Penny was still shaking in rage by the time we got back to our tent to retrieve our weapons and equipment for the night’s jaunt. Everyone else looked grim, even Buck Beak who usually didn’t seem to express much by the way of sympathy for his targets. I myself...I was still reeling in shock at what the General had demanded of us. It was just...so far beyond the call of duty that it didn’t even register as an order from a superior but rather the demand of a sadist. Not that any of us were particularly good people given the fact we were all rather ruthless in the trenches. We did whatever it took to win every fight we found ourselves in but then again, that was the point of it wasn’t it? As our drill instructor taught us, the only thing that separated a competition from a real firefight was rules. If there were rules, it was a competition. Of course one might find themselves in a situation where they must compete for their lives in a duel or such but that wasn't nearly as likely anymore.

I heard that the first few years of the War were actually more like a combative competition between two honorable nations. Everyone followed their internal doctrines on the rules of engagement and every engagement played out more like an elaborate duel between two skilled opponents fighting to the death. That was, of course, before the Zebras started introducing the Crimson Dragons and their invisible advantage in combat. With their agility and speed, they had a habit of 'Scalping the Trenches' as we called it. A technique that saw them gallop at full speed down the labyrinth and use the trench walls to vault over unsuspecting ponies and lop their head of with their signature straight swords. Add to that their use of NecroGas, which literally melted flesh from bone, and other foul concoctions and the War had gone from an honorable duel to an all out bloodbath of carnage and brutality unlike anything the world has ever seen.

Even in hoof-to-hoof combat, the Zebras had little honor left in their tactics. It used to be that if an Equestrian and a Zebra found themselves sharing the same foxhole together, they’d duke it out one-on-one in the truest test of skill and cunning to see who the victor would be. Nowadays...a one-on-one fight wouldn’t stay that way for very long and someone would always end up being ganged up on and usually shot from behind. I still had several dents and scrapes on the back of my helmet from Zebras attempting to do the same to me but thankfully armor had improved significantly since I had first entered the service and I escaped with my head and back intact. In honor of these behind-from-back moves as Hucks and I called them, we each scratched in the words, ‘BITE ME’ on the backs of our helmets. We didn't know if the Zebs could understand it or not, but it was fuckin' hilarious to us all the same.

“How could he ask such a thing?!” Penny finally screeched as we exited the tent in full gear with our private comms channel. “Killing adults armed with a fucking enchanted assault rifle is one thing but mercilessly killing a convoy of children just so they don’t set up a colony on our land?! I mean...fuck! I get why he’s ordering it because fuck the Zebras colonizing our land but...FUCK! If it were a fuckton of adults I wouldn’t give two shits about blowing them all to hell but...kids?!”

I was grateful the radio in my ear automatically reduced the volume of her voice so I wasn’t deafened by her angry outburst. Regardless, she was speaking the very same words all of us felt. I had to wonder what the rest of the Army would think if they knew what he was asking us to do. Would they too be similarly (and justifiably) outraged at his order and refuse to do it? Or...or had we slipped so far that most wouldn’t even question the morality of the command and go through it obediently? I knew some Squads, like Gamma for example, that were well known as battleground sadists. The kind who wouldn’t just volunteer for such a mission, but would do so with immense pleasure. They were but one of the many ‘Kill-Joy’ Squads to be found in the Army, their overwhelming qualification being terror tactics. I mean, I thought I was pretty ruthless in combat...but these crazy ass motherfuckers went above and beyond; usually mutilating the bodies of their victims and painting their blood on their armor in mockery of traditional Zebra war paint. Aside from those fucking monsters though, would the rest of the Army react like we were? It was a genuinely concerning thing that I wasn't all too sure if they would or wouldn't...

“We can hear ya just fine Penny, calm the fuck down would ya?” Buck Beak groaned as he tossed a 40mm grenade into the air and caught it in the open chamber of his pump-action grenade launcher.

“Sorry…” She sighed before continuing her verbal assault with more restraint on her volume. “But seriously...this is just fucking wrong. He can't be fucking serious about this.”

“He’s a General, Penny…” Rain Dancer sighed as well, slinging his light machine gun onto his back and ensuring the mag-strips had a hold of it before he let go. “They’re not prone to speaking bullshit when it comes to combat missions. Maybe in politics but not in combat.”

“That just makes it even worse…” She mumbled. “It would be bad enough if he were yanking our tails with this but the fact he’s a fucking General makes it ten times worse. I mean, you don’t hear Luna saying shit like that do you?!”

“Well…” Huckleberry hummed which cued me in on what she was thinking instantly.

“What, you implying Princess Luna has come out and said to kill kids?” Penny growled though not in anger towards Huckleberry it seemed.

“Not directly, no...” Huckleberry replied in soft tones as we meandered into the entrance to the trenches to begin our three-and-a-half mile walk to the meetup point further down the valley. “But he’s directly beneath her in the military hierarchy. Aside from General Stonewall in the East, he's the only other four-star General in the country which means the only pony who has the power to contradict him is the Princess-in-Chief herself. Unless my understanding of the hierarchy is FUBAR, I doubt either General commences ops like this without first getting the approval of the Crown. So, either he’s going batshit crazy and is acting on his own accord or...he’s relaying orders from the highest levels of power in this country.”

That sent an icy torrent through my veins as I realized she was more than possibly right. After the Massacre at Little Bighorn, Princess Celestia had chosen to abdicate rather than be the one responsible for overseeing a World War. This left a bit of a power vacuum as she had been the ultimate leader of Equestria with Luna acting more as a prime minister than a co-ruler. Of course, with her older sister's abdication it had been to her to take the reins and do her best with the shit sandwich she had been left to deal with. To her credit she had done a better job than many had expected seeing as she had rather limited experience with direct rule but there were many problems with the system in place. Despite being the only five-star General in the EAF (by virtue of being our national leader), she was not a military oriented mare and thus allowed her subordinates to formulate plans and tactics. These would be reviewed in a weekly briefing in Canterlot with the Ministry Mares and all Generals from Brigadier to four-star.

There she would approve of the plans she felt were best and veto the ones she didn’t approve of before anything was communicated to us smaller cogs in the machine of War. Now, it wasn't like every minute detail and plan is reviewed in these meetings, it would be too much for the Princess to take in let alone understand. It was common knowledge amongst the C and XOs that Luna left almost all small operations and planning to the discretion of the Acting War Council. This left a lot of cracks in oversight protection that could be taken advantage of. Like she said, there was a chance this was coming from the General himself without prior authorization and he was simply using his stars to enact his own will. We all knew our GA ranks were more for appearances than genuine leadership positions we were expected to fill. While my silver oak leaves might intimidate anyone below me, I was still a Veteran Ranger in the eyes of the AWC and wasn't going to be given the same access to internal information as an actual Lieutenant Colonel normally could. Hell, even questioning my orders would be exceedingly dangerous if rumors of Olive's Black List were even remotely true.

Really, the only pony higher than myself that I trusted was the Colonel himself. Being in an administration role rather than working in an active combatant role like I was, his rank would carry actual weight. He was the only one who potentially had the authority to verify our orders all the way at the top and not get fucked in the ass for it. Still...I had a feeling that the General, now that he knew we didn’t agree with his orders, was more than likely going to keep us under close observation for any signs of insubordination. That meant I would have to find a way to contact the Colonel in such a way that I could communicate my concerns without being caught out as doubting my superiors. He had just as much brains as he had heart, he was sure to listen to me if I could just get him in a spot we could speak as equals. He had been able to do it all my career up to this point, I could count on his support now just like I could as a new Recruit to the Corps.

“Oh sweet Celestia I hope to fuck you’re wrong…” Rain Dancer mumbled fearfully as we passed the M.O.P crews coming back in pairs from the frontlines, a stretcher strapped between them carrying dead or dying ponies, Griffins, Dragons, Buffalo and other species that had joined in the War to defend the Continent.

"Common guys, let's be fuckin' honest with ourselves for a second here. I think we can all agree shit's fucked the hell up here and what can go wrong usually does." Grumbled Buck Beak followed by mumbled agreements from all of us.

"I don't like it any more than any of you. That being said, we've got something to focus on tonight so let's put our minds on that so we can make it back safe tonight. No telling what the fuck we will found out there. Nopony's Land is riddled with bullshit and I want everyone's eye on the prize. Heads on a swivel, safeties off and short, controlled bursts if we come under fire. In that situation, scatter and keep em occupied long enough for me or Buck to get a bead on them."

It had been relatively easy to get assigned to fringe patrol with Onyx’s Squad. A simple radio call to the General’s office and within two minutes I had formal approval with the added personal comment, ‘Kill all striped bastards that your scopes can see.’ It was a bit unusual for a fringe patrol to be granted shoot-on-sight clearance of any enemy combatants since normally we were supposed to wait until we were engaged first. Regardless though, we were more than fine with the clearance being granted since it had been a full twelve hours since any of us had been allowed to pop off a shot or two. Most of that time was spent withering away in the hot sun without much relief while everyone else got to charge off and kick ass. While a break was appreciated, it was undercut by just how unfair the climate was... Another quick radio call to Onyx and his Squad and we were as ready as we would ever be for the night’s events, however they turned out to be.

The walk to the rendezvous spot, which was the point at which the patrol started its arching route across the extreme edge of conquered and cleared territory, was rather simple and only took a half hour to traverse. It certainly helped that we were all in the peak condition of health and fitness but I think our greatest asset was our determination to get the jaunt over with. Even with the intriguing distraction, only a few of us were actually going to be heading out to look for it. The rest still had to walk the patrol and be bored outa their minds the whole time. Almost nothing interesting happens to patrols.

As we walked, more and more M.O.P cleaning crews passed us headed back for camp, the bulk of the casualties being from the General Army since their armor was admittedly...less than adequate for the kind of fighting we were involved in. Whereas middling NCOs, Desert Rangers and Airborne units were encased in one of the several variants of the Modular Combat Armor Platform (M-CAP), any poor sap with a single chevron or below was left to the wolves so to speak. The basic BDUs provided to them were nothing more than uniforms with a built-in tactical harness and a simple steel helmet. Hardly adequate protection but there simply was only a budget for those who had the right mixture of luck, cleverness and survival instinct to make it past the first couple ranks. Until you had proven yourself worth the trouble of supplying extra kit to, you were expected to crawl your way out of the Meat Grinder using what you had. Sink or swim was the order of the day.

A soft-body ballistic vest (like the kind worn by patrolling police units) was usually only provided to those Enlisted who managed to live long enough to make it to Corporal. Considering soft armor wasn’t worth a damn against anything bigger than a 5.56, it was sufficient for facing general infantry armed with that caliber but not much else. Only when you hit the rank of Sergeant did they start issuing you actual steel/polyceramic armor, usually the lighter model of the M-CAP Model-4 that could be strapped on over your fatigues as separate pieces. Upon the rank of Sergeant you were given either heavier versions of the 4 or, due to budget cuts, be given the older 3 which was an all-in-one suit that was not nearly as mobile as the 4s. All this being said though, even the M-CAP could only protect from so much of the bullshit we were asked to square-up against.

This was evidenced by the thick stream of casualties flowing from the front lines...not many were living to see the ranks beyond Private let alone seeing Specialist or Sergeant. The only thing I could think of that would potentially help the problem is if the Ministry of Image came out with a new line of uniforms that were made from or at least were reinforced with Kevyarn. The material was technically the intellectual property of the former Crystal Empire but had rapidly expanded its capabilities since it had been introduced twenty years ago thanks to help from M.O.W. According to the manuals I had been able to browse, I knew they were a mixture of synthetic elastic polymers, traditional spider's silk and Crystal Sheep wool woven into one of two patterns; the only difference between them being the quantities of each ingredient included in the weave. I had seen many things improve since graduating EastPoint. Metallurgy, synthetics, manufacturing techniques...many things had seen improvement over the years and I had yet to see a new version of Kevyarn hit production. Surely the Ministries of Image and War could put some time and attention into expanding on this old but relatively reliable material. They could make the new uniforms garish and flamboyantly pink for all I cared but it would save lives if we could find a way to protect more Privates from at least a 5.56.

“We’re coming up on Outpost Charlie, Ma’am.” Buck Beak announced over my radio as he performed aerial reconnaissance for us as we walked.

“Copy that. What ya seeing up there, B?” I asked, resisting the urge to look around since we were eight feet below the ground line surrounded by muted red clay and dirt.

“Massive heat signatures from Camp Fuck-Off as usual.” He replied, a small rectangle popping up in the right corner of my visor showing me his helmet feed. “Scattered thermal signatures roaming the maze...most seem to be buzzards doing what they do best. I’m not seeing any magical or electrical energy signatures anywhere...nothing in the skies either. Looks pretty damn clear to me. Hell, there’s not even a PRS in the sky. You’d think there’d be at least one Pegasus team up here this time of night doing recon.”

I watched as his vision filters changed the world into different colors as he searched for any signs of hostile life in the area and felt the knot in my gut loosen a hair. It was relieving to know he couldn’t see anything but then again it’s what we couldn’t see that gave me cause for concern. The only way anypony could detect a Crimson Dragon was via S.A.T.S, the Stable-Tec Assisted Targeting Spell that artificially jacked up your adrenaline with a potent spell and ran hit-probability ratios for accurate shots on enemies. It worked off the psychology subroutines that actively marked targets as friend or foe allowing one to hyperfocus on particular body parts for more accurate shots. The spell gave you time to observe your surroundings and was able to track (if barely) the position of invisible enemies by highlighting the distortion their cloaks made on the spell-matrix sensors. The only issue was that S.A.T.S was exclusive property of the almighty StableTec corporation which meant the only device with the system was their line of PipBucks and Power Armor. It goes without saying that such a costly device was only issued to specialist teams in the GA and Airborne and was only standard issue to Desert and Steel Rangers who had earned them. Even with S.A.T.S integrated in all our helmets, more often than not we relied on our skill and training to see us through the day. The technology, though insanely useful when trying to pop headshots on more than one target, took the challenge out of combat somewhat for me. There was something more gratifying to being able to perform crack shots without the need for too much technology.

“I want a S.A.T.S sweep real quick please.” I commanded nicely, wanting to make doubly sure the area was clear for now of anything nasty, deadly, invisible or, worst of all, all three.

“You got it.” Buck Beak replied, his videocam pausing for a few seconds at a time as the spell turned on and off as he scanned the surrounding terrain.

Thankfully the only entities highlighted were scavenging birds with no frozen pony shaped highlights to be seen anywhere. Once he had finished his sweep of the first mile and a half of the patrol route, plus a portion of Nopony’s Land, he came back to circle above us. The lone watchtower known as Outpost Charlie-Horse soon came into everyone’s view with two solitary heat signatures lounging within keeping a wary eye on the South. Getting picked for that post was always a gamble. Either spend the whole night and not see a thing or you’d end up dozing off only to be woken by your smirking CO telling you that you’ll be cleaning the latrines for a month. Or, you could just wake up dead from a Crimson Dragon. That was always a possibility out here.

“Hail Rangers!” One of the heads poking up over the sandbags called out as we walked past the tower. “You boys stuck on fringe tonight?”

“Yep!” I called back, turning on my external speaker so he could actually hear me. “What’s the good word, soldier?”

“Absofuckinglutely NOTHING.” He called back, pointing a hoof towards the South to the somewhat distant lights of Camp Fuck-Off. “Place is emptier than the galley on Pickled Radish Day. I almost wish the old Great Chief would fuck with me tonight it's been so fucking boringgggg!”

Damn, that empty huh? I was ok with that. A quiet Nopony’s Land was a good Nopony’s Land in my book and it would make things easier in the long run for what we were about to do. Onyx and his Squad had yet to arrive so we all decided to just sit down and wait at the base of the watchtower and discuss things. The two grunts above begged to come down and join us or have us come up and hang out with them but we just didn't have time to humor them. Now that we were here, it was as good a time as any to make a more concrete version of the basic idea of a plan we had earlier.

“Alright, once we are far enough out of sight of Charlie-Horse, me and Hucks will break off from the patrol with Onyx and whoever he brings along with him. You all know the song and dance on this one, I'm sure you guys are more than able to do this shit without me. If you see something, say something. If said something isn’t friendly, shoot it and ask questions later. Oh, and I heard a rumor that the Colonel is holding a contest amongst the entire Corps to see who can kill the most Legionaries so if you gun one down, try your best to snag their epaulettes as a trophy to prove your kill.”

“Damn, a Head Hunt! I love these!” Buck Beak chuckled evilly, reaching for a leather bag tied to his belt and pouring out a small pile of them into his armored talons. “Last time they did one of these was what, two tours ago? Been gathering the best of these babies for ages now!”

“Well shit, Buck.” Rain Dancer replied, peeking an eye into his own trophy bag and sounding disappointed in himself. “Why didn't I think to do that... Do you remember who won the prize last round?”

“That chick from the Buffalo Brigade…” Huckleberry sighed. “You know, the one who managed to lug around the M61A1-Vulpes on her Battle-Saddle in original configuration?”

“Wait, what?” Penny asked in shock. “She carried a what now?!”

“You know, the 20mm Vulpes minigun?” Buck Beak said, looking at her with his red lenses softly glowing in the darkness. “The bitch carried it on her back and fuckin' galloped through the trenches mowing everything down. Do you know how much that shit weighs? Even with MDS canisters, that's a fuckton of weight!”

“Sixty kilos.” I replied, rattling off from my rather extensive list of memorized arms and ammunition. “That’s assuming she had the tri-barreled version and not the six. That would jump it up to 112.”

Penny whistled and asked, “Sweet Celestia, I can see why she won. I've seen what those things can do from Sky Chariots so I can only imagine what those babies can do up close. Did she use an MDS canister at all to help with the ammo?”

“Well no shit, Penny. The thing has an RPM of 6,000, do you really think even a Buffalo could haul a minute's worth of ammo on her back unassisted? Only help she got was her two ammo-bearers to keep her topped off.” Rain Dancer answered. “Can't imagine what it'd be like to have to be the one to carry her extra rounds as she tore ass...”

“Wow...is she here on this tour? I’d love to meet her!” Penny said excitedly much to Dancer, Hucks and I's sadness.

“Sorry to say but...the Iron Buffalo went down last tour…” Huckleberry said softly. “She ran too far ahead of her ammo girls and got outflanked while clearing a jam in her flex-chute. When they found her body though, she was literally piled on by dead Askari and surrounded by piles more. It was like sixty-three kills she managed to get in before they took her down. The M.O.P ponies who retrieved her said there literally was no hide left on her body she was so full of bullets, shrapnel and stab wounds. She’s gone down a legend…if only the rest of us can be so lucky to earn the same reputation.”

“This War is going to make everypony a legend.” Rain Dancer sighed as he leaned back against the reinforced wooden post of the tower. “I mean hell, ain’t we legends by now?”

“Nah. Nopony gives a damn about the Desert Rangers anymore, it’s always the Steel Rangers who get all the media attention. When was the last time anypony from our Corps was on T.V or on the radio for an interview? I’ll tell you: six years ago. It was Colonel Sand doing this short shpeal on our advanced reconnaissance missions in the Zulu Campaign and Griffinstone Offensive and our take on their combat readiness. And even then they cut him off after like three questions because that one Tin Head burst into the scene declaring victory at the Manehattan Offensive. Ever since then we’ve gotten the ass of the media attention.” Penny said flatly as she loaded a spare drum magazine with Dragon’s Breath shotshells from her chest bandolier to pass the time.

"Yeesh...yeah, I remember that shit..." I grumbled. "Memory will be burned into my memory for ages to come..."

We waited another ten minutes in silence, most of us idly checking and rechecking our weapons and equipment in an attempt to stave off boredom. The waiting was becoming more and more unbearable as ten minutes turned to thirty and still there was no Onyx. Or really any signs of life aside from the two bozos in the tower above us who we were pretty sure had decided to take a nap. Since we were around to do their job for them, I suppose I couldn't blame them. Repeated radio calls to Onyx went unanswered and so we were forced to wait. Wait and run circles in the brain until the knot in your gut twists and convulses into the size of a volleyball.

“Do you think this Onyx guy is yanking all our tails on a wild goose chase?” Rain Dancer finally asked as the clock ticked on forty-five minutes, our patrol technically starting fifteen-minutes ago. “I mean, he is a Tin Head after all…”

“I guess…” I sighed as I stood up clipped the grenades I had been trying to juggle back onto the bandolier across my chest. “Either way, we’re here to do a patrol so let’s get it over with. I’m gonna pass out if we don’t get moving and I’d rather sleep in my cot than on the fucking ground. Did plenty of that in the Empire...”

They all duly agreed and stood up stretching as best they could with armor and weapons on. Penny finally put her helmet back on since she didn’t like the way her mane stood up everywhere from wearing it for long periods of time.

“Ayo, Crete!” My radio buzzed just as we started walking towards the starting point of our patrol route.

“Captain Onyx.” I said with a dangerous tone of annoyance in my voice that I didn’t care to hide. “You better damn well have used that forty-nine minutes to come up with a good excuse for why you’re late.”

“Ah do, Ah’m sorry…” He said meekly as four T-45’s climbed out of the trenches and made their way towards us, their thermal signatures quite noticeable like moving beacons of technicolor. “Yew won’t believe wha’ th’ General wants us tah do…”

“Blow a bunch of foals to hell?” I suggested, wondering just how many were being roped into that madness.

“How’d ya know?” He asked with a small gasp. “He didn’ ask yew too did he?”

“He did.” I said simply, making a small recording of their approach to point out to anypony who would listen the fact that the T-45 was far from stealthy on thermals. “He asked all of us to do it. Though he said he was sending us with his Shock Troopers...know anything about that?”

“Naw.” He replied as they came up to us, each of us exchanging nods of acknowledgment to each other in greeting. “Only said we’d be workin’ wit’ a buncha Veteran Rangers n’ nothin’ else. Didn’t even give us ah briefin’ fer it. Said we’d get one later. Ahll sorts ah weird...”

I paused just long enough to radio in that we were beginning our patrol to Command before showing him the small holotape we had been given with our mission briefing and noticing for the first time it had the words ‘Classified: View on 08/16/2077’ written in red ink on the label. This bitch had a time-lock on it which made it almost impossible to access before the date in question. Well, that is if you wished to do so without being picked up by M.O.M for breach of security.

“View on th’ sixteenth? Tha’s not fer ahnother week. Th’ fuck’s goin’ on?” He asked as he gave the tape back to me and we brought up the rear of the group. “Somethin’ feels really off about this here…and Ah mean more than th’ fact he wants us tah murder a buncha young'uns.”

“It does seem rather disorganized for a mission of this scale…” I admitted, looking beyond the fucked up nature of the mission itself at the logistics of it all. “Mission briefing via holotape, lack of information or proxy approval from our Corps officers and...I guess maybe even conflicting information since you got less info than we did. I mean, nothing against you but I don’t think you or your Squad are considered part of the General’s Shock Troopers are you?”

He shook his head and muttered, “Nnope. He didn’t say anythang abou’ Shock Troopers, just y’all Veterans. We're good, but we ain't Shock Troopa quality. Yet, heh.”

“And he didn’t say anything about standard Steel Rangers being apart of this thing when we spoke with him. Fuck, this is confusing…” I mumbled back, looking away from him at the column of Rangers before us all proudly arraigned in the best the military had to offer. “Well...what are your thoughts on the mission? Between two ponies.”

“Fuckin’ psycho.” He stated firmly, nickering softly in disgust. “Ah ain’t gonna do it. No way n' hell. Ah might belong there fer mah part in this damned War but Ah don' wanna go down knowin' I killed ah kid. Don' matter if its one o' ours or theirs.”

“Thank Celestia…” I sighed in relief, relieved to know we weren’t the only ones who were willing to disobey the commands of a psychopath. “We aren’t either. If it were nothing but armed adults then I’d have no fucking problem with it but I won’t kill a bunch of kids. Doesn't fucking matter how much at War with their country I am. Even gunning down unarmed adults is a huge no-no, we all know this shit from diapers!”

“Damn straight!” He laughed back, bumping me in the side with a metal clang. “This here War has fucked everythang n’ everyone up...dunno ‘bout y’all but Ah ain’t gonna give up mah Soul fer ah couple more kills tah mah name. I ain’t no foal-killer. Besides, they ain’t gonna count in th’ Head Hunt anyway.”

After a moment of shared silent revulsion for our future orders, it was time to organize our combined patrol and figure out the logistics. With nine of us in total, we were a bit large for a fringe patrol group but I liked the extra feeling of security that so many heavily armed bodies provided. Four (two from each Squad) traveled above ground and kept an eye on the area around us while the rest of us stayed below in the trench. Buck Beak, again being our only air support, circled overhead giving us an even greater field of view over the maze of holes, furrows and craters dotting the dark landscape. We made a wide arch along the absolute fringe of our holdings in an attempt to apprehend any potential Zebra insurgents or efforts to lay anti-personnel/materiel mines. On some occasions these sort of patrols would be so lucky as to come across Zebra weaponry, robots or other such military materials that we could stake out and call in a salvage crew to retrieve. Sadly though, most patrols would be nothing more exciting than seeing corpses, festering gore and all the other party decorations of World War. Tonight’s objective was a salvage op thankfully, though instead of hoping to merely come across it in our route, we were going to break the rules and jaunt out to Nopony’s land in search of it. An unconfirmed piece of ordnance that could prove a total game changer in the course of the War if it actually existed. Even if it didn’t exist, we lost nothing by it so either way, it was worth the risk.

Once the route began to veer right towards towards the West, Onyx selected three of his Tin Heads to accompany him while I selected Penny and Huckleberry to follow me. Though we had originally planned on only having a group of four approach the site, being so close to Fuck-Off made everyone nervous. Onyx himself seemed pleasant and cordial enough from the limited interactions I had had with him but I didn’t know the rest of his Squad for shit. I wasn’t going to let my mare and the only other mare on my team be alone with a bunch of Tin Heads. Did I assume they were all stallions without checking? Yes. Yes I did. The SRs drew in stallions like moths to an inferno as every guy wanted to wear the Steel and assert their dominance in the fight. I had a right to make assumptions when 3\4 of their number were of the male persuasion.

“Aight, so it’ll probably be easier tah get there if we go up tahp.” He said as one of his three lackeys started kicking a ramp into the trench wall for us to climb out on. “Ah don’t rememba exactly where Ah saw th’ thang but I marked th’ general area fer us tah sweep when Ah wasn't so busy gettin' shot at. Since there’s gonna be seven of us goin’, we should be able tah cova a lotta ground but we only got like thirty minutes tah look before we need tah head back tah meet up wit’ th’ rest of them. Not ah lot o' time but its ahll we can do.”

We all nodded and I took a second to check out the three he had chosen to go with him. The difference between a mare and a stallion’s helmet was usually subtle and often you had to rely on body size and the subtleties in shape (like wider hips, thinner legs and a narrow torso) to tell the difference between the sexes whilst in armor. I wasn’t too sure but...I had a feeling that every single member of Onyx’s team was a mare. It was harder to tell the difference on a Steel Ranger since the T-45 made everypony roughly the same height and encased them in an inch or more of magically forged steel but...there were enough signs to make me wonder. Wider cuisse meant a wider pelvis and the torso tapered more in the waist than those I had grown accustomed to seeing. The most telling detail though was the slimmer mask portion of the helmet covering the muzzle. Either these were handsomely feminine stallions or Onyx had himself a team of mares, the damn fucking lucky ass bastard...

Their magically powered armor tore into the dirt wall as easily as a jackhammer and within a minute there was a rudimentary slope made in the trench wall that even the T-45 could walk up without toppling backwards. On the surface, I finally got to see the end result of the day’s offensive and I was almost uncomfortable with how close we were to Camp Fuck-Off compared to how far away we were from our tents. The Zebras had yet to widely circulate their own version of the AMR (which they had reversed engineered from our own version taken on the battlefield) so I was relatively confident I was not in range of any well-trained sniper fire. I knew I could make a mile-and-a-half long shot in these conditions considering there was no crosswind and the humidity and temperature were down. Even then though, I would be at the mercy of the BORS system attached to my scope and hope it compensated for the Coriolis-Effect properly. The Zebras as far as I knew had nothing of the sort so...why was I still unnerved at being so ‘close’ to their camp?

“Ah’m gonna send y’all th’ area Ah marked out fer this here gig but just in case, just follow me kay?” Onyx said as a map of the area was transmitted to my visor with a small four hundred foot area highlighted in red a half-mile to the Southwest of where we stood. “What’s yer Griffin seein’ in th’ skies?”

“Buck Beak, what do your Griffin eyes see?” I asked, instinctively looking up for his small figure circling in the sky.

“Nothing.” He replied in a bored tone, the distinct sound of his grenade launcher cocking coming through over his radio feed. “It’s too quiet. I don’t like quiet...”

“Does he mean tha’ in a good way ‘er a bad one?” Onyx asked as we had patched them all into a common radio feed.

“Buck, don’t go making noise to soothe your boredom, k?” Penny sighed in our ears. “Last time you did that you got the attention of that murderbot thing remember?”

“Yep! And that was a hell of a great fight!” He laughed, obviously missing the point.

“There wasn’t supposed to be a fight remember?” I responded, silently wondering what Onyx or his other three Tin Heads thought about our conversation. “The mark of a successful patrol is having everything be quiet and uneventful, not bang, pow, boom anything and everything you come across.”

“And the mark of an awesome patrol is taking an enthusiastic midnight stroll, blowing shit up and filling up the night sky with fire!” He chuckled back with a tone of glee.

“I will agree with the Griffin on this regard, patrols tend to become very dull experiences without any action.” Came an unfamiliar Canterlot accented mare’s voice over the channel.

“I agree wit’ both the Griffin and the mare. Patrols should be quiet but they’s more fun when there’s something t’ shoot.” Came another mare’s voice, this one with a sexy Manehattan drawl.

“Brandy? Wha’ ‘bout yew eh?” Onyx asked, presumably to the last member of his team who hadn’t spoken yet.

“Ain’t got no ‘pinion on th’ matter Sir.” She responded in a very thick Southern accent. “We’ve got this here job an’ we gonna do it.”

“You never have an opinion on anythin’ Brandy.” The Manehattanite sighed. “You’s always just quiet and boring.”

“Well ‘scuse meh fer bein’ ‘ficient.” Brandy retorted in a calm, even manner, her voice like sugared molasses spilling out of her mouth.

“Pardon me Brandy, but remind us again as to whom is the most efficient soldier in this Squad?” The Canterlot mare challenged in her formal tones.

“Aight, settle down ladies.” Onyx chuckled, finally bringing the argument to a close. “We’re just ahbout there now so spread out n’ look ‘fer somethin’ tha’ looks like ah launcher of some sort. Looked like ah missile launcher but...funky.”

Everyone went silent as we broke off into pairs, my confidence in Onyx’s Squad improving knowing he was literally the only male in the whole group. The likelihood that Hucks or Penny would be sexually assaulted was thankfully next to zero, even with a bunch of unknown Tin Heads and I felt safe letting my mare go off alone. I nodded towards Hucks who joined up with the Canterlot mare hoping she got my unspoken message. She knew better than to mess around with other mares just as I did and before I knew it, everyone was paired off except for me and Onyx. Brandy chose to go with Buck Beak (who remained airborne) on the premise that she preferred to work alone as much as possible. Seemed to suit Buck just fine as he had those same kind of tendencies and could respect them in kind.

“Well, guess it’ll be just yew n’ me eh?” Onyx chuckled as he led the way forward, his 20mm grenade launcher rotating on a mechanical pivot on his armored back like a sentry gun. “Keep yer eyes out fer anythin’ nasty an’ Ah’ll blow it tah hell.”

“Well in that case, I hope you’re ready to run because I don’t wanna be around when old Stripped Ass comes poking around wondering why there’s a bunch of explosions in Nopony’s Land.” I replied, looking over my shoulder at the distance just to reach Outpost Charlie-Horse.

“Puhlease…” He snorted in amusement as we hopped down into a random trench in the search area, his armor clanging like a metal can in the wind. “With this here armor, Ah’m gonna be runnin’ fer days an’ not feel ah thang. Just try tah keep up lil' lady.”

I knew better than that and I hoped as an actual user of the T-45, he knew it too. The spell-matrix placed in the armor only negated the armor’s weight and didn’t provide any bonuses to speed or agility leaving the wearer up to his or her own personal fitness. Then again, even the weight negation had a limit. This meant nopony (aside from the Iron Buffalo) would be hauling around a 20mm minigun without overloading the Crystalline Fusion Core shutting the whole thing down. The stronger guys could still move with a crashed matrix but it was slow, precarious and usually resulted in more casualties. Or at the very least lost munitions as they tried to shed excess weight in order to make it home alive. Now, the newer model that I had seen on the Shock Troopers? It was more than possible that recent advances had gone beyond what the T-45 models were capable of and introduced some crazy new shit. I had yet to learn anything about them save for their distinctive appearance but I could tell they were going to outperform. Even in desperation, Equestria never let anything hit the field until it had passed high standards of quality and stress testing.

As we searched, I brought up the topic of the new Power Armor model and was unsurprised to learn that he knew nothing about it. It turned into a genuinely pleasant conversation as he himself was somewhat of a low-key expert in PoA and could respect my first-hoof observations. It certainly made the search less boring as we scoured the dirt and sand for anything worth looking at using all the vision filters available. As we were well within the range of Equestrian artillery and well-trained sniper fire from Charlie-Horse, I was unsurprised to find Zebra corpses still littering the ground; most probably victims of bleed-out on the way back to camp. Their armor, a sort of armored combat dress made of strange, foreign materials, blended well with the blackness of night with their distinctive black and red coloring. During the daytime though, they stood out like a sore horn against the dingy red of the Badlands. A subtle testament to their devotion to the tactic of stealth and subterfuge that had defined their way of waging war.

"Yer sure ya saw it right?" He asked me incredulously if with great interest. "No bullshit?"

"Ya know, despite the animosity between the Corps I don't have a reason to lie about something like this. And even if I were lying, you'd more than likely see the truth for yourself. I've no doubt that we will start seeing those fuckers hitting your Corps like mad once they finish field tests."

"Ah'll be damned...they actually managed tah get .50s into Power Armor..."

"Didn't get the best look at it but the secondary seemed to be a 40mm too. Couldn't tell ya if it fires the Hellfire 40s or the shorties but it's definitely bigger than that 20 you're working with there."

"Yeeeehaw! Now tha' right there is why Ah signed up fer this shit!"

The world continued to change colors as my filters switched from one to the other, each trying its best to make something of the dull earth around us. The bodies on the ground were always a cold blue on thermals, which was a relief if a macabre one. We came across various weapons and munitions, none of which we had room to carry and none of which came close to what we were after. Of course, we didn’t exactly know what we were after but I pictured a Balefire launcher to look like...well...I wasn't entirely sure. Balefire had to be contained within specially enchanted glass so I would expect something like...a traditional cannon? He had said launcher though which implied shot from the shoulder. Soooo...I suppose what I was looking for was like a missile launcher but all sorts of whack.

“Sound off.” I commanded dully into my mike as a routine check-in with my Squad.

“Huckleberry here. I’ve got nothing.” Hucks said in a bored tone.

“Ditto for Penny. Nothing but dirt, blood and bodies over here.”

“Skies are clear. Nobody but us out here...unfortunately. Wish a Zeeb would...”

I waited a moment to let Rain Dancer say his piece but was at first surprised and then scared when no word came from him. He wasn't like Buck, going radio silent just to have a laugh at our own expense.

“Yo, Rain Dancer! You dead bro?” Buck Beak called out. "Or do I gotta get some Zebra dick outa your sorry ass to get you to answer the call?"

“Yeah bro...sorry, was busy digging.” He replied much to my relief. “I thought I found something but it just turned out to be a giant dragon bone left over from who knows how long ago. Sorry to say but I’ve got nothing either. Just a giant graveyard out here tonight. A shared one with the old Migration that used to happen here.”

“I think you mean a field for harvesting trophies!” Penny giggled. “We could probably pick up a few dozen epaulets each and be that much closer to winning the Head Hunt!”

"Already ahead of ya bitches!" Buck chuckled gleefully. "Been snagging 'em anytime I spy a particularly shiny one that'll look good for the leader board. Not like anypony can put a date on those I'll let slip into the eh, honorably gained ones if ya know what I'm sayin'."

“Guys...we earn our quarry honorably remember? Do I always have to remind you about that?” I growled, kicking the dirt in lieu of giving Buck a good uppercut to the beak.

My reinforced combat boot struck metal in the loose earth and without another word I immediately pounced on the site with all the fervor of a miner who struck coal. What I found was an odd, metal half-pipe contraption that was about five feet long and included some piping and what looked like pressure gauges on the left side. The more I looked at it, the more I noticed defining features including a trigger mechanism, a padded shoulder rest and a sort of charging handle that could be operated by mouth. The half-pipe itself was more like a third-pipe with the left side completely open giving me the impression it was meant for ease of loading something rather large. The overall feel and weight of the object was similar to a missile launcher except this thing seemed to use a large spring and compressed air system in order to launch its ordinance. Unless the Zebras were shooting bowling balls at us, the only logical ammunition was...

“Guys…” I gasped softly as Onyx took a turn looking the thing over. “I think we found our Balefire launcher!”

“All you will find here is death and blood, Equine.” Came the melodic accented voice of a Zebra from the darkness. “Nothing else will be found upon these fields of war.”

Fucking Crimson Dragons I swear...

Next Chapter: Chapter Seventeen: Cogsworth Estimated time remaining: 24 Hours, 44 Minutes