Slipshod stepped back into his quarters, dabbing at the last bits of dampness in his dark brown mane with the towel. He stepped lightly across the private quarters that were one of the many perks of being a ‘Steed pilot on the Galloway, and made his way to the locker on the far side. A freshly laundered uniform was waiting for him, deposited there by a member of the crew yesterday afternoon.

This wasn’t a jumpsuit that was intended to be worn while fighting in a ‘Steed. Those offered a lot more protection and didn’t have so many shiny buttons and colorful patches. No, this was not a garment designed for utility, but rather to make a statement. Well-to-do clients appreciated seeing their contractors looking as professional as they made themselves out to be on paper. That meant showing up as these sorts of meet-and-greets all dolled up.

Not that the stallion had anything against dressing up. He rather enjoyed the attention it got him.

“Hmm,” somepony groaned appreciatively from the direction of his bed, “why weren’t you wearing that last night?” The owner of the tenor voice lifted themselves out of bed and stepped around behind him, running a burgundy wing down the taught wool of the gray jacket.

Slipshod cracked a smile as he fished out the tie that went with the ensemble and turned around to face his most recent bedmate. “As I recall, you were having enough trouble as it was with just my vest,” he chided lightly, looping the tie around his neck and lifting his chin, inviting the other stallion to finish affixing the accessory.

The pegasus snorted as he brought his pinions around to begin manipulating the length of fabric. “It’s hardly my fault you got me so drunk last night that I forgot how buttons work.”

“I told you to say ‘when’, but the ‘when’ never came,” Slipshod grinned.

“It was hard to get a word in edgewise with your tongue down my throat for just about every second of the evening,” the pegasus finished up the last loop and straightened the knot snugly against the collar of the earth pony's shirt.

“Well, somepony had their wings wrapped around me so tight I didn’t have much choice in the matter, now did I?” The golden stallion turned and briefly inspected himself in the mirror, noting the rather sharp job that the other stallion had done on his tie. He turned back around and gave them a quick peck on the lips. “Thanks for the tie,” then a second, longer, kiss, “and for last night.”

The pegasus sighed and tilted his head slightly, smirking at the ‘Steed pilot. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

“I told you that much over dinner,” Slipshod pointed out with an apologetic smile of his own.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m just a romantic at heart,” he shrugged. “Though, if you ever find yourself back on Canis…”

“You’re sweet,” Slipshod said with another brief peck. “I’ll think about it.”

“Dang. That’s a 'never-gonna-happen' think about it, isn’t it?” the stallion’s expression suggested that he was neither hurt nor particularly surprised by the anticipated revelation.

“And smart too!” the earth pony sniggered. “Do you want me to get a ride for you?”

“Nah, I’ll call my chauffeur,” he sighed, reaching for his comm on the nightstand. “The last thing I need is for my wife to see me pulling up in a strange car. Bonnet is a discrete mare. She doesn’t say anything about where she picks me up from. Celestia knows she’s dragged me out of a few gutters...”

“Alright then,” Slipshod closed up the locker and headed for the corridor. “It was a pleasure meeting you, and good luck with your shareholder meeting next week.”

“And good luck with your next job,” the pegasus called back. “Stay safe out there!”

The door closed behind him as Slipshod stepped out of his quarters and he turned towards the garage. Valkyrie was waiting for him at the top of the stairs leading to the DropShip’s lower level, dressed in a uniform identical to his own. She frowned at the stallion briefly, giving him a pair of rather overt sniffs. “Hmm. Good on you for remembering to shower before our client meeting so that you’re not reeking of sweat, shame, and another pony’s cologne.”

“Good morning to you too, Val.”

“That makes. What? Six ponies in five days?”

“Seven,” the stallion corrected as the pair of them descended towards the garage. “I spent yesterday afternoon with a mare at her place before going out and meeting Sebastian.”

“Unbelievable. Where do you find the energy?”

“I’d offer to show you, but you keep refusing,” he quipped with a little smile at the pegasus. He paused for a moment, then, “are you...jealous?”

“No. I’m tired. My quarters are right next to yours and the bulkheads aren’t nearly as thick as you seem to think they are,” she groused.

“Oh, wow!” Slipshod very nearly choked in surprise, his eyes wide as he reflexively glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his cabin. “I am genuinely sorry about that. Admittedly, in the moment, I’m not thinking about stuff like that. I’ll try and keep a lid on it in the future,” he offered a sheepish shrug.

“Oh, it’s rarely you that’s the problem,” Valkyrie deadpanned.

“Ah. Right. I’ll, uh, come up with something for that.”

“Thank you.”

The pair emerged from the stairwell to find a slightly irritated Squelch waiting for them by the car, impatiently tapping her forehoof. Unlike himself and his feathered comrade, the unicorn mare wasn’t wearing a military-style uniform, but rather a formal business suit, as she herself was not any sort of ‘Steed pilot. However, the steel gray color and the rigid cut of her suit complimented the attire of her pilots quite well, leaving little doubt that the three of them were part of the same outfit.

“About time,” she remarked sternly, locking her gaze on Slipshod. “How about a little less cuddling on mornings when you have actual work to do?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the earth pony said under his breath, offering Squelch no retaliatory quip the way that he had for Valkyrie’s comment earlier. He simply nodded and stepped into the door of the waiting limo that was going to be taking them to their client’s office.

The two mares filed in after him, after which the door closed and the jet black luxury vehicle drove out of the Galloway’s garage and towards the city which surrounded the spaceport.

“A little background on our client,” their employer began, pulling out a thin binder and opening it up to the relevant pages. “Ferrous Holdings Incorporated owns several raw metal extraction and refining facilities across the Sirius Cluster. One of their competitors, Argent Extractions Limited, has been contracting out to freelance operations in the cluster to strike Ferrous facilities in a bid to hurt their profit margins and thus reduce their share price in preparation for a hostile takeover.”

“Argent’s hiring mercs to hurt their competition, so now we’re being hired on to fight the mercs,” Slipshod concluded.

“Pretty much,” Squelch nodded, “it’s likely to be as straightforward as it sounds: we’ll be sent to one of the sites they think is likely to be hit and it’ll be our job to repel the attack. I don’t know yet how many outfits Ferrous is approaching, or how long this contract’s likely to be good for. Could be a one-and-done, but I’m feeling like they’ll want us to guard multiple sites throughout the cluster while they upgrade their static defenses.

“Assuming you two don’t completely fuck up the first round, of course.”

The pilots exchanged eye rolls. They actually failed surprisingly few contracts, given how few resources they had between them with only their two relatively lighter ‘Steeds. “Do you know what kind of stuff we’re likely to be going up against?” Valkyrie asked.

“The client hasn’t said, officially,” the unicorn informed them as she flipped to another page of her dossier, “but I pulled a few recent news reports on the raids and it looks like Argent hasn’t been springing for ‘Steed-equipped companies yet. Honestly, I get the impression that this represents an escalation on Ferrous’ part.”

“They want to see how committed Argent is,” the earth pony nodded his agreement, earning a mildly baffled look from his feathered compatriot at his apparent insight. “Argent’s shelling out a relative pittance for merc units that probably don’t field anything heavier than a Hydra Heavy Tank, if that. More than enough to overwhelm a mining camp’s static defenses, sure, but not much of a threat against even your Parasprite, unless they happen to get in a lucky hit.

“Argent would need to keep as much cash on hoof as possible if they want to buy out a majority stake of Ferrous’ outstanding shares. If Ferrous puts a couple of ‘Steeds in the field, then Argent’ll have to shell out the big C-bits for ‘Steed companies too, if they want to actually keep hurting Ferrous’ bottom line.

“But if they do that, they risk using up all the petty cash they’ve been saving for the buyout. Which means that all they did was spend a lot of money to get them nothing. Money that, at the end of the day, would have been a lot better spent developing their own extraction and production infrastructure in the hopes of beating Ferrous the old fashioned way: by offering a better product at a cheaper price. If this all falls apart for them, whatever exec hatched this mercenary plan of theirs is going to be out on their flank in a bad way.

“Which’ll likely cause a lot of internal instability in Argent’s upper echelons, making their own investors really nervous, and tanking their own stock prices. It’s hard to say what’ll upset their shareholders more: being left in the dark about a management shake-up, or being outright told that Argent did the next best thing to lighting millions of C-bits on fire. Either way, their stock price isn’t going to have good things happen to it in the near future.” Slipshod snorted, “if this goes bad for them hard enough, Ferrous could ultimately be the one buying out Argent when the dust settles.”

It was at about this time that the earth pony noticed that both mares were looking at him with slightly agape jaws. He glanced between the pair nervously, “...What?”

Squelch narrowed her gaze at her lead pilot. “How’d you know all that? I mean, you’re exactly right," she flicked her hoof down at the dossier she was still holding, "but how’d you know it? I've spent most of the week digging through every public record and corporate document I could find, and all you've been doing is plowing the natives!”

“Sebastian's the Chief of Operations at Argent Extractions. This whole ‘hit Ferrous facilities with mercs’ thing was his idea.

“We discussed it at length last night over dinner.”

“Who the fuck is Sebast―” Valkyrie started to ask before she stopped suddenly and her eyes went wide. “Wait, do you mean: ‘fly me, daddy!’?! He’s the stallion you brought home last night?!”

“Hold on,” Squelch was using both hooves to massage her temples, “let me get this straight―” She balked for just a moment, her lips silently mouthing ‘fly me daddy?’ before she shook herself and refocused. “You not only slept with, but talked with, our client’s competitor about the job last night? How could you be that stupid?” She said the last through gritted teeth.

“First of all,” Slipshod defended, noting how bemused he felt that Squelch seemed the least concerned with the fact that he spent the night in bed with their client’s adversary, “he talked. A lot. About a lot of things. I didn’t say shit about who we were working for.

“And it wasn’t ‘stupid’. It’s called reconnaissance.” He glared at the mares. “I will have you know that I am more than just a pretty face with a perfectly sculpted flank that just won’t quit.” Both mares glared and Slipshod made a mental note that his usual deflective brand of humor was not being well received at the moment. He’d save it for later. The stallion cleared his throat. “So, yeah, when you mentioned who we’d be meeting with today, I went ahead and looked them up to see what kind of jobs we were likely to get.

“That’s when I saw the news reports you just showed us,” he gestured at Squelch’s dossier. “I didn’t know immediately that it was Argent who was behind them, but I figured it had to be one of their big competitors, of which there are only two in the Sirius Cluster. So I tracked down a couple of execs in town that were as high up as I could find and tried to learn what I could from them.

“First I met up with Stannum Resource Consortium’s Regional VP of Finance, but she didn’t know anything about any contracts with merc outfits; and besides, they’re actually thinking about selling off their Sirius holdings to focus on their Sagittarius operations. So it probably wasn’t them.

“Then I met Sebastian, and he was more than happy to talk with somepony about how nervous this whole thing was making him. It’s a huge risk that Argent’s board is taking on his say-so, and he is absolutely terrified that Ferrous might do exactly what it is they’re about to do: hire ‘Steed companies to protect their facilities. Argent doesn’t have the money to hire their own ‘Steed mercs―because of the reasons I mentioned before―and so the plan’ll pretty much be shot to shit the moment we show up. Throwing good C-bits after bad would just sink the whole company.

“Somepony’ll need to answer for all the money they’ve spent so far on ultimately useless merc raids though, so he’s pretty much guaranteed to be fired when this blows up in their faces. At which point he has no doubt that his wife’ll file for a divorce and take the kids, leaving him alone and penniless. He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep all month worrying about this.” He thought for a moment. “Until last night anyway.” Judging by Valkyrie’s narrowed eyes, that last addition hadn’t been wholly appreciated either.

“And he has no idea that we were hired by Ferrous? You’re sure?” Squelch demanded.

“Positive. I told him we were being brought on by TimberWolf’s Dragoons for their skirmishes with the Gray Lines Legion along the Our Worlds League border.”

The unicorn mare breathed a deep sigh of relief and leaned back into her seat. “Well...I guess now we at least know that this isn’t likely to be a protracted contract. If Argent really is ready to fold the first time we show up.” She thought for a moment. “Though, I can’t see how Ferrous would know that...” She glared at Slipshod. “You don’t breathe a word of any of what you learned last night in that meeting, got it? If Argent actually folds like a wet blanket after the first fight and calls the whole thing off, then we can probably get away with a couple months of sitting on our flanks watching sunsets and still getting paid before Ferrous figures it out too. It’ll be the easiest money we’ve ever made.

“Money that’ll let us arm that Rainbow Dash properly,” the green mare rubbed her chin, “I bet I can get another massage from the twins when I drop thirty tons of guns on the threshold of the ‘Steed Bay…”

It was then that Slipshod noticed that Valkyrie was staring at him, as though she were studying some sort of university textbook. “What?”

“Reconnaissance. That was pretty smart, what you did. It never occurred to me that you went out last night to do actual work. I apologize.”

“Eh, don’t feel too bad,” the stallion shrugged, “I mean, I learned about everything related to the mission way before I slept with either of them. So it was more of a...working...leisure...combination thing.”

Valkyrie was glaring at him again now.

“I’m just saying,” Val’s voice crackled over his headset, “it wouldn’t kill Cookie to mix things up every now and then. Not every Tuesday has to be tacos for lunch.”

“You don’t honestly expect him to serve tacos on Wednesdays, do you?!” Slipshod remarked, pumping all of the dramatic mock-incredulity he could into his tone. “If he does that, then when exactly is he supposed to serve his Lunch-time Waffle Wednesday Breakfast Stacks? Fridays?! That’s for his Friday Frijoles Night Lunch Special!” The stallion thought for a moment. “Though, dropping that would certainly make Saturday’s a lot more tolerable on the ship…” he acknowledged with a grin.

“That jack is a master in the kitchen, but damn does he suck at naming things…”

“No argument here,” the earth pony pilot chuckled, “but let’s face it, you’re not going to get him to change his menu line-up. I think it would actually kill him. That donkey’s stubborn as a mul―erm…”

“I’mma tell him you said that. I’ve even got the radio logs recording. I can play the tape for him. Over and over again.”

Slipshod’s eyes widened in equal parts feigned and genuine horror. “Please don’t.” There were certain realities about living on the Galloway that ponies learned to abide by quickly if they wanted their lives to remain tolerable: you never borrowed one of Mig’s tools, or she’d literally light you on fire―Tig was compassionate enough to put you out...after a minute or two. Using Squelch’s blue coffee pot to brew decaf was a capital offense. Jokes about Doc Dee and ‘white doctors’ coats’ earned you a complimentary colonoscopy. And referring to Cookie Dough as a ‘mule’ got you put on the ‘special menu’ for a month. Which consisted of actual gruel… Exclusively. Served cold.

Even asking for anything else earned you an additional month on his ‘special menu’.

“I will literally do anything you ask if you delete those three seconds of the log!”

“Ooh...this rush of power and control,” the mare cooed, “this must be what having a dick feels like...I’m kinda liking it!” The self-satisfaction in Valkyrie’s voice was palpable, even over the headset. She was very much obviously enjoying this. Enough so that even Slipshod couldn’t help but crack a little smirk himself, despite his very real dread at Cookie getting wind of his unintended verbal faux pas.

He was fairly confident that he and the azure Parasprite pilot could come to an arrangement though. “I’ll polish your hooves for a month,” he offered.

“Ha! What makes you think I’d let you anywhere near my hooves? I’m the one suffering with that deal. No way.”

“Okay,” he thought for a moment. It had been worth a shot. “I’ll get Emery to polish your hooves for a month.”

“...How?”

Slipshod was grinning again upon hearing the piqued interest in his partner’s voice. Emery File was an aspiring hooficurist onboard the ship who was well known among the crew for the outstanding work she could do with a pony’s hooves. She had full-time duties to attend to, like most everypony else, of course, so her availability for those services was quite limited. There was actually something of a wait-list among the crew.

However, the stallion had a ‘fast pass’ of sorts where that particular mare was concerned. “Easy, you can have my slot. I have appointments on alternating Tuesdays and Fridays,” his smile broadened even further, “sometimes those appointments even involve doing my hooves.”

There was a burst of static that sounded a lot like a disgusted snort. “Un-fucking-believable. I swear that Squelch and I are the only ponies you’re not banging on that damn ship.”

“Emery and I do not ‘bang’,” the earth pony didn’t even need to affect an indignant tone at the unappreciated implication.

“‘Passionately embrace’ then. Or ‘vigorously cuddle’. However you choose to describe it, I honestly don’t want to hear it.”

Slipshod rolled his eyes. “Look, do you want the hooficures or not?”

“...Yes.”

“And the audio log?”

There was a pause. “Deleted.”

“Thank you.” The stallion let out a relieved sigh and visibly relaxed on his piloting couch. “I’ll talk with Emery once we’re back on the ship.” He thought for a moment. “And if you could be so kind as to not imply that the two of us are ‘vigorously cuddling’, I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Like I said: I don’t want to hear about it anyway,” the mare was silent for a few seconds, then, “why do you even care? It’s not exactly a secret that you’re sleeping with half the crew.”

“Wait, wha―?”

Unfortunately for Slipshod, getting clarification on her comment was going to have to wait, as Valkyrie’s voice burst back over the comm channel that the two of them were using with what the stallion referred to as her ‘on-the-clock’ tone. As far as she was concerned, the time for casual conversation was over and all of her focus was now directed at her ‘Steed’s telemetry readouts. “Contact” she snapped, “multiple contacts! Five kay meters. Bearing two-eight-seven. Unknown IFF.”

It looked like their bantering was done for the moment. The earth pony keyed in the frequency that connected the pair of them to their patron company’s communications net. “Ferrous Control, Gallop One.”

“Gallop One, this is Ferrous Control. Go ahead,” came a young stallion’s response.

“Ferrous Control, we have contacts at your…” Slipshod glanced down at his nav map and recalculated the direction of the contacts relative to the refinery, “...two-seven-two, five kilometers out. Expecting any deliveries today?”

“Umm...wait one, Gallop. Let me check,” and the channel went silent. The earth pony frowned, silently berating the Ferrous Control operator in his head. The Steel Coursers were here specifically because Ferrous installations were getting hit by raiders. You’d think that whoever was in charge of the response on their client’s side of things would have already put out that facility operators should know exactly when expected deliveries were going to arrive, so that literally anything else could be properly categorized as a ‘possible raider’.

Not that every unscheduled contact was a raider, mind you. Two days ago it had turned out to be a lost planetary militia patrol. Boy did they ever get a fright when his Wild Bronco popped out from behind a mountain and blocked their path! According to Valkyrie, militia transponders in the region didn’t seem to be getting turned off even while they were parked back at their base.

Once bitten; twice shy, and all that.

However, these signals were very clearly not militia. Valkyrie’s Parasprite was already on the move, he saw, maneuvering around the edge of what a vehicle’s sensor range should be, and using the terrain to mask the profile of her ‘Steed. From the signal profiles that she was building, Slipshod was just about positive that, whoever they were, they weren’t here to restock the kitchens either. The pegasus had already pegged one of the contacts as having a high probability of being a Bulldog Medium Tank.

That wasn’t an escort vehicle that Ferrous used. Nor the planetary militia, for that matter.

Finally, a rather nervous-sounding stallion came back over the comm channel. “Gallop One, that is not one of ours! Say again: Not a friendly contact!”

“Understood, Ferrous Control,” Slipshod was already in motion, throttling his Wild Bronco to a trot as he turned onto an intercept vector. Valkyrie had been kind enough to lay down some nav points that would let him approach without getting spotted too early. “Spool up your turrets in case one gets by us.” He cut the frequency and swapped back to their own private channel. “Open season, Val. What’ve we got?”

“I’ve got high confidence on...two Bulldogs and four Harassers. There’s...something hanging back that I can’t get a profile on. Could be a C&C vehicle. Maybe a lookout watching their rear. Hard to say. It’s just on the other side of the saddle. I’ll be spotted if I get much closer.”

There was a questioning element to the pegasus mare’s last statement. She was letting him know that the option still existed for her to get a definitive profile on the last contact if the two of them were willing to reveal to the enemy that BattleSteeds were present at the mining facility. “Negative. Those Harassers are fast enough to catch you, and that’s a lot of SRMs for a Parasprite to handle on its own. Hang back, keep an eye on it, but let’s stay in cover until they reach…” the earth pony reviewed his tactical map, “...Point Echo. We’ll catch the Bulldogs in a crossfire. The Harassers might bug out when they see their heavy units buy it.”

“Understood. Laying low.”

“I’m almost at Delta now. Comm the Galloway and let Squelch know we’re engaging.” There wasn’t much that the unicorn was going to be able to do from orbit at the moment, but she could still put the DropShip on an alert status in case things went unexpectedly south and he and Val needed an extraction. He was fairly confident that these seven contacts represented the entirety of the raiding force, but it was better to be safe than dead.

The stallion took a deep breath, reviewing the tactical situation in his head. The Bulldogs were concerning, as they basically brought the same firepower to the fight that his Wild Bronco did. They were considerably less well-protected though. His ‘Steed could stand up to a few hits from their large magical energy weapons, and his ablative armor would shrug off the first few SRM volleys. The same could not be said for any of the vehicles that he and Val were facing.

Especially the Harassers. Those flimsy hovercraft would get torn in half by Valkyrie’s medium energy cannons. As long as she managed to land a hit, anyway. This region was fairly arboreal, so they wouldn’t have the open space that would let them get up to their one hundred and sixty kilometer an hour top speed, but they would still be quite agile nonetheless.

As he’d suggested: the ideal outcome was that this fight ended after just one volley. This raiding force was spec'd specifically to devastate a minimally defended mining complex. The Bulldogs’ heavy energy weapons would have had no issue at all outranging Ferrous’ static defenses and melting them down into slag. After that, the hovercraft would zip in, ravage the facility with a hailstorm of almost continuous SRM fire, and then bug out once the place had been reduced to rubble. The whole thing would have been over in less than five minutes.

With the Bulldogs out of commission though, their operation would almost certainly be a wash. The Harassers would have to close inside the camp’s defensive fire range in order to engage, and four of the admittedly swift-moving combat vehicles wouldn’t be enough to overwhelm even the token turrets that were present. Without any way to reasonably destroy the mining camp, the surviving raiders basically had no reason not to sound the retreat about three seconds after Slipshod and Valkyrie slagged the tanks.

That was the plan, anyway.

Of course, if there was one thing that every ‘Steed academy in the Sphere taught their aspiring pilots, it was that the first casualty in any confrontation with the enemy was: the plan.

Today would not be the exception that proves the rule.

Slipshod slowed to a stop almost right on top of the nav point that Valkyrie had plotted for him. He was located just on the other side of a rise that blocked his ‘Steed from view of any vehicles that would be traveling down the service road leading to the Ferrous facility. So far, the red blips on his tactical overlay that Val’s Parasprite was feeding him looked like they were taking advantage of the road’s existence in order to expedite their arrival. There was hardly any reason for them not to use it, after all.

At the moment, the tanks were at the rear of the formation. They’d eventually be stopping and taking up positions that would let them neutralize the camp’s defenses while the hovercraft continued further ahead, until they were just at the edge of the effective firing range of those turrets. That would allow them minimal time to get into the camp once the turrets were dealt with and do as much damage as they could as quickly as they could.

The earth pony pilot studied the map of the surrounding area. Unlike their clients on Canopy, Ferrous possessed exceptionally detailed and up-to-date topographical maps of the local terrain. Being a mining company, they had been quite motivated to survey as much of the surrounding area as they could in order to capitalize on the richest and most easily accessible metal deposits. Such detailed maps were not only invaluable to material extraction corporations, but to tactically-minded BattleSteed pilots as well.

Given that these raiders were ostensibly being employed by a competing mining company, Argent Extractions, it was possible that they possessed similarly detailed maps as well. Keeping that in mind, Slipshod eyed a few locations that would allow for direct-fire weapons, like a Bulldog’s heavy energy cannon, for example, to capitalize on their long range without much obstruction.

He marked the positions on his map and shared their locations with his partner. “The Bulldogs will be heading to one of these locations,” he informed her, “we’ll wait for them to get in place. Their attention will be on the camp, and they won’t have their Harasser escorts. We roll in from behind, take them out, and then herd the hovercraft into range of the camp’s turrets. Got it?”

“Copy. Moving into position.”

Slipshod’s gaze was locked onto his tactical display as he watched the half-dozen crimson dots slowly meander along the road. He flicked to the seventh, detached, blip a time or two, just to ensure that it was remaining where it had stopped earlier. Valkyrie was probably right: it was acting like a rear guard of sorts. He admitted that he was a little nervous not knowing what it was for sure, but it was a long way off. Too far to engage either him or Val any time soon, even if it turned out to be a fifth speedy hovercraft. Not that an additional Harasser would turn the tide in this fight once those tanks were gone.

The earth pony smiled as he watched the two rear blips in the column divert off of the road and begin to move towards one of the locations that he’d just marked. The other four did indeed continue along the road towards the mining camp.

“And this, gentlecolts, is why you bring pickets,” the stallion murmured around a grin as he throttled up with his rear hooves. The Wild Bronco lurched and began ascending to the top of the mound. Once he crested its peak, he’d be a scant five hundred meters from his target, well within the effective range for his heavy laser. Over the comm, he said, “move in. I’ve got left, you take right.”

“Copy,” the blue marker of Valkyrie’s recon ‘Steed started to move now as well.

In just a few seconds, Slipshod’s Bronco reached the top of his cover, and he was now looking down over the pair of medium tracked vehicles. His forehooves teased the angle of the heavy magical energy weapon in his ‘Steed’s right shoulder mount. A quick tap of a button on the control yoke brought up a video feed on the inside of his helmet’s visor, allowing him a magnified view of his target as well as a reticle for the weapon he had selected.

The crews of the Bulldogs had yet to react to his and Valkyrie’s presence. Even their limited sensor suites should have allowed them to see the towering ‘Steeds at their rear by now. However, their attention was laser-focused on the mining facility. The ponies who were presumably the two tank commanders were actually even turned-out at the moment. One of them was looking down at the Ferrous complex through a rangefinder while the other was saying something to him. Both were smiling broadly.

Somepony in the tank must have been looking at their sensor displays though. One of the ponies poking out of the tank’s turret hatch suddenly jerked and looked down inside. A second later he shot straight up again, his head whipping around in Slipshod’s direction.

He was lost in a stream of blue destructive magic, along with the rest of the tank’s turret. The second Bulldog commander had just enough time to duck back down inside and close the hatch behind him as the bipedal Parasprite Light BattleSteed burst through the treeline less than fifty yards to their rear. Twin lances of jade fire crossed the distance in an instant and burned their way into the thinner armor of the tank’s engine housing. The fuel that was also contained there detonated in spectacular fashion.

In less than three seconds, both of the biggest threats on the field were wiped away. All that was left to be dealt with now were the quartet of hovercraft. They were another three hundred meters further out, beyond the range of every weapon that he and Valkyrie had except for his larger laser, which needed a little bit more time to charge before it was ready to fire again.

Slipshod keyed in his mic once again. “Alright, let’s run down the rest of ‘em. Try not to get too far ahead of me. We’ll stay close to cover each other and―”

The stallion’s train of thought was cut off as a klaxon began blaring in concert with a flashing scarlet warning message being branded across his heads-up-display: MISSILE LOCK!

Just as his brain began to process the implications of the alert, but before he had time to fully recover from the shock of seeing such an unexpected warning, Val’s voice began screaming across his helmet’s headset, “LRMs! LRM Carrier at our six! Two thousand meters!”

The seventh signal. It had not been a command vehicle or a rear guard. Not as such. It hadn’t hung back because it wasn’t going to be participating in the raid. It had done so because it was an artillery vehicle that would be bombarding the Ferrous mining camp from beyond the horizon. It didn’t need to be anywhere near the facility to do its work. Not so long as there was an ally nearby feeding it firing control telemetry on the target so that its missiles could acquire and maintain their lock.

And the raiders had four such forward fire directors, in the form of the Harasser hovercrafts that were already scattering. As long as any one of them kept his and Val’s ‘Steeds on their scopes, the LRM Carrier could rain destruction down on them with impunity.

They’d fucked up.

They needed a new plan; and picking the wrong one would get them killed. Of course, so would hesitating while they determined which of their available options was the best one.

There are two kinds of ‘Steed pilots: the quick and the dead. Right or wrong, make a decision and see it through. It’s the only shot any pilot has at survival.

“Get on my six! We’re making a run for the carrier!” Slipshod wrenched at the control yokes and manipulated the throttle pedals of his Wild Bronco as he heaved the fitty-ton behemoth around and vaulted for the distant missile platform.

There were two ways they had of getting out of harm’s way: removing the source of the missiles, or removing the means by which the platform was acquiring its target lock. Only Valkyrie’s Parasprite was swift enough to keep up with the Harassers, and her ‘Steed lacked both the armor and the firepower to go hoof-to-hoof with four of them at once while also dodging missiles. If one of the Harassers managed to maneuver behind her and land a solid hit with all twelve of its SRMs, they’d crack her reactor for sure.

His Bronco could take some hits at least, but he’d be hard-pressed to take any of them out if they remained content to dance at the edge of the effective range of his heavy laser while the carrier’s LRMs tore him apart bit by bit.

No, they couldn’t hope to destroy all four of the hovercraft in time. Nor would they be able to outrun the much faster craft if the two of them tried to retreat.

That meant charging the carrier itself. Two thousand meters would take his ‘Steed almost a full two minutes to cross. The carrier could reload its launchers every ten seconds, give or take. Which meant that there was more than enough time for that platform to launch all four hundred and eighty of its missiles at the two of them. If even half of those found their mark…

Even sending Val’s much speedier Parasprite on ahead wouldn’t help, as there was still more than enough time for nearly half a dozen volleys of sixty missiles apiece to cut her down before she reached the target.

They had to stick together, and they had to keep moving.

A little bit of praying probably wouldn’t hurt either, in all honesty…

Slipshod’s gut tied itself in a knot as he saw the veritable wall of white missile exhaust rising over the horizon. Though they weren’t visible yet, he knew that the nearly solid column of smoke was being trailed by three score of missiles that were heading right for them. “Incoming!”

Not that he thought the warning was truly necessary. Valkyrie was hardly blind. He just needed to yell something to help him cope with the stress.

The earth pony heaved his galloping ‘Steed hard to the left at the last moment. Metal screamed as myomer muscles threatened to snap the alloyed ‘bones’ of his Wild Bronco in half. A wall of warheads fell down around him like a sledgehammer pounding at a tac, saturating the immediate area. The ‘Steed shuddered as armor plates were shattered by over a dozen separate detonations. Previously green armor integrity indicators along his ‘Steed’s right shoulder, barrel, and flank went amber.

He grit his teeth and snarled at the distant dip between the westward mountains where the LRM Carrier was hiding. Still another eighteen hundred meters away.

His ‘Steed lurched again, unexpectedly. An alert flashed on the integrity indicator of his barrel’s left side. One of the Harassers had moved in close to harry the stalled medium BattleSteed. If its crew thought that was something that they were going to get to do uncontested, then they had another think coming.

Slipshod threw his Wild Bronco into reverse, pushing down hard on the left throttle pedal. The result was a near-perfect leftward pivot of the ‘Steed as he brought the center of his chest in line with the fleeing hovercraft. The golden stallion snap-fired the six-pack SRM nestled there. Earth erupted and trees shattered into splinters. Somewhere in the sudden chaos, one of the missiles struck the vehicle’s skirt. It dipped low on the affected side, caught the ground while going the better part of eighty kilometer an hour, and was promptly sent cartwheeling into a massive old growth oak, which didn’t seem at all impressed with the flimsy construction of the hovercraft that shattered itself upon its trunk.

One down, at least. Though it was likely that the remaining three would learn from the folly of their over-eager compatriot and keep their distance from now on.

His eyes were drawn back to the “MISSILE LOCK!” still blazed across his HUD. Another volley of missiles would be heading his way any second. He needed to get moving again.

The Wild Bronco’s direction of travel was shifted back to “forward” and Slipshod was soon back at a full run. Val’s lighter bipedal ‘Steed was keeping pace with ease. Briefly, the stallion once again weighed the merits of sending her on ahead of him. Again, he dismissed them. They needed to stick together as long as they could.

A second plume rose up from the horizon. A second time missile hammered him. A second time his cockpit became illuminated by warning lights and caution indicators. One of his light lasers was inoperable. His right flank’s armor was already in the red.

They pressed on.

“LRMs,” the stallion grumbled as he weathered the third salvo with his ‘Steed’s left side this time. “If we survive this, I’m having the twins install LRMs on this thing…” If he’d had even a five-pack of LRMs of his own, he could have been returning fire by now, using Valkyrie’s more robust sensor suite to acquire a firing solution for him.

As it was…

His ‘Steed trembled beneath the fifth barrage as it collided with the left side of his barrel. Then, suddenly, his piloting couch dropped out from under him. The earth pony clutched desperately at his controls for stability as he felt himself thrown against his restraints. His ‘Steed was tilted precariously to the left. A flashing light alerted him to the fact that his ‘Steed’s left foreleg was inoperable. One of the missile impacts had managed to sever the power couplings to the myomer musculature.

Slipshod sputtered a slew of curses as he fought to get the Bronco back on its hooves. He was able to bring the left hind leg forward and move the right foreleg to a more centered location, giving the ‘Steed enough support to stand erect at least. However, he wasn’t going to be running any further.

So much for his latest plan.

His lips pulled back in a grim line as he eyed their tactical situation. The Harassers were circling them, like wolves around a wounded elk and her calf. They didn’t even have to move in to deal the killing blow themselves. The distant LRM Carrier would do that with another few barrages. First they’d put him down from range, and then they’d move in close tear Valkyrie apart.

And, with one lucky missile hit, a course of action that would have meant Val’s death now became their only hope for salvation. “Val, take out those LRMs. I’ve got the Harassers.” He could barely move fast enough to track the speedy targets, and there was no way that, even at her ‘Steed’s unfettered top speed, the pegasus was going to be able to cross the remaining distance in time to save him.

However, by the time they’d finished with him, his partner would be too far away for them to catch in time. This way, at least she’d have a chance.

The Harassers could choose to abandon his crippled ‘Steed in favor of the more lightly armored target, yes, but Valkyrie’s Parasprite could move faster through the forests and up the mountains than they could. It’d take all three of them to try to keep her signature on their sensor net. Which would mean leaving him free to continue making his way towards the missile platform. It might take him a while to get there, but Val’s ‘Steed should be able to skirmish with them long enough.

Either way, the LRM Carrier would go down. These mercs just had to decide which ‘Steed kill would be a better feather in their cap. Slipshod knew which way he’d lean in their situation.

“...Copy.” There was clear reluctance in the mare’s voice. Thankfully, Valkyrie was too much of a professional to sit around and argue with the commander in the field. She didn’t have to like―or even agree with―his orders; the pegasus just had to follow them.

Slipshod watched the blue dot of his comrade begin to move westward, away from him. He allowed a brief smirk to touch his lips before focusing his full attention on the trio of crimson dots that were lazily circling him. He highlighted one of them and looked out through his cockpit window. His HUD layered a red rectangle over the hovercraft's position, though the vehicle itself was blocked from view by several hundred meters of forest. Still, no reason that he couldn’t keep them honest.

The earth pony fired his charged heavy energy cannon. The sapphire column of destructive light sliced through the trees like they were little more than blades of grass. Limbs and trunks smoldered and fell to the ground, creating a cone-shaped clearing in the old growth forest. For a fraction of a second, the golden stallion caught sight of the Harasser’s rear end as it managed to dance just ahead of the beam. Then, just as suddenly, it was swallowed up by the terrain and returned to being little more than his sensor’s vague guess as to its location through the trees.

He noted that the selected blip had increased its range from him slightly.

The alert blared again.

It was getting difficult to show the LRMs a facing that still had most of its armor plating. There was no part of his ‘Steed that was undamaged. If he survived this, the twins were going to rake him over the coals for the state of his Wild Bronco.

Slipshod threw a foreleg between his helmet and the paneling to his right as the console sputtered and sparked. His HUD delivered some rather grim news on the state of his heavy laser: it was no longer operational. One of the weapon’s capacitors being ruptured by a missile strike would certainly have explained the surge in power that had to be the cause of the panel in his cockpit shorting out.

Well, that certainly wasn’t good. Now he was down to just his SRMs and a single light laser. A fact that even the reather meager sensor suites of the circling Harassers were bound to pick up on soon.

The stallion eyed his tactical display grimly. His ‘Steed wasn’t long for this world no matter what he did now. The least he could do was buy Valkyrie as much time as possible. Slipshod threw his ‘Steed into reverse and began to open up the distance between him and the LRM Carrier. The hovercraft could either stick with him, pulling them further away from the Parasprite heading for their vulnerable missile launcher, or let him get to the relative safety of the mining camp’s defense envelope.

The raiders would have to choose quickly though. Even at a limp, the earth pony was only a minute or so from the mining facility.

The Harassers decided to take a third option, it seemed, much to Slipshod’s annoyance. The blips darted inwards towards him. Apparently they had decided that, if they finished him off quickly enough, they’d have sufficient time to catch up with Valkyrie and take her down too. The stallion doubted that very much, but his opinions weren’t something that the crews of those hovercraft were keen to take into consideration at the moment.

He was thrown against the straps of his piloting couch as a dozen short-ranged, but hard-hitting, rockets slammed into his ‘Steed’s left flank. Readouts in his cockpit dutifully reported that the last of his ablative armor in that region had been obliterated. Nothing had ceased to function in that limb―yet―but another solid strike was likely to shear it off completely. The stallion strained as he tried to turn his limping Wild Bronco, firing off the light laser. It was more of a display of indignation than anything. They were far outside even the ineffective range of the weapon. He might as well have been tagging them with a laser pointer for all the good it did.

Another sextet of SRMs belched from his ‘Steed’s chest, carving a divot into the highway and diverting one of the hovercraft, but little else that would save him. His harness kept him rooted at his controls as his barrel’s right side was raked now. He’d only started to turn that direction when he caught a flicker of movement through the viewport of his cockpit. His eyes widened in recognition even as his hooves pulled hard on the control yokes.

Something gave way this time. Slipshod was thrown from his seat, his helmet indenting a panel on the left side of his cockpit as the straps meant to keep him secured lost an anchor point or two. He was weightless for half a second, and then the floor jumped up and smacked him in the chin. He could taste blood in his mouth―likely related to the sharp pain in his tongue―and the acrid smell filling his nostrils told him something was burning. The latter was all the more concerning since his helmet was supposed to be sealed.

His eyes opened finally, though they teared almost instantly from the blue-hued smoke that was whisping up from several dark consoles. That certainly wasn’t ideal. Nor was the fact that all he could see through the cockpit’s viewport was dirt and debris. His ‘Steed was down. Even if he could get it to stand back up, he’d only be on his hooves for another second before a few dozen missiles breached his reactor and leveled a square kilometer of forest.

The fight was over. For him at least. Hopefully Valkyrie could still give a good accounting of herself.

Slipshod crawled back to his piloting couch and flipped up one of the panels nearby, revealing a yellow and red hashed lever. He hooked his fetlock around it and gave the lever a firm yank.

“EJECTION SYSTEM FAILURE.”

...That wasn’t good. The stallion reset the lever and pulled it again.

“EJECTION SYSTEM FAILURE.”

He pulled it a third time, his anxiety rising, “EJECTION SYSTEM―EJECTION SYS―EJECT―EJECT―EJECT―EJECTION SYSTEM FAILURE.”

Slipshod hadn’t really expected rapidly pulling on the lever to magically change anything. It had helped to alleviate a little of his frustration though. He toggled his comm. “Val? I’m down. Ejection system’s a no-go. What’s your situation?”

Static.

He looked at the display on his suit’s left sleeve and growled. It seemed that more than the seal on his helmet had broken when he’d been thrown. He was trapped and without a way to get word out. Not an ideal situation for a ‘Steed pilot that was still surrounded by the enemy.

Speaking of which...the stallion spied a hovercraft drifting around through the corner of his cockpit as it took its time to line up a shot that would finish him off. The earth pony glanced at the nearby hatch, briefly considering using that to make an escape. He’d never get it open and clear in time though.

His eyes then darted to one of the few working displays. Much to his surprise, the readouts insisted that his remaining small magical energy cannon was charged and operational. It wasn’t going to be enough to pierce even the thin armor of a Harasser, but it would make him feel better about dying, knowing that he’d at least scratched their paint before he went.

The stallion climbed back onto the couch and gripped the yoke. He was forced to eyeball the shot this time. His hoof curled around the trigger and fired the weapon. A ruby beam struck the Harasser, leaving a deep blackened groove just to the side of the craft’s crew cabin. Slipshod grinned in satisfaction despite himself. “Ha! I hope you have to spend a whole week buffing that out, you fuckers!”

The hovercraft vanished behind a pillar of blue light. Then it exploded.

“Umm…” The earth pony gaped at the location where his would-be killer had just been a moment ago, and which was now a smoldering wreck in the middle of a glassed circle. What was perhaps more surprising than the appearance of the heavy energy strike―which was still pretty damn surprising!―was the fact that it had seemed to come from directly above.

High-pitched whines of several additional blasts of energy weapons being fired could be heard through the cracked cockpit viewport, but these were out of Slipshod’s line of sight. A crescendoing roar of a DropShip’s massive thrusters drew the earth pony’s attention skyward, and to the source of the mysterious beams of destructive energy. He felt himself relax as he caught sight of the Galloway’s familiar blue and silver livery. Her dorsal energy turrets panned from side to side as they searched for any additional threats.

A rope dropped down in front of his cockpit, and quickly began to wriggle and flutter until a unicorn mare wearing combat barding and holding an assault rifle in her telekinesis descended into view. Once at the bottom, she dashed outward and took up a defensive position. More ponies followed down after her, all similarly armed. He heard suited hooves clomping on top of his cockpit. A few seconds later, the seal of the hatch above him popped as the egress port was manually ratcheted open by the Steel Coursers' Recovery Team. A stallion popped his head in and looked hastily around before his helmeted gaze locked onto Slipshod.

The new arrival put a hoof to the side of his head. “Target's alive and located. Alert medical. We’re on our way back up.” He extended the hoof towards Slipshod. “Sir, can you walk?”

The golden earth pony grinned up at the crimson pegasus stallion. “I can; but I have always wondered what it’d be like to be carried off by a strapping young stallion…” He folded his fetlocks under his chin and fluttered his eyes at the other pony. “Will you please be my hero?”

The other pony rolled his eyes with an annoyed snort and turned his head back over his shoulder to address the others with him. “He’s fine.” He then withdrew from the hatch entirely. “Let’s just work on getting the hoists hooked up for Mig…”

Slipshod frowned and blew a raspberry. “You know, Blood Chit,” he called out loudly as he rose back onto his hooves and headed for the now open hatch, “you’re somehow a lot more fun when we’re playing euchre. Which is a sentence that I don’t think anypony has ever said in the history of the Harmony Sphere!” He emerged to find that upwards of a dozen ponies were busily attaching thick cabling to a dozen different load-bearing points on the top of the ‘Steed.

Another dozen ponies surrounded the slumped over Wild Bronco, keeping a vigilant watch for any uninvited guests. He noted that there was a second column of smoke rising up from somewhere in the forest, but he saw no sign of what might have become of the third remaining Harasser. For that matter…

He looked westward, but he couldn’t get a clear view over the trees of what might have become of Val or the LRM Carrier. His assumption was that it had been dealt with, as it would have been far too dangerous to bring the Galloway here with a vehicle like that still lingering around. Sixty LRMs would have done more to the DropShip than scratch the paint.

“Thanks for the rescue, by the way,” Slipshod said to the crimson pegasus stallion who was overseeing the recovery effort.

“Thank Valkyrie,” the armored pony responded, “she put in the call that you’d gone down, and plotted an approach to put us right on top of you.” He paused as a thought seemed to occur to him. “She also had a message for you,” the pegasus raised a curious brow, “something about: ‘it’s two months now’. Whatever that means?”

Slipshod blanked for a few seconds. Then burst out laughing.

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