The gunshots rang out over and over, pounding into her skull like a drum.

The screams tormented her even as she covered her ears.

Distant figures surrounded her.

Discord’s laugh filled her ears, drowning out the gunshots.

“You did this.” he whispered, “It’s your fault. Weak. You were too weak.”

“No! It’s not my fault! It wasn’t my fault!” she screamed, not in despair but in anger, “I didn’t do it, damn you! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Your fault...you failed in your mission…” a chorus of voices swirled around her.

“No, I didn’t! I haven’t! I can’t do anything about the past, but I can do something about this! Stay in hell and leave me alone! Go the fuck away!”
The figures came into view. They wore United States Marine Corps uniforms of the mid-2010s, bloodstained and shredded by gunfire. No...not gunfire. Plasma fire. A strange hodge-podge of reality and burns from the Halo games.
They were members of her platoon. The platoon she’d lost when she’d lost Earth.

“You’ll fail, and run away. That’s what you did. Just like last time.”

Melissa shot to attention as The Lieutenant approached from the darkness. A chunk of his head was missing, eerily similar to a Union lieutenant from The Passerby.

“You ran away from your country, Corporal. You abandoned us.”

“Sir, I didn’t. You have to believe me! You know me! I wouldn’t abandon you fellas! I didn’t abandon you! It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t run away! I didn’t run away!”

“Who are you trying to convince, Foster?” the LT asked ominously.

“Sir! I didn’t run away, and I won’t do it this time either!”

Melissa looked down at her boots, her hands curling into fists. She found herself fully equipped wearing her modern UMSC uniform, an M4 carbine hanging off a clip on her vest.

“Who are you trying to convince?” The lieutenant’s voice was gone. Melissa looked up to see his head had been replaced by Discord’s.

She stepped away, raising her M4, “I’m not trying to convince anybody!”

“Sure you aren’t. You can’t beat Chrysalis. Deep down you know you’ll fail, you know you’ll lose and you’ll run away. And they'll never forgive you.”

Melissa gulped, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

Chunks of DIscord’s skull flew off as he fell backwards, the fragments laughing duplicates of his head.

More copies of Discord appeared, her squadmates replaced by human-sized versions of him.

“Leave me alone!” Melissa roared, and fired. She swept the tracers around at the apparitions, each one shattering into innumerable fragments when hit.

All except one.

The first apparition stood back up, the lieutenant’s appearance vanished to be replaced with a full-size replica of Discord. He towered over the 160-centimeter tall marine, almost as tall as an Elite from Halo. Maybe 262 centimeters.

“Chrysalis’ people invaded your homeworld, and obviously swept your ‘glorious’ military aside. You know what Project Orion does to the land below it. They had to destroy your world to ‘save’ it. You don’t even have heavier-than-air aircraft here, what can you--”

Half a magazine of 5.56 NATO rounds fired into his chest. The bullets pinged off a flickering blue field around him.

Discord moved forward and swept his arm at Melissa’s head, clutching a glowing blue object that she immediately knew was dangerous.
Ducking, Melissa raised her M4 to fire again, but Discord swept his arm back and the energy sword flung her carbine out of her grasp.

Giving a fantastic battle cry she swept under his arms and grabbed him by the midsection, using her momentum to send both of them to the ground.

He tried to turn his head, but she punched it aside and pinned down his right arm. She pulled out her pistol and put five rounds into his hand. The energy sword fell from his grasp and deactivated.

Discord’s other hand pulled her over to his other side, and punched her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her.

Coughing and sputtering, she rammed her boot right into Discord’s crotch.

She didn’t know if he had anything to hurt there, but kicking a squishy bit like that on any creature was bound to hurt.

As he collapsed, she rolled on top of him and kept hitting him. She punched him in the throat, in the eye. She kicked his chest, hitting his arms when he tried to grab at her.

The demon tried to fight back, but Melissa was too strong. She jumped up and down on his throat, “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck! You! You ugly! Alien! Bastard!”

She seized him by the scruff of his fur, glaring into his deep yellow eyes. One was purple and bleeding, nearly closed, the other alert. Alert for someone who's been badly beaten.

“Listen here you goat-raping pig-devil, leave me the hell alone! Get out of my head! Go away, just go the fuck away! I’m calling the shots now, Harvey! I’m calling the shots! I’m not gonna fail, I didn’t fail, I didn’t run away! Go!”

The marine punched him.

“The fuck!” she kicked him.

“A--W--A--Y!” she drew the word out and knocked out two of his fangs.

She kept hitting him even as the strength drained from her limbs, even as the target showed no signs of moving.

A silver metal hand touched her shoulder and she nearly punched whoever it was.

It was Silverbolt. His armor was unstained and untarnished, while her entire front and arms were covered in...she didn’t even know what.

He pulled her up, and she slouched against him, weakly hugging the Maximal, much to his surprise. Her breath came in short ragged gasps, struggling not to cry. He awkwardly and hesitantly returned the gesture.

“I did it,” Melissa whispered, “I did it!”

XXXXX

Melissa inhaled sharply and sat up with a jump. The dream and its details quickly faded under the barrage of sound from the twin turboshafts spinning above her head.

“Hicks is awake!” commented the flight officer sitting across from her.

Twilight fixed her friend with an odd gaze, “I can barely concentrate on this thing, and you fall asleep?”

“That’s why she’s Hicks!” The flight officer said, “Haven’t you seen Aliens?”

“Uh…” Twilight looked confused, “I am seeing aliens...are you okay?”

“Forget about it, Twilight,” said Melissa, “How much longer till...we’re wherever we’re going?”

The officer merely pointed outside.

Outside the Sea King’s single closed hatch was ocean, stretching all the way out to the horizon. Taking up a portion of the view was a wing of…
“You’ve got an entire Expeditionary Strike Group out there!” Melissa cried.

Firepower Melissa had desperately wanted to see again rode the waters of a world they did not belong to.
The helicopter hovered over a Midway-class carrier, a warship class that only had one surviving member back home, a floating museum.

The carrier here was fully manned, operational, and covered in aircraft.

Twilight, still somewhat airsick, inched her way over to the hatch, “What’s an Expeditionary Strike Group?”

“It’s a United States Naval formation, for rapid deployment of naval and amphibious power. This is better than we could’ve hoped for! A fleet like this could kick over a third world country in ten seconds flat!”

Twilight’s expression was...odd. Unsettling.

Melissa’s smile weakened slightly, “Twilight, we can win the war with these guys! If they’ve even got a fraction of the capability of the groups back home…”

She glanced back at the flight officer, “Any clue what this outfit’s equipped with?”

“It’s a little less than what they had in the Gulf, and a pretty rich mix. We’ve got Skyhawks and Corsairs with Seahawks, and Pattons with LAVs.” The flight officer then asked, “Win what war?”

Melissa froze, “Uh…”

The officer waved it off, “Ah, never mind. Just weird you two get an express ticket right to Curtis’ group. I’ve been in the Navy five years and I ain’t seen any Hestons get this treatment.”

The corporal shrugged, “Sorry, can’t say a thing.”

Twilight tapped Melissa on the shoulder, “Do you recognize any of these ship types? They look like more primitive models of some you’ve shown me.”

Melissa pointed out the window, “Yeah, they look like some of the ships from the 60s and 70s. Those two look like Oliver Perry-class frigates, there’s...that looks like a Charles Adams, but…”

The flight officer glanced out the window, “That’s the Sellers. Walker-class. They’re like an Adams on steroids, they’ve got a VLS and helipad. The frigates are Evans-class, a basic version of the Oliver Perry with fewer capabilities. They have VLS though. We don't have Arleigh Burkes or actual Oilver Perrys but what we've got is good enough. Cheaper to operate at least.”

“I can see that. Whoever picked a VLS was a genius.”

“Well, all our experts served on a Ticonderoga-class--”

“Cheaper? Really?” Twilight interrupted, disbelieving, “They’re bigger than our armored cruisers!”

Melissa spotted three ships larger than their escorts, “If you think they’re big, then don’t look at those. That Tarawa-class is twice the size of the HMS Dreadnought.”

Twilight squinted at the ships. One looked vaguely like the aircraft carriers Melissa had shown her, or the carriers used by the Royal Equestrian Navy Fleet Air Arm. The other two warships possessed a more conventional superstructure with a flat aft section. They were huge, from the look of it bigger than the largest Equestrian dreadnought.

“What are they?”

“The flattop is a Tarawa-class amphibious assault ship, the other two look like an Austin-class Landing Platform Dock, and a Whidbey Island-class. Most of them have been decommissioned back home, except the Austin-class, and those are being replaced by the San Antonio-class.”

The flight officer looked at her, “San Antonio? Oh boy...that LPD down there is called the San Antonio!”

Melissa laughed, “If we ever get back in contact with Earth, that’s gonna drive half the navy nuts.”

“But what are they?” Twilight asked, “They’re massive!”

“Oh! They’re an Amphibious Ready Group, ARG. They’re transports that carry a Marine Expeditionary Unit(MEU). See, they work with the carrier group--ah, Carrier Strike Group, CSG, it’s formation of warships centered around an aircraft carrier. That’s what the rest of the ships are. They provide escort and air power to the ARG.”

“A Marine Expeditionary Unit, can you explain that?”

“The smallest marine air-ground task force available to the corps. It’s a quick-reaction expeditionary force designed for extremely rapid deployment to respond to natural disasters or combat missions.”

“Right, I think you told me about this...” Twilight muttered, “What are those larger ships? The ones bigger than the destroyer, but smaller than the carriers? Cruisers, I assume.”

“Yorktown-class cruiser, and a Ticonderoga-class.” The flight officer said, and glanced at Melissa, “You know your 60s ships pretty well. For a jarhead at least. The Yorktown-class is kind of a mix between the Albany and the Spruance-class. Yorktowns are our best cruisers aside from the Chesapeake Bay.”

“Wait a minute,” Melissa said, “You’ve got the Chesapeake Bay here?”

She looked out a window and spotted it. Just ahead of the Sacramento-class supply ship lagging behind her, was a battered Ticonderoga-class cruiser. “74” was printed on the side of the hull, short for CG-74.

It looked exactly like it had when it disappeared.

She’d read about the ship over the years, the first US cruiser lost to enemy fire after WWII. Another tragedy swept another the rug like the Stark before it and the Cole after it.

A niggling doubt that had been plaguing the back of her mind since rescue was gone. There was no way anyone trying to trick her would use a twenty-five year old cruiser.

The Terran Alliance was the real deal.

“How’d you keep all this stuff hidden?” Melissa asked.

“We have radar. We can just move over the horizon anytime anyone gets close.”

Twilight’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Growing up as the sister of the future Captain of the Royal Guard, and as the personal student of the queen of a nation, she was fairly-well versed in military technology and tactics.
Thus, despite the potential for aid, the fleet now before the unicorn was terrifying.

When Andrew had explained 21st century warfare to her, Twilight never completely believed it. When Melissa arrived, she’d confirmed everything he’d said and more.

The frigates outside were unassuming at first glance, with but a handful of deck guns, and tiny ones at that. They didn’t look armored, at least not much. However, she knew looks were deceiving. One of these frigates could decimate an Equestrian Naval squadron and not even be seen.
Conventional naval technology was useless unless they somehow got within point-blank range, and somehow managed to avoid the alliance’s submarines. Magic was virtually useless as well. Most spells meant for combat still required line-of-sight to have any effect. They'd have to invent whole new spells.
If this was what their navy looked like, she shuddered to think of what their ground forces were like. Melissa had given the Equestrian Army inventions decades ahead of their time, and they still wouldn’t stand a chance.

If they even managed to score any victories, there would always be the threat of thermonuclear weapons.
Any attempt to engage the Terran Alliance in combat would result in extremely high casualties with little to no chance of victory.
When--if-- they defeated the Changelings, until they could match the humans in technology, they would have to maintain positive diplomatic relations.

However, despite the threat from them, Twilight could not be helped but be fascinated by the Terran Alliance. It was a much bigger sample size of humanity, with much more knowledge than Melissa or Andrew possessed.
The potential of what they could do if they started working together would be enormous. The entire planet’s scientific understanding of the universe could leap centuries ahead.

Humanity’s violent tendencies might even be moderated with Equestrian aid.

That snapped Twilight back to reality. A war was about to start in six days. We need humanity’s violent tendencies, and we need them now!
The Changelings had invaded Earth. They might have even destroyed it. If they had the strength and technology to do that, Equestria wouldn’t stand a chance.

There was only one group who would have a chance at winning, and that was the group who in times of peace prepared for war.

The Sea King settled onto the deck of the aircraft carrier with a whump.

“Welcome to the USS Andrew Jackson,” the flight officer said, “Please fold your trays--”

“With respect sir, that’s as outdated as ‘why’d the chicken cross the road’.” Melissa commented.
Crew members approached the aircraft. They helped Twilight down but Melissa waved them off and jumped onto the deck herself.

The deck was littered with aircraft from four different eras. A Douglas KA-3B Skywarrior aerial tanker, one of the longest serving carrier aircraft in history, was being towed toward one bow catapult on the foredeck. Taking up the space over the second bow catapult were half a dozen F4U Corsair piston-driven aircraft of World War II fame.
Arranged toward either side of the aft deck were a handful of 1950s-era A-4 Skyhawk jet fighters, out of the way of the area of the arrestor cable.
The area of the waist catapults, just out of the way of the landing deck, was being used as a helicopter landing zone. The Sea King was being refueled behind an SH-60 Seahawk of the 1980s, which leapt into the air seconds later.
They were escorted to the flight control tower, in front of which were a pair of 70’s-era E-2 Hawkeye AWACS aircraft. Between them was an F8U-1P Crusader photo reconnaissance aircraft.
Behind and to the left of the Hawkeyes, next to the tower were a handful of piston-driven A-1 Skyraider attack aircraft. An anachronism in the jet era even back home, they were unable to see service in World War II, but lasted from Korea to the end of Vietnam.

Twilight was barely able to understand how aircraft without propellers and such odd wings could fly, let alone understand all the weapons and sensors around her. What she did know though was the rule with human war machines. The sleeker the vehicle was, the subtler the weapons, the better.

They were escorted into the ship, climbing several levels and passing humans, ponies, griffins, hippogriffs, dragons, and more chimeras. Melissa paused in the hallway when a creature she could only describe as an anthropomorphic cat walked by, returning her gaze with confusion.

“Oh, she’s an Abyssinian cat!” Twilight said with fascination, “I’ve read about them, they’re from…”

“Abyssinia, I assume. Geez, more furry wet dreams…”

Finally, they were escorted to a briefing room of some kind, with a long table and a dozen or so chairs.

One of the guards said, “The admiral will be with you shortly, there’s some snacks around, help yourself.”

He shut the door.

Melissa glanced around, finding Twilight investigating the snack table. There was a water dispenser, a coffee dispenser, on a table also occupied by a pile of...donuts.

“Great. Now I’m gonna go hungry.”

Twilight gingerly picked up a donut, sniffed it, and took a bite out of it.

“Do you think these people stand a chance?” Twilight asked Melissa, “Honestly, please. I know how much they must mean to you, but...the Changelings attacked Earth! Aren’t propeller aircraft obsolete? You’ve talked at length about the aircraft your people have, you’ve drawn them! These look much older. They look to be from the era of that...that Vietnam War!”

The grin Melissa had held since leaping off the Sea King faded. She got herself a cup of coffee and sat down, “Honestly? I have no idea. I don’t know much about the capabilities of the Changelings. Up until the other night, I didn’t…”

Melissa stopped, and glanced about, looking for security cameras and recording devices. Not spotting any, she still coughed, “Uh...my knowledge of their capabilities is pretty limited. Still, old Soviet junk was able to take down Nighthawks in the Gulf War, and an F-16 over Bosnia. We’ve at least got a fighting chance.”

There was the distant sound of an aircraft landing, and Melissa shivered with pleasant goosebumps, “Man oh man, I forgot how much I love that sound! Jet engines, whoo!”

“That shrieking sound? You enjoy it?” Twilight asked.

“Why does everyone always say that? It's a comforting sound!”

The door opened.

A tall man dressed in the Alliance’s working uniform and wearing a khaki combination cap stepped through the hatch, closely followed by an aide. On the front of the cap was a US Navy insignia, and four silver stars were on either side of his collar, the insignia of an admiral. He took off his hat to reveal greying hair above a somewhat boyish face, courtesy of spending his 20s deep in the bowels of a Ticonderoga-class cruiser Combat Information Center.
Admiral Winston Curtis still had some of the enthusiasm that a young lieutenant commander fresh from the Gulf War once had, with the way he grinned as he saw them and stepped over.
Melissa shot to attention and saluted. Twilight didn’t know what to do, and briefly attempted to salute herself but Melissa waved her off.

Curtis returned the salute, still grinning, and shook her hand, “Corporal Foster, wasn’t it? At ease. Glad to see another face from the land of the free! Last guy who got here was Italian, couldn’t understand a word he said. Hey, who won the World Series in 2015?”

Melissa stood at ease, “I don’t know sir, though I could find out for you if you agree to our proposal.”

“You don’t know? But it’s the World Series!”

“Yes sir. I don’t follow sports, sir.”

He furrowed his brow, “None? No NFL wins or anything? Nothing at all?”

“No sir.”

Curtis looked disappointed. He scratched the back of his neck, “Ah, that’s a shame. Hey, who won the election in 2012?”

“President Barack Obama, sir.”

He nodded, “Hah! I was right!”

Turning to the aide, he said, “Make a note. Tell Admiral Thornton he owes me 50 bucks adjusting for inflation, and tell Group Captain Giovanni he owes both of us $100. Also in today’s cash.”

Grinning, he looked back, “And for 2016?”

Melissa coughed, “Um...with all due respect sir...you won’t believe me. Sir.”

“Oh, c’mon, corporal, it can’t be that bad!”

“Well...honestly, sir, I’d rather not answer.”

Playfully, the admiral smirked, “Don’t make me order it out of you corporal. You only just got your job back, don’t want to lose it because you got a severe reprimand like this.”

Melissa smiled nervously in reply, “Uh...sir, the President of the United States as of my last contact with them is Donald Trump.”

Admiral Curtis’ smile vanished. “...Who?”

“President Donald Trump is our commander in chief, Admiral, sir.”

“Who is he? I...don’t…” Curtis frowned, “Sounds familiar…”

“Uh...he’s the guy with the spray tans, the awful hair piece, numerous sexual harassment lawsuits, minor TV star, um...owns Trump tower?”

Curtis nodded, “Oh, right! Never watched any of his shows... that's, ehrm, interesting. How’s he done so far? I wasn’t a big fan of Reagan...”

“I don’t know if I should discuss this sir. It is an extremely sensitive topic, and we are somewhat pressed for time.”

Curtis nodded reluctantly, “From what I understand, that we are. Please, take a seat.”

“Uh...with all due respect sir--”

Twilight, her patience wearing thin, snapped, “Admiral Curtis, I apologize, but we have no time for further questioning and other nonsense! My entire country-- no, the world-- is in danger, and the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good beings to do nothing. We need to talk to someone in charge, and get--”

Curtis held up his hands, a little alarmed, “Oh, Ms. Sparkle! I’m sorry. Someone must not have told you. Damn grapevine spreads faster than the speed of light except when you want it to...Giles Tyler, governor of New Texas, is flying out here right now.”

“What?” Melissa burst out, then coughed, “Uh, sorry sir. Permission to speak?”

“Granted.”

“Could you explain New Texas, governor, and...everything?”

“Governor Tyler is governor of New Texas, the territory owned by the United States as part of the Terran Alliance. Apparently, a bunch of spooks didn’t know whether or not to believe your story, but The Powers That Be were willing enough to believe your evidence that Giles himself is flying out here for you to personally brief him on what the hell is going on.”

“They...they believed us?” Melissa breathed.

“I told you!” Twilight said, nudging her.

“Yep. Astonishing, I know. The US government making the right choice. But when it’s a threat as big as you say it is, Giles had to at least investigate.”

“Do you know him?” Twilight asked, “You speak very in a very familiar manner.”

Curtis nodded, “Known him for...oh, maybe thirty years, I think, since 1990. He was the XO aboard the Chesapeake Bay. Retired fleet admiral in 2005.”

He took a seat, and the other two quickly followed suit.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the Chesapeake Bay?” Melissa asked, “Official Navy records are kind of spotty about it. They listed her and those RAF fighters as lost with all hands to those Iraqi planes. They didn’t actually have witness to what happened, but scans showed her getting hit by missiles.”

“What happened next on the records?” Curtis asked, “How’d they explain us vanishing? I’ve heard a few stories about how these disappearances have been explained. The Suzerain’s battle group was listed as hit by a U-Boat wolf pack, and the Sarcastic...well, the Soviets just shoved it under the rug.”

Melissa scratched her head, “Well...as I said, the records are weird. After the missile hit, electronic sensors started malfunctioning, they blamed it on the storm. Satellite coverage was bad too, blamed the storm.”

“Malfunctioned how?”

“One second there’s half a dozen contacts on the board, the next they’re gone. They figured there must’ve been some sort of system freeze, and that you rolled over. Whole thing kind of got swept under the rug like the USS Stark or the Cole.”

“The Cole? The destroyer?”

“Yes sir. Bombed in 2000 by the same guys who did 9/11…” she paused, and grimaced, “There’s a lot you guys missed, didn’t you?”

Curtis made a face as well, “We know about 9/11, don’t worry about that.”

He was silent for a moment, putting his fingers together, “They wrote us off did they? Well, that’s military intelligence for ya.”

His aide, silent and unnoticed, brought Curtis a cup of coffee, “Thanks, Tom. Those navy records were partly right, we did get hit by those missiles. Iraqis were insane to fly in that weather, but they did. Anyway, only one of the warheads actually went off. They did some damage, but all it really did was inflict casualties, set fires, and screw with our systems. We were still combat-effective for the most part. Then I saw everything but our RAF cover and a nearby Super Stallion vanish off our screens, and about three dozen unknown contacts appear on our screens. We didn’t know what they were at first, but they were subsonic, and after they attacked our helo, we thought they were Iraqi prop planes or something. They hit the bridge and killed the captain, head navigator, several other personnel, and gave Giles third-degree burns over half his body. He was unconscious for weeks.”

“It sounds like you were attacked by dragons,” Melissa said, “Geez, what a welcome to this planet.”

“Yeah, but once we got the missiles working again, who’s to say it was worse for us than the guys blown out of the sky by freakin’ Sea Sparrows?”

Twilight furrowed her brow, “Wait a minute, admiral! Do you know the identity of those dragons?”

Curtis scratched his head, “Uh...oh! Sorventh. That old dragon leader, Emperor Sorventh.”

Melissa’s jaw dropped, “What?! Sir, that event created a dozen myths! Some dragon kid was telling it to his friends as a campfire scary story! You mean to tell me that you caused it?!”

“Apparently so,” Twilight said.

“And suddenly their fear of us makes all the more sense…”

Curtis didn’t know what to do beyond continue with his story. “Well, from what I hear, he wasn’t a great guy. We wiped out his unit, bagged the Iraqi survivors, found a way to save the RAF planes, the Sea Stallion, and started poking around. We found the Alliance, and the rest gets a bit complicated.”

He looked at his drink, “Giles is a good guy, but he had a much worse adjustment than the rest of us. Admiral Thornton--then he was our chief engineer on the Chesapeake--took over as senior officer while Giles was in the infirmary. Once he got better though...poor bastard must’ve felt like he’d gone to sleep on Earth, and woke up here. Giles was the senior officer aboard ship with a bunch of ponies, Soviets, dragons, and Imperial Germans running around.”

Melissa was silent. Compared to what these people had been through, her troubles seemed so...minor by comparison.

“How did you stay hidden from us for so long?” Twilight asked, “Humans are legends in Equestria, and campfire stories elsewhere! Captain Stern mentioned you have some island holdings somewhere, how have we not found them?”

Curtis glanced at Melissa, “Have they discovered the doldrums? I’m not up to date on pony science.”

Melissa shrugged, “Twilight, do you know about the equatorial calms?”

Twilight nodded, “Of course. Our sailing ships can’t penetrate very deep into them, there’s no wind. Even pegasi have trouble, and our airships don’t have the necessary range--”

Realization dawned, “You’re hidden in the equatorial calms! A perfect hiding place! No one would think...oh, it’s so obvious!”

Melissa raised her eyebrows, “Yeah, that’s a great spot. At least until they invent good enough steam engines.”

Curtis nodded, “That’s why we’re off the trade routes, and what the guns are for.”

Soon, Twilight and Melissa were politely interrogated by intelligence officers repeatedly, getting full details on where they were from, and what they’d been doing recently. Melissa’s dog tags, wallet ID, and background information was double and triple checked. They asked her many questions about the technical data she’d given the Equestrians, the politics, and pretty much every little detail about everything since she’d gotten there.

They were interested in her transition through the wormhole as well, asking about everything from atmospheric conditions, to the weather, to smells.

Some time later, hours after a PA announcement that a plane had landed with the governor aboard, the hatch opened again.

In stepped two marines decked out in full combat gear of the 1990s, who scanned the room as if expecting Saddam Hussein himself to bust in through non-existent windows.

The wide splotch patterns of their woodland Battle Dress Uniforms(BDU) contrasted with the more minute patterns of the woodland digital camouflage on Melissa’s modern Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform(MCCUU).

Their Personnel Armor System for Ground Troops(PASGT) helmets were virtually identical to Melissa’s Enhanced Combat Helmet, but she could tell their body armor and tactical vests were several generations older than those she was used to, wearing the full PASGT suite.

Melissa noted that instead of M4s or M16A2s, --the first now standard-issue in the modern corps, and the latter issued during the Gulf War-- they carried what looked like M16A4s. They lacked the carrying handle and fixed stock of the previous generations of America’s favorite assault rifle.

Following the marines was someone Melissa and Twilight presumed to be Governor Giles Tyler.

Tyler was about the same height as Curtis, and wore a navy blue suit with a red tie. Melissa struggled to hide her expression as she saw his face.
His left eyebrow was shorter than the right one, the left eye slightly closed by flesh healed years ago, but never quite back to the way it was. The entire left side of his face, the top of his head down to his neck, was covered in the outlines of old burns. Third-degree burns to be exact.
As he raised both hands to shake Curtis’, the others could see his left hand bore similar scars.

“Hey there, Winston.” Tyler greeted calmly, “How’s it going?”

Curtis replied with a shrug, “Oh, the usual maneuvers before this SNAFU. Oh hey, do you remember that guy Trump?”

“The...weird rich guy? Yeah.”

“You remember him? Huh. Well, turns out--”

The governor peered past the admiral at the pair standing behind him. One awkwardly at ease, the other unsure of how to stand.
Tyler stepped over, looking them over.

He peered at Twilight, “Ms. Twilight Sparkle. Great to meet you.”

They shook appendages, and Twilight smiled weakly, “Uh...thanks.”

He stepped over to Melissa, and shook her hand, “Corporal Foster. We haven’t had a Heston belonging to the US military in years.”

“I will take your word for it, Governor Tyler.”
He nodded, “Let’s get down to business. Ms. Sparkle, Corporal Foster, according to all our data, you are who you say you are, and appear to honestly believe what you’re saying. You’ve got the entire Alliance intelligence network in an uproar about a major threat to the entire planet. I sincerely hope you are telling the truth. If you are, we will do whatever we can to help. If you aren’t...I will leave that to your imagination. Please, explain to me in detail the background of the situation, and what you know of the enemy’s plans.”

Melissa was a little taken aback at the straightforwardness of the governor’s statement.

She dug into her backpack and removed the USN ruggedized laptop, along with her pocket projector.
Curtis’ aide, virtually invisible in the room, moved to pull a screen down on one wall for the projector.

Melissa activated the electronics, and found the presentation made from the Sophia’s flight recorder data, the laptop’s intelligence files, and Starbuck’s IPhone.

The lights dimmed, and she began speaking, “Several days ago, myself and the only other known human in Equestria were shown an archive of human artifacts by Queen Luna of the Moon. Among a multitude of other equipment was a United States military spacecraft, a modified Dream Chaser ship known as the Sophia. Upon recovering the flight recorder and other documentation from within the ship, we discovered that…”

She explained what she knew about the war on Earth, showed the highlights of the battle, as well as the intelligence data contained within the laptop, which wasn’t much.
She also explained what she knew about the current enemy troop dispositions.

“The enemy only has enough combat strength to attack one minor city. Exact numbers are unknown. Their transport, I'm guessing is designed to carry troops to new planets, it's about the size of a Wasp-class Amphibious Assault Ship. It could be just a troopship, or an attack transport more likely, but it could just as easily be a space-based equivalent of an amphibious assault ship. However, while the troops it held are here, I don't know if the ship itself has stayed. Based on the size of the ship, but without much knowledge of the inner workings, I'd say it could hold one or two battalions.”

“Jesus, on one ship?” Curtis coughed.

Melissa grimaced, “Yes sir. They have small arms likely equal to an M16 or an AK-47, they look like FAMAS crossed with P90s. They also have sidearms with unknown capabilities, as well as pulsed energy projectiles --basically stun guns. I don't know if they even have a ground vehicle capability, or what their air support is like beyond their wings, but they likely have some sort of means of transportation between the ship and the surface. The Sophia's black box didn't show any parasite craft belonging to the Changelings, but that doesn't rule out exo or endo atmospheric multipurpose aircraft.”

Twilight got up to offer her two cents as well, explaining what little she knew, and making an impassioned plea for assistance.

“Your people are the only ones who can beat these Changelings,” she said, wrapping up, “Hiding won’t help you this time, and innocent ponies will die! Please, on behalf of the entire nation of Equestria, as an official representative of Queen Celestia, I am officially asking the Terran Alliance for aid. Help us. Please.”

The governor got up from his seat. He put his hands behind his back, and walked up to the projection screen. On it was the intelligence file on the captured Changeling soldier.

“Back home--in New Texas, I mean--I’ve got a family. My wife is Equestrian, born and raised. We’ve got three girls almost all grown up. My eldest, a human chimera, she’s in the air force. If we refuse to help, my wife will never speak to me again, and my daughter will most likely die.”
Tyler turned back, “Ms. Sparkle, this planet is as much my home as it is yours. Not only would it be negligent to ignore a call for aid from a nation in peril, but to ignore a threat to the entire planet, one that the United States is at war with as of our last contact with them, would be foolish and illegal respectively.”

Looking to Admiral Curtis, he said, “Winston, you are to move at best speed to Equestria. We’ve got a planet to save.”

XXXXX

Deep under Canterlot, in the old mine shafts, a number of Changeling soldiers were gathered in a circle. They were readying weapons, and occasionally glanced around at the shadows dancing through the tunnels.
“The captives have escaped,” the Changeling NCO in charge explained, “The lieutenant wants us to recapture them immediately. Spread out, two by two. I couldn’t get any electronic sensors, so we’re relying on instincts only.”

The guards all made noises of affirmation, but one spoke up, “Squadron leader...we’ve all heard the rumors. We’ve all seen her...eh, tantrums. The queen--the air marshal is breaking dozens of regs with these prisoners just by keeping them down here. I think we can guess what she intends to do with them.”

The others glanced at one another, and between their commander and the other Changeling.

The squadron leader fixed his subordinate with a stoney gaze, “What of it, legionnaire?”

“Well…” nervously, he clutched his rifle in both claws, looking at his boots, “Maybe, maybe...Oh, sir, even savages don’t deserve what she might do to them. Maybe...well, we don’t have good sensors down here. Our equipment’s been failing, it wouldn’t be our fault if they just...got away.”

The squadron leader stalked forward and seized his subordinate by the collar, “Legionnaire, you will banish all disloyal thoughts from your mind this instant! Do not forget who it was who saved us from those damned apes! Out of a score of ships from our swarm alone, only ours survived! Out of the fleet with us, we survived thanks to our air marshal, and don’t you forget it! I will not have mutiny, you scum!”

He hit the soldier, knocking him to the floor, “As for the rest of you, continue to do your job without question. The queen will see us through. If any of you dare to even think of mutiny, I will shoot you myself. Move out!”

The legionnaire got to his feet, checked his rifle, and glanced around. Changeling night vision was better than that of humans, but they didn’t have total night vision. They still used technological aids.
Switching on a flashlight, he proceeded into one of the many tunnels in the massive underground complex, checking in with the rest of the squadron frequently. While he heard idle chatter from the others, he did not partake. He wanted to be alone.

Though many initially took him at first to be the stereotypical rookie soldier, the legionnaire knew enough to keep his head down when needed. He hadn’t had much experience on Earth, but he’d engaged in a few skirmishes. He’d been stationed on the edge of London, while his fellows had been stationed mainly around California. It made some of the other Changelings doubt his experience. Guerillas were much worse in the country with firearms behind every blade of grass, but the United Kingdom still had its fair share of insurgents. He still had bragging rights.

Glancing around the tunnel, he found no sign of a human or one of the horses.

Mutan culture encouraged absolute loyalty to their superiors, no matter what happened, but over the course of the Earth campaign, that faith had been badly shaken.
The air marshal had regained that faith when she got them out, but after all this time, the legionnaire --and he suspected there were others-- did not have the same belief. They were tired, the ship was a wreck, and they wanted to go home. They--

XXXXX

Andrew swept the metal bar down onto the alien’s thorax, sending him down like a sack of potatoes.
Cadence grabbed his rifle before it could fall to the floor, found the switch for the flashlight, and helped to drag the Changeling back into cover.

“Man, this guy’s heavy!” Andrew muttered, “what do they eat?”

“Love!” Cadence hissed, “Why are you surprised he’s heavy?!”

“Forgot who I was talking to...”

They dragged him into the hidden tunnel they’d ambushed him from, and Andrew pulled out one of his last remaining glowsticks, dimly lighting up the area.

“Let’s see what this guy’s got on him…” he muttered, and began rifling through the bug’s pockets.

He noted the Changeling uniform was slightly different from those he'd seen earlier, with a combat helmet and a flak jacket of some kind for supplies.

Cadence lifted up the rifle the Changeling had held, furrowing her brow in utter confusion. “There’s no flint, no ramrod…”

“It’s a modern gun, kinda. Don’t touch the trigger.”

He pulled a pistol out of the Changeling’s hip holster and peered at it. It was segmented between the grip, and its four barrels. He checked the grip, and curiously, found no magazine, but it appeared to be loaded…

His thumb came down on some sort of switch absentmindedly, and all four barrels, as a single unit, fell off the end.

“Whoops!”

“Did you break it?” Cadance asked, the corner of her mouth turning up a little.

“N-No! No! It was like this when I found it!”

He tossed the handle aside and continued rifling through the alien’s pockets, only to find several pouches containing...more pistol barrels?

Andrew picked the barrel up off the floor, and felt the weight. It was far heavier than he expected it to be, a little less than that of a loaded gun.
Cadence held out the Changeling rifle, “If you’re just going to stare at it, can I try to figure it out? I can’t make heads or tails of this...thing.”

They swapped weapons, and Andrew furrowed his brow at the newer one. It looked like the P90s from Stargate SG-1, right down to the magazine on top of the weapon and the rotating feed system.
He found out about the latter when he ejected the magazine while holding the gun upside down.
Weirdly enough, Andrew couldn’t find any breech for shell ejection. He may not be a soldier, but he had some gun experience, and knew that every gun needed a breech. How did it fire?

Curious, he pulled one of the cartridges from the magazine.

“How does a square peg fit in a round hole?” he muttered, baffled.

“What?” Cadence looked up from her attempt to put the barrel and grip back together.

He turned the cartridge toward her. It had a conventional bullet tip, but the case itself was square.

Cadence blinked, and chuckled a little, “That...ha...um...what? How does that work?”

“Search me. I don’t know how this thing fires without ejecting the cartridge, and I was thinking maybe it drags them along--”

“I-It’s caseless m-munitions.” A scratchy and somewhat feeble voice spoke from below.

“He’s awake! Hit him again!” Andrew hissed, looking at the large eyes of the alien in fear.

“You want me to kill him?” Cadence demanded, “He’s a prisoner!”

“Of course we’re not gonna kill him, just knock him out! He’s a bug! Their exoskeletons can take it!”

“He’s also a person, and I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate getting smacked in the head repeatedly!”

The alien looked from one or the other, expecting nothing but death. He knew savages weren’t as bad as they said, but he still had a pretty low bar.

He raised a claw, “D-do I get a say in--”

“No!”

“Andrew, don’t yell at him.”

“His people kidnapped you, tried to take over my planet, and you want me to be polite?!”

“I mean don’t yell at him because you’ll get the other ones over here!”

Andrew paused, his mouth open, “...Oh.”

Cadence sighed, then used one hoof to hold the Changeling soldier down, “Okay. What did you say the ammunition was?”

“It’s caseless.”

“Meaning…?”

“Emperors above…” he whimpered, “I...I don’t understand it myself! Please don’t hurt me, I’m just a drone!”

Cadence held up both hooves, “No one’s going to hurt you! Why would you think that?”

He pointed to Andrew, “Uh, the ape?”

“Okay, that’s racist!”

Cadence face-hoofed, “Andrew, you’re not helping.”

“But--”

“Ssh!”

Cadence turned back to the soldier, “We need you to tell us some stuff, pretty much everything you know.”

“I’m just a drone! I don’t know anything about the plan!”

Andrew held up the two pieces of pistol, “Can you tell me why this is broken?”

The drone blinked, “Uh...can you show me what’s wrong with it?”

Andrew looked at the alien like he had two heads, “...It’s in pieces?”

The alien gave him an equally perplexed look, then glanced at Cadence, “Is there something wrong with him?”

“That’s it, I’m hitting him again!”

Cadence magically retrieved the crowbar and rifle to keep them out of Adnrew’s hands, “Changeling, can you show us how to operate that weapon?”

The Changeling did not reply immediately. He fidgeted with his claws for a moment, “I...look, I’m kind of on your side. I won’t report you to my squadron leader, but if I turn up without my weapons, he’ll beat the tar out of me! They’ll shoot me if they find I told you anything!”

“If you tell us this stuff, we might be able to win, and we could protect you!” Cadence proposed.

“And if we lose, we’ll tell the xenomorph upstairs about what you did.” Andrew added.

The soldier looked between them. “So...living on this primitive world, or death.”

Cadence threw up her hooves, “Sorry it had to be you, friend. We had to pick somepony.”

“Even if I told you, it would only delay the inevitable! You can’t win.” the soldier mumbled, “It’ll take them time to get another fleet together, but once the courier gets here, the queen-- the air marshal will tell them everything, they’ll send reinforcements. Not that they’ll need them, this planet can barely manage electricity. Even with your ability to control energy, even more advanced than our own, you won’t stand a chance.”

“Our what?” Cadence asked, “We don’t have anything like that…”

The soldier groaned, “By all the emperors…Mr. Human, do you know what I’m talking about?”

Andrew scratched his head, “Controlling energy--? Do you mean their magic?”

The alien breathed a sigh of relief, “Yes. Sort of. I would think even your people would have a better term for it though…we call it telekinesis. That’s about the only similarity between your abilities and our own.”

“Whatever, go on.”

He shook his head, “I can’t! Even talking to you like this might get me killed!”

Andrew sighed, “Look, if you don’t tell us anything, a lot of people are probably going to die, including your friends. The ponies may not have much, but they do have gunpowder.”

The soldier grimaced, “Exactly. If I tell you anything, you savages will kill my friends. The air marshal may be insane, but the rest of us aren’t! We’re here to help you!”

“Help us?” Andrew snapped, “Why are you invading us, then? Why’d you invade Earth?!”

The Changeling looked to Cadence, “Your people are living in such squalor and primitive conditions, we can fix all that if you help us!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Andrew insisted, “He’s just another imperialist dickhead.”

“What do you mean you’re here to help us?” Cadence asked, curious.

“We can give you electricity! We can give you luxuries beyond your wildest dreams! Medicine! We can take you to the stars, we can teach you new laws, new languages! The air marshal is insane, but we’re not!”

“What does this have to do with the humans?” she asked.

He looked at Andrew fearfully, and she put an arm between the two, “I need to know, friend.”

“W-we were just trying to help them. They’re stubborn and barbaric, and violence is all they understand. They were all at war when we came in! We had to put them in their place, they refused to settle down.”

Andrew turned away, rubbing his face.

Cadence furrowed her brow, confused at both, “They don’t seem like barbarians to me.”

“Well, you wouldn’t. Your people are on the same level.”

Cadence blinked, “What?”

He fidgeted again, “You may be less technologically advanced, but you’re all barbarians on the same level. The Mutan Empire spends significant amounts of money and lives to civilize primitive worlds such as yours.”

“Civilize? Primitive?” Cadence coughed.

“And there you have it.” Andrew muttered.

“Have what? Soldier, what in Equestria are you talking about?”

“It’s a great service to the universe to participate in a campaign...at least that’s what they told me. They said we couldn’t let any world suffer without our guidance. I don’t know about Earth though. We should’ve waited until they thinned out their numbers. Our agents could’ve easily triggered a nuclear war.”

Andrew gestured to him, “Y’see!? Why don’t you put on a red coat and a pith helmet while you’re at it?!”

Cadence was befuddled, “B-but I don’t understand. Why? Why do we need your guidance?”

Andrew rolled his eyes, “It’s called imperialism. My planet was ruined by this crap.”

“Well, you savages--”

“Can it, bug!” Andrew snapped again, “Don’t try to blame inherent inferiorities, or racial insanity! We know all your excuses, you...you bastard!”

He fumbled around with the pistol, and finally got it to snap back together. He was more sleep-deprived than he thought.

Noting a switch on the side, Andrew started flipping it. He recalled pistols back home having roughly two fire selectors, but this one had three. Odd.

He pointed the weapon at the Changeling, “You’re going to tell us how to operate that rifle of yours, then you’re going to give up your vest.”

“Andrew!” Cadence cried.

He rested red and exhausted eyes on her, filled with fury.

“I don’t know exactly what these settings do, bug. Shall I test them out?” he hissed.

“No no no, please!” he started pulling off his vest, “Look, I’m cooperating, see?!”

“How do you use the guns?! This one first!”

“T-t-that one, it-it-it’s variable lethality! You can switch between flexible baton rounds and normal ammo!”

“And the machine gun?!”

“Caseless! You load the magazine in the top of the barrel, it loads the round through a rotating...thing, and it uses electricity to fire the round!”

Andrew pulled out the magazine, and put it back in as the Changeling instructed him.

“Alright. Now get up.”

The enemy soldier slowly got to his feet, his claws spread wide, “Please, don’t--”

“Run.”

He gestured with the alien rifle, “That way. Now. Don’t tell anyone we were here.”

The Changeling looked between the hall and him.

“10...9...8…”

The soldier started moving. He tripped, got to his feet again, then ran down the tunnel, and out of sight.

Andrew lowered the rifle, simmering with anger. All the rage he’d felt had boiled to the surface, and he fought to force it back down.

“What is the matter with you?!” Cadence demanded, “Why did you do that?!”

He didn’t answer.

“Andrew, you nearly killed him, and now he might tell them where we are!”

He turned back, and passed her the sidearm, “Well, now I have a machine gun. Let’s get out of here.”

Andrew slung the rifle over his shoulder, and emptied out the vest. It wouldn’t fit either of them anyway. He stuffed everything he could into his pockets, making sure to leave anything that looked like personal items inside. There was something that looked like a radio he took as well. Once he was finished, he neatly folded the vest and placed it on a nearby rock, placing several weights on top to keep it from being dragged away.

Despite his anger, there were some depths he would not go to. He’d not even put his finger in the trigger guard when the alien ran away.

XXXXX

With military intervention confirmed, the Jackson’s battle group came about, heading full steam toward Equestria. A constant Combat Air Patrol was put in place, and the fleet went on high alert.
Proposals were assembled, intelligence officers coming and going. They consulted with Melissa and Twilight on geography, military capabilities, comparing them to their own estimates.
Much planning would have to be done.

Strategic Sealift Ships carried supplies to the fleet, replacing some of the marine ordnance with missiles instead of the unguided all-purpose recoilless rifles and similar equipment they'd been expecting to use.
Perhaps the Changelings had tanks, perhaps not. They weren't taking any chances. Some units still utilized Carl Gustaf recoilless rifles, just in case the missiles were unnecessary, and it was a world winner anyway.

For the most part, their gear appeared to be mostly Vietnam-era with some 70s and 80s influences. That wasn’t as much of a problem as one would expect, as the US Military had been using similar balances of equipment right up into the 90s. Modern radio networks back home even still had the capability to integrate with radios built during Vietnam.
They might not do well against the Changeling equipment, but if modern Earth could hold out, they’d have a fighting chance.

Twilight was fascinating by their equipment of course, their science and knowledge, but also by their social structure. While perhaps 60% of the personnel were human, the remaining percentage were a mix of the three pony species, griffins, hippogriffs, Abyssinians, and dragons. Equestria was among one of the most tolerant nations of immigrants, but not to this extent!
On the surface, the Terran Alliance appeared to be made up of kind and generous people. On the surface.

The pair were given medical examinations once again to be sure they were fit for duty. Melissa had a particularly noteworthy experience with the carrier’s dentist.

“Corporal, I’m going to guess that dental care wasn’t at the top of your list of priorities while you were in Equestria, but surely you could’ve taken better care of your teeth than this! How much stuff do you have between your molars? Equestria might be primitive, but I know they have at least some advanced dental capabilities. What happened?”

Melissa looked off to the side for a moment, grimacing, “Uh…”

“I said back off!”

“Miss, just put the scalpel down and--”

“What the shit is this doing in a dentist office?! Get away from me! What the hell’s wrong with you? My teeth do not need sharpening you malpractice-demanding-fuck!”

“It...could’ve gone better.”

To top it all off, they were fed actual Earth food. It was an odd contrast, seeing Melissa's plate of potatoes, rice, corn, and a massive steak next to Twilight's extremely vegetarian meal.

Finally, after several days, a strategy was assembled.

The leaders of the fleet met back in the Jackson’s briefing room, along with Melissa and Twilight. Admiral Curtis was there obviously, but they also met with the Carrier Air Group(CAG) commander, the fleet ship captains, and the officers in charge of the MEU, several captains led by one Colonel Waters.

Colonel Waters obviously had a vested interest in Melissa. As other officers filed in, he walked up to her, returned the salute she gave, and shook her hand.
Looking her up and down, he raised an eyebrow, “Interesting uniform, corporal. what’s changed since we’ve been gone? What kind of weaponry is the corps packing these days?”

“Much the same as what you had, Colonel, sir. We’ve replaced the M47 Dragons a while back. I’ve heard word of replacing the Harriers, but considering the F-35’s reputation, I don’t know how that’s going to go over. Especially considering the alien invasion...correction sir, I do not know what the corps is armed with at present, but I do know what they had when I left.”

The colonel nodded in satisfaction surprisingly, “Good. If they managed to hold out with gear like ours, we should do fine at the very least.”

Melissa didn’t know how to respond, and settled for staying silent.

Twilight stepped over, and greeted the colonel. She noted an interesting symbol on a chain sticking out of his collar, knocked out somehow.
She recognized it as a small metal medallion, carved into the shape of Queen Celestia’s cutie mark.

“Colonel Waters, what is the meaning of that symbol?” she asked, pointing.

The colonel looked at it, and tucked it back inside his shirt, “Oh, I’m a follower of the Celestial Faith. I thought Equestria used them as well?”

Melissa broke into a smile, “Holy crap, that’s a thing?! Do they have one for Luna?”

Twilight glanced at her, “You do know where you’ve been living for the past few months, right? Canterlot has the first of the places of worship for both queens commissioned.”

Melissa made a face, “I’ve been busy!”

Once everyone was in place, Curtis, with the CAG and Waters off to one side, stepped up to the plate at the front of the briefing room.

On an overhead projector, a map of the Equestrian nation appeared.

“In case any of you have been under a rock, we're going to war within the next 48 hours,” Curtis began, “the Terran Alliance is going to break out of its shell and aid the magic horses. We are to land on Equestria’s Western coast, disembark our jarhead ballast, and offer any support we can.” he pointed to the aforementioned coast with a yardstick.

His aide swapped out the large map for a smaller one, this time focusing on the land between Canterlot, helpfully labeled and positioned on the right side, and the open ocean on the left side.

“As I'm sure you've all been briefed on our foe, I won't waste any time explaining them. They're the bad guys. We know little about how their force is equipped, but we know they have limited numbers, only a regiment at most. According to our experts, as they have not overwhelmed the planet yet, they are likely are cut off from support. That does not mean they are helpless. Their munitions were good enough to take on Earth. It's obviously not hopeless for us either, though. We're not going up against Martian Fighting Machines and heat-rays. Earth held out for a while with nothing but lead and blood against their entire military as it always did. We'll be just fine against a few stragglers.”

He turned to the screen, “Now then. We're the only major force in the area who can respond to this threat, at the moment. The the Woodrow Wilson is en route with reinforcements, and the HMS Prince of Wales is on her way with her battle group and a battalion of Royal Marines. Airborne units are being assembled back home, and will be flying the longest flight for an airborne operation ever seen on this planet. However, for the time being, we are on our own, and we must be prepared for the possibility relief may not come. We must count on surprise, shock, and every advantage we have to overcome the enemy’s superior numbers.”
Curtis stepped forward to the overhead, taking a dry-erase marker and drawing a circle on the map along the coast. “Ship captains, our job is to get the MEU here, and cover them so they can offload their cargo and get ashore. The Chesapeake Bay will work with the Jackson to coordinate our efforts. You will rely on her instructions, she’s just about the only thing in the sea that can probably match the enemy’s sensor capabilities if our intel is correct. The Jackson will provide air cover, of course,” he drew arrows from the circle across the landscape, “She doesn’t have many modern planes or jet aircraft, so fellas, we’re going to have to prioritize. The marines get first dibs, because if they’re gone, we’re all dead. The colonel will now explain the next phase of the operation.”

Colonel Waters stepped up to the projector, “According to intel, the enemy is going to focus most of their efforts here, at the Equestrian capital,” he pointed, ”they have small numbers of troops inside the city, but the majority of their force lies outside it, concealed somewhere our aerial recon can’t detect. The bugs inside the city might give us trouble, but we’ll still have time to prepare.

“We have planned a risky maneuver. We’re going to use the majority of the 27th’s organic air support assets to move Alpha Company, and additional assets to the city in a ship-to-objective maneuver. They’ll ferry in as many supplies as they can, but you won’t get many vehicles. Captain Hansen...” he gestured to the man who was Alpha Company’s CO, “...will be tasked with defending the city for as long as possible until Bravo and Charlie Company can arrive for relief.”

He drew an X on a beach some distance north of Las Pegasus, “We’ll disembark Bravo and Charlie here with most of our heavy equipment. This will be designated Utah Beach.” From the beach, he drew a line that led along a river east, passed northward over Ponyville, and ended at the city, “Once our position is secure, from there, a convoy consisting of our tanks, AAVs, and troop transports will drive pedal-to-the-metal to relieve Alpha, with our LAVs providing flanking cover. We’re hoping that the enemy will concentrate most of his forces on Alpha. They’ll slow the bugs down and bleed them, so that we’ll be able to swoop in with fresh troops and hit them where it hurts. This little surprise of fresh troops should be enough to break them. They likely don’t have enough troops to hit us both with equal force, so they’ll need to commit them somewhere. If they focus on Bravo and Charlie, we’ll hopefully be able to catch them outside the city on a more equal footing and Alpha can come down to help us. Either way, he can’t go toward one area without being hit by the other. It’s also why we’re trying to hold a city with just a reinforced infantry company; the enemy’s forces are roughly equal to our own in size.”

The colonel pointed to Melissa and Twilight, “Corporal Foster and Ms. Sparkle will be flying in with Alpha Company, but will make several stops in any nearby towns to attempt to contact Equestrian military authorities and inform them of the situation. However, their army will likely be slow to move, and infiltrators are a risk. We can’t rely on their help, at least outside the city.”

A marine captain raised his hand, “Colonel sir, what’re the rules for dealing with the locals?”

Waters looked at him, “You will all be given briefing packets on exact etiquette to follow, but I’ll give you the basics. The Equestrians are likely to be extremely confused by our presence, technology, and especially by certain individuals,” he gestured to the dragon captain, “they will likely be frightened at the very least, and hostile at worst. For Bravo and Charlie, you will try to limit your interactions with the locals, and above all else make the best possible time to get to the city. You must not delay. If you are fired upon, fire back, but do not get bogged down. Alpha, your troops will run the most risk of conflict with the local authorities, so I’m encouraging him to work with them as best as possible. If they get in the way, you will do what you can to accommodate them, but don’t let that get in the way of the city’s defense. Is this clear?”

“Clear as crystal, sir.” Hansen called out.

Waters then added, “One more thing. Further details are available in your briefing documents, but we have a possible future hostage situation on our hands. One human male, Mr. Andrew Shepherd, was last seen in the city apprehended by Mutan forces. We are to assume he is still in their hands. While security of the city is paramount, this is also a vital secondary objective, as he is known to the locals and a potentially valuable asset. Any and all rescue attempts must be made if at all possible. We don’t know if he’s in the city, or if he’s been taken elsewhere, it is something we must be aware of and to inform your subordinates of.”

Curtis stepped in again, “That’s a wrap for this briefing, everyone. You’ll break down into your respective units and brief your subordinates. Exact details as outlined will be provided to you. Good luck.”

Twilight and Melissa got up with the others, and found themselves approached by Captain Hansen. He was dark-skinned, and taller than Melissa, but not all that much. He appeared to be in his late 20s.

Melissa came to attention and saluted. Hansen returned the salute, and nodded to Twilight, “Looks like we’re stuck together. We’re going to transfer over to the Randolph. You’ll need to get yourselves equipped, but we’ve got time for that.”

He looked at Melissa’s uniform, “Corporal, you may want to change into fatigues that don’t make you stand out quite so much. It might work back home, but here you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXX

Hours later, in a briefing room on the Amphibious Assault Ship, the senior officers of Alpha Company were assembled.

Both dressed in BDUs, Twilight and Melissa sat off to the side. Melissa's hair had been cut down all the way back up to her hair, the hairstyle she'd started out with when she first appeared in Equestria.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Melissa hissed, trying to stifle her laughter at her friend.

Twilight was tugging on the collar of her new outfit, “It’s the jacket, it doesn’t fit right! It...it itches and it doesn’t! It crawls!”

“How could it be itching?! Your fabrics should be…” Melissa thought for a minute, “Wait a minute, your fabrics should be more itchy! How come all the clothes I made here don’t itch?”

“Because Rarity makes them. And the fabric isn’t the problem, it just doesn’t fit! It’s too tight and too loose all over the place!”

“At least you’re not going into a crash course on a field promotion!” Melissa hissed back, and tugged at her collar. Three chevrons sat there, instead of two. “I’ve got a dozen books to memorize in two days!”

“Why did they promote you, anyway?” Twilight asked, “The colonel called you to his office, and when you came back you had the stripes.”

Melissa shrugged, “I’m one of their best combat engineers simply by virtue of being from the future from their perspective. I also know the most about the city, its defenses, and other stuff. I guess they didn’t want anyone pulling rank on me because they thought they knew better.”

The chatter in the room began to taper off. Hansen was at the front with another overhead, and once he was sure everyone was there, he activated it.

On the screen appeared a map of the pony capital.

Canterlot was a mountain city, built out of the side of several peaks on a sort of gully. It was divided into several sections. While the castle itself was built on the edge, higher up than the others and connected by bridges, the two “wings” of the city stretched out to either side, one curving around the mountain to the north and the other further back into the peaks to the southeast. The northern side was less developed due to its precarious nature, and served as a more upper class area, with a slight New York Central Park feel to it. Separated by a lake from the castle, the southeast wing of the city was much more developed, the heart of the city’s commercial and residential areas. Further along the mountainside, separated from the residential sector by a steep ridge, was the industrial sprawl. Mines for coal and other heavy elements were in the area, as well as factories and train yards.

Up the mountain above the lake, nestled in the hills behind the castle, connected by several footpath tunnels and one road, was another smaller lake. It was a fed by by melting snow and the interior of the mountain from points higher in altitude. Waterfalls from it fed the larger lake below, that also formed the castle moat and the center of the city’s water supply. The upper lake had an amount of flat land around it, and thus was home to a critical area. The airship landing fields.

A few small bridges and tunnels on the furthest edge of the industrial area connected the city to the train tracks that led to other parts of the Equestrian Kingdom. It was a way of keeping an enemy out, but also had the problem of potentially trapping their people inside. A few were tunnels designed to be blocked off easily, but the bridges were the largest routes.

Hansen began speaking, “This is Canterlot. It’s one of the most defensible positions on the planet...or at least it was. It has few avenues of entry for a purely foot force, is difficult to reach with cannon, and any airships attempting to land will probably be shot down. Massed swarms by enemy flyers pose a threat, but the city is well-defended with its own swarm. However, against modern technology, it is vulnerable. There are no missile defenses, obviously, and their weapons are primitive. This is part of the reason we’re deploying.”

He pointed at the map, “It is our job to protect this city and its population until Bravo and Charlie company, or our airborne support can arrive to relieve us.”

He pointed at the few avenues of exit, as well as the sheer cliff faces and mountainous terrain, “Our company, and with some of the locals, are going to have to defend against at least a battalion of enemy troops. We can’t afford to mount a defense outside the city, with our numbers disadvantage. The enemy also has unknown weapon capabilities beyond our own, and we’re going to use any advantage we can get to undermine his long range fire. Thus, we must concentrate our defenses in the city itself. We’ve got a potentially-friendly population though, and a lot of historically significant buildings, which complicates things. It can’t be helped, but we’re basically defending London here, troops.

“We will have our organic air support, as well as support from the fleet, in the form of fast-movers and helos. We don’t know what the enemy’s anti-air capabilities are, so be prepared to lose air support at any time.”

Pointing to Canterlot Castle and the upper class area, Hansen said “This is sector 1, we’re putting only a few assets here. It’s too vulnerable, and far too likely to be compromised. From what we know, the enemy is going to land most of their troops here.”

He pointed at the airfield, “This here will be sector 2, and will be where the majority of our air defenses will be. It’s vulnerable, yes, but it’s also the best place to land large aircraft, parachute in troops, or deploy armored vehicles. They’ll likely be restrained in their attempts to bomb it. So we’ll get a wide field of fire for our Stinger surface-to-air missiles, and we’ll stick some of our howitzers and supply areas there.” he drew several squares representing surface-to-air missiles, as well as squares with black dots in the center to represent the artillery.

“2nd platoon’s first and second squads will work as a tactical combat reserve force. You’ll get a TOW and a heavy machine gun. You’ll get squads from the light machine gun or assault sections, so that also gives you two M240s and two Carl Gustafs to work with. You’ll have at least one LAV with you, and transportation of some kind for rapid deployment.”

Hansen pointed to several streets on the map. The older sections of the city were a mess, medieval zig-zags meant to defend against invaders mixed in with industrial-era gridded roads cut straight through.

“This is sector 3, the core periphery, residential sprawl, and commercial ribbon of the city. The enemy is heavily reliant on air assets, and we’re going to assume they’ll attack from the west, the direction of the sector 1, instead of the mountains to the northeast. They’ll come in from the west over the castle, and land in sector 1 and the northern section of sector 3. We’ll block off the roads here and here, to canalize the enemy into the road here. Second squad of 1st platoon will defend those streets with half a machine gun squad and half an assault squad. You’ll have only one M240 and one Gustafs to work with, sorry. You’ll be falling back in waves, to this plaza here...”

Hansen drew a square around a large intersection of main roads, “...where third squad will be waiting. A heavy machine gun will be with you, along with a TOW and the M47s. We’ll also place two of our 60mm mortars with you guys. The ponies will hold the flanks as long as they can, but I don’t think their cannons will do well against tanks. If you can’t hold, you’re going to keep falling back in waves toward the tunnels in sector 4.”

The captain drew arrows toward the ridge separating sector 3 from the industrial sector. He put Stinger markers, and squares with a black symbol in the center that looked like a turkey baster-- the symbol for mortars -- along the ridge. “This is sector 4. We’ll try and put some of our heavy mortars up here. They can cover both sides of the city and they’re harder to hit. We’ll put a Stinger up with them so they can cover either side of the ridge, though they’re in for a rough ride. We have a few drones to provide targeting data, but you all know what they’re like. They ain’t infallible, or particularly effective at all. Observers will have to carry a lot of the burden.”

He pointed at the industrial sector. It didn’t have the same zig-zag problem the residential area had, and was instead a logical grid formation, “This will be sector 5. Our last assault and light machine gun squads, along with our last mortar, will be with 2nd platoon’s third squad, and a squad from 3rd platoon to defend the sector with the ponies. You’ll have a strongpoint here,” he drew a square around a plaza, “to the rest of sector 3. You’ll have fewer Stingers, but the industrial sector is full of smoke and aerial hazards, so it’ll be harder for their air power to drop in on you unannounced or to give accurate fire support. Your goal is to defend key sectors of industry and the rails. We will need a way out, as will the civilians.“

Finally, he drew in symbols around the bridges, “This will be sector 6. We’ll position 3rd platoon’s second squad, along with another M240 and a Carl Gustaf, to protect these two bridges. Third squad will take some combat engineers and work with the local authorities to seal the tunnels. The only way in will be the bridges. If the rotorheads bring enough vehicles in, we’ll see about getting you guys some. You’ll support sector 5 as much as possible, but your priority is the bridges. You’re the key to half the operation. Those bridges are vital for getting our reinforcements in.”

The captain drew in some positions marking out Equestrian Army positions, “We will get help from the local military. You are to use them as you see fit when possible, to help offset our numbers disadvantage, but be careful relying on them. They don’t have the training or the technology to match our capabilities. They also are probably going to have trouble with our instructions.”

The captain pointed out several large open spaces on the map, circling them, “Keep an eye on these areas. The enemy won’t be able to launch mass air attacks without getting shot, but these are perfect LZs. Our remaining Stingers will try to suppress them, but we need to remain vigilant. The enemy may also have infiltrators, though not many of them, hidden among the populace. Watch for snipers, watch for mines, anything you’d do they’ll probably do only twice as hard. These are bugs we’re fighting, people. They’re smaller and probably faster than you, and can fly. Watch the ceilings.”

He sighed, “Now, you’re to keep falling back in waves regardless of what happens. If we get pushed back faster than we expect, or reinforcements take longer to arrive, or anything, you’re to fall back in an orderly fashion, keep falling back by sector to the bridges. The bridges are the only way for our armored vehicles to get in, and for us to get out. They must not fall.”

Hansen drew a flag in the industrial sector, close to one of the pony barracks, “The company CP” he referred to the command post, “...will be here, along with the company hospital. We’ll have medevacs coming in and out, and aid stations positioned around the city.”

“How can they expect to defend an entire city like this?” Twilight whispered, “There’s maybe 300 of them!”

“This is our job,” Melissa said, “Even if it seems hopeless. We can’t just abandon the city like that, it’s too key to your kingdom, but we also can’t afford to lose time by going overland. Anyway, urban combat is notorious for allowing a handful of soldiers to bleed the enemy. We’re not expecting to win either, just hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”

“And if they don’t?”

Melissa gave her a look that told the unicorn all she needed to know.

Hansen pointed out areas to deny the enemy, and buildings not to blow up for cultural, economic, or habitability reasons.

A Second Lieutenant Stacy Cole, the commander of 1st platoon, raised her hand, “Captain sir, what will the rest of my platoon be doing?”

Hansen nodded, “Thank you, Lieutenant. Some of you have probably been wondering what a civilian and an enlisted engineer are doing in here,” he pointed at Melissa and Twilight, “They are the people who brought us this info, but you might also be wondering if they should they be in battle.”

Hansen pointed at the castle, “Our assets deployed in sector 1 will be a significant escort in the form of first squad from 1st platoon. They’ll be escorting Ms. Sparkle and Sergeant Foster into the castle, in an attempt to apprehend the enemy commander. She is impersonating one of their leaders at a wedding affair, which we’ll probably arrive right in the middle of, hence why we’re bringing these two along. They are the most recognizable to the locals, so they won’t shoot us on sight, and can destroy the castle if the need arises, but they also know who to and who not to shoot in there. Once the enemy commander is apprehended, they will pull back to the HQ and await further instructions or evac. Sergeant Foster also knows much about the locals’ military capabilities, and we might need her if we run into anything unexpected.”

Lieutenant Cole glanced over doubtfully, “Captain, with all due respect, are you sure this is a good idea? I assume the sergeant can hold a rifle, but bringing a civilian into this…”

Hansen held up a hand, “Lieutenant, trust me, I had the same concerns. While Ms. Sparkle is not trained in combat, I have it on good sources that she’s a capable asset, and is also the queen’s protege. Even if she wasn’t capable of fighting, we’d need her. They need a friendly face to keep them calm. How do you think these people will react to a bunch of monkeys showing up waving guns around and yelling about shapeshifting aliens from outer space?”

“Give us bananas?” someone suggested.

Hansen snorted, but shook his head. He put his hands behind his back, “Marines, I won’t lie to you. We’re probably going to go through the brunt of the storm here. There’s only a handful of us against an enemy force several times our size. If all goes well, we’ll only have to hold out a few hours and we’ll all be able to make it home alright, but Murphy’s with us as always. Few of us have ever been in combat, let alone the modern combat the colonel and any other old hands went through. The Terran Alliance has been in hiding since its founding, and this will be the first time in a long while that we’ve deployed our conventional troops. This isn’t a light decision. The world is watching. We’re going in to a country that may well try to shoot us down when we try to help them, up against an enemy we know little about. We’ll have air support and artillery, but we don’t know what capabilities the enemy will have. We do know that we’ll probably be outnumbered and outgunned, we won’t have much time to prepare or rehearse, and we’re going to lose people. Three-hundred plus a few thousand outdated soldiers isn’t a lot.

“However, this is what we do. We run toward the sound of the guns to help our allies and anyone in need. We’ve trained for this since enlistment. The corps is one of the best on two worlds, and it’s been through worse than this. We must remember the 27th Marine Regimental heritage. We were at Iwo Jima, in Vietnam -- we were the first regiment to fly into a combat zone. This regiment survived through thick and thin against the Japanese without medevacs, guided munitions, or M16s, and we survived against Charlie when he tried to break us. We didn’t back down from Hussein, from Mao, from Stalin, from Hitler, or Tojo. You might think we’re outnumbered, that we’re a few hundred defending a city against an alien menace, but that’s not the case. The aliens are invading a city defended by the United States Marine Corps.”

Hansen pointed at the map on the projection screen, “We are going to get to that city, and we will defend those ponies, those people, those mothers and fathers, those sons and daughters, from the bastards who would try to enslave them. We will live up to the reputation Earth set before us, and we’ll drive them back into space just as they did. Everything is counting on us, marines. We’re bearing the brunt of the storm because we’re all that stands between victory and defeat for this entire planet. We cannot fail.”

There was applause and shouts of agreement, and they were dismissed to brief their subordinates.

Second Lieutenant Cole approached Melissa and Twilight. Exchanging a salute with Melissa, she jerked her head toward the hatch, “I’ll introduce you to first squad.”

They began walking out, and Cole addressed Melissa, “Sergeant, I’ve heard you were big back in Equestria, but I need a useful engineer and combat asset more than I need a...whatever you were. Can I assume you still know how to hold a rifle?”

“Yes ma’am. I am still fully qualified as a rifleman and an engineer. I’ve been making sure to maintain all marine standards as much as I could, since my leave expired a few days after showing up and technically I was supposed to return to duty--”

“Good. I’m surprised, I thought the ponies were all about friendship and rainbows. What needed marine skills over there?”

Melissa glanced at Twilight briefly, “...as I was saying, I was supposed to return to duty and if I didn’t maintain certain standards I probably wouldn’t be able to get out of charges of being AWOL if we ever made contact with the US government again. Though that’s beside the point. You’d be surprised what can happen over there, everything from timber wolves to manticores to--”

“Well, I’m sure the Changelings will be the worst of it.” Cole made a rather concerned expression at Twilight, “Miss, are you qualified in firearms?”

Twilight made a so-so motion with her hoof, “Eh...no, not really.”

Cole didn’t seem surprised, “Uh-huh...I mean no offense, but you could be a liability in the field. We may wish--”

“Sir, permission to speak?” Melissa asked, “She is a unicorn. One of the most powerful I’ve seen. She may not be trained in firearms, but she has other ways of helping, and even if she runs out of magic juice, she learns fast.”

Twilight nodded vigorously, “Yes, extremely fast!”

Cole blinked, “Right. Magic.” she sighed, “I’m gonna regret this... I’ll see if I can find someone to train you in a sidearm at least.”

Twilight grinned, “I’ll do my best to learn...sir.”

The lieutenant sighed again, “Don’t ‘sir’ me. Or whatever. Just refer to me by name or rank, got it?”

They made their way up to the ships troop marshalling area. A large portion of the infantry battalion occupied the wide echoing space, doing exercises, managing equipment, nothing really noteworthy.

Cole led them to a squad off to one side, a group of marines that matched a lot of the demographics of the Terran Alliance. There were two hippogriffs, three griffins, an Abyssinian, one earth pony, seven humans, and a dragon with sergeant’s stripes.

He was a little taller than Melissa was, perhaps 170 centimeters or so. Slightly below average height, for humans at least, but perhaps not among dragons. He had a short snout, a sawtooth crest of spinal fins, and orange scales. Like the rest of the marines, contrary to most of the planet, he wore a full uniform with boots and gloves. Of note was the fact that he had no visible wings at all.

The sergeant turned to look at the group as they approached. His thin and tall pupils narrowed at them, in particular Cole.

Cool and calm, he nodded to her, “Lieutenant. These are the Hestons?”

Cole grimaced slightly, “Yeah, Vaughn. I’m assigning them to you.”

The sergeant nodded again, “Understood.”

The ironically icy dragon stepped over to Melissa, and extended his hand, “I’m Sergeant Bedwyr Vaughn, you are Sergeant Foster I presume?”

“I’m Sergeant Melissa Foster, yeah.” Melissa didn’t hesitate to take his hand, shaking it vigorously with a friendly grin. She was somewhat excited.

He glanced at Twilight, “And you’re Twilight Sparkle?”

The unicorn nodded, and shook his hand.

Glancing at the spelling of Vaughn’s nametag above his right breast, Melissa commented, “That’s a Welsh spelling, isn’t it? Where you from?”

“New Washington.” he said, “Yes, before you ask, it is spelled correctly.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. Is your family Welsh? Mine is, third generation immigrant.”

He looked doubtful at her name tag, “Are you now?”

“I know, I know, but really, I'm as Welsh as they come! Well, as Welsh as Americans come anyway. My grandmother moved to the US from Cardiff when she was a girl and the family changed their name.”

Vaughn’s entire demeanor shifted, thawing as he grew an interested smile, “Oh! Cardiff? Really? My grandfather was from there! What’s the place like nowadays? Probably changed a lot...”

“Aw, man, sorry! I haven’t got a clue! I’ve always wanted to go. My nana died when I was a kid, but we still have family there. Closest I got was London when I was studying abroad.”

“Bloody English…”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe what they’re doing right now. There was this thing recently called ‘Brexit’...”

“Wow! Vaughn, never seen you lit up like this around other dragons!” Cole commented.

Vaughn's coldness immediately returned. “Was there anything else, ma'am?”

The second lieutenant’s eyes widened slightly in annoyance, but she didn’t comment. ‘No, Sergeant Vaughn. If you could give the unicorn training in firearms, that’ll be nice.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The lieutenant walked away, and he shook his head with a rough sigh, “The lieutenant’s such a--”

He froze when he caught sight of Twilight, and cleared his throat, “So...Ms. Sparkle, Sergeant, uh...”

Having been silent until now, Twilight jumped slightly at being involved, “Sergeant Vaughn, is there anything we can do for preparations?”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow, “I’ll get Corporal Ceres to show you the ropes of a .45.”

He raised a hand to his mouth, “Hey Ceres! Get over here!”

“Sergeant, you know I haven’t met many dragons outside of a friend of mine,” Twilight commented, “He’s my assistant, though really more of a member of the family…”

She trailed off, looking into the distance. Spike…

Images of her friends, of Andrew and Spike flashed through her mind.

Everyone back home. All in danger. The entire country. Everyone she knew.

She shook her head, and gulped, trying to maintain her train of thought, “...I...hatched him when I was a filly. We have no idea who his parents were. Did you know your parents? I mean, were they dragons, or…?”

“My parents were dragons, yes. I knew them.” the coldness returned, but it wasn’t quite the same. “Miss, you okay? You kinda drifted off there for a minute.”

Twilight coughed, “Yes...yes I’m fine. Fine. Totally fine!”

She sat down on her rear breathing heavily and hugging her tail. “Fine...Everything’s...fine fine fine fine…”

“Twilight…” Melissa said, crouching down beside her, “You don’t look fine.”

Twilight tried to hide it, but tears were brimming at the edges of her eyes, “N-no, I guess n-not.”

She leaned against Melissa, sniffling and trying not to start bawling. The marine embraced Twilight awkwardly.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay...Twi’, it’s okay…You’re okay...”

Melissa glanced at Vaughn and motioned for him to keep the others away.

“I...I don’t understand it!” Twilight gurgled past sobs, “I’ve faced worse than this before! Discord, Nightmare Moon, even my final exams...why now? Oh, Celestia I’m such a...a…”

“Hey, I’ve dribbled plenty of snot on your fur since I got here, it’s only fair to my laundry bill…”

Twilight chuckled weakly, “No...no...I’ve had worse before and I haven’t melted down! Why now?! Why now…?”

“Probably because of spending several days under constant stress in a new environment and a war with global implications on your hands while also dealing with physical and mental injuries?”

“But...I’ve been through that! Nightmare Moon!” Twilight sighed with a tremor, “But that was only for a few hours...not days. You’re right…”

She had a renewed bout of controlled sobbing.

“It’s fine, Twi’, just let it out. We all understand. Better out than in, right?”

“Urk…I don’t think my stomach’s gotten better since the helicopter…”

“...Oh god that quote’s more accurate than I thought. Tasing and stress probably doesn’t help. I’ll see if I can find a sick bag or something...”

A marine griffin with two chevrons on his collar approached Vaughn. He had a military-style cut to his mane, which was navy-blue with gold-tipped feathers. His coat was the same color as his mane, except his underside, which was a white downy color. His wings were dark blue.

He peered at the two the squad was to be escorting, a little confused.

“Took you long enough, Corporal.”

Corporal Ceres grumbled, “You called me out from halfway across the room full of 600 goddamn marines. It took a while. What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, Ceres. Go find a bucket in case the unicorn gets sick.”

Ceres rolled his eyes, “What, she got an upset tummy--”

“Corporal I swear to…!”

“Yes, Sergeant!”