Now that the reports were coming in through the radio, it seemed like the bulk of the wolf-dogs and jaguar warriors had been directed towards the attack on the more heavily-defended refinery rather than those skirmishes currently occurring throughout the city.

Given how few people were left in the world, the fact that Los Lobos could even muster that many troopers to attack them was downright impressive. Carmelita’s description of the cartels-turned-cultists really understated how dangerous they actually were and at this point Dilip was pretty sure the continued existence of the refinery was owed to defensive tactics and Samuel’s militia.

Which was currently putting up a damn good fight holding the outer perimeter. The staccato of gunfire rang out at regular intervals around the refinery, and a couple trucks could be seen relocating militia troopers to areas of the perimeter where they were needed to back up the lesser-trained oil workers.

Either way… now that they were actively involved in the fighting it looked like the sailors would have to ensure this part of Mexico didn’t become a haven for crazy sacrifice-happy cultists. Charybdis and Scylla’s ilk were already enough, thank you very much.

The windows of Amandine’s bridge shook, and a dull ‘boom-boom-boom’ rang out in the distance.For a brief instant it drowned out the sound of small arms fire. That was the CV90’s Bofors.

Dilip had been quick to dispatch the combat vehicles to go provide fire support, along with whatever sailors were left over to throw into the fight.

Across from him on the other end of the chart table, Lorelei was juggling talkie-walkies in her telekinesis, periodically jotting down positions and vectors on the map to show where all forces were located.

Rhine Forest had sent troops into the fight to hold the perimeter as well, but Lorelei’s attention was focused on the two torpedo escorts which she had sent out of the cove and up the river to the west to flank the wolf-dogs and cut them off from the town.

At about the same time, the biggest concentration of forces remained with all the combat vehicles near the refinery’s gates.

And then came the smaller skirmishes. Dilip leaned over the table, a worried scowl tainting the sea dog’s features.

Groups stuck in the city. Data from that side was… harder to keep track of. They had fewer teams spread out across a much larger area, and the urban landscape, compared to the green expanse around the refinery, made it much harder to keep track of where the enemy was.

He had a notebook in his paw, the current page showing a quick list of their thinly-stretched assets. Behind him, Alejandro and Roberto were busily barking orders and brief messages in their radios, coordinating their forces.

“RPG impact on Piranha number three at the gates. Minor damage, the applique armor did its job, but it’s a mobility kill.” Roberto announced loudly. “We need to get it towed out of there.”

“Is there anyone left on the backline then? Tell them to grab a hooklift truck and get over to the gates ASAP.”

“Sorry sir.” The feline Intel Officer shrugged apologetically.“We sent our last guys on ambulance duty to help get the casualties to Doctor Delacroix’s clinic on Rhine Forest.” The feline shook his head.

“Shit.” He swore. “Then get Piranha number two to tow it. I don’t care if that pulls a .50cal away from combat, I’d rather avoid getting any of them destroyed. Shift the veterans from the west flank to the gates to compensate. Lorelei, your boats, they’re getting into range?”

“Two minutes.” The pink unicorn filly didn’t look away from the map. “They had an issue with a sharpshooter on the edge of town but it’s good now.”

“Excellent. Any casualties with your guys?”

“None dead so far, just injuries. With the health potions and Camille’s work, it’s nothing they can’t walk away from in a few days. We’ll see once it’s done.” The pink filly replied curtly.

Sadly enough, Dilip’s own medical crew was unable to provide any assistance with casualties. Vadim and Boris being pinned down at the hospital meant both the Medical Officer and his assistant were out of the action. And Aleksei, the only one in the entire fleet with healing spells worth a damn, was also stuck in an archeological museum that had quickly lost its appeal once the bullets started flying.

As if on cue, the sound of an ambulance siren passed by, an olive blur with blue sirens and a red cross, that same army ambulance Amandine’s crew had obtained with the Piranhas back in Denmark. Tires screeched as the vehicle made a sharp turn to quickly offload a pair of injured militia troopers before immediately speeding back towards the frontline.

At least it was armored, even though the impacts on the applique armor showed their foe had no qualms shooting ambulances.

Dilip turned away and looked at his Chief Officer.

“Alejandro! How are we progressing with the fire support?” The D-dog barked.

On the other end of the bridge, the hyacinth macaw turned on his talons and pocketed his handheld VHF.

“I was just on the line with Samuel at the barracks. Give him fifteen minutes and we’ll have the mortar battery online. Any request for that, ask on VHF channel 43.”

“I’ll pass on the info.” Roberto quickly said, earning a nod from the Ornithian before he resumed his explanation.

“Artyom’s team grouped up with Rhine’s veterans. Seems like they’re cleaning house on the west flank, so as soon as the boats are there to finish the job they’re splitting up again. Rhine’s big guys take the gates, and Artyom says he can resume QRF duty and go to town as soon as he’s got your blessing.”

“Good, good… what about ‘Hussar’?”

Whichever reason she chose that callsign for, he didn’t know, but might as well endear her.

“Give it three minutes tops and she will be up in the air. It’s less likely she’ll be shot down than if we sent something conspicuous like the chopper.”

“Okay. Then…” His eyes flicked over to Lorelei. The pink filly was still hunched over the map, but judging by the quick look she threw him she would defer to his decision. “… tell Hussar to focus her work on the teams trapped in town. They need all the help there. Mortar support I want focused on the refinery’s perimeter. As for the QRF, tell Artyom him he’s free to go as soon as he gets the gates are secure. Also… tell the ambulance to hold off for now. As soon as we can, I want them to rush to town and secure any casualty they had over there. Understood?”

“Aye Cap’n!” Alejandro squawked sharply.

Dilip allowed himself a momentary look out the window. The refinery was a complete mess, beyond just the chaos and confusion caused by the attack.

One of the shore tanks had been hit by a stray RPG already, and white mist mixed itself with a dark smoke column that rose up despite the ongoing rain. The damage was unlikely to spread, but it would be a bitch to repair.

Pretty shit day, and no amount of Darjeeling could fix that.

Standing on Amandine’s deck, she looked up at the sky, fat raindrops pelting her beak and feathers as the fighting kept going in the distance. She had just gotten out of the armory, finally done gearing up. Tail lashing behind her in anticipation, she gave her equipment one last check.

Hunting clothes? Check. Best avoid the usual orange coveralls for what she was planning.

Flak jacket? Check. She had removed the plates to shed weight in favor of enough mag pouches to take on a small army.

FAL? Check. She reached up with a talon and racked the charging handle, the gun’s lengthened barrel making it look almost comically large, attached to a sheath under her left wing.

Radio? She could hear Alejandro tell her to hurry up and take off so… Check.

Now for the last item on the list… her eyes trailed down towards the griffon cub in front of her forelegs. Funny, despite being adopted she still looked like a carbon copy of Vadim and her... She swept Andy off her paws and hugged her tightly. Behind, standing in the rain, was Rahul. The burly black D-Dog that served as their Chief Cook looked on with a fond smile.

“Promise to stay on the ship and be good, kitten?” Micha asked in Polish. “I’m going to be very disappointed if I come back and Uncle Rahul tells me you’ve been naughty.”

“I’s won’t!” Her tiny replica chirped eagerly. “Uncle sez we can make cake! A big one so everyone can have a slice!”

Micha laughed lightly. Trust the cub to bring a flare of happiness in that situation.

“Mom?” Andy asked, this time more carefully.

“What is it sweetie?”

The cub tightened her grip around her mother, and Micha saw her look around with a hint of fear.

“What’s happening? Why is everyone...”

“Shhh...” Micha rubbed her back. “Don’t worry sweetie. It’s only grown-up stuff. Bad people are trying to hurt daddy...” She bent down to Andy’s level and smiled predatorily. “… so mommy is going to hunt them before they do.”

“Like rabbits?”

Micha nodded slowly, a very predatory grin creeping up on her beak. Like rabbits indeed. Her radio crackled. She stood up and looked towards Rahul more sternly.

“You take care of her. As long as I live nothing’s going to harm her or this ship.”

With a flap of her wings, she was airborne, taking off with a level of grace and lethality that could only be achieved by a griffon hen. Letting her instincts take over for a split second, she let out a piercing screech that let everyone in a three kilometer radius know that a hunting griffon had taken to the skies.

Prey beware.

Up she climbed, beating her wings and pushing past cold raindrops and buffeting winds. The higher she flew, the more her line of sight expanded, slowly revealing the refinery’s outer perimeter, even the edges of the town. The griffon only stopped once she was in talon’s reach of the cloud cover, deftly scooping a few bits of the roiling grey mass that was causing the current downpour.

Their attackers didn’t have any flyers… they wouldn’t know what hit them.

Quickly, she fashioned the bits of cloud into a perch. A sniper’s perch, high up in the sky.

Micha knew she was the best shot on Amandine by a wide margin, better even than the veterans, thanks to her talents as a huntress. As a griffon, she could also walk on clouds.

The conclusion was drawn with an almost banal level of logic.

Unsheathing her FAL and letting it dangle by its strap attached to her midsection, she adjusted her position and poked both barrel and scope through the little cloud she was using for a perch. Both blended perfectly with the cloud cover above her, rendering her nigh invisible to outside observers. More than that, she could relocate wherever she wanted by just beating her wings to move the cloud.

As the safety came off with a click, she smiled. Not the warm motherly smiles she would make when hugging Andy, no, but the dark smile of a creature about to unleash some serious pain.

Micha liked to think herself more in tune with the instincts ingrained in her species than most. She didn’t consider them to be as superfluous as Vadim would think… and inside her, both mind and instincts agreed on multiple things.

Vadim in town being attacked? Her mate was threatened.

The refinery? And the ship by extension? Her cub and her nest were threatened.

An academic mind would call a griffon hen’s instincts territorial… and he wouldn’t be entirely wrong. A practical mind would describe the behavior of one who perceives a threat to nest, eggs or family as… cold, calculated, cruel even. A sharp contrast to more hotheaded males.

Micha? She felt no shame indulging such instincts. Not through beak or talons, not even usingthe elegant Sako bolt-action she usually hunted with… this time her claws held a FAL. A rough, efficient, powerful instrument of war. Raising her wing, she braked the cloud right in position above the city. The cloud beneath her felt cold, yet comfy. Malleable.

“Hussar online. Please call your targets for execution. Out.” She called over the radio, though her scope was already pointed the direction she wanted it. Towards the hospital.

Then she reached inside one of the pouches on her flak jacket and flicked a button. The music started playing.

‘A cry for help in time of need, await relief from holy league…’

‘Sixty days of siege outnumbered and weak...’

First target. The wolf-dog bitch leading the pack attacking her mate. It looked like their gunfire had managed to injure Nguyen. Boris was struggling to slip a health potion in the Abyssinian’s mouth.

‘Sent a message to the sky, wounded soldiers left to die...’

‘Will they hold the wall or will the city fall...’

She gauged the distance carefully. Account for wind and altitude… her talons twisted a knob on the side of her scope. That ought to account for windage.

‘Dedication… Dedication...’

‘They’re outnumbered fifteen to one...’

The crosshairs rested slightly above the bitch’s shoulders.

‘And the battle’s begun...’

The gunshot kicked against Micha’s shoulder. In her ears, the music kicked into action.

‘THEN THE WINGED HUSSARS ARRIVED!!!’ The voice of Sabaton’s lead singer roared.

Howls of pain immediately ensued. The bullet went straight through the bitch’s lower back, tumbled through her belly and erupted out in a spray of gore. If that wasn’t enough, two shots to the throat killed any hopes the bitch’s subordinates had of saving her.

Leaderless, the rest of the pack howled to the skies in rage before rushing Vadim’s team inside the hospital lobby. Two more fell to Micha’s FAL before Boris took hold of his machine gun and sprayed them. They all toppled, dead or injured from charging at a live GPMG.

The injured? She executed them. Attack her mate, pay the price.

She saw Vadim walk out of the building while Boris went back to tending to Nguyen. Somehow he was looking right at her. For a few seconds he had an unreadable look on his beak before she saw a grin split the grey falcon griffon’s beak.

“Thanks love. We got it from here. Good hunt and… see you tonight.” Her radio crackled with his words said in Polish.

She smiled. ~Oh how the hen in her loved the implications in those words~ Her tail coiled in anticipation and she was almost tempted to leap off her cloud and take him right ther-

“Klavins to Hussar. Need fire support over on the seafront at the crossroads between John Spark and Constitution street. Over.” Aleksei’s voice in English on the same frequency cut off her train of thoughts.

Right. Back to the hunt. For such a bad start this might actually turn into a good day. In her ears, the music resumed. The same album Vadim had gifted her for her birthday. Los Lobos would rue the day a winged hussar took to the skies...

Getting from Comper to Trecesson by airship was a quick trip. Laughably so. Even then, all the magical jargon being casually tossed around was enough to make Rockhoof doze off. Starswirl didn’t dwell on it. He had already whipped out a sheet of parchment and begun jotting down notes and possible spell patterns Trixie and Starlight would have to look into to get back to Equestria.

“Hold on… we?” Starlight balked. “I thought you were going to help us!”

“I am, and I will.” Starswirl grumbled through his beard. “But if you knew half of the ungodly amount of research I need to get done, then you would understand why you need to do some research yourself. I just have too much work on my plate already, have an apprentice I need to keep training, and this planet’s equivalent of the Tree of Harmony to keep an eye on.”

And there still was the issue of powering up the ritual to get the Equestrians back to Equus. He had a couple ideas already… he just needed to check whether or not they still were viable. Which… oh horseapples, as if his schedule wasn’t already overburdened. He paused in his writing and rubbed a hoof against the base of his horn. Ghost or not, it was all so tiresome.

When he raised his eyes to look at the two mares across from him, he was surprised to find them silent. Trixie’s jaw hung wide open, and he was pretty sure Starlight’s horn let out a sparkle out of confusion.

“What is it now?” He asked in a tired voice.

“This planet has a Tree of Harmony?” Starlight’s head tilted to the side, eyes wide.

“Tree of Concord would be more appropriate a name… but yes. A sibling seed to that found in Equestria. We planted it a few months back and now we’re guarding it while the spirit -Concord- assembles the Element Bearers. Sorcery is already my apprentice… but now Concord straight up told me to sit and wait because the other Bearers would show up in their own time.” He finished in a grumble. “So far it’s rather quiet. One Element Bearer active, two artifacts collected out of seven… and any hint I have says it will be a good five years before the team is complete.”

“So...” Trixie started.

“No using them to get back to Equus I’m afraid.”

The light blue mare swore under her breath. That earned her a disapproving look from her marefriend, but if there ever was a situation that called for a sailor’s mouth, this was the one. That and hanging around airship sailors for so long loosened up a pony’s vocabulary.

“But we had so much planned for when we got back...” Starlight stared numbly into her lap. “I mean… the school, Sunburst, Ponyville and...” She sneaked a glance at Trixie.

“You know Sunburst?” Starswirl asked in mild surprise.

“Of course I do! He’s my fillyhood friend, we grew up together. He promised he’d keep an eye on the school while we were out volunteering. You know him?” Starlight pointed a hoof at the ghost.

“I keep a correspondence with him, yes.” He nodded. “Sunburst has been a great help in my research ever since I met him at an academic convention… and also revealed one of the biggest issues I have with this generation’s magic education.”

“You mean the Canterlot’s School for Gifted Unicorns?” Trixie guessed. “Trixie has had her own issues with them… School feuds with Friendship School notwithstanding, she could do with an elaboration on the topic.”

“Seconded.” Starlight nodded in assent.

“It’s… how do I put it? I know that’s rich coming from me, but I am of those ponies who think a mage should not be judged on account of what he can pull off on the fly with his horn or whichever kind of foci his school of magic favors, but on account of rituals based off careful research and experimentation. Therein lies the issue, because modern Equestria puts * all * of the emphasis on horn-based magic and none on rituals. Take Sunburst...” He spread out his hooves. “Brilliant colt if I’ve ever seen any, but because his horn magic is on the weaker side he had to drop out. That… that’s just bad prioritizing. Did you know he and I co-authored six books on spell matrices in the last three years? I mean… Faust’s teats, the teleportation devices relief teams used to travel from Equus to Earth and back...” He paused and threw them a sympathetic look. “… barring exceptions. That’s his doing. He directed the whole project.”

Starlight muzzle opened and closed like a fish out of water. Her horn fired off a small spark. It was almost as though her brain had shorted out at the revelation, only rebooting after Trixie gave her a not-so-subtle nudge. She shook her head. It… made sense, weirdly enough. While he did occupy the position of vice-headstallion at the School of Friendship ever since he moved back from the Crystal Empire, he did also spend the bulk of his time curating their library and pouring over rare books collected from all over the country. And she was reasonably sure a third of the mail not addressed to students at the school was his.

He just never was too forthcoming about his research, or more simply insecure about it. That, she blamed on him being a dropout. That experience seemed like it had left an ugly scar on her fillyhood friend’s behavior in more ways than one. It stings to fail at magical school when your Cutie Mark relates directly to magic.

Starlight knew he was leagues ahead of her when it came to theory, part of why as vice-headstallion he would frequently teach students remediation classes on the topic.

In brief… she shouldn’t have been surprised by him not to be so open about his academics.

Sunburst… the orange stallion’s smile and signature goatee flashed inside her mind. She missed him. The projects they had with Trixie… She deflated in her seat, ears so low that Trixie reached over with a hoof and patted her on the back.

“We’ll see him again.” Trixie reassured. “Think of the bright side: when we get back, we can be sure he’ll have kept the school together, and he’ll actually know how much of the work you and I do around the school for a change, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Starlight chuckled sadly. “I bet now school counseling doesn’t sound so bad?”

“Are you kidding?!” Trixie dropped the hoof on Starlight’s back and tossed her mane over her shoulder. “Trixie’s fans span across the entire planet. Ever since we opened the school’s doors to all species, starstruck fans have sprung out from the student body to seek out advice from the Great and Powerful Trixie! She relishes handing out valuable life advice!” She finished with a flourish, standing up proudly on her hind legs, forehooves spread out and cloak billowing in the wind.

“Uh… looks like there is a hole in the hull there.” One of Rockhoof’s guards said in French before he stood up and shoved a crate against the wall to plug it before returning to his position by his snoozing superior’s side. Trixie’s cloak dropped.

Shortly after that, Canterlot Courier arrived, halting in a hover above Trecesson castle. By that time, Rockhoof’s guards had woken him up, if only so their superior could take a look at their home from up in the air.

The castle, the village, and the farmland around them sported a very different look compared to Comper to the north-east.

Though a lot more developed and advanced than the neighboring castle, it was also less tidy, and in all honesty quite a bit darker in its atmosphere. Most of that was owed to the bocage that split the farmland in multiple plots of land, along with the surrounding forest that loomed over the whole village, in close proximity to the palissade. The sight lines were considerably shorter here in Trecesson, with a color palette that leaned more towards darker tones of gray and brown rather than Comper’s lime washed walls.

Farm animals of all sorts still grazed in the pastures closest to the village: it wasn’t yet cold enough to warrant keeping them cooped up in their stables.In the fields, various shades of yellow and green showed they were on the last rotation of the year. Rockhoof only had a vague understanding of how fast crops grew in Broceliande, but by his reckoning the last harvest would coincide with the end of October.

It was kind of impressive really: Broceliande’s magic (combined with a bit of Earth Pony and centaur influence) boosted yields so much that in about six months the fields had gone through an entire crop rotation cycle. The food stores were overflowing, and they might still get some late produce from the gardens if frost came late in November. A little ways away from the village, a smoke column rose up above the forest, their charcoal kiln set in a clearing.

As for the village, it had grown, though not to the point (yet) that the streets felt narrow and cluttered. Most habitations and buildings were former cottages, farm buildings (some still were used as such) and the castle’s dependencies. All built with sturdy stones on the ground floor and mossy shingles covered their roofs.

Adding to that, some of the buildings reached a floor or two higher, extensions to add extra room built from the same type of timber used to construct the palissade, with the planks covered in a thick dark brown kind of varnish.As to break the sea of gray and brown of the village, most shutters and doors were painted a vivid red, with a few white notes on some buildings where one of the inhabitants had offered to paint vine patterns on the beams.

Most villagers stopped what they were doing upon noticing Canterlot Courier’s arrival. Few inhabitants as there were in the village, they still clustered in a little crowd somewhere on an unused plot of land between the schoolhouse and the recently-built-but-still-unnamed tavern. They started waving when they noticed their own guards at the railing, along with Miles flying down to the castle to signal their return.

The castle indeed, occupying a whole side of the village. Rockhoof’s home. It came in full view through the airship’s observation window as the Captain slowly circled around to find a spot to land. Thick stone walls and towers emerged out of a moat full of reeds, mallard ducks and lilypads, with an imposing gatehouse that housed the castellan’s chambers and connected it to the rest of the village. The gatehouse was connected to both battlements on one side, and the main lodgings on the other with fancy masonry and turrets breaking up the monotony of smooth stone walls. Emeric’s radio antenna poked through the roof, by far the tallest structure in the whole settlement. A trail of smoke rose up from a little building in the courtyard, the charcoal boiled, another of Emeric’s inventions that provided electricity to the whole settlement, in addition to the castle’s running water.

As a final addition, Starswirl’s tower occupied the other end of the courtyard, a tall narrow structure adjoined to a lone storehouse. The main food stores, among other purposes.

Not the biggest castle of all… but for Rockhoof? Just the right size for his liking. He smiled proudly.

“Miss Lulamoon, Miss Glimmer, welcome to my home.” He announced theatrically, waving one of his massive hooves over the whole area.

In the courtyard, Meadowbrook and Martin waited patiently under the maple tree.

Skinner could barely keep the electric arcs from dancing across his quills as he looked at his computer. He had connected to the satellite network the WSU fleet used to keep in touch and share intel, hoping to call either Dilip or Lorelei to give them the news about Dominica… only to find both unresponsive. For whatever reason, both had put up a note to call back the next day for ‘security reasons’ (whatever that was supposed to imply).

In a world with demons and monsters, did they really think that would assuage his concerns? Out of frustration he slammed his laptop close a bit too forcefully before he turned back towards the hippogriff on the other side of his desk. His newest hire.

“Something the matter, sir?” She inquired politely.

“Nothing too bad… at least I hope it isn’t. The rest of the fleet is making itself hard to keep in touch with.” He drummed his fingers against the desk before he reached for his coffee. The hot liquid burned pleasantly on the way down his throat. He set the mug back down, wiping a drop of liquid on the edge of his muzzle with his thumb. “But we’re not here to talk about Captain Prateek or Captain Gerig. You are today’s topic, Miss… Vaughn was it?”

“With an ‘n’ at the end, yes.” The hippogriff – Emily – nodded, nursing a coffee of her own. The creole accent was palpable, her voice light and musical. She was still wearing the same set of clothes she had crossed the jungle with: hiking shirt and cargo pants, both having had holes pierced through with a knife for her tail feathers and wings respectively.

At least they had taken the time to send them through the wash since then while Emily was taking a shower likely long overdue. As a result, both Emily’s clothes and feathers were still damp as she sat on the other side of Skinner’s desk.

Then again, he was fresh out of the shower as well, and it would be some time before he cleaned the jungle muck out of his quills and they regained their normally white color. Uncomfortably, he tugged at the bandages around his head. Lilian insisted he keep them a few days more at least, for the concussion incurred in Dominica.

“Of course, of course… Don’t forget to ask the bosun for your nametags by the way. And spell it out, otherwise I can guarantee there will be a typo in your tags. I know Vitomir can sound a bit scary at times, but he means well. Just don’t ever mention Yugoslavia in his presence.”

“The boatswain?”

“Right… you’re new to the maritime life. Think of him like a foreman, then? Tall for a gargoyle, dark blue fur, curly antlers, hangs around the workshop swearing most of his days. You can’t miss him...” He blinked. “Though now that I remember, we’re here to discuss your future duties. Sorry. Guess that chieftain...”

“Cacique.” Emily raised a talon to correct him.

“That bastard hit me harder than I first thought.” He rubbed a digit around his temple. “Sorry… I’m still a bit sore our venture on your home island went so badly. Do you know how far one has to travel to even find a colony? It’s hard to find people these days you know, such a waste...” He ended in a grumble.

“Believe me Captain, I’m as saddened as you are seeing how my former countrymen turned out. That was a whole million steps backwards there. My… my duties, if I may ask?”

“Right right… enough dawdling. Since you said you were an anthropologist and we’re always in need of good intel, I can offer you the position of Intel Officer.”

“Officer? Really?” Emily brightened up and sat up straighter in her seat. Her wings even spread slightly.

Skinner winced. It felt wrong to burst her enthusiasm like that.

“Noooot exactly.” He brought his paws together diplomatically. “It’s a misnomer really. They started saying that on one ship in the fleet and ever since it’s spread. In reality it’s closer to a white collar rating, so little to no manual labor. You see some ships used to be lucky enough to have secretaries on board to handle their paperwork – lucky bastards- and when they popped back into existence and didn’t have work for them… they fell into the role of gathering information on certain areas. On Amandine they have this guy, Roberto, and whenever they drop anchor somewhere he’s got a list of places to hit to recover useful supplies, information on the general area... The works.”

“That would be my job then?”

“Collecting, sorting data, and providing it whenever necessary. Given your education, it’s also likely other ships will call to get information on what kind of ancient divinities they may find or local culture. We have satellite communication systems, a mainframe to store data, even a little library.” Skinner explained.

Emily nodded slowly, her eyes vacant as she processed the information.

“I could do that yes… and what comes with it? I mean...” She waved her talons around.

“Board and lodgings, obviously.” Skinner shrugged. “You get a rating-sized single cabin which you may modify as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship’s safety or stability… so run that by an Officer just to be on the safe side before you do it. Bathroom is shared with the cabin next to yours so pay attention to that. You also get access to all facilities including the cafeteria where you may be asked to pitch in with the cooking at times, our gymnasium, sauna, laundry facilities, rec rooms and cinema...” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Again: the works. It’s a home away from home. And since you’ll be our Intel Officer, you’ll also get an office. Payment is… hard to figure out. No colony has a currency as of now, so we can only offer the promise of a share of the ship’s profits… and some storage space to store any loot and items you recover during our travels. The Chief Officer can set you up with that, so ask Quinn if you need it.”

“Is that all?” She quirked her head.

“Of course not.” Skinner laughed lightly before he fished out a sheaf of documents from under his desk. “I know contracts aren’t worth much these days, but they’re good to keep track of agreements. You’re free to leave anytime we hit port if you so desire and… that’s it really. All the finer details you’ll find in this contract, along with a list of the equipment you’ll be assigned and a schedule for training.”

“Training?”

“Basic ship safety that is. We’re on a ship, and there’s a lot that entails. I’ll ask one of our Officers to give you a tour and run you through the safety briefs. Weapon training...” He paused. “… I’ll have to find a gap in the schedule to plan for that, but you will be assigned a weapon, even if it’s just a handgun. The world just ain’t safe without one.”

“I… uh...”

“I know, I know. Living with guns is a big deal, it’s a big responsibility, but you won’t need to keep it in your cabin at all times. Unless we need them, the guns stay in the armory.”

“Oh that’s a relief.” Her wings sagged.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.” Skinner smiled. “Now, I know it’s a lot to process, so you take your time, go back to your cabin and read it all thoroughly. Particularly the parts about unions, arbitrage and discipline, please. Ifyou have any issue with it, hold off signing, and we’ll discuss that with the bosun. He’s the union rep.” He pushed the pile of documents across the table. “On that note, I think it’s a ‘dismissed’. Have a nice evening, Miss Vaughn.”

She signed as soon as she reached her cabin.

Outside, Fugro Symphony sailed down on a general southerly heading, staying to the eastern side of the Lesser Antilles. Keeping close to land, the big red offshore support ship drew ever close to Brazil and to her next port of call: Belem. A port that would hopefully turn out better than the mess Dominica wound up being.

And Fugro’s crew would certainly approach the upcoming situation with a more jaded outlook.

The moment he used his magic felt like popping a bubble. Except the bubble was pressurized, as big as a Toyota, and the rush of magic blew Rodrigo right off his hooves. He found himself rolling off the dirt mound and down near the ruined chapel near the top of the pass, accidentally spilling gear along the way. One of his knives slipped out of its sheath and embedded itself in the ground. His battle rifle landed beside him with a clatter, and he was pretty sure he’d lost half of his remaining ammunition.

Yet… not something that remained on his mind for long. There was the smell of ozone in the air. He wrinkled his nostrils, ears falling flat against his skull. A thin trickle of blood and throbbing pain on his forehead also let him know he had scuffed his horn against the asphalt at the base of the dirt mound.

All around him and the plateau as a whole, magic swirled in the air. Green ethereal wisps that rose up from the ground and formed a mist around the ancient battleground. Rodrigo pushed himself up on his hooves. A slight tug on his left side signalled the seams on one of his extra armor plates had come loose and was now all but dangling off his shoulder. Great. He ripped it off before he carefully made his way over to his discarded rifle and knife as the magic kept moving through the air, swirling. It howled and crackled, an eldritch wind made up of two conflicting kinds of mana trying to find their marks.

With a loud neigh Rodrigo jumped aside just in time as a green lightning bolt struck the ground he’d been standing on, leaving a scorch mark and some strange circle of symbols that spun around wildly. All around the plateau, the same phenomenon was happening. The weird lightning would strike down, mark an area with a circle, and cracks would later appear in the ground, connecting each circle with more of the symbols he couldn’t recognize.

It was… like the whole area was coming apart at the seams. The ruined chapel, the public toilets, the road and parking next to the dirt mound, even the lampposts, all were starting to crumble and wither away as the magic reduced them to their base components while vegetation bent and warped. Trees crumbled into sawdust, only to be reconstructed a few paces further. The tall grass would make room for the dirt and debris to assemble into a short embankment along the sides of the paved road that now replaced the asphalt, only to go grow elsewhere, pushed away by green arcs of magic.

Amidst all that chaos, Rodrigo tried to escape, profusely swearing as he ducked and dipped to get past the roiling magic. The ground would fall out under him, obstacles would turn to mulch in places whilst trees would pop into existence in others… and he soon realized he was stuck. It was like a foggy dome, an impervious green barrier on the edge of the plateau. He hit it at a full gallop, only to be thrown backwards by the magic.

Okay… can’t leave. Geography’s trying to kill me… wait no… seems like it’s stopped.

And stopped it had, though only after thoroughly reshaping the landscape so much so that it was barely recognizable. Gone was the modern infrastructure that went through Roncevaux Pass, now replaced by an ancient-looking paved road with embankments on either side of it and a rough shepherd’s hut where the chapel used to be. The plants looked vaguely different too. The treeline had moved a bit further away. The grass was just a bit shorter, if weedy-er.

“What the hell’s going on here?” He asked to no one in particular.

The only response it got him? The dull blaring of a horn in the distance. Not a car horn, mind. A hunting horn.

That’s about when they started coming into shape. Wights. Ghosts. Shades. Whatever you’re supposed to call them. They all had the same green hue of the magic that had reshaped the land, translucent men you had to squint to truly see.

They first came in from the valley side, the Spanish side, striding up the road in orderly ranks. An entire Frankish army, back from a successful campaign and accompanying a supply convoy laden with the spoils of a well-waged war. The green silhouettes were faint, the humans still a lot taller than the small unicorn Rodrigo had become lately. Their horses and wagons? Gigantic, particularly when the army passed him without a sound, ignoring or not noticing him. There was a lord leading the convoy, with his vassals astride their horses overseeing the train of supplies, their chainmail-clad elite and the lesser levy escorting it.

Rodrigo shuddered when he saw their faces. Beneath the round iron helmets, hollow eyes gazed. Skulls bereft of flesh without even a flicker of life in them. These shades were long dead, a mere afterimage of an Event that had taken place there. Their presence didn’t trample grass, nor did it stir the air, not even the lord, one richly armored cavalier at the head of the convoy and surrounded by nobles and banners.

That privilege went to the rear guard apparently. The magic in the air shimmered when they entered the plateau. Their silhouettes were clearer, their steps heard as they journeyed uphill towards the crest of the plateau.

All of them also looked like they’d just gone through hell. Hauberks were pierced, round shields chipped and covered in arrowheads, helmets bent and all out of shape. Except for their commander. Rodrigo’s gaze felt naturally drawn towards him, a weathered beast of a Paladin with scale armor astride a barded horse. One of his armored hands held his banner, the other rested on…

“Necesito esa espada...” He realized in a whisper. The sword. The. Sword.

The way he felt his horn tingle. The way his eyes insisted to focus on the weapon. This. This was why he had left Madrid. This was the green flicker in his dreams. Whichever the reason, he was there for the sword.

The Paladin’s cloak billowed with the mountain winds as he surveyed his troops. The skull under the helmet didn’t convey any emotion, but the way the horse jerked in place, the way he was fingering the pommel of his weapon… actually the entire army moved with a hint of worry, hurriedly making for the pass.

Reason for which became known when a rider emerged out of the woods the army had just come from at full gallop, instantly making for the lord leading the convoy. It all happened in but a few minutes under Rodrigo’s confused eyes. The paladin from the rear guard hurried over to the lord. Words were exchanged in a language the pony couldn’t understand… and then the paladin hunched over resolutely in his saddle, bowing to the will of his lord.

Banners were waved. Drums started beating. The supply wagons from the rear guard were discharged into those of the rest of the army.

Then they moved them into a barricade across Roncevaux Pass while the rest of the army walked on. Archers took position in the wagons. Cavaliers set themselves on the flanks. The militia’s overseers arranged their troops into a wall of shield and spears between the wagons, with the core of elite troops taking the center position. They were mounting a defense.

Leading his troops, the paladin dismounted his horse. He gave his banner to one of his bodyguards before forming up with the core of the army, grabbing a large round shield bearing the same pattern as his banner. On his sides, a group of nobles prepared to defend him along with his bodyguards.

Rodrigo observed with bated breath. The main army soon left, off towards the French side of the pass, escaping, and the rear guard waited. The banners whipped in the wind. Soldiers shifted uneasily. Horses neighed. One spearman accidentally dropped his spear and earned himself glares from the entire group, paladin included. All around, the troops carried themselves with an air of resolute finality. Rodrigo even saw a couple move their skeletal jaws. Silent prayers maybe?

Then the first signs came. A flock of ethereal birds scattered. War horns rang out around the forest, converging towards the assembled rear guard. Trees shifted in the forest.

And then it began. Out of the woods, they charged with a thundering warcry that reverberated all around the plateau. A Basque army.

The rear guard’s last stand had begun. Rodrigo was stuck in between. And he needed to get that Paladin’s sword.

Author's Notes:

So there's a thing with the Battle of Roncevaux... It doesn't seem to be quite clear whether the attackers were Basques, Muslims (Saracens, as the Song of Roland would claim) or a mix of the two.

As far as I read up on the topic, Charlemagne's little venture in Spain actually struck a ceasefire with the Muslims after failing to besiege Zaragoza so there is little reason for them to keep up the fighting. It's the Basques that had a real bone to pick with the Franks because they tore down the walls in their capital of Pamplona (to prevent it from being used as a staging ground against them on the other side of the mountains) and then proceeded to pillage the whole countryside around it. Or occupy it, depending on sources.

Plenty enough reasons to enrage the local peasantry.