big.” fuck it, I need a laugh its been a tough few weeks of transit. Jitters are getting us all.

“Hey you've got plenty to be proud over there, of that's a nice looking cock.” I say with a nod. But the guy just keeps going. “Thanks bro but nothing…” he says before I cut him off.

“But is It a blessing or a curse? Cause Let me tell you my jam. My jam is a five foot ten, hundred ten, hundred twenty pound blond. And do you know what I get out of them… I get Ow just put some of it in.” I pause before continuing. “Or worse Can you finish yourself? So I ask you is it a blessing or a curse? Because I would rather have a tiny asian dick where I can fuck until my heart explodes, than be a Tijuana sideshow.”

“Wow, I'm Ts’ora, I'm on the retrieval team.” he said extending a claw. “Hi I'm Fallon, I'm the Combat controller.”

“Wow I bet you guys slay bodies.” he says is voice full of excitement as shale hands. And walk out of the head. “We kill’em wholesale my friend.” I reply with a smile

“I mean your- your a, your one of the guys who freed some of the first slaves, your a legend man. It's an honor to meet you. Well I'm gonna go finish jerking off, before my prep.” he says excitedly.

“Yeah man good to meet you.” I say turning to walk away. But then i stop I don't have anything to do until go time.

“Hey Ts’ora what are you guys jerking off to!?” I yell jogging to catch up. As we walk down the hallway he starts huffing the air like he smells something. “Hey do you know a female Tymerian named Mii’ora?” he asks.

“Yeah, she’s part of my imbedded squad, why you know her?” I respond. What the fuck is this dude getting at. “She’s my sister.”

Shit.

I groaned as the massive horn ache began to settle. Majesty, the very mare that had given birth to the royal sisters, had once taught me the way to properly handle horn aches. A little tea, some quiet, and of course a chance to relieve tension if possible. The problem I had was that there was no tea, that stupid reactor alarm was blaring, and I just wasn’t a fillyfooler. I’d heard the rumors before, but none of them came close to being true.

I preferred stallions. Which came to a slight problem in that my choices came down to two stallions specifically. One was a confirmed colt cuddler, and the other… It felt wrong to go after a newborn. Not that he wasn’t old enough, biologically he was in his twenties, a fine specimen of Earth Pony muscle, but he was easily thousands of years too young for me. In truth he was one of the few normal birthed ponies that was still around.

I suppose in the scope of things it wouldn’t really matter. Over the several millennia that I’ve lived things had evolved. One of which was our moral code. Majesty would disown the lot of us if she realized what had happened. I felt my pockets and realized that even the slight relief of a smoke wasn’t possible. Instead I was left alone with my memories, my thoughts, and a hornache that wouldn’t stop.

“Sergeant, we have an incoming transmission.”

I looked at the aging intercom system, rolled my eyes, and walked toward the communications room. Once inside I saw the monitor lit up. On it was the Princess of Friendship. I wasn’t going to point out to her that the title didn’t fit anymore. Oh, she was a princess, but friendship? We ponies hadn’t been friendly for quite some time. I groaned as I felt my hornache increase.

The last time it was like this was after I fought with Grogar. He had used some of his dark magic to change me. Part of me wondered if that could be what it was. Was his dark gift finally starting to fade? Somehow I doubted it. Grogar would want me to see the very end of my species. He’d want me to see how everything we had done mattered absolutely nothing.

I couldn’t help but to think of a poem that we collected from that human colony when we overthrew it. I think that Grogar would have liked it, and certainly it felt like something he’d want me to experience first hand. As I looked at the Princess, ready to receive whatever verbal tongue lashing there was to be had, I pulled up the poem on the screen next to hers. I smiled, realizing that I might get into some trouble, but at least it would be interesting to see her expression. I hit the auto read and let the computer read the poem for us.

“Sergeant, is this a joke?”

I grinned at her, “Perhaps it’s a bad one. How may the hero of Tartarus serve you, oh magical one?”

She let out a displeased groan, “If it wasn’t that you are an important historical figurehead… To think that I practically worshipped you as a foal!” she looked away from the screen, “We believe the humans may be up to something.”

I watched her, “And?”

She looked at me as if I’d sprouted another head.

“Seriously?! The humans are not to be underestimated! Granted, they are nothing compared to us, but they have proven themselves to be a danger!”

This was our weakness. This was it. Our hubris was so huge that we believed we were the only things in the black that belonged there. There were times I wished that Majesty had gotten the dark gift from Grogar. I would like to think that she would have kept her daughters from losing their Tartarus damned minds. I want to ignore the Princess of Friendship as my mind slowly builds what would have happened if Majesty would have taken Grogar’s dark gift. The mare I once was believed that Majesty would have resisted the ages. She would have been as steady and unmovable as a stone, but the mare I’ve come to be knows that even that sturdy stone would eventually be eroded down into nothing.

My hornache slowly resides, and I listen to the Princess as she drones on about the importance of our standing, how even a remote colony, station, or platform needed to show our might. I’m not so arrogant to believe that we’re all powerful. In truth the humans are similar to Grogar in several ways. Grogar was weaker, physically, than us, but his knowledge of magic dwarfed us. He expanded, incorporated, and blended new magics into his every expanding pool. He adapted to us, and if it hadn’t been for his own arrogance he would have destroyed all of us.

“Do you understand your duties Sergeant?”

I looked at the Princess, “Of course, your highness, I understand completely. Ensure that we’re well stocked, protected, post double guards, prepare for an invasion, and keep morale up.”

I laughed, “You know, that report you did on your former student’s attempt to stop you and the others from ever coming together… There was a mentioning of a vast wasteland, a place where radiation, death, and disfigured ponies walked freely. The one thing you didn’t mention was ponies. I’m guessing that we didn’t survive there.”

She studied me, “I saw some aspects of us being there, some, but why do you want to know?”

I looked at her, “Because, the history recorders we took from the humans indicated that they basically had been in such a place several times, and they not only managed to survive, but thrive.”

I watched her eye twitch, “Watch your words Sergeant.”

With that she terminated the feed. I stepped away from the monitor, uncertain of what was going to happen, but certain that things were about to change.

Charlotte “Ice Queen” Dounis

“Ice Queen, Lynx. How's it looking on your side?” Valkyrie five Linda reported.

Valkyrie squadron is currently spread out around the massive bulk of Galactica. Off my port side Razgriz one “snowman” blazes his own trail. I can see him laughing with his wingman through the cockpit canopy of his black, white, and red avenger.

To my starboard “Doll” flies her own Gungnir. The rounded cockpit gleaned dully in the dull ambient light given off by the Manitoba’s engines. At eighteen years old she’s just a girl, and a replacement for my former wingman who was shot down by the Flayed fighter in Helghan.

“Lynx, Ice Queen, negative contact, all clear. Banger how's it over there?”

“Banger to Valkyrie actual, negative contact.” The changeling flight leader reports.

“Ice Queen I'm getting some strange feedback from my new glatlng requesting clearance to cough.”

“Go ahead Doll, clear your throat. Attention all craft on vector 276. 475 friendly fire warning, clear a path.”
Bored out of my mind I glance over to Doll as her left gatling spins up, before firing. The gatling fires a stream of emerald tracers into space. But falls short and without warning the gatling explodes violently. The sound of clattering metal joins the shockwave from the explosion. And when I look back the entire mounting, arm and left wing are gone. Billowing smoke from internal fires.

“Que diable! le contrôle de vol c'est Valkyrie en fait, nous avons une explosion, atterrissage prioritaire!”

“Copy that ice queen. Priority emergency landing. Bring her in, emergency crews on stand by.”

As Doll and I fly into the hangerbay of the Galactica I am forced to transform my fighter into valkyrie mode and land Both of our fighters manually.

My Gungnir’s feet slam and grind off of the deck as I set the flaming wreckage of Dolls fighter down. Immediately fire suppression teams went to work putting out the fires.

A large red suited Kleese deck crewman skitters up to Doll’s cockpit emergency hatch and physically tears it off, before dropping the three hundred pound piece of scrap to the deck. Smoke and sparks billow from the cockpit joining a shower of hydraulic fluid from the remains of the hatch.

With a single large clawed hand the kleese reaches down into the cockpit and lifts Doll’s unconscious form from the wreckage.

“Chief! What the hell is going on! You'd be better off just shooting us.”

“I don't know Lieutenant I checked the thing myself! That doesn't just happen.”

“Chief, lieutenant! Look here.” A myrialos says holding the remains of a belt of grenades from the gun. Blue goo dripped from the belt.

“What the hell is that shit?”

“Tymerian Venom?” I say taking a step forward to get a better look, at the viscous liquid.

“How do you know that?” the crew chief asks me his face a mask of confusion and anger. “My friend is a venomous Tymerian.”

“Colson how many Tymerians are on this ship?”

“Chief?” what was he thinking. “I don't believe in accidents.” he says

“sixty-two chief.”

“And how many of them are venomous?”

“Counting the ones from the Manitoba, four.”

“Chief! Same shit in Ice Queen’s fighter.” That's impossible. The only people I know have Any kind of access to my fighter is my crew.

“That's it pull’em all. Call CIC and have them call everyone in…” he says before climbing on the wing of My fighter and shouting the entire deck.

“No one launches without a full inspection.” Then he paused and eyed me out of the side of his eye. Obvious distrust evident in his stance and manorosems. This was terrible plan on commands part the COG fleets are to tribal.

And while we're dealing with this bull, Fally is probably out there getting killed or something.

Avery “Ice man” Fallon

Loading checking my rifle and armor one last time. They're down there somewhere I can feel it. Big Dog, Bender, and Hijack managed to get this assignment too but AMP, Rage, and our new guy are on team one. But

Clutching the gift my girlfriend had given me on steel world I send my ready signal to Chief Burbanjack. With a nod the chief gives a thumbs up to the Helldiver beside him. Green light flashes on our HUDs and we step into our bio-pods.

What would normally be a loud or at least uncomfortably loud situation is as quiet as a tomb. The Blackfly gunships polychromatic armor making that would make it nought but a black smudge in a black sky, and a blip the size of a quarter on any radar shined duly in the bay.

It's been a few years since my last pod launch, and as the black teardrop closed I can hear the hold venting. Darkness, the inside of the pod is just a black space, just big enough to fit a man and his equipment.

My thoughts drift to my mom she would have loved Miiora, well I hope so. And by dad, fuck him, that fucking asshole took our food, and just watched while the cancer killed mom. if it wasn't for the Dunoiss’ she would have died before she I could tell her when I graduated combat controller school… this damn noise its so loud. This keening I can't fucking focus.

‘Calm down Fallon you can do this, your the Iceman.’

"We dive so humanity survives." Helldiver X says. Collectively our armor begins to become translucent.

"WE DIVE SO HUMANITY SURVIVES!" I yell along with my MOTH brothers and the few Helldivers with us. Team one was already launched twelve hours ago.

My thoughts begin to drift to Miiora again. Where is she now, how is she? The Tymerian has become one of the most important things to me in the world, and I would give anything to be beside her again these weeks serve spent in combat have been hell. But humanity is losing the war and if they do... I can't I won't let her become their slave again. Thoughts of Miiora, the idea of the her being captured and... The keening gets louder and louder as a glaze of red fills to my vision like a filter.

I run my finger down the pocket of my armor that holds both the small pictures of my mom and Miiora. Then the countdown begins as one by one our pods are loaded into the tubes and launched. Boom, and I am jostled in my pod, boom and I am jostled again. Again and again then boom, click as the black windowless pod is loaded into the tubes, like a shell in a rifle.

Then like a shot, I’m blasted out of the ship and into the black towards the target planet. The other stam of pod heads begin their attack on the depot on the other side of the continent aided by the ACM. The dye is cast and Team two’s operation: Regicide Down has begun.