Impure hearts stumble,
In my hands they crumble,
And fragile and stripped to the core,
I can't hurt you anymore.
Muse, Guiding Light.

To Robert Gardner, Colonel, UNAC taskforce.

Subject: RE Reavers & Other HLF Units

Dear Col. Gardner.

I will be blunt, Colonel. I have been in every way imaginable cooperative with you and just about everyone else with regards any operations against rogue militias, the Carter HLF, and any group that is a genuine, clear and present threat to the war effort. Any effort to deal with these renegade groups is welcome in my eyes, as they constitute an unacceptable distraction from the business of winning the war. I myself have made efforts to support internal Spader-Loyalist efforts to negate and neuter those elements (efforts which are not helped by your actions or those of those under your command).

Your desire to prosecute a campaign of sanctions, military action and other harsh measures against groups that are our allies, however, is untenable. These groups have been, despite the reservations of others, stopgaps in our defensive positions, holding key positions in our strategy and providing key personnel that have been immeasurably valuable, never mind the research that we have received from people like Captain Romero. To lump them all in the same boat because of rogue elements that can be dealt with relatively straightforwardly is, frankly, ludicrous. I will not condone or assist in efforts to damage our positive relationship with multiple valuable assets just so you can pursue your personal vendetta.

In short, asshole, LIKE HELL.

Regards,
Colonel Harrison Munro, First Encounter Assault Recon.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: David Elliot (E.S)
Interviewer notes: David Elliot is noted in the Fairport Incident record - in addition to him having been a subject of the Project Harbinger experiment (see file Project Harbinger-Alpha), his psych profile reports contain repeated references to his dreams being ‘esoteric’. This interview shows only part of that.

H.M: Say that again, Sergeant?

D.E: It’s not finished this time. The dream: the dream of the other life isn’t finished this time. It’s like it’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what.

H.M: Sergeant, has anyone ever told you that you’re an odd man.

D.E: Increasingly after Fairport, sir. But Hadley’s Hope was a turning point.

H.M: How so?

D.E: I just… I don’t know. I know that there’s something more to what this is, what we are. What we were meant to become. What I was meant to become.

H.M: Which is what, Sergeant?

D.E: There are two paths. No, more than two, ten, ten thousand, ten billion. But there are patterns. The mare. The man. The mare. Sometimes they’re close. Sometimes they’re far. Sometimes he’s the only hope, sometimes he only finds her. Sometimes she is a warrior, sometimes she is a diplomat.

(Pause)

D.E: Sorry, sir. It’s very difficult to understand. My dreams… they used to be a lot less clear, but they used to be a lot moreso, too.

H.M: You mean… other worlds?

D.E: I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe something worse. (He pauses) Is it worth it, do you think, sir? Is there any joy left when all of it ends the same? Is anything we do, anything we say… does any of it matter, when we never, ever get the ending we truly want?

H.M: I… don’t know how to answer that question, Sergeant.

D.E: It’s alright, sir. I don’t think he knows how to answer it either.

It is time. Leave this place, a voice seemed to whisper in Commander Cairn’s ear. Find me. Make me. Bring me back. Bring me home.

Cairn blinked. He was standing in his makeshift office, looking about the space without really seeing, listening to a voice that no one else could see.

“I see,” he said after a moment. “And… you’re sure?”

Bring me back. Bring me home.

“Well, then,” Cairn said, letting out a breath. He turned, only to find Sun Dere already standing behind him, smiling at him. She was remarkably unchanged - the same smile, the same slightly submissive demeanour. “Ah, Sun Dere. I was about to come find you.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” Dere said. “We need to leave.”

“We do indeed,” Cairn said, nodding. “We’ll leave a token force here to guard the remaining prisoners, and then we’ll head off.” He nodded. “We have to find her. Bring her home.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” she said. “We understand perfectly.”

“Yes, we do,” Cairn nodded. He smiled. “Please go find me one of the UNAC people we took prisoner - maybe that big human, Markham? We’ll need to arrange the defence.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” Sun Dere said again, in the same tone. “At once. Nameless watch us all.”

“Nameless watch us all,” Cairn repeated, nodding, before turning to his desk. He had one final thing to do.

Stepping up to the desk, he pulled a drawer out and picked up a small crystal - a crystal projector, a kind of emergency contact device that linked to the Totem Prole network. The army preferred only to use them in extreme circumstances. Cairn had never understood why: he had heard some guff about an incident in Fairport having caused the Empire to curb using the projectors (something about an exploding Prole-technician in the heart of Canterlot?), but under the circumstances, he felt justified.

“Prole contact, code Cairn-Seven-One-Seven,” he said. The crystal glowed in response to his words, before gently floating to the middle of his tent. “Put me through to Shieldwall.”

The crystal floated and glowed for a moment longer, before flashing. The image of a pony appeared. An earth pony with a dark blue coat, and a black mane streaked through with green.

He had such pale blue eyes that Cairn almost had to squint to make sure they were still there.

“Commander Cairn,” Shieldwall said. “It’s been a while since your last progress report, is everything alright?”

Cairn smiled. “Hello there, Shieldwall. I’m so glad the projector worked. I was worried we might have issues.”

“You didn’t answer the question, Cairn,” Shieldwall said. “What’s been going on over there?”

“Wonderful things, Shieldwall,” Cairn replied. “Oh, so wonderful they are. But I’m afraid I’m not able to go into too much detail y-”

“No,” Shieldwall interrupted.

“‘No’, Shieldwall?” Cairn asked, sounding disappointed.

“See this?” Shieldwall asked, pointing to the Order of Canterlot medal he wore on the right side of his uniform. “That means I get what I want. And that I can talk like I’m in charge.”

A pause.

“You, however,” Shieldwall continued, “report to me. In the middle of my operation.”

Another pause. Shieldwall seemed to be looking through Cairn.

“You haven’t gone PHL,” Shieldwall said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be contacting me through these channels. But. You’ve done something wrong. I can smell it.”

“‘Wrong’, Shieldwall?” Cairn said, before chuckling. The chuckle turned into a giggle, and through the giggle, Cairn continued. “You… you haven’t seen it, yet, Shieldwall.”

“Earthshocked, then,” Shieldwall said, betraying no emotions in his voice. “Clearly you’ve succumbed to some earth madness. A common psychological hangup of being at war on an alien world. I’m sure we can -”

“Earthshocked?” Cairn continued to giggle. “No, no, no. Nothing on this paltry planet has the capacity to show me what I have seen.” He blinked, and his giggles subsided at once. He looked Shieldwall dead in the eye. “And the things I have seen, oh the things I have seen… perhaps you will understand, too.” He took a deep breath. “We are sending you a progress report with one of our new children, Shieldwall, and you will see, we have not been idle in our time at Hadley’s Hope.”

“What,” Shieldwall said, taking a deep breath, “have you seen, Cairn.”

Cairn smiled. “The report will be most comprehensive, Shieldwall, that I promise you.” He took a breath. “That is not, however, why I have contacted you. I am, regretfully, ordering a withdrawal from this position.”

“On what grounds?” Shieldwall asked, a note of anger creeping into his voice. “You don’t have the authority.”

“I have received orders from above you, Shieldwall,” Cairn replied impassively.

“As far as I know,” Shieldwall hissed, “Celestia herself hasn’t stepped forth from Canterlot to reassign you.”

“I did not say that name,” Cairn interrupted. “I said I am ordered from above you. And I will follow those orders. I am commanded to bring Her back.”

“Nothing is above Queen Celestia,” Shieldwall said. “Adding treason to the long list of your crimes, Warrior Cairn?”

Cairn laughed. “You presume so much with me saying so little, Shieldwall.”

“Because Celestia forbid,” Shieldwall said, sneering, “I stay firm in my duty.”

Cairn raised his head. “There are enemies coming here who will destroy what we have built, but that no longer matters in the grand scheme of things. I have performed my duty in informing you of the necessities of our movement.” He smiled. “I hope you truly enjoy the report I am sending. And I trust when next we meet you will understand things a little clearer. It would be so unfortunate, otherwise.” He giggled again. “In the meantime, Shieldwall, I wish you well.”

He tapped the crystal, pushing his hoof straight through Shieldwall’s projected chest, and the crystal dropped to the floor, cracking as it landed, black ooze starting to seep from it.

Cairn looked up, to see Sun Dere waiting there, smiling at him.

“Sun Dere,” he said. “Are we ready?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Markham is here, Commander Cairn-san.”

“Send him in,” Cairn said, “and prepare the evacuation of all essential personnel.”

Sun Dere inclined her head and left, as a shaven-headed man in a battered, rune-daubed set of UN Hardball armour entered the room. One eye had exploded, the same black ooze leaking from the ruined socket, the same ooze that had now come from so many of their bodies (hidden, hidden, shadows just waiting to be discovered in the depths). The other was grey, staring at Cairn with a blazing fury.

“The will of the Dark?” the human asked without preamble.

“You will remain here and engage the forces seeking to purge us,” Cairn said, smiling. “Give battle to them. Make it convincing. You will not be able to win, of course, but it is worth it to give them the illusion of a victory here. It will buy us the time we need to make Her whole.”

“I understand, Commander,” Markham said. “I will do as you bid.”

Cairn nodded, and Markham left without another word, leaving Cairn alone with the shadows in his tent.

Find me. Make me. Bring me home.

“I will,” Cairn said, “I swear it.”

At the same time as Cairn had deactivated the transmission, on the other end of the projection, Shieldwall’s projector had… reacted. It sparked, the image of Cairn disappearing, and the crystal turning jet black, before imploding with a crunch and falling in pieces to the floor. Black, oozing liquid seeped from the ruin.

“Huh,” Shieldwall said. “It’s not supposed to do that.”

“It just imploded and started bleeding!” yelled Will, his human tactics advisor - a human in green armor, who cut and dyed his hair into a red-purple style not unlike a pony’s mane.

“That’s… not blood, Will,” Doctor Cross Stitch said, looking down at it.

“Whatever it is,” Shieldwall said, “do not touch it. Seal off this room and call a cleanup crew for the…”

A look of confusion crossed his face.

“...blood,” he said, sounding sheepish. “That’s very clearly not blood, but I can’t not think of it as… oh. Something is… not right.”

“What even is that… that stufff…?” Dan, one of the other humans from Shieldwall’s group, said, looking at the ooze. No, he wasn’t looking. He was transfixed. “It’s… so dark. Really. Dark…”

Shieldwall looked away from it at once, before kicking Dan in the pelvis. He flew back about three feet, his focus on the substance disrupted. He lay in a heap, moaning. Shieldwall grabbed a sheet of tarpaulin and threw it over the destroyed crystal without another word, motioning for everypony and everyone to move back.

“Doc,” Shieldwall said. “Move Dan to an observation room. See if his condition improves. If not, ponify him.”

“If that doesn’t work?” Will asked.

“William,” one pony said. “That’s impossible -”

“It’s not,” Shieldwall said, cutting the pony off. “Nothing is on this benighted world.” He looked back to Cross. “And if it doesn’t improve him, just shoot him and burn the body. And don’t use the Composer Crystal. If ponifying doesn’t solve it, nothing will.”

Cross Stitch nodded, before frowning.

“D’you think Cairn’s just Earthshocked?” he asked. “This… this feels different somehow.”

“Maybe,” Shieldwall said. “Whatever happens, configure our totem proles and order our telepaths to put up some psychic static. I’m also going to need to find some reflectatine lining for my helmet.”

“You sound spooked,” said Will. “You really think he -”

“He seemed very insistent,” Shieldwall said. “Too certain. And then there’s that… stuff.” He motioned to the covered crystal. “Something’s amiss here. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to make use of it.”

“And… if we’re not?” Cross Stitch asked.

Shieldwall didn’t answer.

“#The sunshine trapped in our hearts, it could rise again. But I'm lost, and crushed, and cold, and confused, with no guiding light left inside…”

“I love Muse,” Lucky Strike commented, her eyes closed. “I wonder if I can get Haze to do a cover of ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ when I get back to Columbia.”

Luke was sat in an ill-fitting set of Hardball armour they’d found in one of the APCs storage compartments, cradling an unfamiliar assault rifle with an incredibly long carry handle, and didn’t answer. As much as the beret-wearing man (whose name was Marcus Schaefer) had tried to explain the thing-

“Ever used a G36? Well, the G2A2’s not too different… Rakow marketed them with these tiny Beta-C mags. Great capacity for the size, but the springs can be unreliable. If you have the chance to use STANAG mags, do it - I’d prefer some reliability over an extra 15 shots.”

- Luke still felt as though it was a foreign object, one he was almost afraid of.

A week ago I was using a crapped-out M16, and now I’ve got something that looks like it came from a sci-fi movie, he thought. How had his life gotten so out of control?

Hell, this whole situation was out-of-control. These other people were all professionals. He tried to remind himself of their names: Samuels and Kent, the shaven headed men (Kent with the scar, Luke reminded himself), Payne the woman with the fauxhawk, ‘Jiffee’, which was the only name the dark-haired woman had given from beneath her helmet, Dietrich the man in Hardball-X armour, and the other pony, Milk Pail (“With an ‘I’,” he had said).

“You alright, kid?” Lucky Strike asked. He looked up, to see her staring at him. “You been awful quiet.”

Luke pursed his lips. “You’ve asked me that, like, six times. I’m fine. Just… this is bigger than most action I’ve seen.”

“Can’t imagine there’s much in the way of action in a militia unit,” Schaefer said from his seat.

“Yeah,” ‘Jiffee’ said. Her voice was light and lilting, a sort of strange hybrid of various Gaelic accents. “What is it you lot got up to?”

“Apart from being burned alive by flamethrower tanks, not much,” Luke said dolefully.

There was a pause as this statement settled over the APC like a shroud.

“Geez, kid,” Payne said from her seat. “Buzzkill or fuckin’ what?”

Luke gave her a mirthless smile. “We were lucky. Until we weren’t. I… kind of don’t want to trust to luck now.”

“We’ll be luckier today,” Lucky Strike said, smiling. She winked. “It’s in the name, after all.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, nodding.

I mean, it’d be pretty hard to be less lucky than I’ve been, he thought, sighing.

“Cheer up,” one of the shaven headed men (scar, so Kent) said. “Lucky’s seen us through worse.”

“Hey!” called the driver (a Texan-sounding man apparently called ‘Joe’, which was all the introduction Luke had gotten from him). “We’re comin’ up on Hadley’s Hope, an’ all the Reavers’ trucks’re slowin’ down!”

Lucky Strike nodded. “Gotcha. Let me get Sam up on the horn.”

Luke frowned. “Why would we be slowing down?”

“Because as much as some of the Reavers are direct enough to think that charging in like warboys is a good idea,” Schaefer said from his seat, as Lucky Strike messed with her headset, “Officer Yarrow will want to be a little more… nuanced.”

“Odinson Zero, Columbia One,” Sam’s headset crackled. “Come in please, over.”

Sam smiled, tapping her headset. Her Humvee had stopped, and she had stepped out, helmet on, to get a look at the situation. They were on a hill just above the town of Hadley’s Hope, looking down at the town in the distance.

“Columbia One, Odinson Zero,” she replied. “Reading you five by five, over.”

“Roger that,” Lucky Strike said, a slight tinge of mirth in her voice. “So what’s the plan, Sam, over?”

Sam pursed her lips. “Direct assault would seem unwise. We don’t know the state of the town’s defences, if any. And there might be hostages. Over.”

“Agreed,” Strike said. There was a short pause, before she spoke again. “I can have my team scout ahead, see what the best angle of approach is, then you can punch through, over?”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. That did sound like a good plan… but there was an element of risk. Strike’s team could well find themselves caught out in the open and overwhelmed by superior numbers. Especially if there were Newfoals.

Risk is part of the game, her father’s voice said. We’re not here to be safe, Sam.

Sam sighed, but her father’s words had been right then and were even more so now.

“Columbia One,” she said after a moment, “recon the target, find us the best avenue of assault, and see if there’s anything esoteric waiting for us. No unnecessary risks, Strike. Over.”

“Wilco, Odinson Zero,” Strike replied. “Columbia One out.”

As she signed off, Sam let out a deep breath, before switching her comms to a wider channel.

“All units, hold position,” she said. “Comm check, Over.”

“Spotter One with Alpha, five by four, over,” Idle’s voice came in, managing a modicum of professionalism.

“Odinson Five with Beta, five by five solid, over,” a woman named Karen Greene said. Greene was one of Dad’s Odinsons that Sam Yarrow had never had the privilege of meeting before - for a group that tended to be the best people Maximilian Yarrow knew, they were oftentimes not people Sam got the chance to know.

If I’m going to be in charge, Sam thought, I have to fix that.

The rest of the units - Gamma, Delta, Epsilon and Zeta (the APC) - responded promptly as well, and Sam took a breath before speaking, steadying her nerves.

You’re the Commander, she thought to herself.

“All units,” she said. “Columbia One is on recon. We’re holding here and awaiting their signal. Over.”

“Wilco, Odinson Zero,” Idle said. “Want us to set up a perimeter, over?”

“Negative on that,” Sam replied, taking a breath. “What I want is you to hold your position, be very quiet, and watch from here for activity. When we breach, it’ll be one point, and we all need to hit it together. Over.”

“Understood, Odinson Zero.” Idle took a breath. “This the usual smash, grab, scorch procedure, over?”

‘Smash, grab, scorch’: smash the defences of a PER held position, grab any and all survivors you could save, and then scorch the PER’s position with extreme prejudice. Sam took in a deep breath.

“Not sure,” she finally said. “We’ll see what Columbia One says. Odinson Zero out.”

She tapped her comm, before activating her helmet’s binocular function, zooming in on Hadley’s Hope. The shantytown seemed quiet, but that meant nothing. There could be stealth spells, hidden compartments, or just an awful lot of Newfoals cramped into buildings, ready to leap out and tear anyone who came near the town to pieces.

Lucky, she thought, you’d better live up to your name.

“Alright,” Lucky Strike said after a moment, looking thoughtful. “We’re on recon, which means we’re going to have to get out.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Earnest Star said quietly. “There were Royal Guardsponies among the PER guarding us. They… they looked like they knew what they were doing.”

“I understand that,” Strike said patiently, before smiling. “Fortunately, I know what I’m doing, too.” She turned to the driver’s cab, where Joe - shaven headed, Hardball-armour clad and with a classic sheriff symbol painted on his chestplate in white - sat. “You’re obviously guarding the APC.”

“Yes’m,” Joe said. “Happy to.”

“As for the rest of us,” Strike continued, “we’re going in.” She looked at Luke and Earnest Star. “I’m sorry, this is somewhat deep-end work. Ms Star,” and here she focused on Earnest Star, “we might need you out there, but you’re not obligated to -”

“If I can help you stop them,” Earnest Star cut her off, “then I will.”

Lucky Strike nodded, a smile breaking out on her face. “That’s what we all like to hear, Ms Star.” She looked around. “As for the rest of us, we’re going to go quiet. I’ll lead in. Ms Star, you’re with me.”

She looked to Schaefer, who looked grim. Not that Luke could blame him: there was an awful lot that could go wrong with this.

“Schaefer,” Strike said, “you’ll take the rest of the team, find a spot, and wait for my signal. We’ll take a single outer building first, use it as a staging post. From there, we’ll aim to disrupt their sentries, cripple their defence, and then signal for the Reavers to break through.”

“Sounds a lot easier than I thought,” Luke said out loud, before clapping a hand to his mouth as everyone looked at him. “Uh, sorry, just…”

“No, you’re right,” Strike said with a small nod. “It is a lot easier sounding - but it’s also easier said than done.” She looked around the APC at each of her troops. “Cairn’s supposed to be a professional. Royal Guard Veteran.”

“Fuck,” Jiffee swore.

“That means,” Strike continued, “that we might be walking into an ambush, or he might have extra defences we’re not anticipating.” She looked around the APC, meeting her team’s eyes one by one. “Anything is possible in there.”

There were murmurs of acknowledgement from each member of Strike’s team. Luke took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before looking down at his rifle.

Well, Luke, he thought to himself, you wanted to get out there and fight. Here’s your chance.

Originally was going to start the battle for Hadley’s Hope here, but there’s a lot of material to cover, so that’s going to be a separate chapter (or two!) now. Hope you enjoy.