The next morning was bright with scattered clouds and was silent long enough for all of us to have a hearty breakfast before we resumed the killing game with our old adversaries. As we ate, sitting on the edge of one of the countless trenches dug into the earth, I couldn’t help but get a morbid laugh out of the fact that even clouds had become a crucial part of the war. The cloud cover had been moved in during the night by the Shadowbolts, Rainbow Dash’s prized and elite fighting squadron of Pegusi who acted more or less as Alpha Squad’s Airborne counterparts. Since only Pegusi and Griffins could openly walk upon clouds because of their peculiar inborn magic, the clouds themselves became highly mobile sniper nests in the sky. All Airborne units came equipped with a few Cloud Buds in their kit which allowed them to spontaneously create small localized clouds in order to help mask their movements and/or create places of retreat. All you needed to grow the thing was a bottle of water and the hungry little cloud would swell as large as the water supply allowed. Funny to think the flying fluffy puff balls of my childhood where I tried to find hidden shapes in had become such a sinister omen of immanent death by sniper fire. Thank Celestia I wasn't a Zebra right?

Yet, despite all of Equestria’s badass technologies and magical advantages, the Zebras continued to keep pace with us, if barely, but enough to keep us all constantly on the edge of our hooves and continually inventing. The Zebras seemingly had a potion, fetish, talisman, robot or species for everything we could throw at them. Their answer to Pegusi and Griffins were large predatory birds that were comparatively smaller, deadly, and above all, fast. In response to our Power Armor they developed advanced robots armed to the metaphorical teeth with missiles and magically enhanced bullets. Their combat armor was getting pretty advanced too, even amongst the common Askari soldiers, able to stand up to bigger and badder cartridges and explosive ordinance. For being so scrapped for resources, the Empire was cunning and inventive. Their method was in opposition to ours with a massive focus on magic supplemented with engineering while we employed the opposite philosophy of engineering supported by magic where needed.

Where the Empire continued to shine on the battlefield though was their superior hoof-to-hoof combat skills. More soldiers died thinking they could go head to head with an Askari than by a bullet. Even my fellow Veterans fell into the idea that a one-v-one with anyone above the rank of Korporaal would be a manageable affair. The only way to even stand a chance at that level was to learn from observation in combat just how those striped fucks fought up-close. Thankfully, (at least in the Tin Head’s defense) the Steel Rangers seemed all but immune to their CQC tactics and were quite effective at turning a group of Askari into a pile of mush with their automatic 40mm grenade launchers and heavy machine guns. Even then though, a Tin Head usually was smart enough to leave when one of the Zebra’s robotic behemoths rolled down or over the trench. Great as 40s and 5.56s were, they weren't nearly so effective on these amalgamations of technology and Necromancy being purposed for anti-personnel work.

That was where we Rangers came in. Years ago, probably three or four before I joined EastPoint, the Equestrian Armed Forces in conjunction with the Ministry of Wartime Technology finally managed to strike a contract with our neighbors to the Southwest. Mareseilles had always remained aloof of Equestrian influence and, by virtue of their own highly competent and well-supplied armed forces, had escaped annexation. By virtue of their win in the short-lived Equestrian-Mareseilles War of '58, they retained their right to determine their own stance on the War and they chose the highly-controversial third door: neutrality. That being said, they did not go so far as to endanger themselves by refusing to trade with us and defended their waters vehemently from Zebra probing. After tensions between us cooled off we had managed to score a defense contract through their most prestigious rifle makers Barnette who had helped ensure Mareseillian victory in '58. While the rifles would be manufactured by hoof in their impressive factories, Ironshod Armories handled the ammunition that made this new line of rifles indispensable in the arsenal of modern warfare.

By 2062, Barnette had delivered its first of what would be an impressive line of large-bore rifles designed for precision shooting at extremely long range. The .50 Big Macintosh Guard round, named after the war hero of the same name, was already in development by the time the contract had been finalized resulting in the first rifles, the now named APR-1 and S2, being chambered in the 12.7mm rounds. By the time I was in rifle training at EastPoint though, these were already being considered underpowered and had been demoted to Anti-Personnel work while the new 20mm Lupis round was taking over as the Anti-Machine round of choice. Same as with the .50s, the bigger and better 20mm rifles, namely in 20x84 then 20x102mm, became less and less effective against newer and newer robot models. Zebra metallurgical processes had improved just like ours had and we found ourselves fighting ever bigger mechanized monsters.

Enter the AMR-25, my favorite big-girl toy of all time. Built off the frame of the original S2 rifle, the AMR exchanged the upper assembly for another chambered in the brand-new 25x102mm Phoenix shell. Retaining the semi-automatic nature of the S2 which had made it so popular with modern big-bore Designated Marksmares, the Anti-Machine Rifle allowed you to empty the five-round magazine as quickly as you could pull the trigger. Simple in design and construction and forged from a Celestium Steel alloy, the relatively lightweight rifle was capable of being operated by a single competent user rather than being so heavy and bulky as to need two ponies to carry and assemble the rifle in the field. A highly beneficial improvement was the option to store the barrel recessed 3/4 of the way into the frame and collapse the stock reducing the original length of five feet down to three-and-a-half. Easy to lay across the back even with a full mag, anyone deemed impressive enough behind a scope only dreamed of getting their hooves on one of these babies. However, the high-quality materials and large specialty ammunition came with a hefty price tag. Although exceedingly effective in a multitude of firing roles, the AMR-25 was just too expensive for the brass to initially order more than 1,500 or so of the beautiful bastards. They had only been in service not even two years and had already proven their worth far as I was concerned. Unfortunately, the trial run was set to a three-year minimum period by the EAF before they would commit significant funds and resources to mass-production.

Though a few hundred AMRs had ended up in the hooves of the Airborne Corps (namely the Shadowbolts and the Deadeye Brigade) and the General Army’s First Recon Sniper Brigade, the vast majority ended up in the hooves of the Desert Rangers. After all, we were the grandfather, father and kickass uncle of the art of combative sniping. From the moment of recruitment, every Ranger was trained extensively in the use of all six basic weapon types: pistols, shotguns, rifles, automatics, energy and ordinance. You had to serve time in real combat before you could be considered for the Corps which meant you were already a burgeoning specialist in at least one of those six categories. With an extra emphasis on rifles, we were intended as a Designated Markspony support role on the battlefield providing over watch of the GA on the field. Though as the War raged on and combat became less and less conventional in light of the technological race against the Zebras, the Rangers found themselves relying heavily on all six weapon types. In order to survive in the trenches, fields, planes, mountains and anywhere else the War called us to be present at, we had to be as flexible as the wind in order to stay alive with the orders we were given. Beta Squad, like ninety percent of the other Veteran Ranger Squads, originally began as an almost exclusively sniper team but with the changing times we all found something we all could specialize in and have a hell of a lot of fun doing it.

Buck Beak was always known as a Powder Ganger, a sort of nickname given to people who just couldn’t get enough fire and explosions in their lives. Once given the option, he immediately took a liking to the heavy ordinance usually reserved for the Boom Boys, the General Army’s explosives experts. Pennies Worth, though a Canterlot native with a tendency for politeness, was fascinated by the gruesome simplicity of of shotshells, thus she took on the role of Beta Squad’s shotgunner extraordinaire. In fact, she had first earned her warrant as an officer for her exceptional skill with boomsticks. Rain Dancer was a self-professed middle-of-the-fence guy and enjoyed a highly modular Boulder-53 light machine gun with an optional sight. He was comfortable firing off hundreds of rounds from both afar and up close and had earned his warrant more because of right-place, right-time circumstances rather than any specialty that normally awarded you such a rank. To be frank, he had fallen into the promotion to fill in a gap in his unit being the only Sergeant (really, the only officer in general) to survive a patrol gone to hell. Since then though, he had earned his place on my team for loyalty and rather accurate suppressive fire.

My darling Huckleberry preferred high-powered rifles like her favorite .338 Luna Magnus, but was no stranger to a knife or a pistol. As our official/unofficial Squad combat medic, she also served under me as our team sniper as her Barnette M-RAD rifle was much better suited to Anti-Personnel work. And me? Well, I preferred the two extremes as extreme as they could get. Namely the venerable AMR-25 and my new Sequoia, the biggest rifle a mare could carry and one of the largest revolver calibers in existence. All in all, Beta (now Alpha) Squad was as well rounded as you could get and it was precisely why we were the best for that reason. Jack-of-Aces teams were perfect one-size-fits-all responses to most situations, exactly how we had clawed our way into the Elite Five and earned our way to the best equipment we could ask to do our jobs with. The five best Squads in the Corps, one from each Brigade, were often immune from having to perform the duties of their GA rank and got to operate similarly to how we used to. On our own as a team with no temporary reassignments to coordinate grunts through a hail of bullets.

There was a chaotic beauty to how we, the Steel Rangers, the General Army and the Airborne Corps all functioned in our own unique capacities to form one cohesive and very efficient Army. The GA were the main hooves on the ground taking the brunt of the casualties even despite the recent introduction of armored fighting vehicles and first-generation assault tanks. The Steel Rangers served as the heavy shock troopers and original battlefield tanks bringing in heavier firepower than most GA grunts could handle. The Airborne Corps did their best to maintain air superiority, provided bird’s-eye covering fire, reconnaissance and assisted on the ground wherever needed as highly mobile fighters. The Desert Rangers now served in several capacities depending on rank, skill and location ranging from Anti-Machine details and assisting frontal assaults to acting as Special Forces tasked with high-value assignments behind enemy lines. Often missions such as those were in cooperation with one of the EAF's Specialist Taskforces such as the Shadowbolts in the Air Corps, Spectre Operatives from the GA or Firesquad Nightshade in the Steel Rangers. All in all, we had just about every essential part of the active battlefield covered in some way while the M.O.W and Acting Wartime Council handled the logistical end of the MeatGrinder. Rarely did any of us need to do much paperwork in order to get what we needed with the team of secretaries every officer above First Lieutenant or NCO above Sergeant had on standby in the Command Tent.

The only ‘Corps’ not officially recognized by the Army was the Engineer’s Corp. These were the guys (and gals) who hauled, built, maintained and repaired all the artillery, vehicles and wartime robots that had slowly come into use on the front lines in response to the Zebra’s excessive use of battlebots. However...due to a mindbogglingly stupid argument between the Ministry of Image and the Ministry of War, none of the hard work they did would receive official recognition. The reason why? Public image. The Ministry of Image, in a bid to rewrite the bad press about the War as fatigue set in and nationalism was running dry in the tank, refused to allow negative impressions on public media campaigns. It was difficult to catch those amongst the war photographers who were leaking the true chaos of the War to the public but this was hardly the smart way to go about it in my opinion. The 'negative impression' in question regarding the Engineers was an argument over how their uniforms, ranks, titles and the like should look. The M.O.W wanted to use special-requisition StableTec mechanic's underbarding and fudge the rest as the Engineers had not been so important when the EAF had been first formed but had outgrown their status of just being an extension of the GA. The Ministry of Image instead felt the Corps deserved something more and with Engineers showing up on the news, they needed to look good while doing their jobs or during live ceremonies involving civilians. And so...the Corps sat in a state of existence and non-existence all at once for the last eight years while two old friends argued over who's Ministry had more power in the Hexagon.

It boggled everypony’s minds that they were not given proper credit for their significant contributions all because the ‘image’ of dusty, greasy and grimy engineers on recruitment posters wasn’t dignified enough for a nation as great as Equestria. The fact they kept all our artillery, radios, vehicles and even Power Armor in tip-top condition was beside the point apparently. What made it even more fucking stupid was the fact there were plenty of posters in circulation (made and approved by the M.O.I mind you) calling for all able bodied hooves to help in the factories to support an undisputable Equestrian victory. These very posters featured the same grungy, sweating, oil-blackened image that was supposedly beneath the far dirtier job of an Engineer working his or her tail off while under the threat of enemy fire. Thankfully for all involved though, the Ministry of Awesome of all organizations had stepped up to forward its considerably untouched budget towards paying off the small army of mechanical wizards and technological witches. There weren't really any official ranks in the Corps, but at least they didn't go entirely unfunded while we in the field tried our best to show them the respect they damned well deserved. Especially the Steel Rangers with their fancy suits of armor.

“Yo, Crete!” Barked out a somewhat familiar Southern accent to my left. “I need tah talk wit’ ya ‘bout somethin’ k?”

I looked over to the source of the voice and saw a Steel Ranger standing nearby with his helmet removed from his armor. It took me a few seconds to realize this was the same Tin Head I had bandied words with on our arrival to the Badlands a few days prior. With all Tin Heads looking rather similar to each other while in full gear, the only point of reference I really had was his decidedly deep Southern accent. Few things quite sounded like molasses spilling outta the mouth as a heavy drawl.

I didn’t bother to set down the rest of my breakfast of hot oatmeal with milk and fruit but instead floated it alongside me as I made my way across the trampled red earth to where he stood. He wasn’t bad looking for a stallion with a chestnut coat and a dark brown mane buzzed down into a crew cut for his helmet. I figured he would probably look best in an old cowboy hat but the armor definitely suited him. Armor almost always made anyone look good no matter the gender or species. Then again, I was the kind of mare who would label her Mrk. IV as acceptable ballroom attire and swooned easily to a mare (or particularly handsome stud) wearing a dress uniform with full decorations. Approaching him, I noticed this time the twin butter-sticks of a Captain painted onto the collar of his gorget protecting what parts of the neck the helmet of the T-45 didn't. The desert camo pattern painted over the matte gray steel certainly helped you distinguish a Steel Ranger who served mainly in the South from silvery one who prowled the defenses of the East or the variety of camo patterns employed by those poor Souls damned to the Zulu Campaign in the Empire.

“Well if it ain’t the Tin Head from the L.Z!” I said with a somewhat forced laugh as I stood before him, his heavy variant Power Armor making him several inches taller than me. “What ya need eh? Another round of who can insult the other the fastest?”

He rolled his eyes and grunted, “Nah, Ah wanted tah talk tah ya about yer theory abou’ th’ Balefire launcher thangs.”

“Oh…?” I asked, remembering the conversation only because he had brought it up. “What about it...? That was at best speculation based off of inconclusive evidence and a bit of fear of the unknown. Hardly anything worth spending time making theories on unless there's solid evidence to give the damn thing credence.”

“Ah think we might’ve found one of ‘em.” He said quietly. “Tha' enough 'proof' fer ya to get interested?”

I cocked an eyebrow at his proposal, rather unable to take the offer at face value. It wasn’t common but in our legendary rivalry, it wasn’t unheard of for a Tin Head or a Ranger to invite someone of the other side to join them for something only to either humiliate them or give them a hell of a beating. Neither myself or anyone of Alpha Squad had ever stooped so low to do so ourselves but Rain Dancer had. Victim to a rather brutal gang rape from a group of Tin Heads who had invited him and a few other male Rangers over to their tent for a game of cards. Took his ass two weeks to recover even with the help of potions and nothing had been done to punish the offenders due to selectively deaf senior officers. Needless to say...there was little trust between the Corps and continued animosities from upper-management favoritism ensured the bonds of comradery were a pipedream.

“Why me, just out of blatantly curious disdain?” I asked bluntly, looking at him with a stern gaze. “If you found something this fucking insane it’s best to give it to the Engineers for analysis. Not discussing it with someone who ain't got the brains for that kinda gizmo. Do I look like an Engineer to you? Or maybe some Warrant Officer with a specialty for Engineering and Tech?”

He waved a hoof and grunted, “Ah’m fuckin' askin’ ya because yer th’ only one who’d believe meh an’ Ah can’t go tah th’ Engineers withou’ some proof. Yer th' one who made th' theory in the first place goddamnit!”

“Ok, now I’m confused.” I admitted, looking him over for signs of deception. “Do you or do you not have one of those theoretical Balefire things we talked about?”

He fretted an armored hoof and scuffed up some of the red clay below us before he mumbled, “Ah don’ have it...yet. Still werkin' on tha'..."

“So you’re saying it exists? Or at least something you think might be it?” I asked, looking at him incredulously with a continued hint of suspicion. This was a pretty elaborate scheme if it indeed was one...

“What Ah’m sayin’ is Ah saw ah weird ass lookin’ launcher thang in th’ trenches tha’ Ah think coul’ be th’ thang you was talkin’ abou’. Only problem is th’ damn thang is way th’ fuck tah th’ South there an’ tha’ there's Nopony’s Land. Too dangerous fer anypony but ah full Firesquad of our caliber tah enter.”

I turned my head to look in the direction he was indicating, the haze of the desert heat dancing in the sunlight overhead making anything farther than a half-mile or so a wavy mess of moving air. I retained my suspicions about his intentions but...a Balefire launcher, if it existed, would answer some pretty fucking terrifying questions that had been circulating through the ranks in every Corps. Just what have the Zebras been using to kill dozens of ponies at once in a single explosion regardless of their level of protection? T-45, the Mrk. IV, basically all of the M-CAP models...it didn't seem to matter as the blast was stronger than anything seen previously deployed. If I was to explore this option (and I had to admit it intrigued me as much as it scared me), I wanted to have at least one of my Squad with me just to ensure some sense of security against any funny business.

“Alright, I’m in but I’m going to be bringing my Squad with me. For multiple reasons.” I said finally, looking back at him with a look that dared him to challenge my stipulation.

“Would’ve called ya ah dumb fuckin’ Nad Pad if ya didn’t.” He responded with a chuckle, the Steel Ranger’s equivalent of our use of ‘Tin Head’ as an insult being to call us more or less a glorified dick protector. “I’ma bring mah Squad too. Th’ area Ah saw it is way too close tah th’ Zebra’s camp tah feel safe an’ Ah don’ know ‘bout you but Ah dun’ wanna be stuck out there by mahself.”

“This kind of op isn’t going to get cleared easily, not if it’s as far South as you’re implying.” I replied, thinking about how we were going to pull this off when no patrol squads were allowed into Nopony’s Territory without expressed permission of the General due to concerns of ‘reckless loss of life’; a very valid concern. “Alright, I’ll try and use my influence to get me and my Squad posted for fringe patrol duty tonight or posted to Outpost Charlie-Horse so we’ll be more or less allowed to go past the normal patrol routes. How long you thinking this little shindig is gonna last? Any longer than it takes to make a sweep of the area and we're gonna be missed.”

He bit his lip in thought, his brow furrowing in an amusing way before he said, “Well, if ya can get me an’ mah Squad tah join ya out there an’ we time it right, hopefully no more than twenty, maybe thirty mins tahps. Make ah straight path fer where Ah saw it an’ cut righ’ back an’ meet up with th’ rest of th’ patrol. No need tah involve anypony more than we needs to.”

"Why the secrecy though...?" I asked, retaining our combined hushed tones just in case. "Sure this kind of op would be handled by another team but you're acting like this'll piss off a lot of ponies."

"Ah hope t' fuck yer yankin mah tail there Colonel. Yew really thank th' brass'er gonna let us know about this here new threat? Hell nah! Just like wit' them damned invisibility cloaks them Dragoons wear, they're gonna deny everythin' until too many ponies die from it. We need tah be th' ones gettin' th' word out to people. If this damn thing exists, we just gotta know how it ticks! Ah don' wanna die tah some fuckin' 'undocumented enemy technology'. Lost too many friends tha' way..."

For having his head wrapped in government tinfoil, he was a stallion I could relate with on that point. My own personal obsession with the art of bodily defense made me an avid observer and low-key expert on armors both foreign and domestic. My written observations of advancements in Zebra body armor had even become highly valued by the Engineers who did the more professional analysis work on recovered materiel. If my unofficial work there had proven valuable to the ponies who actually mattered out here, well it was only natural that I felt inclined to help. Being the first to document such advances was keenly gratifying and gave my academic side something fun to chew on when I wasn't chewing through Zebs.

"You know what...this sounds too detailed and specific to be some kind of con. If you're serious about this, then I'll be nice and give ya the benefit of the doubt on this one."

"Ah know ya Nads ain't ones fer trustin' us Tin Heads..." He sighed, looking to the ground as his expression seemed remorseful. "But Ah swear on mah mama this here ain't no ruse. There's somthin' scary and Zeeb out there in them trenches and we needs tah find out what. If we combine our Squads fer fringe patrol duty, we can hit two birds wit' one stone. Some of us head to th' area we need tah search n' th' rest do th' rest of th' damned patrol like nothin' at ahll was happenin. Ahll goes tah plan, nopony'll even notice ah goddamned thang.

That would make sense. Each of us taking a partner with us out to the site while the rest of our team does the actual patrol. That way, we would both have a cover (as individual figures at a great distance can get miscounted easily, especially at night) and we would also be doing our job. I mean, the whole point of patrols was to be on the lookout for anything dangerous or nasty headed into our territory. I would think something as dangerous as a portable mini Balefire Bomb launcher would qualify as something worth patrolling for. At the very fucking least...it would be an interesting off-the-books op and give us a chance to show them up if it came time for combat. Just because we were in a truce for this thing didn't mean the rivalry wasn't alive and well and I wanted to win.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do then. Gotta make a few calls but I'll see what strings I'm able to pull with these oak leaves on my neck.” I replied, finishing up my all but forgotten breakfast in one go. “Oh...I guess I should try and be civil since you already know my name. What’s yours, Captain?”

“Onyx Chain, Ma'am.” He said sheepishly, giving me a bit of a salute as I still technically outranked him by a factor of two on the pay-grade scale.

“Well, it’s good to meet you formally Captain Onyx.” I said, enjoying how neat his name sounded out loud. “If you need to contact me, tune into 303.4 Hertz. I keep that channel reserved for me and my Squad. I’ll let you know as soon as I have an answer about the fringe patrol thing, k?”

He nodded and trotted off quickly back into the camp leaving me to return back to my peoples who looked up at me with curiosity as I sat back down beside Huckleberry.

“Well?” Buck Beak asked, looking at me with anticipation. “Do I have to kill him or not?”

“No.” I replied as I snuck a piece of freshly made toast from Huckleberry’s bowl, much to her amusement as she knew extremely buttery toast was my comfort food of choice. “He actually had a proposition for us that is...interesting to say the least. Not entirely sure I believe it...”

“Interesting as in he’s asking for an orgy kind of interesting or interesting as in he’s inviting us to go do something with him?” Pennies Worth asked before sloppily raising her bowl of oatmeal to her face and gulping it down.

“The latter.” I said as I finished my toast and went for another piece. “He thinks he may have found a new weapon the Zebras are using to kill a bunch of us at a time with a single explosion. You know exactly the kind I’m talking about.”

“Wait...you mean those weird purple explosions that make that weird ass crackling sound?” Rain Dancer asked, leaning forward looking serious.

“You’ve seen one?” I asked, surprised as everypony seemed to know about the explosions but none had seen it first hoof. Well, nopony still alive that was...

“Only a glimpse of it but it was fucking weird.” He said in a hushed tone. “There was a flash of purple way up the battlefield and a loud crackling sound like a bolt of lightning mixed with firecrackers and then it died out. Even through the filters I could smell brimstone and the mushroom cloud left behind made the air around it really...weird looking. I dunno guys, it was fucking weird and set my fur on end.”

“Huh…” We all seemed to hum in unison, collectively digesting what he had just said.

“Well, regardless...there's decent evidence to support the idea that the Zebs have a new toy in their arsenal. Something portable, deadly and, hopefully not, related to Balefire tech. Captain Onyx believes he came across such a device in Nopony’s Land and asked if we were willing to break the rules and go on a little hunt for it.”

“You fucking serious?” Buck Beak asked, his feathers rustling a little. “That’s some crazy shit there…”

“I don’t think they have that kind of technology...not yet at least.” Rain Dancer said fearfully. "They just can't...right?"

“It makes too much sense for me to disregard it…” Pennies Worth mumbled in thought, chewing on her hoof as was her nervous habit. "Sure there's a lot of unknowns here but the facts are lining up too close for this to be just a wild goose chase through the trenches. I'm in if we're going to do this."

“I believe you, Athena.” Huckleberry said firmly, putting a hoof around me in support. “When do we leave to find this thing and where? And on that note, how are we gonna get all this shit approved? You know better than anypony that the brass don't just approve these kind of ops on short notice, not even to Lieutenant Colonels.”

“Well, the idea was to get ourselves posted for fringe patrol tonight with him and his Squad and a few of us sneak off to go find it and then meet back up towards the end of the circuit.” I replied, tracing out in the dirt a rough draft of the plan. “I’ll take one other, two at most. The rest need to stay and do the patrol. I don’t want us all going in case the patrol comes across something bad out there. Plus, if we get into some serious shit out there, you and his Squad will be the closest one’s to come and support us and we can chalk it up to investigating a disturbance that turned into an ambush. Bingo, bango, bongo we have ourselves an easy enough excuse to fall back on.”

“And we’re agreeing to help a Tin Head why...?” Buck Beak asked, looking at me like I was proposing something akin to heresy which I suppose in a way I was. There was no love lost yet between us and them and things were unlikely to change.

“Because…” I groaned before I sighed and tried again with a clearer train of thought. “Because we might as well make some friends in the Steel Rangers. I’m not supposed to tell you guys this but I’m going to anyway...command is going to start pairing Squads from different Corps to work together. Depending upon the skill of the individuals in each Squad will determine how big the combined teams are. Means we’ll probably get paired with another high ranking team, most likely from the Steel Rangers considering the tactical appraisal of the Front's fighting capacity.”

“Why’s that? We could use some extra wings in the group so why not pair us up with like the Shadowbolts?” Rain Dancer asked, looking up at the clouds where small figures could be seen darting about between them.

“Hahaha, no.” Buck Beak laughed sarcastically, ending in a stern tone. “I’m the wings in this party of fucktards and I’m gonna stay the wings in this group. I don't need some fucking short ass wingaling dildo getting his fat head in between me and the enemy. Flying and gettin' hit with explosives ain't some fucking joke.”

“What? Don’t wanna get shown up in the air by some Pegasus?” Pennies Worth teased, poking Buck Beak in his armored wings which clunked softly beneath her hoof. "

He brushed her hoof away with his wing and frowned while angrily growling, “Oh shut up Penny, we both know I’d fuck them all over with my special moves.”

We all seemed to take his choice of words in a dirty direction as we broke out into fits of laughter and giggles at the thought of Buck Beak (a self-professed lady’s bird who we all knew was still a virgin) 'fucking over' a group of Shadowbolts.

“H-heh, you gonna invite old Rainbow Dash to your little ‘party’?” Rain Dancer choked out between fits of laughter.

Buck Beak’s feathery cheeks flushed red and he busied himself by shoving his beak into the mostly empty bowl of oatmeal before him as we continued to laugh at his expense.

"You gonna invite some of the Plague Birds into your love nest too?" I giggled with glee as the redness in his cheeks continued to darken. "Heard some of those Gryphon fuckers were pretty good looking for behemoths. Might be a bit big for ya but since when have little Griffins like you said no to some big bird domming?"

"Oh for the love of..." He groaned loudly and in a very pained and embarrassed tone. "What is with you and those fucking clowns in armor? So what they're one of the most decorated birds in the fucking EAF? Not like I fucking care! Those big ass fuckwads can suck my ass for all the shits I have to give."

"Oh shut it you featherhead. You'd like one of em to suck your ass wouldn't you?"

"FUCK!!"

It was moments like these that I fucking loved being around my teammates. All of us had our minds so deep in the gutter we all basically lived there where words like ‘fuck’ and ‘sex’ and ‘orgy’ and a whole bunch of other ‘dirty’ words were like greetings to each other. I myself adoredmy home in the gutter since not only did it allow me to fully express myself with swear words (something my mom liked to call ‘sentence enhancers’) but I had a hot ass mare to keep me warm and groovy while wallowing in the mud. Not only that but every single one of us was pretty fast and loose with the language when left to our own devices. 'Hey fuckface!' could suffice just as well as 'Hey, Penny!' while knee-deep into digging a foxhole or hanging around the Camp.

“Alpha Squad!” Barked the voice of the General flanked by the heavy thuds of his Shock Trooper’s hoofsteps. “At attention!”

We all shot up like cattle to an electric fence (hell anything to an electric fence) and stood in a well organized line before the General with his immaculately clean uniform that made me sick to look at. The look on his face was thankfully one of approval which meant we weren’t on his shit list...yet. Still, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by him. Not because of his stature (which was short and pudgy) but because of the four golden stars on his lapels which meant he had the power to make anypony on the Southern Front disappear regardless of legality. Hell, I was half convinced he was the one who had reported the original Alpha Squad to the M.O.M. Not that I had any proof of that, I just didn’t trust or like the General. It was probably the too-clean uniform and the well polished stars. Or was it because he had been in the habit of sidelining and being seemingly complacent in the waste of talent being shown whenever he sent Company after Company of Rangers into the trenches as frontline infantry with little by way of tact or purpose. Yeah...definitely because of that I think. Anypony with their eyes open knew we were his least favorite Corps in the Army.

“Well ain’t you the most obedient sons of bitches I’ve seen yet today.” He chuckled as he looked over all of us with a smile, his Shock Troopers sneering down at us with their new and improved Power Armor that I had yet to get properly identified. Maybe Onyx would be able to shed some light?

“How is the Desert Ranger’s best holding up?” He asked, his voice infuriatingly patronizing in a subtly passive-aggressive tone. "Good old Alpha Squad."

“We are greenlit, Sir.” I said firmly in the standard militaristic manner that these top brass heads all drooled over. “My Squad and I are ready and gearing to kick some Imperial ass at any time, Sir.”

He grinned and sighed, “Excellent! Exactly the words I needed to hear. Meet me in my office at 2100 hours, I have a mission I want to discuss with you all. That will be all Rangers.”

We all saluted him and relaxed the moment he and his silent cronies’ backs were turned to us. Any meeting with the General was a bit of a big deal and the other soldiers nearby were looking our way inquisitively as he never seemed to stray this close to the trenches. Not that the eating galley pavilion was that close to the entrance to the labyrinth (which were still a good mile and a half further South) but it was just rare to see him anywhere outside the Command Tent. That was even if he was on site, which he usually wasn’t. Unlike the Colonel, who had been flown out the night of our quasi-victory in the trenches in pushing the Zebs back to their camp, the General almost always avoided being near the fighting. Of course it made sense that someone of his rank and stature was supposed to run the battle from afar and out of danger from enemy gunfire. That being said, he was almost always to be found back at the Hexagon in Canterlot safely away from all the blood and death of the War he was overseeing. With a map and a bunch of terminal entries, he determined the fates of thousands as he wielded the might of the Southern Front at his command. He was about as far removed from the reality of the War as the newborns in a maternity ward at the hospital and I resented being but a name and a number on his registry to push and move around the map at the whims of such an uninspiring leader. While the Colonel commanded respect from everyone he worked with, he had damn well earned that right by always being in or nearby the action ready to take direct charge if needed. This fat fuck probably hadn't even shot a rifle in over a decade.

“What do you think he’s got in mind for us?” Huckleberry asked, looking after them with a bit of a scowl on her face. “Another one of those stupid Bag-n’-Tag jobs?”

Oh gods, if I didn’t have to do another one of those for the rest of the War I would be a happy mare. A Bag-n’-Tag was the go-to term for a ‘Black Op’ that involved a Squad or two going behind enemy lines to capture and bring back a Veteran Legionnaire or rarely a Zebra Centurion for interrogation. This meant shipping them back to the M.O.M building in Canterlot and having their minds raped by the M.O.M’s Unicorn interrogators. What made these jobs a nightmare is the fact we had to do it quietly and could not under any circumstances kill anyone whether guard or bystander. This was hard as fuck to accomplish because the one thing Zebras all seemed to excel at was stealth and it's very hard to hustle a hustler. Not only that, but when you tried to subdue the target, they would almost instantly swallow the Nightshade tablet each high ranking Legionnaire had hidden in a false tooth at the back of their mouths that shattered when bitten. Either you ended up having to pack up and go home because a guard spotted you and started taking shots alerting the base or you had to sneak (usually run) home empty hoofed because the striped fucker would rather swallow instant death than get mind raped by a Unicorn. Well, when you put it like that, I think I too would prefer an instant death at by my own hoof than to get dragged into the heart of enemy territory and have my mind torn apart for information in such a brutal fashion. But still, the fuckers didn’t make our job easy. Not by a long shot.

“No idea…” I sighed as I turned back towards them all. “Guess we’ll find out tonight then.”

“Hey!” Buck Beak chuckled as we returned back to our original seating area. “On the bright side, this means we can’t get sent out into the labyrinth until after the meeting just in case we don’t live to make it to the meeting.”

“Glad our safety means that much to him…” Huckleberry sighed as she picked up her empty bowl of oatmeal and went back into the galley, putting her shiny new Captain’s pin on full display to get herself an extra serving of food.

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t take too long so we’ll have enough time to prepare for tonight’s little shindig.” Rain Dancer sighed as he lay back in the dirt and closed his eyes.

“Agreed…” I sighed as well, flinching as I instinctively began leaning on where Huck’s shoulder had been but finding it to be sadly missing. “Well...at least we get to chillax all day right?”

It seemed that despite our agreed bloodlust, none of us were too eager to head back into the fray that had mostly died down for now. We could all feel the order to advance that would be coming any day now. It was inevitable that the General, with his massive influx of new troops and equipment, would have his eyes set on pushing the Southern Front as far South as it could go. After all the basic plan for the South was exactly the same as that implemented in the East, driving the Zebras into the ocean and back to their stupid little Empire across the sea. The problem was just waiting for the inevitable. It’s like getting your mouth numbed at the dentist's’ office when they stab your gums with the anesthetic syringe. You know it’s coming, you know what the metal of the syringe tastes like with a numbed tongue, you know it’s not really going to hurt...but you still fucking hate the needle anyway. Mom knew I hated that damn needle more than anyone, she’s worked on my teeth enough to know. Fuck that thing. And fuck the inevitable.

Next Chapter: Chapter Thirteen: An Old, New Appleloosan Friend Estimated time remaining: 26 Hours, 37 Minutes