The mission briefing had been informative, in more than one regard. When Union walked in at six o’clock sharp and saw Skyfall sitting at their table, their jaws hit the floor. The sight of the six ponies sitting upright and at attention, eyes locked on the screen at the front of the room, had clearly been all it took to put the small team into a state of shock and awe.
Fleethoof took note of this.
He disregarded the initial surprise of Union, and returned his attention to Spitfire. But throughout the meeting, he continued to catch glances from the other side of the room at his stallions. Skyfall was like some imposing figure of military might and dominance to Union, given away by the ogling eyes of the soldiers. They admired the operators, enough to pay more attention to them.
Fleethoof took note of this.
The jokes they made during the briefing, interruptive as they were, were let slide—mostly because whenever the pony Fleethoof recognized as Glider would crack a joke, Sharp Shot would be right behind with one of his own. Back and forth the two would go, to the point where the captain stood up and yanked Sharp’s chair out from underneath him, sending the pony crashing to the floor, much to the enjoyment of the rest of the room.
That had been the morning. Now, in the late afternoon hours, the two teams sat soundlessly in the lounge of a high-rise, preparing themselves and their equipment for the task ahead. Burning daylight was sinking out of sight, casting the massive city skyline ablaze in a sea of liquid fire. Glass from neighboring buildings looked like solid canvases of bright orange. Even Fleethoof’s dark blue eyes mirrored the fiery hues in the air.
Fleethoof leaned against the cool glass. Los Pegasus was bigger than he had imagined. Glistening metal and vibrant neon signs littered the metropolis. Pegasus ponies flew low over and between the towering buildings. Across the cityscape, an endless strand of sandy beach bordered the waterfront. In every respect, Los Pegasus was a paradise for escape. And with a lack of any major military presence, it was a hive of vacations and vices.
Somewhere out in this massive jungle of stone and life, their target was hiding.
The sound of bullets sliding into empty magazines behind him brought Fleethoof back to reality. His team was getting ready. Scratch that, they were ready. His hoof slowly traced the edge of the rifle slung across his body. Skyfall was always ready.
He turned his back to the picturesque view and returned to his team. Valiant and Sharp Shot sat beside Lightning Strike and Glider on the couch, an assortment of bullets, weapons, and other devices laid out on the glass coffee table in front of them. Cupcake and Blue Shield were packing their vests full of their specialized equipment on the floor. Lightning Flash and Nightflash were exchanging ammunition.
It pleased the captain to see the two teams cooperating together nicely. The entire train ride to the other coast had been divided. He didn’t blame Union for the resentment. They were technically under probation anyway. But at least they still seemed willing to work, despite the circumstances.
Sharp Shot glanced up at his approaching officer, cocking a smile. “Great to be back, huh, boss?”
“We were never gone,” Fleethoof remarked, half smirking at the sniper as he grabbed his loaded magazines from the table and began jamming them into the pouches on his vest. “Almost ready?”
“Da, we are good,” Cupcake said from across the room.
“Just about,” Valiant agreed. Sharp nodded assent.
“As soon as the sun is gone, we move,” he said, looking to everypony, not just Skyfall. “Clear?”
“Crystal,” Sharp said without looking up, loading a box magazine into his rifle.
Lightning Strike of Union nodded, looking up to the captain. “Yes, sir.”
The pony’s eyes were dark, grieving for his fallen comrade. But the sorrow in them was immense, much deeper than Fleethoof had expected. Harp Strings had been close to this pegasus, and her loss had clearly cut him deeply.
Fleethoof shoved a fresh magazine into his rifle. The clicking sound it made as it locked into place felt like a grounding force, keeping the captain steady and secure. The first round was chambered, and the safety was checked. He turned his gaze down to his hip holster, eyeing the dark blue frame of his pistol. He had opted to carry his new sidearm instead of his usual gun. It would be a good trial run for it.
The sky outside had darkened into paling purples and blues. Twilight had fallen, and soon the night would take over. Their time was close.
“Ten minutes, everypony—then we move.”
According to the intel Union had acquired, their target, Codename: Commie, was using Los Pegasus as a distribution center for smuggled weapons across the western seaboard of Equestria. Without a Guard base for miles, it made perfect sense. What didn’t make sense was his choice of shop.
From the outside, the building of the nightclub looked like any of the other dozens in the city. Blank, gray walls were adorned with glimmering neon lights. The stairs up to the entrance were lined with a faux red carpet, beckoning welcome to the line of ponies waiting to get past the bouncers. Two large ponies, equally enough to rival even Cupcake, kept a watchful guard over the would-be patrons. Fleethoof could only imagine what the inside looked like.
“Archangel is in position. Over.”
Sharp Shot’s transmission echoed softly through each pony’s headset. The two teams sat quietly in wait behind the club, hidden by a row of dumpsters and shadows. The mission was a go.
“Copy, Archangel. Eyes on the glass,” Fleethoof replied, voice cool and steady. “Let us know if you see any signs of the VIP. Over.”
“Roger. Over.”
Fleethoof turned back to the small force of ponies, eagerly waiting for their next set of orders.
“Listen good, stallions. This needs to be quick, quiet, and above all, clean. We have a lot of civilians inside and a lot of potential danger too. Do not fire unless they engage first. Go for nonlethal takedowns. Distinguish your marks and keep it tight—we can’t afford any mistakes. Got it?”
Some of the ponies nodded, while others responded a verbal, “uh-huh” or “got it”.
“The club has three floors to it, so we’ll need to check everywhere. Nightflash, Cupcake, Blue, and Lightning Flash, you’ll be one unit. Go in through the service door and work your way through the bottom level up. Valiant, Strike, Glider, and I will get to the roof and work our way down to you.”
“Um, Vampire…” Lightning Strike said in a mumble.
Fleethoof stared at the pony for a long moment. “… What?”
“Whenever we’re on missions, we use our codenames,” he explained. “I’m Vampire, Glider is Glid, and Nightflash is Shadow.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you want to call yourself King of The Frozen North,” said Fleethoof, ignoring the snicker from Glider. “Codenames are useful over the air, when there’s a chance somepony could tap in and hear you. Face to face, if anypony worth worrying about risking your identity to is close enough hear you, you’d better either be shooting him or about to. You’re just going to confuse other operators.”
“I am already having confusion,” Cupcake said. “Which pony is the vampire?”
Fleethoof muttered a silent curse and covered his face in his hoof. “Forget it, Sergeant. Just take Nightflash in through the back.”
“Which pony is Nightflash?”
He shook his head slowly. “The black one…”
“Oooooh… This is making sense…”
“Any other questions?” Fleethoof asked, satisfied when nopony replied. “All right, move!”
The two teams split apart. Fleethoof and his teammates flew to the rooftop with a quick flap of their wings, while the second team moved around to the service door at the rear of the club. From a rooftop close by, Sharp Shot sat quietly humming to himself and watching the action through the vignetted view of his scope.
The roof had been, as Fleethoof anticipated, devoid of any guards. This meant they should have no problem gaining access to the club this way. A small door and ventilation stacks dotted the roof. The four pegasi stallions rushed towards the door, the captain tugging on the handle. The sturdy door refused to budge.
Growling softly under his breath, Fleethoof pulled out his knife and slid it in between the door and the weathered frame. Slowly, he jiggled it around until he felt the latch and lock.
“Are you trying to pick a lock with a knife?” Glider asked skeptically.
“No,” said Fleethoof, jamming it in securely, then delivering a firm blow to the hilt of the knife. The latch and plates snapped apart. “Breaking it.”
This time, when he yanked on the door, it flew open. A dark stairwell down into the building greeted them. Drawing his pistol in the narrow space, Fleethoof took point, leading the others down two flights of stairs to another door. This one, however, was unlocked. Opening it revealed a dimly lit hallway, its green wallpaper faded and peeling from neglect. A musky smell he couldn't quite place lingered in the stagnant air.
Fleethoof flipped his taclight on his gun on, illuminating the constricted corridor with a bright beam of white light. Behind him, Valiant mimicked his action, checking the opposite end of the hall as the four ponies filed out into it. The beating bass from the club downstairs shook the floor beneath their hooves. A series of doors ran down the length of the hall. But despite the activity below, nopony was in sight.
“Check each room,” Fleethoof ordered in a hushed tone. “Breach and clear, and double check your corners.”
The ponies cleared the rooms one at a time methodically. The doors, much like the one to the roof, were old, and made of cheap wood. They broke easily under a swift bucking hoof. The rooms were filled with an assortment of boxes, barrels of cider, and bottles of other hard liquors—typical fare for a club. Fleethoof was surprised. He had been sure there would be weapons stashed away somewhere.
As they made their way systematically down the hall, he could feel his confidence in their intel sink like a stone. Here they were, breaking into somepony’s business, and they didn’t have a shred of probable cause to justify their actions. It felt like the punch line to a bad joke.
“I don’t understand…” muttered Fleethoof, running a hoof through his messy blonde mane.
“Where are the guns? The ponies? Anything?” Lightning Strike’s question mirrored his own concerns.
“I don’t know, Sergeant.” The officer shook his head, determined not to give up hope yet. “Let’s head down. Maybe the others have had better luck.”
He stuffed his handgun back into its holster as the ponies made their way back to the stairs. With any luck, the second team would be up on the next level by now.
Once Fleethoof’s team had ascended to the roof and vanished from sight, the four ponies on the ground rushed the club. Cupcake took point, swerving round the dumpsters and pressing his back to the cool stone of the nightclub’s wall. The service entrance was a sturdy looking metal door. Its hinges lay tucked safely inside the structure, but Cupcake had broken through harder things in his life.
During the Griffon War, he had used his demolition skills to breach the hall at Skyfall, and again at Asgard during the assault on the citadel. Those doors had been massive, and reinforced straight through. They crumbled like stale cake under his pyrotechnics.
Producing a small set of charges from his vest, the larger pony began jamming them in between the door and the frame. Once secure, he joined the three others around the corner.
“Your skills never fail to terrify me,” Blue Shield said, making the stallion chuckle heartily.
“No worry, comrade. I only use explosions for good.”
Waiting to time the charges with the heavy bass inside, Sergeant Cupcake flipped the switch on the detonator, and a small explosion sounded from around the corner, followed by the screech of metal on metal. The door had swung free of its hinges, completely blown off by the blast. Cupcake charged around and grabbed the door just before it hit the ground with a loud clatter, and gently set it down so as to avoid detection.
Blue Shield was impressed. For such a large, cumbersome pony, Cupcake had handled that with the finesse he would expect a surgeon to wield a scalpel with.
With the door gone, Lightning Flash took point, darting into the building with his gun raised, sweeping the corridor. The service door had opened up to an L-shaped corner of the building, with a vacant hall spanning forward and to the right. Trash bags full to the brim of glass bottles and other refuse sat beside what had once been the door, ready to go out. Somewhere in the building, the music blared and thumped endlessly, drowning out all other noises. The smell of mildew and fresh paint clung to the air.
Nopony was around. The explosion must have been confused for another part of the song.
Lightning Flash moved slowly down the hall to the right, towards the only other door at the far end. Behind him, Cupcake followed closely, with Blue Shield and Nightflash covering the rear. Flash pulled the door open and stepped out into a large room filled with racks of alcohol from wall to wall. The music was ostensibly louder. They must have been closer to the club proper.
“This must be just behind the bar,” Nightflash noted, raising his voice just to be heard over the thunderous bass.
Cupcake motioned silently to a door set at the other side of the room. With no need to proceed out into the throng of ponies having a good time, the four ponies kept low to the ground and moved across the brightly lit storage space to the door. Lightning and Cupcake took position beside the door, the larger pony tugging on the handle—and nearly toppling over as the door refused to budge.
“Locked. That’s a good sign,” said Flash. “We’re probably getting closer then.”
Cupcake nodded his head quickly one time. “Da. Watch doors. I will break this.”
As if they had rehearsed and choreographed this moment perfectly, both Blue Shield and Lightning Flash pivoted in place, turning their firearms to the two doors leading into the room. Nightflash watched in awe before supporting the medic’s watch while the massive pony behind him began applying something in between the doorframe and latch.
A soft bubbling and hissing noise was heard. Nightflash glanced back to see the door smoking a little as the latch sizzled. A few moments later, the lock snapped with a loud metallic clang.
“Door.” One word from Cupcake, and Flash was rushing over to the two swinging doors leading out to the bar.
Just as Cupcake had predicted, the sound drew one of the bartenders into the stock room to investigate. No sooner had the doors swung shut behind the filly, she was pulled into a chokehold by Lightning Flash, covering her mouth with a hoof while compressing her throat with his other.
The pony made muffled cries for help and struggled against her attacker for a few moments, but the trained hold of the soldier kept her subdued until she had slipped out of consciousness. Very carefully, the Skyfall operator laid her against a stack of boxes, checking her pulse to make sure she was still with them.
“She’ll be out for a while, but her absence won’t go unnoticed,” said Blue Shield. “We have to move fast.”
Another nod from Cupcake. “Da, you are right, doctor. Up stairs, hurry!”
The bulky stallion pulled the door open, and Nightflash took point up the stairs, the others following closely behind. The stairwell wound up the side of the club. Above their heads, the sound of many hooves on higher stairs caught their attention. The other team was making their way down.
On their way down, Fleethoof raised a hoof to stop the team. The next level was just below them, and they could hear the marching hooves of the other team heading up towards them. Even still, as cautious as he was, he waited until Nightflash came into view before relaxing and proceeding.
“Find anything?” Cupcake shook his head. “Neither did we. It has to be this floor.”
Fleethoof and Nightflash took to the door. Everypony stood tensed and ready to spring. With his hoof on the trigger, he pushed the handle down, and opened the door slowly. The hinges squeaked faintly in the stairwell, a creepy sound in the calm before the storm. And then they charged out.
This hallway was larger than the one upstairs, clearly meant for higher traffic. The blaring music—if one could call the deafening series of electronic sounds that—was definitely more pronounced than the upper levels, and it soon became apparent why. Down either side of the hall, the interior walls were made of glass, looking out over a gigantic dance floor. Multi colored lasers and tinted spotlights twirled around the crowd of tightly packed ponies below. Up above in the rafters, private aerial lounges had been set up. The hallway overlooked all of it.
With only the rave lights for illumination, it was impossible to tell if their target was out in one of the lounges. Fleethoof grit his teeth and looked down the hall. There were no doors to speak of, but the corridor did round the corner at the end. It was possible they still had a way to go.
He motioned to the ponies behind him to keep low, and all but crawled his way down the passageway. Whenever a stray laser would pass by too high and cut across their path, the ponies would freeze and hit the cold tile floor, wait for it to pass, and continue. It was a slow, but careful process, and in due time they had approached the corner.
The captain peered around the edge. Much as Fleethoof had expected and hoped, a single metal door sat a short distance away. There was no more glass. The construction obviously meant for this room to be hidden from public eyes. There were also two armed guards standing watch.
“Two guards,” he rasped in a whisper. “Valiant, take left. One, two, three.”
On his mark, the two ponies sidestepped around the corner. Their guns were raised and the shots had gone off before the guards could even make a move for their weapons. In the next instant, they were on the floor, the silenced gunshots lost to the droning synthesizers and turntables of the blue-maned DJ down below.
The teams advanced swiftly on the room. Armed guards meant something was being protected. Something worth protecting was usually something worth hiding. This had to be it.
“Archangel, we are approaching a room at the back of the building, second floor. Can you see inside? Over.”
“I see the room. There are multiple contacts within. Over.”
Multiple contacts. Fleethoof felt his hope and adrenaline surge.
“Keep an eye on them. Wait for our mark. Over.”
The ponies pressed their backs against the walls on either side of the door. Pressing an ear to the cool metal, Valiant could just barely make out muffled voices coming from within. He nodded to his officer.
“Cupcake, take it out,” Fleethoof ordered.
“Da, Captain.”
The Earth pony pulled a pair of charges from his saddlebags and set them up on the frame of the door. The rest backed away as the pony worked, setting up the wiring and activating the detonator. For a moment, he waited, then looked back with curious eyes, awaiting approval. Fleethoof nodded.
“Do it.”
Cupcake flipped the switch. The door disappeared in a burst of fire and smoke, leaving a gaping hole in the wall and the door hanging limply by its hinges.
Skyfall wasted no time. The second the obstruction was gone, the ponies rushed in like a stampede. A thin haze of smoke still obscured the office they had breached, but six occupants could be seen clear as day. Six ponies, three to the left, one right, and two behind the desk.
“Down! Down! Get down!” Fleethoof shouted, grabbing the nearest pony and forcing her to the ground hard.
He heard Valiant call out, “Gun!” and then the shooting started.
A few silenced shots went off, and out of the corner of his eye, Fleethoof saw a pony drop. One of the mares behind the desk was drawing a pistol. He took her down with two well-placed shots to the torso. Union made their way inside, and had begun firing on the other ponies as they went for any makeshift weapon. For the next minute, the office was filled with the sound of combat, and then it was quiet again.
When the smoke finally cleared, four ponies lay dead, and two were captured.
“Clear.”
Now came the task of identification. Skyfall had already begun rolling the bodies over to get a facial recognition. Fleethoof knew the filly he had taken down wasn’t their target, and as he looked over the deceased, he could confirm they hadn’t killed him either. Making his way around the desk, he spotted Glider pinning the other captive down—but she was a mare also. He felt his heart plummet.
“He’s not here…” Fleethoof muttered, bitter anger tinting his voice. “Commie’s not here.”
“We busted his sale, though,” said Blue Shield, looking around at a small arsenal of weapons lying around the room, neatly packed in crates labeled as scrap metal parts. “This was no accident.”
“But we missed him,” growled a despondent Lightning Strike, his wings and shoulders drooping in failure.
“You’ll never catch him!” The mare pinned under Nightflash laughed. “He’s far too smart to be outwitted by the likes of you pathetic ponies!”
The pony cried out as Night twisted her hoof a little. “That’s enough out of you.”
“Bind the captives,” the captain barked in order. “We might not have our target, but they sure as hell know where he is.”
“Heads up, colts. I got two guards out back, just found the broken door. You’re caught. Get out of there.” Sharp Shot’s voice crackled over the radio waves.
“Uh, boss…”
Fleethoof glanced up at Valiant, who was looking out a glass panel in the office at the dance floor below. Trotting up beside his fellow pegasus, he followed the sergeant’s gaze down. A group of guards was pushing their way through the crowd, headed past the bar.
The stairs.
“We’ve got company, everypony,” Fleethoof called out, strafing around behind the desk and propping his rifle against its surface. He tok aim down the hall. “Night, Cupcake, finish restraining the captives. Blue and Flash, start gathering up anything that looks remotely important. Everypony else, positions!”
Valiant rushed over and pressed his body beside the open doorframe, Glider joining opposite of him. Lightning Strike took position beside Fleethoof behind the desk. The captain took a quick glance to the pegasus beside him, praying the pony was a half decent shot at the very least.
There was a moment of pause between the ponies setting up and when the first of the guards came hurdling around the far corner. The second the stallion came into view, however, he was gunned down in an instant. The pony behind him caught the worst of it too, and the others took refuge out of sight.
A gun popped around the corner and fired blindly at the ponies, many of the shots ending up in the walls around the door. It was enough to make Valiant and Lightning Strike recoil back a bit. Glider poked his head around the side and fired a volley to keep the enemies at bay.
“Work faster!” Fleethoof said back to his team, gunning down one exceptionally brave guard who made a run for them.
Out in the club, a riot of screams and shouts could be heard over a stampede of hooves. The ponies must have heard the gunfire and were evacuating the nightclub. Now all that remained were the operators and the security, the latter amassing rapidly on the scene.
A particularly clever guard stuck his head out long enough to fire a shot into one of the overhead lights in the hall. The fixture exploded in a bright flash of sparks, temporarily blinding the ponies staring down the hall. In that time, three ponies had charged the small office. Valiant reacted first, putting four rounds into the closest pony’s chest, splattering the walls with dark red stains.
And then fire was returned at a much closer proximity. Fleethoof could feel and hear the bullets ripping through the air past his head. Valiant cried out loud and collapsed back against the wall for cover, his chest heaving and body sliding down the smooth surface. Glider kicked the door shut, blocking out the heavy rain of bullets flooding the room.
“Val!” the captain shouted, eyes wide in concern. “You okay?”
Valiant was wincing and clenching his jaw, clearly in pain. He followed the stallion’s gaze to his wing, seeing the blood running down near the joint.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” the injured pony said, flexing his wing to test it out. “They just… winged me.”
Beside him, Glider gave a short laugh. Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t badly injured, at least. The sounds of the bullets slapping against the door faded to silence. The guards were planning something…
Fleethoof was getting anxious to leave the hot zone. “Come on, colts…”
“We’re good,” Blue Shield's answer came like a breath of fresh air. “Let’s go!”
“Cupcake.” The pony met gazes with his officer. “Toss me a charge.”
The sergeant obliged, slipping a charge out of his bags and sliding it across the smooth tile floor to Fleethoof. He snatched it up and moved across the room, activating it and dropping it in the crate of weapons. Cupcake’s eyes widened in understanding, and swiftly mimicked the action to the rest of the arms shipments.
“Nopony will be using these against us…”
The door broke inwards again, knocking Glider to his back. Fleethoof’s head snapped up in time to see two soldiers rush in, one already drawing down on the downed pegasus pony.
Valiant’s reflexes proved their merit again as a well placed bullet bore a hole through the back of the attacking stallion’s skull, his face vanishing in a spray of gore as he collapsed lifelessly to the floor. Lightning Strike and Nightflash put a combined dozen rounds into the torso of the second assailant, killing her instantly.
Shots flew through the now open door again, sailing right between the ponies. Union hit the floor immediately while Fleethoof emptied the rest of his magazine into the air, hoping to push the guards back. Just as his gun clicked empty, he saw a bulky Earth pony turn the corner, right as Valiant was making his pass again.
The stallion laid a hard right hook across Valiant’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Fleethoof did the only thing his mind could think of doing: he charged the pony. In a flurry of movements, the captain had drawn his knife and was bringing it straight for the stallion’s throat—only he never made contact. The pony caught Fleethoof’s strike by the crook of his leg, and countered with a blow to his stomach. All at once, Fleethoof could feel the air being knocked out of his lungs, and he doubled over. The winded stallion had enough presence of mind to see the second strike coming for his head though, and deflected with a copy of his foe's block.
The grappling ponies tumbled backwards to the floor as bullets tore into the drywall and office décor. The knife clattered to the floor noisily beside the scuffle, both stallions trying desperately to overpower the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Fleethoof could see Valiant getting up and going for his gun—just as the pony on top of him went for Fleethoof’s knife.
On pure adrenaline alone, Fleethoof managed to slip his free hoof down and draw his sidearm. The gunshot rang out between the ponies, and he could feel the heat of the discharge against his own fur. He had expected that in such close quarters combat. What he hadn’t been prepared for was his aggressor’s reaction.
The instant the bullet made contact with his flesh, the stallion’s eyes went wide, and his pupils shrank to the size of tacks. A howling scream of pain rang out from his lungs, as if Fleethoof had just set the pony on fire, and he collapsed weakly to his side, clutching the wound in his side. The stallion writhed about on the floor, making such awful sounds of agony the captain had never heard a living creature make before.
“It burns! It burns!” the guard shrieked in pain and terror. “Oh fucking Celestia, aaaaurrgh!”
Fleethoof was too shocked to react right away. His mind couldn’t process what was happening. He looked up as Glider slammed the door shut again. Both he and Valiant had looks of confusion and worry on their faces. Lightning Strike looked taken aback.
Not able to listen to the pony whimpering in suffering anymore, Fleethoof put a merciful coup de grâce through his foe’s eyeball, ending his life—and his anguish—instantaneously.
“Captain…” Valiant was breathless, his voice low and hoarse. “What the fuck…?”
It took Fleethoof a moment to answer. Yet, just as he opened his mouth to speak, an explosion shook the floor beneath everypony. The startling turn of events was quickly followed by a spray of water hitting their heads from the fire sprinkler system above. And then, all at once, the water shut off again.
“What is happening?” asked a distressed Cupcake.
“Boss, what’s going on down there? I see smoke. What happened?”
Ignoring both questions from his teammates, Fleethoof trotted hurriedly over to the glass window again to investigate further. His jaw dropped and heart stopped beating when he discovered the answer.
Out in the club, the guards had begun torching the place. Electrical fires had been started with the sound equipment, and Molotov cocktails had been fashioned from the fully stocked bar. The fire was blazing rapidly through the interior, scorching the bland drywall like cheap firewood. They were going to destroy all evidence of the weapons dealing club—and of Skyfall and Union with it.
“How much liquor was stocked downstairs?” he asked.
“Massive room worth of alcohol, just outside staircase.”
Cupcake’s answer was exactly what Fleethoof had feared. He nodded slowly in understanding, and reloaded his rifle.
“It’s time to go.”
“What? Why?” asked Lightning Strike, looking around the now damp office. “There’s so much intel we could get here, and the guards are leaving us alone now.”
“Grab your stuff, we’re going,” repeated the stalwart officer.
“But—”
“This is not up for debate!” Fleethoof snapped, turning his steely gaze on Lightning Strike like a father scolding a child. “We are going. End of discussion.”
Lightning Strike wouldn’t let up. “Tell us what’s going on at least!”
“What are we supposed to do?” Glider asked now, backing up his friend.
“Nothing! Do nothing! Just get your gear, shut up, and let us handle it so nothing gets fucked up and nopony dies this time!”
No response came from Union this time. Fleethoof realized he had hit a nerve with that comment, and instantly felt a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. But it had shut Union up, and they could evacuate now.
“We have to go, now. Grab the prisoners, let’s go—go!”
The confused ponies were alerted back into immediate action by the captain’s shouted command. Cupcake heaved the struggling, bound ponies over his back, carrying them out of the office. Blue Shield and Lightning Flash, their saddlebags teeming with documents, sales reports, and files, followed close to the large Earth pony at the rear of the group.
Pulling the door open fast, Fleethoof and Valiant took point down the hall. No guards remained, save for the bodies of the deceased lying strewn across the floor. Blood soaked in between the cracks of the tiles, and the smooth surface was glossy with the viscous fluid.
“Are these windows bulletproof?”
Lightning Strike’s question was immediately answered when the guards torching the club below opened fire up at them, poking holes through the flimsy glass. Everypony ducked while Fleethoof, Valiant, and Cupcake returned fire. The lingering guards scattered, making their way towards the exit.
“Go, go! Quickly!” The ponies sprinted around the corner, running for the stairwell. “Before the fire gets to—”
BOOM!
The door to the stairs all but exploded in front of the ponies as an inferno of flames shot out into the hallway. The liquor storeroom had succumbed to the arson, and the accelerants had cut off their only way out. Fleethoof could feel the heat of the fire licking at his skin, sweat beading at his forehead even as his blood ran cold in his veins.
“Back! Back! Get back!” he shouted, pushing his team backwards down the hall. “Back to the office!”
“What do we do now?” Lightning Strike asked in fear.
Fleethoof didn’t have an answer for the soldier. He didn’t even know right away what they could do. The dance floor down below was already too smothered in fire to consider busting out the window and finding a way down. The office had a window, but as Fleethoof ran in and saw Cupcake beating on the glass with a chair fruitlessly, he concluded they must be reinforced as well.
They were trapped inside the burning building.
“What are we to do, boss?” the anxious sergeant asked, throwing the chair aside and pacing nervously around.
A thin veil of smoke had begun to choke the air, making oxygen a suddenly scarce commodity. Fleethoof’s heat was spinning. He felt like he was going to be sick.
A way out… There’s always a way out… he doggedly thought, mind racing for a solution—any solution!
“It’s coming!” Glider yelled. Orange flames were spreading much too fast down the corridor, beginning to consume the dead bodies in its way.
Valiant swallowed hard, leaning closer to Fleethoof, a pleading look in his eyes. “Anytime you’d like to have a brilliant idea would be great, Captain…”
Think think think think…
Out of time no more time gotta go gotta get out NOW!
No stairs, no elevator, no way down…
…So make a way down.
All at once, Fleethoof began to see an idea in action. His eyes darted around the room, putting the pieces together in his brain. He had a solution.
“Cupcake, set up all your remaining charges in the far corner of the room,” Fleethoof ordered, doing his best not to lose his temper at the bewildered look the pony gave him. “Just trust me and do it!”
Following orders, Cupcake began to set up and activate every remaining charge he had in the back of the room.
“Everypony else, back out into the hall.”
“Are you mad?!”
“You’re crazy!”
“Captain, we’ll die!”
He had been fully prepared for those exact responses. “We’re going to die if you don’t! Now move!”
Everypony hesitated, even as Fleethoof marched out into the sweltering heat in the hall. The fire was getting dangerously close now, making it hard to see and even harder to breathe. Gradually, one by one, everypony else joined him, with Cupcake coming last. Fleethoof pulled the door closed.
“Okay, all set, Captain.”
“Blow them all.”
“…What?”
“Blow them!”
Cupcake blinked a couple of times, but obeyed and detonated the charges regardless. The entire building shook around them, the floors, walls, and ceiling vibrating with the force of the explosions. They could hear something collapse inside the office.
Wasting none of their precious little time, Fleethoof bucked the door in and admired his plan in action. The weapons caches had been destroyed, much to his pleasure. But the more beautiful sight was the fresh hole blown into the floor of the office.
“Damn, Captain,” said Valiant, staring in awe as the ponies hurriedly ran back into the safety of the room.
“No time to waste. Everypony down, go out the back!”
Cupcake jumped down first, yelling, “Follow the corridor! This way!”
Fleethoof lingered behind till last, corralling every last pony down the hole to the floor below. When his time finally came, the fire had spread to the office. He jumped down just as it swallowed up everything above his head. Sprinting with everything he had, the pony bolted down the hall, following the rest of the team.
His lungs burned and ached. He could taste the bitterness of the smoke in his nose and mouth. His entire body felt slow and slick with sweat, his energy sapped by the heat. He could hear something popping and bursting behind him, but he dared not turn around to look.
And then there it was: dead ahead, the portal to freedom. The open door, leading out to the darkness. Just a few more yards and he’d be free. Pushing with all his strength, Fleethoof dove out the door and to the ground below, scrambling to a safe distance to join the others in the alley. Behind him, the flames flared out of the open door, and the entire building was engulfed in fire. But they had made it out alive.
Gasping and panting hard for breath, Fleethoof finally allowed himself a moment to rest. His heart felt ready to burst in his chest, and every muscle in his body cried out in strain. He coughed for a minute to clear his lungs, a hoof on his shoulder from Valiant supporting him.
“We need to get out of here, before anypony notices us,” said the weary soldier, trying to right himself again. “The fire will deal with any evidence.”
The moment Sharp Shot rejoined the group, the ponies and their detainees vanished into the darkness of the alley. By the time the fire marshals and Royal Guard showed up, the operators had vanished into the night.