For the second time in as many days, General Clockwork was waiting on the small wooden platform by the tracks, waiting for another high ranking official to come down from Canterlot. He looked around, just to see what he could see in order to pass the time. The twenty-five pounders stood as they did yesterday, ready to be used at a moment’s notice but at ease. As he had come to expect, a hot breeze blew across the field, Celestia’s July sun baking the planet below.

Some things had changed though. This time Calvary Charge and Shining Armor were waiting with him. Shining was wearing his red dress uniform, with blue sash running down the front. So far none of them had really spoken yet. Clockwork looked up into the sky to the north. Off in the distance he could see Cloudsdale. Today all the pegasus were hard at work moving the city. ‘At least they can move it,’ he thought as he turned his attention to Canterlot. Nothing but brick and mortar there, as immobile as the mountain that it clung to.

He pulled out his pocketwatch again, and swung it around his leg until it snapped open. It was 8 minutes until noon, and the griffon had yet to make his appearance.

“Nice watch.” Clockwork looked up from the time to face the Field Marshal, who was looking at the pocket watch that he held.

“Thank you, Field Marshall,” Clockwork said. Shining pressed the conversation forward.

“Is it one of your own?”

Clockwork smiled, very slightly. “Yes, it is. This is the first watch that I ever made.” He looked at it with a hint of nostalgia. “My father helped me make it when I was seven.” He chuckled at the thought. “Some of the gears don’t quite fit, and it loses 15 seconds every week, but I still keep it around.”

Clockworks thoughts were interrupted by a shrill whistle to the east. He peered down the line beyond the two other ponies at the small white cloud that hung just above the ground in the distance. The train was coming.

“Alright,” Shining said as he stared down the tracks into the distance. “Have either of you ever seen a griffon before.” Calvary snorted his answer. Clockwork spoke for both of them.

“I’m afraid not Field Marshall, they seem to keep to themselves. Isolationist is the word?”

Shining nodded, still looking at the approaching locomotive. “Alright, don’t be surprised, be professional. Answer any questions quickly. Don’t question anything he tells you to do, they think that’s insulting. Salute him the second he gets off the train, and treat him with the utmost respect. They’re big into that. Understand?”

The two ponies to his left and right nodded as the locomotive rumbled past, shooting a jet of steam along their legs as it went. With a squeal the brakes turned on, and the train groaned and creaked to a halt. The same white coach that had brought Shining Armor to the front now stood before them. For a few seconds the generals stood immobile, waiting for the doors to open up even as the ponies around them began to offload supplies from the train.

At the front of the carriage a door opened, and the ponies stiffened up. The griffon stepped out into the open, and despite his surprise Clockwork snapped into a solid salute.

He had seen griffons before, in paintings, photographs, and film, but seeing one in the flesh was still exciting for him. The griffon was large, at least as tall as Shining Armor, but his body was long in comparison. The griffon’s feathers were all white, matching his uniform, with streaks of black going through them for natural camouflage. About halfway through the feathers turned to brown fur, leading to the griffon’s muscular hindlegs and long tail. The griffon looked towards them with its yellow eyes, turning its head to one side and contracting one to fully scrutinize them. The griffon hadn’t saluted yet, now cocking its head to one side slightly for a brief second. Clockwork’s leg was getting tired.

The griffon finally threw back a salute, showing off his sharpened talons as he did so. He turned to face the ponies as he walked down the stairs of the car, revealing a weapon holstered on his right side. It stopped in front of Shining Armor and held out an open talon, then looked at Shining’s hoof in confusion. Shining held his hoof out in response, and the griffon grabbed it in his talon and shook it heartily.

“Field Marshall Shining Armor. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Ace,” Shining replied.

“I sincerely hope that your new position in politics hasn’t dulled your fighting prowess,” Ace said as he let go of Shining’s hoof.

“It hasn’t, trust me.”

Instantly any look of goodwill on the griffon’s face vanished. “If that’s the case then why am I not hearing anything? Why are none of your ponies training?” Shining also lost all looks of friendship.

“My ponies are resting up, and technically they fall under the command of my generals.” The griffon looked at Clockwork and Calvary charge quickly, then back to Shining. “I was thinking that you would want to accompany my generals and me so that we can brief you on the situation before we get to business.” Shining said. The griffon shook his head.

“If there were not a war on and an enemy army at the gates I would be more than happy to talk about the niceties of life, but right now we must prepare these ponies for war.”

“My ponies are prepared for war.” The griffon looked right in astonishment at the pony that made that claim, Calvary Charge. For a few seconds he just stared.

“No, they are not, when three-quarters of your armed forces throw down arms and run after a five minute barrage, they are NOT ready. For insolence and arrogance like that we would have you ejected from our military. I will be the judge of when they are ready, and right now I will prove to you that they are not, not at all.” The griffon faced Shining Armor. “If you share this ponies sentiment that you don’t need any help, I shall get back on this train and return to my country and tell them that you all are fine, and rest assured that hundreds of thousands of griffon family’s will breathe a sigh of relieve that they will not have to chance losing their sons.”

Shining spoke with confidence and sincerity, “I do not share his sentiments at all. Equestria needs your country’s assistance desperately, and the right now our army could use your help in training.”

“Good, start by telling your overeager underling to keep his mouth shut and listen. If I hear him talk again then I leave. I have no time for ponies who don’t appreciate my sacrifice.” He paused and took a breath, relaxation spreading over his face as he calmed himself down. “Now, does the Calvary use my targets for practice?”

Clockwork answered quickly, as he had been told to. “No sir.” The griffon looked over to him, examining him for the first time.

“Is there a reason they do not use the targets that we have fabricated and sent across the ocean expressly for the Calvary?” the griffon said, annoyance creeping back into his voice already.

“The Calvary thought that the targets didn’t promote marksmanship with the rifles as well as traditional competition shooting targets.”

The griffon sighed. “It isn’t about, marksmanship, it’s about conditioning.” He looked down at the ground and muttered
something quickly, then looked back up to Clockwork. “Do you have them here?”

“Yes sir, we keep them stockpiled.”

“Good, have them set up on the field immediately.” The Griffon looked at Shining, “Field Marshall, I guarantee you that this is the biggest contribution that we can make for the Calvary right now, but first”- he shot an angry glare at Calvary Charge- “it will be a lesson.”

“Have ya noticed that 736 never writes?” Repeater said. He and Manifest propped themselves up on the edge of the trench, looking out west toward the enemy. They couldn’t see them, not directly, but a thin line of light grey smoke drifted up from a point in the distance. Manifest leaned his head to one side as he thought about it.

“So? The Twins don’t write home either.”

“Naw, they don’t write home because all that they got is themselves, and they know what they’re doin’. Think about it Manifest. We both write, 382 writes, Joe writes. Hay, even Cold writes. But 736 don’t.” Repeater shook his head. “Somethin’s up with that pony.”

“Does it matter?” Manifest asked.

“Well, it may. If he has some personal issues then it may affect his performance. Ya understand?” Manifest shook his head.

“It isn’t, he’s good. He kept his head at the Galloping Gorge. My advice Repeater, keep it to yourself. Don’t go making a scene trying to play therapist and figure out why 736 doesn’t write. If he works, then just leave him be.”

Repeater thought about it for a moment, a nearly pained look on his face. Manifest reiterated himself. “You don’t need to know his personal business, so forget about it.” Repeater nodded.

“Ah suppose so, but ah would like ta know why.”

“Maybe once the war ends you can ask him.” Repeater nodded again, not bothering to mention the obvious possible flaw with that plan. For a moment they just looked off to the west.

“Ah’m afraid that we’ve run outta things ta talk about,” Repeater finally said.

“Well, we could talk about ‘Daring Doo’.”

“Manifest, in the past few days ah’ve heard so much about movies that ah think that once the war ends ah could become a director. Ah think that ah’m done with movies, at least for now.”

“You think that you could become a director?”

“Hay yes; ah mean, thanks ta you ah know all about models, and magic puppets, and tracking shots, and steady cameras, and long takes, and the rest Ah that garbage. Manifest, thanks ta yer yammerin’ on ah’ll never be able ta just watch a movie again.”

“Sorry.”

“Naw, it’s alright, ah’m just sayin’ that ah need a break from that.”

“We could talk about Cloudsdale?”

“Already did.”

“Your hat?”

“Already did,” Repeater said with a chuckle, reaching up and adjusting the large cowpony hat that sat atop his head. “Although ah can’t blame ya for bein so enamored with it.”

“Fillydelphia?”

“Ah wouldn’t even need a map if ah ever felt so inclined ta visit.”

“Buffalo?”

“Ya want ta hear more about the buffalo?”

“Not really,” Manifest sighed. “You’re right; we’re out of things to talk about.” The two ponies thought about it for a minute. “Hay, if they keep on waiting then we may die of boredom.”

“And wouldn’t that be ironic. I can see it in the headlines: ‘The Competant Squad Killed by Boredom: Wanted to Get Shot at More!’.”

The ponies turned in unison to face the voice; The Artist stood over the edge of the trench, looking down at the two. Quickly they threw of a salute to him, which he kindly returned.

“Ah’m sorry sir, ah don’t know where ‘The Competent Squad’ is at. This here’s the Miracle Squad, haven’t ya read the papers?” Repeater had a mischievous grin on his face as he said it. The Artist shook his head.

“Your squad isn’t miraculous sergeant, it’s competent. If everypony else was competent then they could do exactly what your squad did exactly as good. That said, yours is the only competent one, so I suppose that I should treat you well anyways.”

“Well Major, where were you during the battle of the Galloping Gorge?” Manifest asked in jest. “Were you making headlines?”

The Artist scoffed loudly. “I was at company command, which very quickly became the frontlines after everyone just ran off. I had to fight off the first dozen unicorns with nothing but my straight razor. You don’t see me in the headlines though, no “Hero Major Breaks Enemy Charge with Shaving Kit.”

Manifest scratched his head, “How do you ponies shave anyway?” The Artist looked at him for a moment, eyes far away.

“With great difficulty,” He finally said.

“Alright Commander, what have ya got for us?” Repeater asked, “Ah know that ya wouldn’t just come on down here for no reason.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” The Artist looked around for a moment, and then remembered what he was there for. “Aha! Word has come around that somepony in my company has made a nice little makeshift periscope of sorts. Know anything about it?”

“Well, yeah. The twins make ’em,” Repeater said.

“Could you bring me the twins then, and one of their periscopes?”

“Why sure, just give me a minute.” Repeater turned and began to head on down the trench to find them. Manifest looked around for a moment, just waiting.

“You, you’re the idiot.” Manifest looked up at The Artist.

“What?”

“You’re the idiot who jumped on that grenade, scattered himself all over his fellow country ponies in an act of self-sacrifice and stupidity. I remember you from training. You’re the one who I thought was going to wash out on the body drag. And now you’re a war hero.”

Manifest answered immediately. “I’m not a hero. I’m not.”

The Artist chuckled. “You haven’t changed much, as far as I can tell. You remember when I asked you what your strengths were, and you told me that you don’t have any? You told me a weakness of yours when you gave me that answer. You have no self-confidence. Son, I may give you crap about it but at the end of the day you were one of eight who came back. You’re a hero.”

“No, I’m not,” Manifest looked directly at The Artist. “I’m a few things but a hero isn’t one of them. Since when have you heard of a hero who’s a hero because he murders other ponies?”

“Since ponies started murdering each other. If you want a date put on it, around a month ago.”

Manifest shook his head vehemently. “Heroes aren’t supposed to murder ponies. Ponies aren’t supposed to murder ponies. And I, I am not supposed to murder ponies.” Manifest sat there for a second, thinking about what he just said. “I’m not.”

The Artist sighed, “Cheer up soldier, do you remember day one, the deal that the calvary gave you? You’re right, you aren’t meant for this, your meant for whatever that says you are.” The Artist pointed at Manifests flank. “It’s still there, buried maybe, but it’s there, and it’ll be there when the war ends.”

Manifest looked up at The Artist, his words hitting home. “Commander, do you remember the first day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the pony with the blank flank?”

“Yes.”

Manifest waited for a moment, then the Artist’s eyes widened in recognition. “It’s you.” Manifest nodded.

“Do you understand why I don’t want this to be who I am?”

“Yes, yes I think that I can.”

The two ponies sat there for a moment, neither really sure what to say. The squeaking of an ungreased axle broke the silence, prompting the Artist to turn around to face it. A pair of artilleryponies were hauling a cart up to the trench. Two others were walking about the sides, each carrying wooden planks. A fifth came running up to the Major.

“Are you the leader of this company?” the pony said as he saluted.

“Yes I am,” The Artist responded. A look of relief washed over the artillerypony’s face.

“Thank Celestia, I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m here to tell you that Field Marshall Ace has ordered a general target practice for all ponies in the Calvary, he wants it to start in a half hour.”

“Ace, the Griffon?”

“Yes sir.”

“We already did target shooting today,” The Artist protested.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the Field Marshalls orders.” Meanwhile the two ponys with the planks were laying them out over the trench so that the cart could pass over. The cart was covered in a olive drab tarp. The Artist trotted over to the cart and moved to lift the tarp up. “I’m sorry sir, you can’t do that,” the Artist looked over at the artillerypony in disbelief. “The Field Marshall said that it’s important that no pony sees the targets until the exercise starts.”

“Not even the company commander?”

“Orders sir.”

The Artist frowned at the cart, and then finally grudgingly nodded in agreement.

“Commander, Ah brought the twins back for ya, and got a periscope as well!” Repeater called from down the trench. The Artist turned around.

“I’m sorry, I don’t need them anymore, apparently we’re about to drill.”

Repeater shrugged, “Well alright then, will ya need them after the drill?” The Artist nodded. Repeater turned to the twins behind him. “Ya’ll just report ta the company command when this drill ends.” Repeater cocked his head to one side. “Wait a minute? What drill?”

“COMPANY! PREPARE RIFLES!” The Artist yelled the command out from behind the ponies, and as he said the words Manifest unslung his Clockwork Canterlot and nestled it deep into his shoulder. The Twins recoil device had finally been installed on his rifle, and he could feel its effects already, the stock seemed heavier to compensate for all the weight at the front. He quickly glanced around, all the ponies in the squad were lined up at the lip of the trench with rifles, even Cold Blooded. When Cold asked why he couldn’t use his machine gun he received the cryptic answer “it isn’t about marksmanship” Manifest wondered what that meant, but only briefly.

“LOAD!” The Artist bellowed. With practiced ease Manifest cocked the bolt up and back with a hoof while he levitated two clips out of his saddlebags. He slotted the first on into the bridge, shoved the rounds down with his hoof, and then did it again. He looked around fleetingly; he was always the quickest to load out of everypony except Repeater.

“READY!” Manifest slid the bolt forward hard, ejecting the clip out of the rifle. He locked the bolt down, and then flipped the safety off with his magic. He became aware of the eyes that were watching him from behind. The entire artillery corps had been instructed to watch, for some reason, and so they stood just behind the Calvary ponies above the trench. Manifest shook off the feeling.

“AIM!” He snapped the rifle up to aim downrange, eye looking down the sights. ‘Alright, now if only there was a target,’ he thought in confusion. For the past half hour the artilleryponies had been setting up targets, but right now it seemed as though all that they did was lay assorted metal plate flat on the ground giving nothing to aim at.

With a simultaneous ‘click’ the metal plates swiveled upright, Manifest automatically aimed his rifle at the first target that came up. For a second Manifest froze. Each of the plates had the unmistakable outline of a unicorn, horn and all.

“FIRE!”

Manifest paused, only for a second, and then he pulled the trigger.

“BOMF!”

He shot first, before any other pony in the squad. With a metallic ‘ping’ the target he aimed at fell over into the dirt, the impact kicking up a small dust cloud. The rest of his squad now began to join in, a chorus of heavy “BOMF’s” punctuated by the “BOOM!” of the Marechester.

“YOU’RE OUT! YOU’RE OUT! YOU’RE OUT!” somepony was yelling. Manifest glance right for the smallest amount of time, and saw the artilleryponys grabbing Calvary ponies by the shoulder and yelling the words at them. Manifest looked back to the field, quickly cycling the bolt and aiming at another silhouette that popped up. “BOMF” the unicorn fell over. Manifest cycled it again, snapping to another unicorn. “BOMF!”

He aimed at the next one. In his mind’s eye he was back in the woods at the Galloping Gorge. He was laying down in the ditch, ahead of him in the mist were the Unicornians. He aimed at one, propped up against at tree, peering around into the distance. He heard Repeater speak,

“Fire.”

Manifest squeezed the trigger, and with a “BOMF” the pony was thrown against the tree he stood next to. He cycled and aimed at another one. “BOMF!” the pony fell over. Another. “BOMF!” he could see a spurt of red fly out the side of the unicorn he aimed at, but was already aiming for another one. He heard a cry from ahead.

“Enemy to the rear! CHARGE!”

The unicorns were coming out of their cover now. Easy targets. He snapped onto ones center mass. “BOMF!” he hit the unicorn directly in the chest, the pony flopping to the ground and rolling over a few times as it slid to a halt. He aimed at another. “BOMF!” this shot was a little high, hitting the unicorn in the neck and snapping its head back violently, spraying blood across its back. As they got closer Manifest could see what was happening to the ponies better. He quickly aimed at another.

“JAM!” Cold yelled. Manifest saw Repeater stand up on hindlegs and start pouring shot after shot into the center of the unicorns charge. At this range Manifest could see the look on the unicorns face change from confidence to terror. He aimed at another one and fired, “BOMF!” his bullet sailed through the lance that the pony ran with and smashed its way through the pony’s legs. The unicorn fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Manifest had one bullet left.

There were only five unicorns left, maybe, and they skidded to a halt, Manifest aimed at one that was turning around, legs scampering to get traction on the wet morning ground. Manifest set his sights on the pony’s side.

‘Don’t,’ he thought.

“BOMF” the bullet hit the unicorn right in the gut. Manifest was out. He quickly threw the bolt open and levitated out two more clips when he felt a shove on his shoulder.

“MANIFEST!”

He looked up. He was back at the field, still levitating two more clips into the air. Repeater was shaking his shoulder. “SNAP OUTTA IT! YA DON”T NEED TA RELOAD, ITS OVER!”

Manifest looked around quickly, trying to get his bearings. “Where’d everypony go?” he asked in shock. Half of the ponies from other squads weren’t there.

“They’re out runnin’, if ya didn’t shoot the targets they made ya run. A lot a them must not be comfortable with the idea a shootin’ other ponies.” Repeaters Face hardened. “What was goin’ on back there?”

“It brought me back,” Manifest said. “I was back at the Galloping Gorge.” He noticed that all the other ponies of his squad were looking down the trench at him.

“Are ya alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. It won’t happen again.” Manifest looked down the squad. Just by their faces he could tell that the exercise brought back memories for many of them. Only Cold Blooded seemed aloof.

“I told you, they aren’t ready.” The griffon said as he reached into the vest pocket of his uniform. “Half of them couldn’t shoot at a cutout.” He looked over at Calvary Charge intent on driving his point home. “If they have issues with shooting a metal outline they are not going to shoot a unicorn.” He pulled a silver case out of his vest and popped it open, grabbing out a stuffed paper cylinder. He held it out for the ponies before him. “Cigar?”

The ponies shook their heads, and the griffon shrugged and closed the tin, putting it back into his vest. He grabbed out a small metal box and with a flick of his talon sprung the top open. With the press of a button a small flame appeared at the top, and with this he lit the cigar. He took a deep inhalation of the smoke and then blew it out, the smell filling the air around them. Finally he began again.

“This will help though, already they are making progress.”

“Forgive me for asking Ace, but how do these targets help?” Shining Armor asked. The griffon took another pull on his cigar.

“Like I said earlier, it isn’t about marksmanship, it’s about conditioning. These targets train your troops that when they see a unicorn pop up them must shoot it. It eases the transition into killing.” He took another pull on the cigar. “Train them like this at least three times a day, and when nopony has to run, they’ll be as ready as training can make them.”