It was a new experience to be on the road with someone for once. It wasn’t like the Order hadn’t paired me up with other Knights and Paladins for extended field ops in the past, I had done plenty of that over the years. However, that was time all spent with snobbish, racist asshats who had personalities as dense as the armor they wore with absolutely nothing interesting to say. They were smart, no doubts about that given their formal education by the Scribes, but they were so sheltered by life in the Order that they came to feel like carbon-copy clones of one another. Whenever the Equestrian-Zebrican War was brought up, it was always infected by legends and hearsay and I soon learned to never try and correct them. I wasn’t born ‘in the Covenant’ as they called it and they only tolerated me thanks to Elder Lion Heart and, after his untimely death, my talent for killing. Even then though, I was kept on a short leash only sent with larger groups on less important salvage ops so my treachery could be safely contained. They hated me and I hated them right back. There was no simpler relationship.

And now here I was, an Outcast to that Order I had spent the last half-century serving under traveling alongside one of the most dynamic soldier boys I had met in some time. Firefly was everything they weren’t: interesting. For starters, his most obvious trait was being a Changeling and a Glowing One at that, but that did nothing to detract from how I viewed him. The arcane radiation that mutated him into a walking glowstick had seemed to agree with his adaptable genes and he seemed to suffer no ill-effects from his ‘transformation’. His brain was sharp and his wit and humor were even sharper causing me to laugh more in a single day than I had in decades. He knew what it was like to wander alone taking on big targets for lack of anything better to do. Even more so, he knew what it was like to be an outsider; apart from the rest due to who and what we are…and yet, he didn’t let that shit stand in the way of him climbing his way into a position of respect. The NER knew and respected him enough to be willing to let him go but continue to hire him after his unceremonious resignation from First Recon, and within the Syndicate, his name was one most knew. He had carved out his own little slice of the pile, slapped his name deep onto the damn thing and made something of himself on his own terms. And for that…I was both impressed and enamored with him.

“Helloooo! It’s yer turn, Garand!”

“Huh…?” I hummed, looking towards the Ling trotting alongside me. “Oh…sorry. Got stuck on a train of thought and forgot to get off at my stop. Uhhh…what’s the clue again?”

“Ugh…600rpm, short-recoil action, smashes through most shit an’ is prolly as old as yer sexy ass.” He repeated with a smirk. “Made it ah damned easy one since yer so caught up in yer birdbrain, heh heh.”

“Uhh…oh, duh. The fuckin’ M2… Common dude, that’s just wasting both our time with that weak shit. Gimme something tough!”

“Well ain’t th’ point of this here game tah waste time?” He asked, jutting a hoof out to the low rolling dunes for miles and miles around us. “Walkin’ through th’ desert wit’ nothin’ tah talk about ain’t th’ way Ah wanna travel, pardner. Aight, fine. Uhh…hmmm…”

“Take your time, heh.” I laughed with a soft snort and a smile as I waited for him to come up with his clues. “I asked for a hard one so that means I’ll be giving you one too once it’s my turn. Got a perfect fucker in mind…”

After a minute or so he replied, “Sidearm, weaker side o’ strong, dual-action wit’ lots o’ barrel options, tried and true an’ well-loved by law enforcement back in th’ day.”

“Oh…well there could be a decent number of possible candidates for that.” I hummed in response as my mind crunched through the possibilities. “Is it a semi-auto?”

“Nope! Two left!”

“Fine, so it’s a revolver then. That makes it easier…Model 32?”

“Nope! One guess left!” He grinned though he had lost the moment he chose a police-issue revolver.

“S&W Model 27.” I replied flatly before breaking out in a grin of my own as his turned to a scowl of disappointment. “Yes! Fuck you and your vague shit, that’s how we do it!”

“Goddamnit, thought Ah had ya wit’ tha’ one…” He grumbled, kicking some sandy dirt against my armor with a soft clatter of small rocks. “Fine, gimme yer stupid clue.”

“Gas-operated, rotary breech box-fed assault rifle.” I said with the biggest shiteating grin imaginable knowing he wouldn’t have a chance at guessing this one.

“Excuse meh, ah rotary breech? Wha’ in tarnation is tha’?!” He exclaimed in dismay. “Hey, common tha’ ain’t fair!”

“You earned yourself an extra hard one by going twice in a row and for one of those times being lame as fuck. Want me to throw you a bone?”

“Grr…fine! Leave some meat on tha’ damn bone will ya? I need more tah go off of…”

“Full-auto capable with a unique 3-round hyperburst mode, caseless ammunition.” I replied, basically handing him the answer if he even remotely knew this prototype’s specs.

“Hyperburst? Wait, caseless ammo?! Garand, what in th’ hell are ya talkin’ about?! What sorta goddamned rifle be runnin’ around wit’ no fuckin’ brass in its magazine?! Th’ fuck does it shoot?? Hopes n’ fuckin’ dreams?!”

I couldn’t help but laugh good and hard at how flustered he was getting over the revelation that not all guns shot brass cased bullets. The technology had never really taken off even back home where it was invented as removing that protective sheath of metal created a multitude of complications. Ultimately the weapon proved capable but the ammunition designed for it left a lot to be desired leaving them ultimately as another wall decoration for the lead engineers or as a time waster for those with access given they had made way too much ammo for the project. All that to say…the design never left the homeland but, some of the design documents were disseminated abroad, always leaving a small chance he might have seen it. Even if the chance was miniscule at best, it still made it a technically valid choice for our stupid little game. It was admittedly pretty unfair to the poor Ling but he was asking for it.

“I ain’t pulling your tail on this one.” I laughed, patting him reassuringly on the back. “Caseless ammo is definitely a thing, it just never really became a big thing due to problems like cook-off and cracking of the propellent body housing the projectile. They tinkered around with malleable propellants until they managed to find a blend that could combust with predictable regularity and then cast them into special molds. They were hollowed out, stuffed with a lead projectile and capped off with a primer at one end and a plastic cap on the other to protect the projectile.”

“Bullshit…” He snorted while cocking his eyebrow with amused curiosity. “Why th’ fuck did they even go to all tha’ effort? Sounds ah lot more trouble than it’d be worth… Ah mean, did th’ damned things even work?”

“Oh they definitely worked.” I assured him, happy memories bubbling to the surface. “Had the pleasure of growing up best friends with the son of one of the engineers who worked on the project and got to shoot the prototype rifle he got to take home with him once the project had been canceled. The rifle…it’s a weird looking fucker, I’ll tell ya that much. Kinda feels like holding a big old 4x4 with a pistol grip and an integrated scope but that hyperburst mode…mmmff…goddamn that thing fires so fuckin’ fast. All three rounds are downrange before you even feel the recoil hit ya.”

“Damn, tha’ fast eh? Yew birds make some damned fine guns so Ah guess Ah ain’t surprised y’all mad fucks went an’ made some goddamned monstrosity like tha’, heh. Still…why go caseless? Sounds like ah whole RadRoach nest o’ problems…”

“Beats me…” I admitted, having never thought to ask the question myself back when I had the chance to ask one of the creators themselves. “Though…if I were to slap down a guess, I would put my bets on sheer boredom.”

“Pardon me if Ah don’t follow…”

“Heh…lemme put it to ya like this. Gryphons were at peace with ourselves and our neighbors for centuries up until the War leaving us with a lot of time to explore shit other than the art of killing each other. War is in our blood and once we got dragged into everyone else’s problem, we found ourselves with most of our attention focused back on developing weapons and such and our kind tends to hyperfocus. If we’re not inventing as part of an assigned project, we’re inventing in our free time just to stave off boredom and explore ideas that come to us elsewhere. In other words…caseless ammo was probably a eureka moment that came after a long night of work, and probably some mountain mead, and everyone else involved was like, ‘Fuck it, why not?’ It’s happened more than once and it’s the reason everyone gets to enjoy High Explosive Anti-Armor munitions.”

“Oh? Y’all made them scary bastards?” He asked with some surprise but also the look of someone who knew it made sense. “Huh…guess Ah give Equestrian tech too much credit.”

“Heh, you’re not the only one.” I snorted in response. “This country wouldn’t have gotten its legs under itself as a nation without lots of outside help. Hell, the Dwem of the Canterlot Mountains are responsible for the majority of the ancient structures that survived all the bullshit this Continent went through millennia ago. The Royal Palace and the Old City of Canterlot is probably the only surviving thing they built that didn’t end up abandoned and forgotten about. Everfree is supposed to be chock full of ‘em but I missed my chance to explore the forest back when it was more survivable and I’m not keen on wandering around that cursed place.”

“Th’...Dwem…?” He asked with complete confusion, something I wasn’t surprised to see. “Who in th’ hell…?”

“They’re a distinct subspecies of Gryphon that sided with the Gods Under the Earth anciently and as a result are all rather short, have a thing for precious metals and gems and live almost exclusively underground. They can dig and tunnel better than anyone. Well, minus maybe the Direwolves and Hellhounds but they don’t dig nearly as deep or efficiently as the Underkingdoms. The Dwem have massive underground cities all across the world almost anywhere there is an extensive mountain range.”

“So…burrowing Gryphons? But don’t y’all got wings? Why live in caves n’ shit? Ain’t like Ah can say much livin’ in ah mine but I come up fer air regularly n’ interact wit’ th’ outdoors.”

“Well to be honest, they suffer from a similar problem that Gryphons do. We’ve got wings but they are either too small to fly very well as with the Dwem or, in our case, we are just too goddamn heavy to fly efficiently. Most of us only just glide from place to place since we can manage that pretty well but actually soaring around like fuckin’ Rainbow Dash or the Shadowbolts? Not a fuckin’ chance in hell.”

“Heh heh, too fat tah fly?” He snorted while trying to hold back a laugh. “Is tha’ why ya walk everywhere too?”

“Ha ha, very funny…” I groaned while slapping my breastplate with a loud clang. “They make flight-capable PoA but it weighs half of what mine does and isn’t nearly as protective. Even without the armor, my right wing is fuckin’ busted from taking a Zebra sword right across the bottom of the joint and slicing some tendons. With all the triage going on in the Stable in the days following the door closing, they kept prioritizing the ponies and even the Zeebs over treating me. By the time they rolled their eyes and couldn’t stop saying there were others to help first, the damage to the area was beyond their ability to heal conventionally and none of the Ministry of Peace Healers made it inside on time. I was shit outta luck on getting it repaired without an expert and none of the StableTec doctors were trained to that level. Buncha nursing students, I swear to fuck…”

“Damn…ain’t tha’ a bitch…” He mumbled in thought, glancing towards the wing in question. “No chance o’ fixin’ it now neither. Dunno if anypony alive has tha’ sorta talent wit’ healin’ magic. Wait…th’ Tin Heads couldn’t fix it either?”

I snorted in poor hidden disgust before I replied, “Hell fucking no. Well, more in like they probably could’ve with one of those Mrk. V AutoDocs but they only allowed members on the Council of Order access to those things. Same with the Apothecaries who had any real talent.”

“Uhh…Apo-what now?” He asked, looking like the archaic word didn’t agree with his mouth. “Yew Tin Heads n’ yer damned fancy words…”

“Apothecary.” I sighed with a bit of a chuckle. “It’s an old term used to describe the basic idea of medical practice wayyyy back in the day. The SR decided the term sounded cooler than Doctor and like other shit from the past, they just took it and used it for themselves. The fact you don’t even know the term is proof that they can get away with this shit too and even convince people they’re the ones who came up with these terms. People might not like the Order but there’s always some starry-eyed colt who sees the old propaganda posters and wants to join up as a Brother in Steel based off the mysticism alone.”

“Heh heh, th’ NER Rangers n’ First Recon kinda have ah similar thing wit’ them too.” He chuckled, glancing down at his armor. “What boy wouldn’t look up tah a gun-totin’ badass in ah cowboy duster n’ old world combat armor? Especially when it was th’ face o’ th’ boys who kicked out th’ SR, heh heh. Tah be frank, it’s why mah mentor ended up in th’ Army.”

“Oh? Do you mean the…DeadEye is it? Yeah, the DeadEye who gave you your armor?”

“Heh, yeah. Guess it’s kinda obvious tha’ he was mah mentor. Ya don’t just go n’ willingly give th’ Black Armor tah someone who ain’t earned it. They’re th’ ones who decide if their student is worthy o’ th’ title.”

“Ahh, so you were probably acting as his spotter then eh? Glad to see your best guys are willing to work with raw talent even if it comes from an…unusual source, heh. Well congrats on earning the promotion. I know it wasn’t exactly on the best of terms but…he did find you worthy all the same. I can respect a stallion who went through the paces needed to earn something meaningful over a skavver who just found the armor off a corpse and decided to add DeadEye to his fake resume for some clout.”

He seemed to bristle a bit at that and I could tell I had hit a nerve somewhere. There was no shortage of fakes in the gun-for-hire world since anyone with some money, or luck, can end up with equipment that eclipses their actual level of skill. A lot of stock can be put on appearances alone and someone dressed like they know what they’re doing can have a lot of weight to throw around amongst common folk.

“Sweet mother o’ fuck Ah HATE them skeevy lil’ fucks wit’ every goddamned piece o’ mah being.” He growled. “Ah make it ah personal duty tah relieve them liars o’ their stolen property. Might not be my own Black Armor but Ah won’t let some punk wit’ no respect fer th’ work real DeadEye put inta gettin’ the respect tha’ comes wit’ th’ title.”

“Heh, then we have something else we can relate over.” I laughed with a grin. “The way those Raiders abused and corrupted beautiful Power Armor with stupid shit like spikes and sloppy war paint pissed me off in more ways than I care to admit…”

“Ah know! Ya fuckin’ turned ‘em all inta a goddamned crater fer it.” He laughed heartily, the earlier tension in his body relaxing. “Glad someone else respects their equipment n’ who wears it. Hate how many dumbasses think just ‘cause they got th’ gear, they magically get th’ skills along wit’ it. Then they go n’ paint ‘em up like hot shit ‘er try tah make em ‘badass’ when all they be doin’ is makin’ them look like ah buncha ignorant foals.”

“What can I say? You don’t just earn cool shit in this world without working hard for it and showing the ones supplying it you were worth the cost of upgrading. Back in the day, the General Army of Equestria wouldn’t even issue body armor to new recruits until they lived long enough to see Corporal. Honestly it was just a case study in survival of the fittest but it was effective if you ignore the piles of dead Privates supporting the weight of the war effort. When you had what it took to live for longer than the first six months in those shitholes, you had potential and they would try to help keep you alive relative to how long you kept on kicking.”

“Ain’t tha’ th’ truth…though Ah guess th’ NER are ah bit better off than y’all was back then. Radagator leather ain’t cheap tah import from East o’ th’ Gap but th’ armor they make from it holds its own far as small-arms goes. Ain’t perfect but it beats protectin’ yer hide wit’ nothin’ but ah uniform.”

“Yeah, Radagator leather is surprisingly tough when cured properly. Not sure what process they use to harden it so well but if you want my opinion, it’s probably something they learned from the descendant of a Zebra Alchemist or one of their texts. Why? Well…they were incredibly resourceful during the war and didn’t have mounds and mounds of iron to work with like most of us did. When the War took off, imports stopped so they had to rely on reserves and the inadequate production from home grown mining operations. They had coal and copper coming outta their ears as well as gold and silver but they really didn’t have much when it came to hard metal deposits. Soooo, they instead turned to their ways of magic to try and fill in the gaps.”

“Damn…so they made shit like Radagator leather armor ‘er somethin’?” He asked rather naively. “Crazy tah think that ain’t ah new idea.”

“I mean in a way, yeah. Minus the fact that species is a Post-War byproduct but anyway. They used their potions to cure hides with the strength of Dragon scales, reshaped stone to be both light and non-brittle…fuck, they even started growing fucking trees imbedded with metal. You could find Shaman in the Empire proper wearing armor of literal Ironwood tree bark and carved planks. So no, it wouldn’t surprise me if whatever they do to cure those hides originally came from the Empire. These days it doesn’t really matter where shit comes from, long as it keeps you and the people you love alive and well it’s usually free game out here. People don’t tend to care who made what or who was loyal to what faction back then when it comes to how their end products end up benefiting them in the now. Long as the bullet fires or the potion heals…does it really matter if it was made by a Zeeb or an Equestrian or a Gryphon?”

“Uhh…not really? Most folks don’t know enough about th’ past tah really be invested in anythin’ tah do wit’ it.” He replied with a shrug. “Like ya said, if it works well then what’s th’ sense in askin’ where it came from? Easy answer fer most ponies is tah just say, ‘It came from back then’ and be done wit’ it. Griffin, Zebra, Equestrian…don’t mean much when everyone is survivin’ togetha.”

“Agreed. Glad to see everything everyone fought for back then was basically pointless.” I chuckled with a hint of bitter cynicism. “Ah well…end of the day, if you have questions about what happened back then, ask away. Can’t guarantee I’ll know everything but Stable 39 had a good holo-library and it helped me keep stuff fresh in my head.”

“Ain’t everyday ya get ah personal tour guide to th’ past! Ah already got tha’ impression from all th’ shit Ah’ve heard so far from ya. No rosy glasses, no long-ass shpeels on th’ glory of th’ old world…buncha bullshit ain’t worth listenin’ to. Plenty o’ ‘experts’ out there who gotta hold offa book ‘er two n’ thinks their th’ next Twilight Sparkle…”

“Heh heh, couldn’t have put it better myself! The past is ugly and basically everyone in some way was in the fucking wrong back then. Any sense of national solidarity is vague at best these days and we are all the better for it since that’s the shit that brought us all this wonderful radiation.”

We fell into another natural silence as we continued our trek, Firefly following my lead since I was the only one who could actually see where we needed to go. Our direct access to the muted sunlight was lost under the towering shade of the mountains some time ago during our winding conversation and we were within a few miles of our target area. The landscape was somewhat familiar even after fifty years and every now and again we would pass a rock formation or two that I would vaguely remember from my original journey from the Stable. It was wild to think that I had passed by this same service road back then without even knowing it. Outpost Zeta was still a nebulous bunker somewhere up in the Embers and could be just a tiny listening post housing a prototype hearing enhancement device for all we knew. But…it could just as easily be an untouched goldmine of tech and weapons similar to the Manehattan National Guard Bunker they cracked open before I went East. With Grigori making moves of his own along with a Platoon of his best this far from his assigned Chapter area…he had to be certain this was a geode worth cracking open.

Our only solace was in the fact we had some semblance of a head start on the group. We had left as early as we could and, even with the slow start, we made good time in this home stretch portion of the trip. Of course, there was still the problem of how we were going to drive them off and prevent the road’s location from being broadcast… At least I felt somewhat comfy thinking Grigori would be too obsessed with the personal glory to want to share any info over the wider network. Well, that and the fact they had no active radio relay stations in the West anymore so getting a signal out East would be very iffy at best. Far as killing them was concerned, the plastic explosives Firefly was hauling with us were our only real hope in this situation. Paladins in T-51s would be the lowest common denominator in our problem while the Elder, his personal guard and select Star Paladins would be wearing the superior T-60 model with their Celestium plating and heavy-hitting weapons packages. Our options were annoyingly limited and I couldn’t help but silently doubt the logic of passing up some launchers for an exotic LMG with an absurd fire rate. That…and I couldn’t help but feel my necklace of charms wiggle and tug subtly on my neck warning of some unknown danger.

“Yew look ah bit worried, all good?” Firefly asked, breaking my train of thought.

“Heh, well I guess I would be stupid to say I wasn’t at least a little nervous about this fight we got ahead of us.” I admitted with a forced laugh. “We’re as well prepared as we can be given our situation and timing but all the same…we are seriously lacking the kinda shit needed to punch through even a T-51. I can’t even imagine what the 60s are capable of handling under normal combat scenarios but with how much of a bitch they were to cut and weld together to patch my armor, I’m not optimistic.”

“Oh? Yew don’t even know wha’ their fancy new armor can do?” He asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice. “After all tha’ good shit yew spouted on th’ 51s?”

“Yeah, yeah…shut up. The 60s weren’t even officially deployed before the Great War, damnit. The 300 something units they found in that facility were the only 60s to be developed; the first batch of mass-produced models that were apparently supposed to enter service sometime the next year. I spent years with the 51s and 45s and even some of the lesser fielded models like the 35, 47 and 50…got plenty of time to take most of them apart and put ‘em back together again. The T-60 is brand-spanking new, the best shit to come outta the Ministry of War. Never got anywhere close to them during my time with the Order and those hit squads wearing them that were sent after me…well, I didn’t exactly fight fair. Barely any of them are competent in anything close quarters so they leave their necks and other chinks in the armor wide open for me.”

“Bit o’ knife work, eh?” He chuckled with a smirk. “Ain’t neva had tah face ah Tin Head any closer than 800 yards but good tah know! Any chance o’ sidearms gettin’ through them bits?”

“Like your Pügers?” I asked, nodding to the Gryphon toggle-locks at his waist. “Ehhh…I seriously doubt it. 9mm ain’t exactly a heavy hitter or known for penetration when against Kevyarn. Not exactly sure what minimum caliber you’d need to punch through the undersuit at point-blank range but I would suspect something at least .44 Magnus or above in power.”

“Damn, ah see why ya went fer ah knife then. Though Ah gotta assume yer revolver did some nasty work on ‘em at tha’ range.”

I sighed happily as I patted the holster across my breastplate and replied, “Damn straight she did good work on those bastards! Little bit of grappling to find an opening, stuff the barrel in there and boom. Guaranteed to kill! Or at the very least severely fuck them up and leave them wide open for a follow-up that’ll finish the job. I’ll admit the 60s are hard to find a chink in but the joints are always a safe bet to aim for since you can only armor an area meant to flex so much before movement starts getting too hard.”

“Ya know, Ah gotta ask…how do they armor yer wings? Ain’t like th’ SR got any birds ‘er Pegusi flyin’ around doin’ shit fer ‘em so none of us really thought abou’ someone wit’ wings wearin’ PoA.”

“Well, ironically that same question encapsulates everything I was just talking about. How do you protect a joint like a wing? It’s gotta bend and flex and move around like a wing if the dude is gonna fly properly but of course you have the problem of the wing being basically the most sensitive piece of shit ever. Sooo…you got three options. One is to just leave it bare for maximum maneuverability but all-but-guaranteeing that wing will get hit by something eventually. Option two is ya armor up the wing along the topside leaving the more aerodynamic underside free to let you fly better but leaves the wings exposed to being shot through while in flight. And then of course option three is to entomb the whole damn thing in armor and kiss the skies goodbye.”

“Can ya even fly wit’ yer wing’s encased in armor?” He asked poignantly. “Seems like it’d be impossible…”

“Well, you gotta remember Sentient species with wings aren’t exactly supposed to be able to fly as well as we do based on aerodynamics alone. Not to mention how much drag we should be creating and all the other scientific nuances that prove we all share one thing in common: we all can fly anyway. This planet is fucking brimming with magic. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of disciplines are out there using different ways to channel it and we are all born with some connection to that mass of magic we live on. How we interact with that magic varies from species to species. Some can directly control magic while some of us just have it as a passive effect allowing us to somewhat defy gravity.”

“So…yer sayin’ folks wit’ wings got some sorta air magic in ‘em?”

“Absolutely. There’s no other fucking way any of us could fucking fly without it! Minus, you know, actual fuckin’ birds n’ shit who actually have the right proportions to fly normally. Ya get any bigger than like a turkey and you’ll be finding it hard to do more than be able to jump really far with the help of your wings. Us bigger species have a lot more lift under our wings than we have any right to, can stand on and interact with clouds like clay and it can’t be explained any other way than it’s an inborn magic we all share.”

“So…wha’ does all tha’ have tah do wit’ Power Armor?”

“Everything. Just like how in Unicorns there’s varying levels of talent with using their horns to manipulate magic, there’s the same kind of uneven distribution of inherent skill over the skies. There’s some out there who have the ability to fly no matter how much you weigh them down thanks to a mixture of brute physical strength and a natural affinity for the air. Even Type III armor, the kind that wraps up every inch of the body including the wings, ain’t an issue for this kind of natural talent. I can remember a few I knew back in the day who were like that…born with their legs off the ground, Soul in the sky sorta shit. Hell, one of ‘em was even a Griffin! Flew in the heaviest armor they had available and still outperformed his peers in aerial dogfighting and agility courses. Wish I could remember his name…he had a lot of potential.”

“Huh…so he could fly wit’ his whole darn wing plated up wit’ steel? Goddamn… Old Steel Ranger pal from th’ War?”

“Nah, some guy from the Desert Rangers Corps of all places.” I laughed, thinking back on how much everyone picked on them despite their stellar record. “Think I taught him a bit about the Gryphon Gods actually now that I think about it… Never really got to see him after that one meeting but I hope he managed to get some recognition for his flying talent.”

“Heh, well ain’t tha’ somethin’... How close we gettin’ anyway?”

I hobbled forwards a bit awkwardly as I raised my left leg to my face to glimpse at my PipBuck rather than face the minor inconvenience of putting my helmet on. The mountains towered above us to our left and the terrain was much more hilly now that we had reached the foothills; barren as ever save for the occasional suicidal plant or random chunks of rock scattered about. I was going to be glad to be surrounded by true mountains again, even if they weren’t anything like those in the Greifenländer.

“Uhh…looks like we are gettin’ in the neighborhood.” I replied, looking up from my leg and glancing along the length of the foothills in front of us. “Say another…what, quarter-mile or so? She said it was obvious it was a road so long as we take it a bit slow and careful, we should find the bitch.”

“Good. Ah’m excited tah see this place! Ah mean, it’s too early tah be countin’ our hens but can’t help but git a lil’ excited over crackin’ open ah brand new bunker! All th’ good ones been plucked clean long before Ah joined th’ NER so somethin’ like this is ah big event!”

He then stopped right in his tracks looking livid as all hell. As I turned to ask him what was the matter, he blurted out, “Gawd fuckin’ damn it! Ah forgot tah bring ah fresh bottle o’ whiskey fer th’ occasion! Ol’ Pinfire would have mah tail nailed to th’ wall fer this sorta offense tah tradition…”

“Uh…I take it you NER boys took commemorative shots when cracking open a fresh bunker?” I guessed with a hesitant laugh.

“Yer damned right we did!” He replied with a grin which ended with a sigh. “Like Ah said, ain’t many good ones left tah find now n’ ah good one can earn all involved a tasty medal ‘er somethin’. Back in th’ day, supposedly th’ ol’ military brass used tah throw a lotta weight around when boys under their command found one of ‘em. Tech and weapons tha’ come outta them places usually makes life better fer th’ Republic so folks who find ‘em get all sorts o’ bribes tah give credit tah ah Colonel ‘er ah Sergeant fer their promotion.”

“And nowadays it’s just more a minor thing to celebrate?”

“Yup. Biggest bitch Ah saw was this ol’ hidey hole we found out in the deserts between New Pegasus n’ Applewood. Some weird fuck hid her in ah sinkhole, stashed away ah buncha Chems, them fancy hazmat suit thangs n’ medical supplies in ah cave. Weren’t no military shit but th’ Republic eggheads were over th’ fuckin’ moon about some o’ th’ shit we hauled home. There was some mighty fine AutoDocs stashed away in there… Old models fer sure but better than nuthin! Command was pleased when th’ Docs came back n’ told ‘em we could now treat much worse injuries than before at twice th’ speed.”

“Huh…well glad they at least respect the value of the find even if it wasn’t of ‘tactical value’ in that sense. I’m sure they woulda loved something like a crate of missiles or a box of CFCs but you gotta take care of people too. Especially when you’ve got civilians to account for and not just military personnel”

“Ain’t tha’ true.” He chuckled, kicking at a loose rock and sending it bouncing across the sand for a few feet. “Lotta civies in th’ Republic fer sure…spread far n’ wide across th’ Midwest; lotta territory tah monitor n’ ah helluva lot more border tah patrol. Th’ peace between us n’ th’ Steel Rangers ain’t been kind on th’ number o’ fresh recruits comin’ in or them veterans wantin’ tah reenlist. If th’ Tin Heads wanted tah invade…now is ah better time than any in th’ last thirty years. Army’s down by half, Republic Rangers are all up North doin’ Gods know what and th’ Gap o’ Canterlot is run by ah skeleton crew.”

“That bad, huh?” I sighed, glancing behind us towards the distant Gap. “Well…for what it’s worth, I doubt anything more will follow behind these bastards. There hasn’t been talk of a second invasion in over twenty years now; I can remember reading the minutes for these Grand Council meetings and the last proponent of even thinking about poking our beak West is the same asshat who’s attacking now. Hell, invading the West became a sort of inside fucking joke in the barracks; a fuckin’ masterpiece of stupid ideas worthy of being used as a metric of reference for other stupid ideas. Grigori is the only one bold enough to push the Gap and if we succeed…well, it’ll only further humiliate them into staying contained in the East.”

“Hope tah fuck yer right…” He groaned before fading into silence.

Having the sun blocked out so well was a blessing for me as my stahlhelm was like a sponge for hot sunlight and turned my head into an oven. I just wasn’t a fan of these places being a Gryphon and coming from a country with mountains twice as high as the Embers and a high summer temperature capping around 70 degrees in the lowlands.The shade was also helpful with eyesight since I wasn’t having to fight Celestia’s shiny ass to play eye-spy with a wall of mountains. Thankfully though, we struck paydirt after another few minutes of walking. Hidden rather well in a narrow crack in the rock wall beside us was the flat-ish band of dirt we were looking for, a wide service road that blended in well with its surroundings so it could only be found at near point-blank range. The rush of pride and adrenaline for the upcoming fight had me feeling like a bolt of lightning had singed my feathers and got the blood pumping for real.

“Well hot damn!” He exclaimed as we rounded the small bluff that hid away the exit/entrance to the road. “Damned place does exist after all…if Lager weren’t runnin’ th’ joint Ah’d buy her th’ whole damned bar! We’re damned lucky she had th’ inside scoop on this thang.”

“Right? Jeez it’s fucking wide…” I replied, eying the width of the road with surprise. “Could run Falke side-by-side up this bitch with room to spare! They hid this shit better than they had any right to for lacking any sort of magical concealment.”

“Hey, least tha’ worked to our advantage right?” He chuckled with a smirk. “Don’t look like nopony been here yet, road’s clean as ah spitshine.”

“Thank fuck for that…” I sighed, glancing over the untouched dirt crawling up into the unknown. “Looks like this is the home stretch! Lemme take a look at the GIMP before we start wandering around the Embers. I’ll see if I can guestimate us an ETA on Grigori and his posse so we know how much time we have to set up. Even going our pace this morning we still made good time here, so here’s hoping we have enough time to at least locate the way inside the Outpost. Place ya bets!”

“Hmm…an hour ‘er so. You?”

“Eh…Imma go with two hours. I’m feelin’ optimistic today, heh heh. Might take a minute so this is a great time for a snack. Mind finding me somethin’?”

He nodded, sitting down with his saddlebags to pick through them while I plopped my helmet over my head and waited a half-second for the HUD to connect to my PipBuck. The ease of just thinking my way through the menus was something I tried not to take for granted; the secure connection between my rig and the satellite forming and bringing up the latest snapshot with an overlay of our current position posted. The plumes of dust and petrol smoke was as easy to identify as before, marking their progress along the foothills some twenty miles to our North. Their pace had slowed by roughly half now that they had come within striking distance of their target; a smart move given the road was something that could rather easily be missed going full speed ahead. All things considered, we had been blessed with a solid head start. We had two-ish hours to explore with most of another one available to spend setting up an ambush for our prey. Given my current optimism, I felt safe in adding something else to my list of hopes, finding some sort of serviceable ordinance to use against the Falke somewhere in an armory.

“Well, pay up bitch! Looks like we have almost three hours to blow!” I laughed as I pulled off my helmet and hung it back on my side. “They slowed way the fuck down since the last sweep so we have some time to actually look for the Outpost before we need to start setting up our ambush. Can’t say how long it’ll take to find the door leading to the good shit but I gotta feelin’ we’re on a winning streak.”

“Well wha’ th’ fuck we waitin’ for?!” He replied with a grin, charging forward to begin the climb into the mountains. “Common! Time’s ah wastin’!”

“I’m commin’, just a second…”

Within twenty steps we were already enveloped by the mountains, sheer cliffs of muddy red stone hugging the road on either side. The path was clearly carved right through a slump between two peaks but was set at a rather gentle incline, the kind that let you know the road to the base was still a ways off yet. Soon enough however, the claustrophobia gave way to vertigo as the cliffs went from towering over us to us being on top of another set of them overlooking a deep canyon in the reddish brown rock. The road itself continued to lead lazily along the rim of this canyon, winding ahead into the mess of craigy peaks around us and remained relatively flat and even. For two centuries of Post-War weather chaos, it was still a smooth ride up and was definitely still usable by armored vehicles. All this being said, we had been handed prime real estate for an explosive ambush and it wouldn’t take much to trigger a landslide. Entombing them in tonnes of stone was an honestly underwhelming way to deal with the situation, but with the equipment we had…it was our best shot.

“So…what ya wanna bet is in th’ armory?” He asked after a few minutes of silent walking and ignoring the gorge to our right. “Ah’m bored already o’ this damned canyon shit…”

“Sure, I’ll humor ya some more.” I snorted with a wink. “Ya gonna hit me with a safe bet or something a bit more shaky?”

“Yew first! Ah asked ya first so yew answer first!” He whined, his voice echoing around us softly amidst the stony walls.

“Ugh…fine. Imma go big and say I hope, er…bet, that we find a Dart-88 in there! Or something like that…just…gods do we need some HEAA on our side. I’m worried about the explosives not being enough to take out their heavy armor.”

“Ah get ya, it ain’t like Ah ever had tah fight them Falkie thangs n’ yew would know betta than meh about what they can take. Buuuut, tha’ ain’t th’ game now! Imma go safe n’ say ah buncha 2012s!”

“...sweet fuck you really shot low with that one…” I groaned while rubbing my eyes. “Of course you would choose that shit.”

“Th’ fuck ya got against them?!” He cried, glaring at me a bit as if I had insulted him personally.

“Nothin’! I just don’t like ‘em is all.” I replied with a shrug, thinking that would be enough to move us on from the topic before we broke down into an argument over semantics. Naturally though, I had struck a nerve and the conversation was ensured a lengthy topic to cover for the next while.

“N’ why th’ fuck not?? It’s ah terrific gun!”

“Uh-huh, still doesn’t make me have to like it. It’s nothing special.”

"Ah'm tellin' yew, it ain't no goddamned slouch damnit!"

"And I'm telling you I don't fucking care if it can sing and dance and suck me off, I don't fucking want a 2012 in my fuckin' holster damnit! They're overrated as fuck and everyone with a decent budget has one!"

This was a hill I was willing to die on. I had no personal hatred for the iconic semi-autos but their sheer abundance had significantly cheapened their worth to me. The attachments and upgrades that had been released for the civilian and military markets were made in such numbers that anyone with some extra spending caps could slap on a red-dot, laser sight and tactical flashlight at any major gun store. Was it reliable, time and battle tested with a superb record? Absolutely! Did that win me over to its side and make my gun collection lonely? Absolutely not.

"Look, all Ah'm sayin' is .45 Automag is ah damned fine round and can do some serious damage at close range."

"What, and .454 can't? I don't see the point you're trying to make here, Firefly."

"That ain't mah point damnit! Yew think yer so fuckin' high 'n mighty with tha' there revolver 'o yers but Ah ain't eva seen one of 'em an' Ah love wheelguns! Plus, it's made by th' same goddamn company as th' 2012!"

"The fuck does that matter? Unforgiven is part of a limited-edition run made just for Griffin Rangers who wanted something special and was a fuckin' military contract with my homeland. The model is one of our really old designs that I have a lot of memories with back in the day, so when I had the chance to get one in a bigass caliber, I fuckin' took the opportunity! Who cares if FillyArms made both of them, this one is just better!"

"Still think it's ah damn fine pistol, Garand...yew ain't gunna change mah mind."

"Don't need to, I'm right."

"Oh fuck yew...what ya got against 'em anyway? They're everywhere 'cause ponies know they're damned good!"

I grinned with glee now that he had inadvertently broke the floodgates on this topic and was eager to educate him on my opinions on the matter. Whether or not he agreed didn't really matter, I just wanted the chance to bitch.

"Ohhhh boy...lemme tell ya! They have limited customization options off the bat unless you get someone to put a rail on it or learn to do it yourself, you only get seven fucking rounds that aren't that fast and don't do shit to even basic Kevyarn body armor that's worth a damn..."

"Alrigh', Ah think Ah got th' idea..." He groaned, looking away slightly with a scowl though I wasn't quite finished yet.

"It's so overused, it's a goddamn stereotype for anyone who thinks they're hot shit, especially Mercs. It has a super slim mag well and can be finnicky to reload quickly, it's a single-stack mag which again has less capacity than other pistols out there annnd...they don't make 'em in my size. Even if they did, I definitely wouldn't have it chambered in something like fuckin' .45 Automag. I could probably handle one in the same caliber as my revolver if they were adventurous enough to even try something like that. Don't get me wrong, I don't completely hate the damn thing but I just think they're overhyped and cookie cutter; so few of them look different from another. I mean, to be honest if someone pulls a 2012 on me, I just wanna fucking laugh and let 'em try."

"Says th' bird in ah walkin' tank..." He snorted, rolling his eyes in the direction of my Power Armor.

"Oh trust me, even without the Power Armor I'd still fuckin’ laugh at one." I chuckled, scratching an itch forming behind my right ear with a free hand. "My plate carrier can take .338s on a good day and my Stahlhelm is supposedly able to handle APs in .308. Haven't had to test that yet but either way, both those rounds are a lot stronger than a dinky-ass little .45-cal. I think I'll be fine."

"Uh-huh, sure...yew gonna bleed out afta three shots in th' thighs 'er somethin'. Yew ain't fuckin' immortal, dumbass."

"Won't matter, they'll be dead and I'll have a health potion popped and down the hatch before I even have a chance to feel woozy. We've got tough hides under all this fur and even tougher bodies under all that. Would have to be three damned precise shots to knock me outta the fight with just a .45."

"Yew just have tah be right sometimes, don't ya?"

"Sometimes, yeah I just fucking do. Holyshitmove!"

The sensation of movement hit me like a bolt of lightning long before my mind could even comprehend what the hell was going on. My necklace was yanking my body up and into the air while my ears rang with the sound of a massive muzzle blast from somewhere very close by. In the adrenaline-fueled insanity of the moment I knew the Gods had saved me yet again, the gleaming eight-inch finned-dart capped with a red tracer for a tail soaring right for where I had just been. Soon as my paws touched the ground though, time resumed at a much faster pace than I could comprehend. Before I knew it I was looking back down the way we came and was face-to-face with Firefly held captive by an invisible force, his legs pinned unnaturally behind his back. Athena had come for my head and the kind of direct divine intervention I had just experienced was not something I could rely on anytime soon. Krie had saved my life so that we could have an honorable fight and I wasn't about to let my debt go unpaid. It was gonna be down to me, a lot of luck and some classic ass-beating to claw my way out of this shitstorm.

Next Chapter: Chapter 9: Friends Old, New, and Unexpected Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 38 Minutes