> Rainbow Six
>  by Eagle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Memo
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“There are no compacts between lions and men, and wolves and lambs have no concord.”
-Homer




Paris, France
1998

“Team Two is moving into position at the bank. Team One, you ready at the offices?”

“Team One is in position to rescue hostages held on the second floor of the government building, snipers are in over watch.”

“Ok, Covington. Chavez, you ready yet?”

“Ready for your go, Six,” 

The city of lights was known for having all manner of attractions; from the Tower to the Arc. Today two more, less extravagant, buildings were added to that list. One was a large, white Paribas bank; the other was a two story office, flat roof and perfectly square, a few miles away. 

The event that drew all the news cameras to these two today was their seizure, along with all inside, by two groups of armed gunmen. They had no masks and carried nothing larger than pistols, and were split up five per building. 

The French police had been the first on the scene, followed predictably by the news cameras, which they kept at a distance. Between the chaos and noise of the nearby citizens, the police, and everyday hustle of the city, the terrorists never noticed the two groups of armed soldiers, clad in black body armor, move quietly into a position near both buildings.

“Ok, we know both groups are in radio contact with each other. Noonan’s been unable to take them down from Hereford, so we’re taking both down at the same time to prevent any reaction.”

“You sure you want to be here, Mr. C?” Team 2 leader Domingo ‘Ding’ Chavez asked. “You’re getting kind of old for this stuff.”

John Clark, A.K.A. Rainbow Six, sighed; he knew Ding was joking, but it didn’t make it false.

“I’m just here to oversee, Ding. You guys are the ones doing the work.”

Chavez must have noticed the depression in his voice.

“Hey, don’t worry, Six. You’re still a tough SOB.”

“I know. Let’s just focus on the task at hand; Loiselle won’t be happy if we screw this one up.”

“Waiting for your go.”

“I was hoping that with the Soviets gone, I wouldn’t have to deal with Communist insurgents near as much,” Alistair Stanley, Rainbow Five, commented next to Clark, “but of course, there had to be some young, hot-headed kids who just couldn’t live with it.”

Ever since 1994, the French Communist Party had been in a decline. In response, a handful of former, more radical, members decided to take matters into their own hands, grabbing guns and taking hostages at a bank and a few employees at a government office nearby. No real strategy beyond the usual requests of money, transport, etc. As with many of these events, they hadn’t thought about things beyond getting there, taking hostages, and making demands. 

“Amateurs,” Clark replied. 

“Bloody amateurs, indeed.”

“Rifle Two-Two, this is Weber, I’m seeing some movement around the lobby. I think these guys are getting restless,” the German sniper reported from his position in a building across the street.

“They know that they won’t succeed,” psychologist Dr. Paul Bellows stated over the radio from back at the base. “They were ambitious and thought they could get away with anything, now they know they’ll get nothing. I’ve tried playing on their fear, but they’ve stopped talking entirely. They may start resorting to executions.”

“Ok, Six to teams, execute.”

Ding and Eddie Price were both hiding to the side of the set of stairs that led up to the bank’s entrance. Both tossed in flashbangs to disorient the terrorists, as required; with yet another rookie mistake of leaving the large glass doors open. The only problem was that instead of entering right after, they’d have to jog up the steps to get a shot, wasting a couple precious seconds. In situations like these, seconds, even milliseconds, would decide the outcome of the entire operation.

The sound of the two stun grenades going off signaled Team 2 to start their run up. Ding was a little worried, as the hostages were a little ways back, and by the time they got up and got a few shots off, the shock would have worn off enough to allow one of the two terrorists guarding them to use one as a human shield. These worries quickly vanished as the team’s two long-riflemen reported in.

“Ready, Weber?” Team 2 sniper, Homer Johnston, asked his counterpart over the radio form another building nearby. “Eyes on the hostages; two guards. One is partially blocked from my view by a pillar, the other is in full sight.”

“Ja, I’ve got the other one standing next to the pillar,” Weber replied.

“Alright, when the team goes in, you take him; I’ll nail the other guy.”

Six’s command of ‘execute’ was all the two needed to hear. Homer Johnston fired off a single shot at the guard watching the group huddled on the floor. The bullet went right into the center of the back of his head and into his brain, making it a clean kill. Weber fired his at the same time, with his also making impact on his target’s forehead.

“Fine hit, Dieter.”

“Yours, too,” Weber replied.

The rest of the team made it to the top of the stairs and moved through the entrance, their suppressed Heckler & Koch MP-10 Sub Machineguns at the ready. Ding immediately saw one in the back of the room, who must have been facing away at the time of the flash, quickly recovering. He aimed and fired a three round burst across the room and into the subjects head; it had been a long shot, but a lucky one in this case. 

Louis Loiselle, the French member of the team, spotted the second enemy closest to the group. He considered tackling him, as he wasn’t too far away, but he still held his pistol in his hand. Rainbow had a policy for a reason, he knew, and fired his burst into the right of the gunman’s head, blasting it apart like a melon.

The final terrorist was a bit troublesome. He was first spotted by Price, but due to the surprise of the flashbang, was flailing and stumbling around wildly, pistol in hand. Price took a couple seconds to try and get a clear shot on his head, but he was simply bobbing around too much. Price wouldn’t have preferred it, but when the subject began to fire off his pistol wildly and blindly, he knew he had to act, firing the three bullets into the man’s side, just above the waist. He stopped and screamed in pain, the shout filling the bank, until Price put another three-round burst into his chest and he collapsed, bleeding heavily from the wounds.

“Chavez to Six, bank secured. No casualties, all bad guys dead, all hostages rescued.”

A ways away on the other side of town, Team One under Major Peter Covington made their move on the two-story, square office buildings. As at the bank, the first to fire were the marksmen; Fred Franklin and ‘Sam’ Houston. 

“Rife One-One, eyes on target on the roof on overwatch; taking the shot.”

‘Sam’ Houston’s rifle kicked back, sending the bullet across the street from a café roof to a terrorist’s head.

“Rifle One-One, sentry is down.”

“Right, good work,” Covington said. “Bear, you ready?”

“Moving in.”

Lieutenant Colonel Daniel ‘Bear’ Malloy began the process of flying in his MH-60K over the top of the building, carrying four Team One members inside.  The Night Hawk’s rotor sliced silently through the air as it performed a rocking chair maneuver and came to a halt over the flat roof. Sergeant Jack Nance slid the doors open and the four black-clad operatives long-roped down onto it, landing quietly in the space of a few seconds.

Captains Hugh McGarret and Nicholas Traven, along with Sergeants Joshua ‘J’ Fisher and Geoff Bates, hustled to a doorway at the former of the building, concealing the stairs that lead to the roof. Opening it quietly and moving silently down the stairs, they found the hostages gathered on the second floor guarded by a single hostile. As his back was turned to them, a flashbang wasn’t necessary, and McGarret fired into the back of his head.

On the ground, Covington led the other four members of the team. This group had been wise enough to close and lock the front doors, so they would have to breach.

“Alright, blast the door down,” he ordered. “No hostages on this level, so grenade and flash before we enter. Ready? Get to it!”

The Primacord was laid out and the men took up positions, one holding a ready grenade and another with a flashbang. As the explosives blew open the door, the pins were pulled and weapons tossed in. The stun grenade went of first, with the sound of the fragmentation grenade signaling the squad to enter.

There was only one terrorist left standing, dazed and holding his head in the back of the room. Covington aimed his MP-10 and fired a headshot just as the two locked eyes. The three bullets hit the target square in the nose, killing him.

The team fanned out and kept their eyes open for any further problems. One subject had been near the door, guarding it, when the blast went off. The other had been stunned by the flashbang and had the grenade land at his feet, peppering him thoroughly. 

“Clear!” Covington called.

“Clear down!” the call went out.

“Clear up!” McGarret answered.

“Covington to Six, building secure. No casualties. All opposition dead.”

John breathed a sigh of relief; that made four successful operations. Since it's founding, Rainbow had took down terrorists in Bern, Vienna, and most recently, in Worldpark, Spain. All of the terrorists had been killed in those for no Rainbow losses. Of the hostages, one in the bank in Bern had been killed before the team was on site; the second, a terminally ill Dutch girl at Worldpark, occurred as Dr. Bellows had been negotiating. The team had been trying to formulate a plan, and they were dealing with professionals that go round. They were upset, but decided that they were lucky to have rescued all the others. All in all, John thought Rainbow was still the most effective force out there.

“Nice work,” Clark responded. “Alright, let’s regroup and get back to the airport. Let the French clean up the mess, we have to get back to Hereford.”

The men in black quietly exited the scene, leaving the mess for someone else to clean up. Price lit up with his pipe on the way out, his own personal way of celebrating a successful mission. The cameras might get a few glances, but nothing serious that could divulge their identity. 

For the most part, all they saw was the French. With this mission complete, the world released a relaxing sigh of relief. It would gain a new respect for the French counter-terror forces. Meanwhile, the Rainbow operatives quietly went back to their home at Hereford; they wouldn’t get any official praise for this operation. Still, what mattered was that everyone, at least everyone innocent, was still alive. For them, that was reward enough.



“Typical," Clark thought, sitting in his chair on the Boeing 777. “Pull off a near perfect op, and in return, our flight home gets mechanical problems.”

The members of Rainbow had arrived at the airport to find that their plane was experiencing technical difficulties, so they had to catch a ride home in an Air France 777. Malloy and his chopper where already back home. He had reported some nasty weather on his trip back, and now they were flying right through it. His thoughts were interrupted as the pilot said something in French.

“Louis, what did he say?” Clark asked the Frenchman, sitting in front of him.

If he had listened closer, he could’ve probably understood; but he really couldn’t focus right now.

“He says we’re experiencing some bad weather, sir,” Loiselle replied.

“No shit,” Clark responded as the pilot finished talking.

“He says we’re going to try to pull up over it.”

“Just hope he hurries it up.”

Clark was rather anxious on this trips home for a number of reasons. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was the plane, maybe it was the fact that both Rainbow’s field teams were onboard, making them easy targets. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but his line of work, from the SEAL training to serving with the 3rd SOG in Vietnam, tended to have that affect. Now, as director of Rainbow, that was especially true.

This new line of work was quite different for the ex-soldier. He was now, rather unhappily, a ‘suit’; someone who sat behind a desk doing paperwork, rather than doing fieldwork. Well, he knew it wasn’t entirely new, as he proved today. And he had to admit; not risking his life as often was relaxing. No more pick-ups on Russian beaches at night, no more runs through the jungles of ‘Nam, no more of sitting with Ding on a roof in Tehran, guiding in a smart-bomb to its target. Now that he thought about it, he actually missed it a bit. For now, he just tried to change his thoughts.

He starred out the window from his passenger seat, looking at the single engine; this only made it worse. Clark had always thought that four engines was the best number to have on a plane. If one was lost, only 25% of the aircraft’s power was lost, whereas in the case of this jet, it would mean 50%. 

Turning his head back forward, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. This was the memo he had written for proposing the organization. For some reason, he kept hold of it; whether it was as a good luck charm or just for memories, he didn’t know. But today’s purpose for it-taking his mind off of a non-existent threat. 

He began reading, going back in time to the day he pitched the idea. He had preferred to keep it direct and simple, yet formal; avoiding the bureaucratic talk in hopes of selling it as a plain, simple fact. Apparently, it had worked.

There is good news and there is bad news. 

With the demise of the Soviet Union and other nation states with political positions adverse to America and Western Interests, the likelihood of a major international confrontation is at an all-time low. This, clearly, is the best good news. 

But along with that we must face the fact that there remain many experienced and trained international terrorists still roaming the world, some with lingering contacts with national intelligence agencies-plus the fact that some nations, while not desirous of a direct confrontation with America and other Western Nations, could still make use of the remaining terrorist ‘free agents’ for more narrow political goals.

If anything, this problem is very likely to grow, since under the previous world situation, the major nation states placed firm limits on terrorist activity-these limits enforced by controlled access to weapons, funding, training, and safe-havens.

It seems likely that the current world situation will invert the previous ‘understanding’ enjoyed by major countries. The price of support, weapons, training, and safe-havens might well become actual terrorist activity, not the ideological purity previously demanded by sponsoring nation states. 

The most obvious solution to this-probably-increasing problem will be a new multinational counterterrorist team. I propose the codename Rainbow. I further propose that the organization be based in the United Kingdom. The reasons for this are simple:

•	The U.K. currently owns and operates the Special Air Services, the world’s foremost-that is, most experienced-special-operations agency.

•	London is the world’s most accessible city in terms of commercial air travel-in addition to which the SAS has a very cordial relationship with British Airways.

•	The legal environment is particularly advantageous, due to the press restrictions possible under British law but not under American.

•	The long-standing ‘special relationship’ between American and British governmental agencies.

For all these reasons, the proposed special-operations team composed of U.S., U.K., and selected NATO personnel, with the full support from national-intelligence services, coordinated at site…

Clark’s silent speech was interrupted by a loud crack and flash. His anxiety returned and he began to return to acting on instinct. Snapping his head back to the window, he saw that his fears were more than just nerves. 

A bolt of lightning, bright white and searing hot, struck the wing on his side; specifically on the engine. It only lasted a millisecond, but it seemed to Clark like one or two normal ones. The flash from the bolt was enough to hurt his eyes, causing him to look away and hold his hand over them, blinking several times.

“Cristo!” Chavez yelled in Spanish. “What the hell was that!?”

Clark couldn’t respond at first, still stunned from the blast.

“H-hey! The plane’s banking pretty far to the left!” Patterson observed. “What's happening!?”

“A bolt of lightning took out the left engine!” Clark said, rather angrily. “Really!? Of all the fucking places to strike!”

Most of the lights were already turned off, as the team members were trying to get some rest. The pilots didn’t speak to the passengers as the plane nosed into a rather steep circle downward. Maybe the lightning had knocked out the electronics, too. It didn’t really matter, he observed, as the left engine was now on fire, and the plane was in a spinning dive; the force of the impact had also started that up.

John played with the idea of trying to get out, but figured it would be futile; he wouldn’t even get to the door. He was actually appearing rather calm through the chaos; just sitting there with a disapproving look on his face like a father dealing with a disrespectful child.

Whether anyone was screaming or not, John couldn’t tell. He was too busy thinking to himself, rather angrily. Rainbow, the world’s best counter-terror team, defeated by a lightning bolt. He could just read the newspaper headlines now. ‘Expensive, multinational, highly-trained soldiers, killed in plane crash’, or something along those lines. It just amazed him that both field teams, along with the commander and second-in-command, were going to be lost all in one incident; he’d be remembered most for that.

As the plane came closer to the English Channel it had been flying over, his thoughts shifted to something more worrying. What would happen to his wife, Sandy? What about their grown daughter, Patsy, who was also Domingo’s wife? What about the grandson she was carrying?

When the plane finally hit, his thoughts revolved around a single thing. He had done so much in his life. He was a highly trained soldier, who accomplished countless important, dangerous missions, and had been assigned to the best group of warriors on the planet. The thing that would kill him was a plane crash due to a lightning strike. Who would’ve thought?



Clark could tell that it was sunny out even though his eyes were shut; the light was bright enough to lighten through the lids mildly. The thought processed in his mind briefly. He could tell there was sunlight; he could feel the rays on his skin. He was conscious, amazingly. 

The first idea that he thought of was that he survived somehow and was floating on his chair in the middle of the ocean. He moved his arms a bit and realized that wasn’t the case; underneath him was grass, nice and soft. He wiggled and moved his limbs and body slightly, amazed that there wasn’t any pain anywhere. Or, he at least didn’t feel the pain yet because he didn’t see it. But, how did he fall into grass?

As he shuffled a bit, he heard a few gasps and whispers a short distance in front of him. He stretched, as if waking from a long nap, and slowly forced his eyes open; squinting them from starring right into the sun. He moved his head on its side to open them fully, and spotted Alistair Stanley, lying on his back and waking up a lot faster. Sitting up, Stanley looked forward and got a shocked expression on his face. Clark looked up to see what caused it, and quickly realized why.

There standing a few feet away from the two soldiers, were six horses. What was odd was that they were all rather small and colorful; it struck both as something out of a kid’s show. What was most disturbing was that they all seemed to have human qualities. Indeed, they were looking and reacting as if the two soldiers were aliens from outer space.

Clark stood up first, followed by Stanley. Both groups continued to stare at each other. John took the opportunity to survey the surrounding area. Where they were standing, it was mostly open; there was a small village a ways to his right, and a large forest off to the left. 

“Al, you good?” Clark asked.

“Yea, I’m alright, John,” the Brit responded.

“You uh,…you know what happened?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

John looked closer at the horses. He noticed that some had horns, while some others had wings. Did that mean they were unicorns and pegasi? He had never been this confused in his whole life.

“Got any clue as to what’s up with the horses?” John asked.

“They don’t exactly train you for something like this in the SAS.”

“Alright then, let’s head to that town first,” John said. “Maybe someone there’ll know what the hell is going on.”

The two began to walk forward. Before they had even gotten two steps out, John saw Stanley start to glow purple. He had become surrounded by some kind of aura. He didn’t want to find out why or what it did.

Looking around, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Turning his head back towards the horses, he noticed the purple one’s horn was also glowing with the same aura. She was the one doing…whatever it was! Snapping back towards Stanley, he saw him fall flat forward onto the ground.

“Stanley!”

John always carried his pistol with him in case of emergencies; concealed within his jacket. Rainbow Five had just passed out, dead for all he knew. He considered this an emergency. He didn’t care whose horses they were or why they were doing it, but he would rather be alive and not know than dead and knowing for all of a couple seconds of life.

He was about to reach in and grab it when he noticed that he, too, had become encompassed in the strange light. He felt his eyelids grow heavy again and his body became tired and weak. He started to stumble a bit.

Eventually, his eyelids fell down; their weight feeling like they were made of several tons of hard metal. But he wouldn’t go out that easy. Ignoring the weariness, he spread his legs out some and stood there, balancing himself. 

“Just stay standing!” he mumbled to himself. “Close your eyes, break down a bit, but just. Stay. Up!”

It had come to the point where he wasn’t really resisting. His body balanced on the bones of his legs. He shifted from one to the other to relieve tension. Eye’s shut, rest of the body limp, in little control; but, he could stay like this for a while. He probably would have if something hadn't rammed him right in the chest and knocked him flat on his back. From then on, John Clark’s world went back into dark.



It wasn’t exactly everyday some strange new creature landed in Equestria. It was probably even less with the creatures walking and talking intelligently. All of it had shocked Twilight and her five other friends to the point of total speechlessness. 

She just hoped the sleeping spell was strong enough to keep them down for a while; or at least until she could figure out what to do with them. It wasn’t exactly her preferred way of dealing with these new things; but, she had no clue as to exactly what they were like or what their intentions were, and they did say they were going towards Ponyville. 

“What are those things, Twilight?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“I’m…not too sure. I’ve never read about anything like these before,” Twilight responded. “They do seem a bit…rough.”

It was shocking to her how long the second one had withstood the spell. She applied it full on and it was still standing; albeit shakily. He probably would have been able to outlast her had Rainbow not run into him to knock him down.

“Well, what do you think we should do with them?” Dash asked the obvious.

“I’m not too sure. I have no idea as to what they are capable of or what they want,” Twilight explained. “Hm…let me think. Aha! Doesn’t the Royal Guard have a guard building with cells and everything?”

“Yea.” 

“So, we’ll bring them to the Guard’s and they can keep watch over them until I figure out just what they want; or, at least until Celestia gets here. Rarity, I’ll get one, can you grab the other?”

The two soldiers were lifted up in auras of magic and floated away, still sleeping soundly. Twilight was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any trouble with the guards watching over them. But, unknown to the six friends, they were also being watched.



“What do you make of it, Ding?” 'Sam' Houston asked.

“I have no idea what the hell those things are, but I can see they took Clark and Stanley captive,” Chavez replied.

The sniper and the Team 2 leader were in a prone position in the tree line of the woods, out of sight. They hadn’t gotten there in time to stop the two from being knocked out, but they were able to barely make out the conversation the horses had after.

“You think we can take them now?” Houston asked. “I can stick here in the trees and provide support while you go after Five and Six.”

“I don’t think we should,” Chavez said. “They just took down those two without much trouble. I don’t think me charging in there by myself, and even with you at my back, would get very far.”

“But, we can’t just leave them!”

“Who said I was going to do that?”

The last thing Chavez would do is let Clark, his boss and father-in-law, get kidnapped by some alien horse girls; how would he explain it to the team?

“You got a plan?” Houston asked.

“Well, let me round up the others first; we’ll get more done as a unit. You stay here and monitor everything. Once everyone is back together, then we’ll come up with a rescue plan.”

Ding watched as the six horses, and his two comrades, disappeared in the direction of a village. Looking closely, the two soldiers could see that the village, too, was populated by these alien horses. Chavez got up and turned around, walking back into the forest to find the rest of Rainbow.

“Hey Ding, you know how we’re even alive right now?” Houston asked, turning his head away from his rifle to look at him.

“No, but let’s focus on getting our friends rescued,” Chavez responded.

“I know, but it’s crazy! We crashed into the sea, and we winded up here and alive with all of our stuff! How do we even get back home?”

“First things first,” Chavez replied. “We get Six back from those fruity talking horses. Then we figure out what happened. I’ll be back with the others soon.”

“Roger.”

'Sam' settled in for an evening of watching the activity in the village. Being a sniper, he was a patient man. At least this time he had something new and fascinating to watch and analyze. 


> Good Acting 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You want me to do what?”

The shocked expression the guard had when had almost been matched by this new development. It’s not like the guard station of every town has a group of ponies come in with a pair of unconscious aliens. It wasn’t exactly a situation he had been trained for. 

“Just keep them in a cell until the princess can arrive,” Twilight asked. “It should be pretty easy.”

“What in Equestria makes you think that!?” the guard yelled. “Do you have any idea what these aliens can do? They could destroy this entire town!” 

“Not if they’re unconscious,” Twilight retorted.

“And what happens when they wake up? Knocking them out could just make them angrier!”

“Well, what would you do if these two things just appeared in front of you?”

The guard thought for a minute, running through a list of scenarios; each ending badly.

“I don’t know! But, not this!” he said.

“Don’t worry, they seem pretty harmless,” Twilight said, trying to calm him down. “All you have to do is watch them.”

The guard finally relented and led them from the entrance, through the heavily guarded cement building, and up to its second floor, which was basically a long hallway with empty cells lining both sides; each with nothing more than a small, hard bunk bed. He opened one up and the two humans were levitating onto the beds; though, the beds were only able to hold up half of the large creatures.

“All I have to do is watch, huh?” the guard asked rhetorically, sliding the bar doors closed. “Well, that’s easy for you to say.”

“I’m sure the princess will be here as soon as she can,” Twilight assured him. “In the meantime, if they do wake up, just please try to treat them well. And…tell them I’m sorry for knocking them out; that was kind of a bad move on my part.”

Twilight and the others walked back downstairs and left. The guard stayed there for a minute, examining the creatures. Both looked rather tough, even while sleeping. It didn’t take much to understand that these things were anything but harmless. 

“Treat them well,” the guard scoffed, going downstairs to inform the others. “No way am I taking a chance on these things.”



Sergeant ‘Sam’ Houston’s first name wasn’t really ‘Sam’; his mother had actually named him after an uncle of his, Mortimer. He’d gone by that up until his basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. They must have thought a name like Mortimer Houston wasn’t very frightening for a future Ranger, so they bestowed the nickname ‘Sam’ upon him; and he’d carried it proudly ever since. 

That was one of the many things he had picked at Fort Jackson. One the other, more important things was a hefty amount of patience. Sitting in the tree line with his sniper rifle, that reserve was being used up as he waited for Chavez and the rest of the team.

The forest was elevated slightly; not exactly a hill, but it was more gradual. It also gave a nice overwatch position of the town. From the tree line to the village, it was about half a mile of open field. The only closed spot was far to his left, where the woods extended a bit and were met by a small cottage, built a short ways away from the rest of the town. 

The village itself was much larger, and ‘Sam’ couldn’t see all of it, but he did catch where Rainbow Six and Five had been taken. The building was tucked away in a secluded part of town, where the housing became a bit crowded. Two stories high, made of concrete, and perfectly rectangular except for a small, square part of the first floor that stuck outwards on the right; it looked somewhat like a police station. He also noticed what looked like soldiers going in and out, as well as guarding the building and a few areas around town. 

“Sam.” 

Houston cranked his head around and saw Chavez, along with the rest of Team two. 

“Guys, good to see you’re all ok,” he said. “And I thought you’d forgotten about me, Ding. You weren’t talking on the radio, much.” 

“Forget, no. Lost, once or twice,” the soldier admitted. “Good news is that both teams are ok. The radios seem to have gotten a little buggy from…whatever happened, but they seem fine, now.”

“Where’s Covington?” 

“Him and the rest of Team 1 are setting up a little camp inside the forest; trying to get shelter and supplies. Who know how long we’ll be here.”

“Alright, then,” Houston said, taking a deep breath. “I was kind of in the mood for a camping trip anyways.” 

“You been keeping an eye on things while I was gone?” Ding asked.

“Yes sir,” Houston said. “And I know where they’re keeping our guys.”

“Where?”

“See that big concrete rectangle? The one in that cluster of housing?”

Ding took out a small pair of binoculars and scanned the town.

“Yea, I got it,” he confirmed. “We aren’t walking right in from the looks of it. You gathered anything on any armed forces they might have?”

“Nothing other than those in the gold armor,” Houston said.

“Gold armor?” Steve Lincoln asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “It sounds rather…ostentatious.”

“Come and see for your selves,” Ding said. 

The rest of the team went to take a look at their opposition. Some, after seeing them, took their eyes off and shook their heads. Most just watched in silence, with Homer Johnston being first to speak.

“I didn’t really believe you when you told us horses, Ding,” he said, watching through the scope of his rifle. 

“I still can’t believe it,” Chavez admitted. 

“Well, what do we do?” 

Chavez stared at the building again, mentally noting its layout, guards, and position. He then scanned over the rest of the town slowly; his head moving left to right and back left three or four times. Lastly, he peered over left to scan where the distance between the forest and town was at its least. 

“Alright, gather round,” he said, with the men forming a circle while Ding drew a basic picture in the dirt with a stick.

“We’re going to keep this as quiet as possible. We’ll move into town from this part of the woods, where the distance is least. The closest thing to us is this cottage, but we aren’t going to stop there. We move into town and stay undetected. The target building is in a highly urban area, so we should be able to use the alleys and housing to get close without being noticed.”

“I’m guessing we won’t be sneaking into the building, as well,” McTyler said, in his thick Scottish accent. 

“I don’t see how we can,” Chavez observed. “We’ll try a two-part attack. Eddie.”

Price, the former SAS trooper, looked up to face him.

“There’s a small part of the first floor that’s sticking out to the left. You take Pierce and Louis and move in through there. I don’t see a door to it, but there’s a window on each of its three sides that looks big enough to crawl through.”

“Right, Ding.” 

“Everyone else is going to move with me on the front entrance. Those doors look like they’re made of some heavy metal, so we’ll have to blast them down. Paddy, you still got some primacord?” 

“Plenty,” Paddy Connolly answered. 

“That’s more than likely gonna gain the attention of the whole neighborhood. So, we’ll have to move fast. Kill the bad guys, rescue Five and Six, and get the hell out before they know what’s going down. Meet back up and retreat through the same way we came in.” 

“Sir, I think we should wait until nighttime,” Houston suggested. “There’s a lot of civilian activity down there right now, and the night will help conceal movement.”

“You read my mind Sam,” he said. “Johnston, Weber, you two stay with Houston in the tree line. I doubt you’ll be able to support us, but keep us updated on what you see. Everyone else, follow me and we’ll get in position.”

“Got it.”

The two Team Two snipers moved left and right, finding good spots of their own to support from. Houston returned to his original position; lying down in between two trees and scouting the town again. The other men got up and followed Chavez down the left.

“Oh, Sam,” Ding called, turning around to face him. “Franklin’s going to be coming up to help, too. Let him know the situation when he does get here.”

“Got it,” the sniper said, rather happy that the other Team One sniper would be joining them. 

As time passed, Houston began to watch how the civilians in town acted. They seemed surprisingly human, for some reason. Of course the lack of technology and the inclusion of magic and flight took away form that; it was more in how they acted. Take away the magic, flying, and fact that they’re horses, and this would just be another happy, backwards town in the middle of nowhere. 



Unlike his first awakening, this one was sudden. Clark’s eye’s shot open, and he quickly tried to sit up. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize he was on the top bunk of a very small bed. Jerking a bit, he fell off and landed on his shoulder on the hard floor.

“Ah, damn!” he swore, waking Stanley up. 

“John, you alright?”

“Yea, I’m fine,” he said. “You know where we are now?”

“Looks like prison.” 

“I can tell. I‘m guessing you don’t know how we got here, right?”

“Last thing I remember were those horses putting me under,” Stanley recounted. “You think that was just a dream?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a large, metal door being opened at the end of the hall. Looking through the iron bars, John spotted another one horse, this one clad in golden armor and a pure white. Unlike what he remembered, this one didn’t have any wings or horns. He, too, noticed that his guests were awake.

“I’d have to say no,” John said.

“You’re awake, I see,” the guard discerned. “Do you eat bread?”

“Yea, can we get some?”

“One loaf each, no more,” he said, passing them through the bars before turning around to leave.

“Hey, can we get some help here?”

The guard sighed and turned around again to meet them.

“With what,” he asked, obviously annoyed.

“Would you mind telling us where we are?” Clark asked. “Or maybe why we’re here?”

“You are to stay here until the Princess comes to interrogate you.”

The word ‘interrogate’ did not settle well in John’s mind.

“Interrogate? Look, I think there’s a misunder-”

“Quiet!” the guard snapped. “You will stay here until further notice! Keep quiet and don’t cause any trouble, or I’ll be forced to discipline you!” 

“Look pal, I don’t think you get who you’re messing with,” Clark commented. “I don’t know what kind of ‘disciplining’ you do here, but if it’s a fight you want, I’ll happily lay you out.” 

“I’ve got better things to do than beat up some lousy alien,” the guard said pompously. “Now, stay here and shut up!”

And with that he left, slamming the door behind him. Clark tossed the second loaf of bread to Stanley, who immediately began to eat. John picked at this a little, starring out of the small cell window.

“What are you thinkin’, John?” the SAS asked through a mouthful of bread.

“We obviously can’t stay here,” John said. “I’ll come up with something.” 

“A jailbreak, eh?” he replied, swallowing his food. “You and I are always on the same page, John.” 

“That’s why you’re Rainbow XO.” 

“So, what were you thinking? Force our way out, or sneak our way out.”

John took this opportunity to look over what they had. Most of what they had before was still with them; even their pistols. Whether these guys were amateurs, or didn’t have firearms in this world, he was happy all the same. Their radios, unfortunately, had been taken; which meant they were on their own, if any other Rainbow soldiers were here to begin with.

“A little of both, but we’ll have to wait ‘till nighttime. We’ve got a better chance of evasion in the dark.”

“Agreed. Care to let me in on your plan?”

John sat next to Stanley and whispered out the details of his escape plan. Until the darkness fell, all they could do was sit and wait for an opportunity. Waiting was always tedious.



“Ready?” Chavez asked.

The men nodded their heads silently.

“Alright, keep it quiet and don’t get spotted. We’d stick out like a sore thumb in these parks.”

The black-clad men moved as a group through the forest, which began to clear as they went. Jogging out of it, they didn’t see anything that could possibly blow their cover. The first building they came to was a cottage, but saw nothing that could threaten them; they bypassed it and made their way into the city.

The troops moved through the streets, with their rubber-soled boots making little noise in the way of footsteps. A couple times they had to stop immediately and hit the dirt as a resident would trot sleepily by, too tired to bother looking closely. The last open area they crossed was the large, open marketplace before moving into the tightly packed urban area.

This area was easier, being able to move through the alleys to get into position. Almost there, Price and two others peeled off and headed to the left while the others gathered at the end of an alley. Across from them was the target building. 

Ding saw two guards in golden armor, not too terribly far away, guarding the entrance.  Motioning for McTyler to move up and join him, the two took aim with their suppressed MP-10s. With Chavez’s word of ‘shoot’, the two separate bursts flew forward.

Chavez’s burst to the right guard hit him in the mouth; three bullets entered, passed through the mouth, and exited through the neck. McTylers shots hit the other square in the throat. The group hustled up to the door, McTyler noticed he was still alive, squirming in pain on the ground, and fired another, single-shot burst to end his suffering. Checking quickly, none had noticed the two guards go down .

“Stack up on the door,” Chavez whispered. “Paddy, get the Primacord in place.”

“On it,” the explosives expert acknowledged, working the long rope of explosives on the steel doors.

“Price, you guys in position?” Chavez called over the radio.

“We’re in position at the windows, Ding,” Price answered. “Looks like a break room, they look like they’re eating and relaxing.”

“Don’t take a chance, Price. Shoot ‘em down.”

“Of course.”

“Ding we’re set,” Connolly announced. 

“Ok, stack up. Flash and clear out once the door is down. Price, same with you. All together, guys; and keep an eye out for Mr. C and Stanley. On my mark.”



“Ready, Al?” Clark asked.

“Whenever you are, Six.”

Clark lied down on the cell floor, curling into a fetal position. He began to moan and grunt, which became louder, longer, and more dramatic as time passed. Eventually, another guard entered, this one with a totally black coat.

“What’s going on?” 

“I think that bread made him nauseas,” Stanley said. 

“How do you feel?”

“Bad,” Clark slurred out from the floor.

“How bad?” the guard asked.

“Fucking bad!” Clark half-yelled, half-slurred.

“Whoa, alright,” he replied. “Just relax, I’ll get a bucket.”

This one was much kinder than the previous one, which was good for Clark and Stanley.

“You got a bathroom?” Clark asked, rolling over to face him.

“Well, I’m not about to let you out.”

“Look, mate; this guy’s in sorry shape,” Stanley explained. “And I’m not sure if you’ve got any of our kind here, but you’ll need a big bucket. Bigger than any bucket I’ve ever seen.”

The guards eyes widened at this. He obviously didn’t know what these aliens were like when they were sick, and he didn’t want to find out. Cleaning up alien vomit wasn’t exactly what he signed up to do in the RG.

“Uh…ok, just hang on.”

He walked back out in a hurry.

“You think this’ll work?” Stanley asked.

“Let’s pray to God it does,” Clark said from his position on the floor. “But, I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” 

The black guard re-entered, followed by the white one from before, this time carrying a set of keys. 

“Hmph, not so tough now, huh?” the white one taunted. 

“Uuuuuugh. Just get me to a toilet jackass!”

“Fine,” he said, opening the door to the cell.

John tried to get up, but stumbled and landed next to him. The guard grunted angrily as Clark threw his arm around his neck and tried to stand up. Failing to do so, the guard had to stand on his hind legs, pulling Clark up with him. He began to help him to the door as the black guard began to slide the bars closed again.

“I don’t know what you are, but you aliens have a bigger mouth than anything,” the guard commented as they reached the door. “I don’t see how you could be a threat to any-”

The guard’s words were cut off as John’s arm quickly tightened around his throat. Pulling him into a chokehold, John’s left hand went for the loaded M1911 in his jacket. Soon, he was holding the guard captive with a gun against his head. The second guard had just finished shutting the cell door when he saw them, and jumped to the middle of the hall. Taking out what looked like a crossbow, he aimed it at the two.

“Drop it or you friend dies!” Clark yelled.

“H-how?” the guard asked.

“With this,” Clark said, waving the pistol a bit.

“What?”

“Just open the door!” 

“Y-you let him go first!”

“Want to play that way, huh?” Clark asked him. “Alright, I’ll oblige, right Alistair?” 

“Certainly,” he said from the cell.

“Wh-what?” the guard stuttered.

John shuffled a little to the right, causing him to instinctively go left. 

“How do you think you can get out of this?” John asked the white guard he was holding.

“I’ll figure it out,” the guard said, sounding like a scared child.

“You aren’t so tough now asshole,” John stated.

John continued right, and the black guard kept moving left. This continued until the black guard was, once again, in front of the cell. He was also close enough for Stanley to reach through the bars and put him into a hold of his own. The two men applied more force, and the guards were passed out in no time. 

“Guess we’ve still got it,” Clark said, retrieving the keys form the unconscious guard and opening the door.

“Right, I’m thinking that getting out isn’t going to be as easy,” Stanley said, taking out his Browning Hi-Power. 

Before John could answer, there was an explosion that rocked the building.

“The bloody hell was that?”

“That might be our chance to get out of here,” Clark said. “Let’s go.” 



The troopers lined the walls, with Chavez on one side and Lincoln on the other, both with flashbangs in their hands.

“3…2…1…Mark!”

The door was blown back from the explosions, the noise rattling the town. Two guards standing at attention on the other side near the door were killed instantly. Not wasting time, Lincoln and Chavez tossed the stun grenades in and entered after hearing them go off. The other Rainbow operatives followed, fanning out to clear the room. 

There were some five guards in total spread around the open room, each with some form of weapon. Chaves shot one that was standing behind a welcome desk, then fired a burst into the side of one stumbling around nearby. Lincoln saw a small, brown one with a spear that was a little too close for him, shooting three bullets into his side and through his lungs. The second and third were standing next to each other, making it easy for McTyler to dispatch both. It all lasted about three seconds.

On the other end of the building, Price and his team smashed the windows with their guns before tossing three flashbangs in and peeking over to fire. There were eight guards in this small, confined room; none expected what happened. Firing through the windows, Price, Louis, and Pierce killed them quickly. They then crawled through the windows and into the room, wary of any other contacts. 

“Alright, people,” Domingo said. “Eyes open for the good guys and the bad guys. It shouldn’t be too tough to distinguish.”

The men spread out, weapons at the ready. Chavez opened the door to a hallway and spotted a unicorn a short ways away. Before he could fire, the guard’s horn lit up and shot a laser in his direction. Ding fell backwards and stumbled onto his back on the floor, the laser barely missing him and instead blasting a hole in the wall. The assailant was quickly taken down by three Rainbow operatives.

“Maltido,” Chavez grunted as Connolly helped him up.

“We’ll have to watch out for those buggers,” he replied.

“Damn straight,” Domingo said, walking down the hall. “Guys, check these doors.” 

“Ding, this is Price, we’re coming out on the far side of the hall. Watch your fire.”

“Roger,”

Price and his group walked out from the end of the hall, meeting Ding there. 

“You find anything yet?”

“No, but we’ll keep looking.”

“Maybe we should start calling their name-”

Another hostile jumped out from a doorway next to the group, aiming a crossbow at them. 

“Shit!” Ding yelled.

Before either could react, the guard’s forehead exploded outward, his body falling to the ground.

“Who took that shot?”

“Me,” Clark said, stepping over the body. 

“Six! Damn it’s good to see you!” Ding exclaimed.

“That’s double for us,” Stanley said. “You weren’t locked up in prison.”

“Well, we’ll save the reunion for later.”

“Agreed,” Clark said. “Let’s get going.”

“Rifle Two-One, we’ve got the prisoners. We’re about to move out. What can you see, Homer?”

“Ding, you’ve got a large force moving on your position!”

“Damn, we have to go now!” Domingo yelled.

“Ding, they’re almost on top of you. You’ll have to do some more shooting.”

“How much?” Ding asked.

“Keep an eye on your ammo level.” 

> Against the World
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Damn, No sneaking now!” Ding swore in an alley whose opening led to the market. “Whole damn town’s here!”

“What’d you think was going to happen, with all that noise?” Stanley asked.

“Hell, I was hoping they’d stay inside, not come out and see why things are blowing up!” Chavez replied. “Or that their guards would tell them to stay inside. When you hear a gunshot in LA, you don’t run out onto the street to see what happened, you stay inside and hope it wasn’t aimed at you or your buddy.”

Domingo had grown up in Los Angeles, with a rather rough neighborhood leading to a rough life. He did what most kids his age did to ease the struggle; join a gang, at least to find some people willing to help. Even with allies, it was a dangerous occupation; and one of his close friends learned that late, when he lost his life to a rival gang. 

That death made Ding realize just how destructive and vain the street life could, and would, be. He didn’t have many ways to ‘rise above’ the brutality of it; so, he decided to go to one of the few places where the skill set could be put to real use, the Army. Having been around guns his whole life, it didn’t occur to him that the ponies didn’t have firearms, even though the military he’d just fought were armed with arrows and swords. Old habits can be stubborn things.

“Well, I haven’t seen any kind of firearm here,” Stanley said. “But I agree all the same. Still, we can’t just wait for them to go back in with God knows how many hostiles on our tails.”

“Connolly, watch our six.”

“Sir!” the SAS troop replied.

“Rifles, you got any clue as to how many are on us?” Ding called over the radio to the snipers. 

“You got their whole damned army on your back,” Homer reported. 

“Shit, we can’t stay here!”

“The hell’s going on, Ding?” Clark asked.

“They’re almost on us, sir. The civies in the marketplace are blocking a quiet exfil.”

“You see any other way than loud by now?”

“Not anymore, Six.” 

“Marketplace has multiple entrances, have the team spread out to provide a good field of fire,” Clark ordered. “We’ll fight ‘em off, then make a run for it.”

“Covington and Team One are set up in the woods outside of town.” 

“Alright.”

“Sir, they’re on us!” Connolly called, firing a couple bursts from his weapon from his hidden position at a group of alerted guards.

“No time!” Clark said. “Guys, find defensive positions in other side of the square; spread out!” 

“What about-”

“Get going!” Clark ordered Chavez.

Ten black-clad troops and two pale-skinned humans in suits shuffled out of the alley. The large crowd of ponies that filled the square immediately blocked their path. At the sight of the Rainbow troopers, about half of the crowd fled. The other half stared in shock and surprise, still enough to halt the men’s path.

“Get outta here!” Clark yelled. “Go home, damn it! Get inside! Find shelter!” 

Some of the remaining ponies heeded his warning and left, but still there was some left.

“For Christ's sake,” Clark thought. “Just hope none of these guys get hurt.” 

Clark pointed his gun straight up in the air and fired off three rounds in quick succession. The noise and power of this new weapon sent the rest of the crowd running and screaming. Clark was just happy none of them were brave enough to try something dumb like take them on. The troops immediately moved through and found spots that they could shoot from behind.

“Alright, ready!” Chavez reported.  “Oso, you got the 60 ready?”

First Sergeant Julio ‘Oso’ Vega set up his M60 machine gun on a stone fountain that was small enough not to block too much of his view.

“Ready, Ding!” Vega replied.

“Focus fire, main street entrance, large group incoming!” Ding ordered. “Fire!” 

Vega looked down the sights of his weapon and took aim at a group of dark figures running down the street towards their position. He aimed slightly left and squeezed down on the trigger, moving right over the group as the rounds went out. The gun chattered as the figures suddenly stopped and scattered.

Usually in a counter-terror operations Vega’s M60 wasn’t needed. It was only meant to be used as a support weapon for whatever it could be used for, and usually that wasn’t much. Though it annoyed him how little he could use it, it was only used for extreme scenarios; whenever it came out the situation was bad. He could tell he was going to use it a lot today.

However thick the golden armor was, it wasn’t enough to stop the 7.62X51mm NATO rounds from the gun. Three of the guards in the middle were seen to drop to the ground, while the others dove left or right behind whatever cover they could find. Steady bursts from Vega’s gun locked the street down.

“Enemy from the alley!” Stanley yelled, aiming and firing his pistol at a guard and wounding him.

“They’re swarming! They’ll overrun us if we don’t work fast!” Ding warned.

“Kill shots; make sure they count!” Clark ordered. “We have to take them out faster than they pop up!”

Guards began to file out from the alley and into the square, finding their own protection from carts, benches, stands, and a variety of other objects. There were two other small alleys to the team’s left where more guards began to come from.

Ding focused on two guards running from the alley and into the square. He aimed at one and fired off a burst, followed quickly by another for the second. The first one impacted into the rear of the target’s side, immediately making him tumble from his sprint and roll across the ground. The second burst missed entirely, allowing the guard to take cover in a fruit stand.

Ding saw the figure pop up from his cover slightly, aiming something. Before he could get a shot off, he saw the figure duck back down as an arrow whizzed by his head and implanted itself in the side of the house behind him. Instinctively, Chavez fell behind his own cover, a stone bench, for protection. 

“Alright, let’s see you try that again,” he said to himself.

Ding reloaded his gun with a fresh magazine and once again looked over his cover towards the stand. He caught the guard at the same time he was standing back up, presenting the same situation as before. This time Domingo fired first, his shot making a connection with the guard’s forehead and ending him.

Across the square it was the same situation. Troops of both sides looked up from their cover and took shots from their positions. The loudest sound was that of Oso’s M60, with the other sounds coming from the Rainbow team’s suppressed weapons and the crossbows from the guards launching arrows. In the darkness, it was hard to tell anything, but the Rainbow troopers knew where each other was, so they had no reservations about shooting at an unknown target.

Clark’s pistol wasn’t exactly as good as the soldier’s SMGs, but it was better than nothing. He took aim at a guard moving from one piece of cover to another. On his next sprint, he fired a bullet onto the side of the guards, hitting him square center. The guard stopped where he was and staggered. Clark waited to see if he would go down, but when he spotted Clark and raised his crossbow, Six took another shot and sent this bullet through the guard’s snout and collapsing him.

As he reloaded his pistol, he saw what looked like a laser shot out from the main street towards the square. It was apparently aimed at Connolly and his little cart, though the soldier was lucky enough to see it and dive out of the way as the cart shattered into pieces. Before Clark could ask what it was, Ding answered.

“Another one of those unicorns!” he yelled. “Nail him!”

Oso spotted the lone figure out of cover and fired a five round burst, cutting him down.

“Good shot, mano!” Ding said.

As if to contradict him, another laser shot out from the alley and hit the first story of a house near where Ding was sitting.

“Fuck!” Ding swore. “How many of those guys are there!?”

As the unicorn moved from the alley to get a better shot, Price put a burst into the side of his throat. 

“Ding, come in!”

With the battle going on, Domingo didn’t notice the radio going off.

“Ding, this is Rifle Two-One!” Homer Johnston reported. “We can see enemy forces moving in to your six, you route is blocked!”

“Any idea how many?”

“Unknown, but it looks significant.”

“Shit.”

Domingo took a minute to think of something new.

“You see any other exit points?”

“There’s a small street to your four o’clock that leads out into the field,” Homer reported. “You’ll have to book it to the forest, but we’ll be able to cover you from the tree line if you draw them close enough.”

“Ok, get ready; we’ll be there soon enough.”

“What’s going on, Domingo?” Clark asked.

“We’re gonna have to try and make a run for the woods across the field,” Ding said. “Hope you’re still in shape, Mr. C.”

“Not like I’ve got a choice, right?”

“You never change,” Ding said. “Paddy, you got any smoke?”

“Yes Ding!”

“Alright, throw it! Oso, suppressive fire!”

Connolly lobbed the smoke grenade into the middle of the square as Vega fired off the rest of his belt in one continuous stream.

“Smoke’s out; let it build!” Connolly said.

As they watched and continued to fire, thick white smoke covered up their targets.

“Alright, fall back!” Ding ordered. “On me; and get ready to run!”



“Ok, a slight wind from the West,” Johnston reported from his position.

“I feel it,” Weber added, his English stunningly perfect.

The four snipers were concealed in one spot or another along the tree line. Each wished that they had a ghillie suit, rather than the black body armor they wore for the Paris mission. But, at least the darkness helped conceal them along with the woods and their stillness. 

“Ding to all Rifles; we are exiting the village and moving across the field. Cover us and take out any pursuers.”

“Copy, Domingo,” Fred Franklin answered. “We’ll keep them off your back.”

As the snipers readied their rifles and looked through their scopes, twelve figures came running out of a street and into the field, moving in their direction. They were soon followed by a wave of other figures.

“Lotta work tonight, Weber,” Johnston said. 

“Ja, there’s well over twenty.”

The figures in the lead were all running on hind legs, while their pursuers ran on four legs. Even with the Rainbow trooper’s training, the ponies, being on four legs, were naturally faster. The twelve troops began to ignore limiting themselves and ran as fast as they could towards the woods.

“Target ID shouldn’t be a problem,” Houston stated. “Riflemen, fire at will.”

As soon as Houston finished, a shot rang out. Fred Franklin’s big M82 .50 Caliber sniper rifle fired the first shot of the ranged engagement. The massive slug reached out and found a target on an unfortunate guard’s leg, knocking it clean off and sending him to the ground in a howl of pain.

The others, upon hearing and seeing this, stopped for a moment to figure out what was going on. That gave Weber a clear headshot with his WA2000, sending the bullet through the guard’s helmet. The bullet passed through the skull as he fell to the ground.

“Looks like they’re too scared to move,” Johnston said. “Let’s wake them up.” 

Unlike the rest of the Rainbow organization, which assigned the troops specific weapon, the snipers were allowed to choose their own weapons. While Franklin picked their rifles, Homer Johnston’s rifle was unique and custom made. Houston liked it so much that he decided to get a copy made for his own weapon of choice.

The sniper rifle was chambered for the 7mm Remington Magnum with a select-grade Hart barrel. It used a Remington match quality receiver and a Leupold ten-power Gold Ring telescopic sight. All of these gadgets were connected to an ugly Kevlar stock; wood would have looked nicer, but deteriorated over time.

Johnston fired his shot at one of the guards staring at his injured friend. The shot went through his forehead and he, too, dropped like a sack of bricks. ‘Sam’ Houston’s shot wasn’t quite as good. The guard he was targeting panicked and began to shift erratically left and right, forcing him to make several adjustments.  Just as he finally got the shot off, he flinched again and the bullet went into his body, disintegrating as it went through, shredding the spleen. What at first felt like a thick punch turned into overwhelming pain as the guard collapsed on the ground; screaming loudly.

“Damn, poor bastard,” Houston commented. “Ok, the rest are turning tail now, keep your eyes open for anything else.”

“I’m not seeing any activity,” Dieter reported.

“Nothing on the left,” Houston reported.

“Right flank clean,” Franklin finished.

The twelve Rainbow troops hustled across the field, not bothering to look back. In a final sprint, they reached the relative safety of the forest. Here they stopped for a minute, checking for any kind of wounds or losses. Everything seemed ok, save for a noticeable lack of spare magazines. 

“Nice shooting, Rifles,” Clark commented as he reached the forest.

“Not too tough; they were clustered together so much, it was like shooting a shotgun into a flock of geese,” Homer replied. “Good to see you’re alright, guys.”

“Likewise,” Clark said. “Is Team One here, too, right? You said they were here.”

“We’re here, sir,” Franklin said. “Covington and the others are just setting up a little camp back in the woods.”

“Well, that’s good, at least; which direction, Fred?” 

“I’ll lead you to it, sir.” 

“Good, at least I can sleep a little easier this time.”



As the chaos below had unfolded, two pegasi were hiding high up in the clouds, safe from the danger. They continued to observe the battle, intrigued. They had watched it from the battle in the market to the RG getting shot out of nowhere. They kept a close eye on everything about the Guards, as well as the aliens. This development presented them with a unique opportunity.

“You think they’re against the Princess, as well?” one asked.

“Not likely, they probably don’t know where the even are right now,” the other replied. 

“Even if they are lost, maybe we can recruit them. They certainly aren’t friends with the locals.”

“Maybe, but we’ll have to learn more about them, first. Either way, they have done us a big favor.”

“What?”

“How many dead guards do you see down there; thirty?”

“More or less, it’s hard to tell.”

“It’s a lot, and a lot of dead guards means a lot less security; that means the town is finally weak again.”

“Ah,” the first one realized. “You think we should make some kind of move now?”

“While they’re still hurt.”



Weber looked down the pistol’s sights at his target. The Beretta Cougar 8045 had just come out this year and had been selected as Rainbow’s sidearm by Domingo; a long time Beretta aficionado. He was going to try to aim for the head, despite the distance, to leave the meatier torso intact from the .45 cartridge. He also checked to ensure the silencer was on, so his position was not given away to any of those horses that could be nearby.

He had gotten lucky on this hunting trip; a large buck, with enough to keep the men fed for a while. Of course, it would not last long if the other’s hunting trips were not successful. He did hope they were all ok; who knew what was in this strange forest.

The large animal stopped and lowered its head to drink from a pond, giving Weber his chance. This would have been a good time to have a ghillie suit to better conceal him. He also wished he could use his rifle, but ammunition had to be conserved.

As the buck’s head moved back upwards, Dieter took careful aim. Before he pulled the trigger, the animal looked right where he was hiding and gave a confused look; it was almost as if he was more intelligent than an average deer and was wondering what the human was. All the same, Dieter didn’t hesitate, squeezing the trigger and silently sending the round to its target in a clean kill.  

Hustling over to it, he quickly examined his surroundings first to make sure there was no threat in the area. He then examined the deer, and saw the bullet had gone in and out without much trouble. He quickly decided to bring it back to camp and begin working on it there where it was safe, rather than in the unknown territory.

Luckily for him, the camp was rather close. Since the men were not exactly equipped for a camping trip, they were improvising with whatever they had. But, since they were all former special operations troopers and had gone through some sort of wilderness survival, it did not present a daunting challenge.

“Weber!” Vega called from a side of the camp, working on what looked like a doe. “How long did it take for you to run that one down, mano?”

Dieter sighed and dragged his animal over to Vega.

“Not too long,” he said, returning the joke.

Feldwebel Dieter Weber had been trained in Germany’s Burger Fuhrer, the Mountain Leader School; physically one of the toughest schools in the world. Being the toughest team member in Rainbow, he was quick to surprise Vega, who had already heard rumors about the school. He then started a running joke in Rainbow that Dieter wasn’t entirely human and was able to run down a deer, catch it, and kill it with his bare hands. The former GSG-9 operative was usually happy to comply

Most of the team was busy at something; Weber and Vega worked on what would soon be dinner, Price and Lincoln were collecting wood, and the like. McGarret and Traven, the team’s two Canadian members, were absent from the camp; being positioned back up at the tree line to keep an eye on the town and give a warning if anything suspicious started to go down.

“Hey, guys,” Clark called out. “I need one of the snipers to follow me up to the tree line. McGarret is reporting some strange activity out there and Franklin and Houston aren’t back from their hunting trip yet.”

“You’d better go, Weber,” Johnston said, working on his dis-assembled rifle.

Even though it had been made by the same guys who made rifles for the United States Secret Service, he had to admit the cartridge did burn up the barrel a little quicker than he’d prefer.

“Ok, let’s get going, Dieter,” Clark ordered.

“Ja.”



Twilight did not get much sleep that night, though few in the town did. She didn’t see much of what was happening, but as soon as she did step outside, a royal guard immediately ordered her back in. It was not until daylight that she was able to look out the window and spot a couple of corpses of the RG that she realized it there had been an attack, a potentially devastating one.

Going back outside and demanding answers, the guard responded by telling her of the events that had transpired last night. As he went on, it became clearer and clearer what had happened; apparently those aliens she had captured had friends. The guard, once again, sent her back inside, saying that her brother would be visiting soon to inspect what had happened.

The rest of the day was spent sulking about the library. There was no escaping the guilty feeling she had; the idea that she had been the cause of this kept working its way in. Why did she have to stun those aliens? What in Equestria possessed her to do that!? 

“But, maybe I can find a way to fix it, too…” she wondered.

With her thoughts running off into possible solutions, she didn’t notice her brother enter the library.

“Twilight!”

“Shining!”

She quickly ran over and pulled him into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re ok!” he said. 

“Shining, what-”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no time to talk; I just came to make sure you are alright. Something bad is happening, and I have to go help with it.”

“Is it the aliens again?”

“No, something else; something arguably worse.”



“Well, this is interesting,” Clark observed.

“You can say that again, sir,” McGarret replied. “What can you see, Weber?”

“They’re held up in a bank, at least that’s what the signs say it is,” he reported. “Ten hostages, one of them is a kid, two dark-green winged horses, one with a sword and the other with a crossbow, both wearing what look like balaclavas.”

That was a bad surprise for the men, as balaclavas in this situation usually said ‘hey, I’m the bad guy’. 

“The building itself seems to be surrounded by those same guards we fought last night, but there’s not many of them.” 

“Guess it's cause of the beating you guys gave them, eh?” Traven asked.

“Might be, but I’m surprised that they’ve got this kind of crime here, too,” Clark said.

“Are you really, sir?”

“A little; it’s more about how similar it looks to the situations.”

“That is a rather big coincidence,” McGarret added. “Anything happening, Weber?”

“Looks like they’re trying negotiations; one terrorist at the door with a crossbow, second watching the hostages with a bag full of something in his mouth, probably their form of currency.”

It struck John how quick the German identified them as terrorists, even if that was what they basically were.

“If it’s anything like our world, they must have some kind of dedicated force to handle hostage situations, right?”

“Don’t count on it, Six,” Dieter said. “Those guards are getting aggressive.” 

“Negotiations done already?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t-One of them shot an arrow!”

“What?”

“They’re going in through the front! What the hell are they thinking!?”

“Christ, what about the hostages?”

“Mein Gott…he just impaled that kid! That bastard just killed a kid with his sword!”

John Clark stared into space for a moment, remembering the execution of the little Dutch girl in Spain. Even after it had happened, he couldn’t risk shooting the terrorist because of the threat of revealing his team’s positions. Terrorism in itself was bad beyond belief, but executing children took it to the lowest level; a level that people didn’t think possible.

“The one at the door just shot a guard with his arrow, and is retreating back inside. Guards are moving up the stairs…he killed another one! He killed that kid’s mother, the fiend!”

John had to fight the urge then and there to tell Weber to try and smoke the son of a bitch, but his team was still on the wanted list.

“Guards entering, the one with the crossbow just shot another guard coming through the door. He’s taking cover behind a desk. The one with the sword is flying now…he’s out the window, and he’s carrying that bag with him. He’s gone.”

“Damn him,” Clark whispered. "He belongs in a special kind of hell."

“The other one is shooting it out with the guards and their arrows-Nein, another hostage got hit in the crossfire!”

“What!?” Clark nearly yelled. “How did they let that happen?”

“Second terrorist just shot his third guard…wait…yea, he’s down; took an arrow in his throat. All clear.” 

“That’s not how you rescue a hostage,” Clark said.

He was right; three hostages dead, three guards dead, one terrorist dead, and the other escaped with what he went there for.

“What do you make of it, Six?” Traven asked.

“I can make that they’ve apparently got problems similar to the ones in our world.”

“Ones they can’t fix, apparently.”

“But ones that we can,” McGarret added. “Six, you think we should’ve intervened?”

“I don’t know, McGarret, I don’t know. Our whole existence is to help stop tragedies like this, and yet we’ve still got a bounty on our heads here. Be honest, I did want to a little; those are just civilians, innocents. Maybe if it was a quick in-and-out thing, I’m not too sure.”

“And what if this happens again?”

“Then we’ll figure out what to do when it does happen, if it does happen,” Clark said, turning around. “Dieter, let’s get back to camp. McGarret, Traven, I’ll have a couple guys come to take over for you in a while.”

“Roger, Six; let’s hope we can figure out an answer soon.” 

> Wherever We Are
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I hope you’ve got a reason for callin’ us here, Twi,” Applejack complained. “You know it ain’t safe to go outside no more.” 

“I already told you Applejack; we’re trying to think of ways of stopping those aliens!” Twilight replied in an irritated tone, pacing back and forth in the library. “Weren’t you listening on the way here?” 

“Uh…no; I was keepin’ an eye out for anything…funny,” she replied honestly, though it was just a run-around way of saying ‘I was too scared’.

“Wait, so that’s what we’re here for!?” Rainbow exclaimed.

“Why else why I bring you all here?”

“I dunno, not this.”

“Well, now you do know; I brought you here to try and find an answer to these aliens,” Twilight explained. “So, any ideas?”

No answers came; not one word. Fluttershy just looked at the ground and shuffled a hoof around on the wooden floor, keeping to herself. The others just stared at their friend with a concerned look.

“Nothing!? We’re the Elements of Harmony; there’s got to be something! Pinkie, have you thought of anything?”

“Uuuummmmm…don’t taze aliens that fall out of the sky?”

Twilight’s jaw dropped.

“Really? That’s it?” she said. “Ok ok, maybe we should…go after them and catch them.”

“Go after those things that are hiding in the Everfree?” Rainbow asked rhetorically. “Twilight, I don’t think that’s the best idea.” 

“Rainbow, you went after a dragon with no problem; you don’t think we can deal with these things?”

“Those ‘things’ killed over fifty guards,” Rainbow shot back. “Even I know it’s stupid to go after them.”

“Well we’ve got to do something; we can’t just let them run rampant!”

“Twi, the Guards said they’d handle it,” Applejack said. “Are you doin’ this just to try and fix your mess?”

“What-No! I-ugh! Does it matter? Some-”

There was a loud crack of lightning from outside, effectively throwing the room into a deep silence once again. It was followed by the sound of a pouring, pounding rain. Dark clouds blocked the sun and the world outside darkened akin to late-afternoon or night.

“Uh Rainbow, was there a storm scheduled for today?”

“Not that I knew about.”

There was a loud knock at the door, adding to the confusion.

“Who in Equestria-hang on, coming!” Twilight said, opening the door. “Hello-”

She only got a glimpse of the figure at the door, one that was hooded with a black mask and dark green. The next thing was something coming fast right at her face. There was a hard pain that threw her back onto the floor, blurring her vision. She was conscious long enough to hear a couple of screams before the world went jet black.



“You think we’ll get home, John?” Domingo asked, informally calling his boss/father-in-law by his first name. “Honestly, I am not going to get the chance to even meet my kid?”

Clark sighed deeply, and stared down at the ground.

“I don’t know; I hope so, but I just don’t know. I wish I could tell you something better, Ding.”

“It’s…cool; civvies get bad news and fret over it, soldiers get the bad news and have to fix it themselves, right?”

Clark smiled a bit; his friend’s defiant attitude still standing strong. Indeed, all the men were like that; keeping hope in a hopeless situation. If there was no hope left, they would just have to make some. He just wished they could make more essentials themselves, like clothes; the one suit he had worn the past few days was thoroughly ruined, not that he minded much. 

“So what now; storm the place with whatever we got left?”

“No, there’s always a smarter way.”

The two men re-focused on the ground, thinking of options.

“Sneak into the town and take it with everything we’ve got left?”

“C’mon Ding, be serious.”

“I am.”

“I’ve been thinking; maybe there’s some other sentient being here who would be willing to help-”

The conversation was interrupted by the radio crackling to life, surprising them both. Tomlinson and Patterson, both from Team 1, were up at the tree line keeping watch. The frantic call meant something serious was going down.

“Tomlinson?”

“Ding, something big is happening! Get Six and the others, you’ll all want to see this.”



“So, Clark, you told yourself that you’d figure something out next time this happened,” John Clark thought. “Wish granted; now, what are you figuring?”

“There are no guards in the area,” Weber reported.

“Hard to tell how many are inside, but I counted at least three; plus two more on the balcony,” Ding added, looking through his binoculars. “I can also make out hostages, six of them, maybe seven, all tied up on the ground floor. Looks like they’re being prepped for movement this is a kidnapping. I’ll be damned, they’re the same ones that kidnapped you, Six.” 

“Let me see.” 

Clark took the binoculars and peered through them, looking through a window into the strange, hollow tree. They were indeed the six horses he saw when he first arrived. All of them were tied up in a big circle, tape over their mouths and cloth covering their eyes.	

“Guess the shoe’s, more-or-less, on the other foot.”

“What do you think, sir?”

“I think they’re terrorists, same group from earlier by the looks of it.”

The definition of ‘terrorist’ was simple to the men; bad guys that killed the wrong targets, who were in turn killed by them. This presented the problem of what to do, as they were attacking what they considered enemies. Still, they were attacking the civilians. 

What should they do now? They could leave them be, and take attention away from their efforts to get home. They could intervene and save them, sealing their fate either with death or deliverance. The option of actually helping them wasn’t appealing to anyone.

“Six?”

“Rainbow’s policy is the defense of all people from terrorist actions; regardless of who or where they are.” 

Ding nodded understandingly. 

“To the rescue it is,” Covington said. “Six, how about you let my team take this one; you guys can follow up.”

“Alright, go ahead; Team Two and myself will come up when the area’s secured,” Clark ordered. “I want to have a word with these things.”



Twilight woke with a sharp pain in her head, but the moan was muffled by something keeping her mouth shut. She tried to move her hooves, but found that they were bound. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. Some unknown voices quickly gave her answers; scary answers. 

“Any sign of the guards?”

“Nothing yet; that storm was a good idea. The town’s all staying inside.” 

“Good, we might just get away with this one without loss.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“You will, don’t worry; we’ll be long gone before the guards know we’re here. Get the hostages ready to move, this’ll be a great bargaining chip.”

A kidnapping? That wasn’t good, not at all. She wanted to try magic, but figured that any attempt at resistance or escape would only lead to death. But who would want to do this? What did they have against her and her friends? Where would they be taken to? All of these questions ran through her head as she tried to think of a solution, and came up with nothing.



“We’re nearly there; guess the storm’s working our favor,” Covington reported. “Lads, you all know the drill.”

“On target,” Franklin reported. 

“Same here,” Houston added.

“Ok, three…two…one…go!”

The two snipers took shots at the same time, offing the guards on the balcony. The door was wooden, and surprisingly thin, so kicking it through wasn’t too difficult. The usual flashbangs followed, with the troops moving in after the devices went off.

Covington went in and shot down the one closest to the door; this was followed immediately by a burst into the chest of one a few feet behind him, stumbling about on his hind legs. Sergeant Bates put a shot into the head of the one guarding the group, exploding the head and spraying blood. The ex-Delta man Fisher got the one farthest right, earning another headshot for the team. The final hostile came from upstairs, relatively unaffected; McGarret spotted him and put him down before he could do anything, the corpse tumbling down the stairs.

“Clear!” Covington called. “Rifles, bring it in and inform Ding and Six. Chin, Traven, secure upstairs! Bates, help me get these blindfolds off; everyone else on watch!” 

Covington moved and removed the blindfold from the purple one. She shook her head a bit and blinked a few times. When she saw the human, her eyes widened. Covington decided it was best to leave the tape on and the group bound up; at least until Six got there.

“Don’t worry,” he assured them. “I wasn’t aiming for you this time.”

He gestured to the corpse of one of his victims, and the hostages looked at it for a minute before looking back at him.

“Not too bad compared to the ones we usually have to deal with.” 

“Nice work,” Clark said upon entering.

“Bah, it was no trouble at all,” Covington assured him.

“Let’s see what they have to say, shall we?” Clark said, kneeling down over Twilight. “This might hurt a bit.”

He ripped the tape off of her mouth, taking a good deal of hair with it.

“Ow!”

“Told you it would hurt.” 

“W-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“A…rescue?”

“Right.” 

“Six, we got company!” Ding shouted. “Same military guard force from before; they’re surrounding the building.” 

“You see any way out?”

“Nothing, we’re stuck this time; too thick to go through without some casualties.”

“Damn,” Clark swore. “Let them know we’ve got the hostages with us, keep them away as long as you can!” 

What now? You made a choice, and now you’ve got to live with it. Some of your men, maybe all of them, are going to die because you wanted to help your enemy. This is what you get; have fun.

“Um, sir,” Clark turned back to the purple one.

“Hm?”

“I think I can fix this; or rather, call someone who can.”

“Who? How?”

“Princesses Celestia, my teacher and our ruler,” she explained. “If you can just untie us, we can call her and she’ll make the guards stop.” 

Clark thought on this for a minute.

“Ok, but nothing funny or Covington is going to put you down.”

“I promise.”

“Alright.”

Clark slowly went about untying her as Covington kept aim on them with his weapon. Getting the last of the ropes off, he let her stand up and stretch a bit. Confident everything would be fine; he started untying the others while she went off to do whatever. The last one he released was a small dragon, which was surprising, but not as much now out of all he had seen.

“That’s the last-what are you doing?”

“Writing a letter,” Twilight explained, the quill scribbling furiously on the paper.

“Is that how you plan to call her, with a letter?” Clark asked, flabbergasted. “How do you expect us to even get it outside?”

“Just wait a minute. Spike, would you send this, please?” 

The dragon, still sitting next to John, stood up shakily and walked over to her.

“Yea, I can.”

The dragon grabbed the paper and took a deep breath. Releasing it, the paper was incinerated in fire, further confusing Clark. The ashes of that paper then directed themselves upwards and flew out of the window.

“Um…alright; how long do we have to wait?” 

“Since it’s an emergency, she should be able to be here in-”

There was a blinding light in the room that dazed some of the men. As it settled, a very royal looking unicorn-pegasus hybrid, who was about as tall as the men, stood in the center of the room and began looking over what had happened.  It didn’t take a genius to realize who it was.

“-no time,” Twilight finished. “Princess, thank you so much for coming!”

“Twilight, are you and your friends alright?”

“Yes, we’re fine thanks to…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“I’ll worry about intros later,” Clark said. “Can we just de-fuse this situation first?”

“Of course,” Celestia answered, stepping casually to the entrance.

“Something’s coming out!” one of the guards yelled. “Wait, Princess Celestia!?”

The guards immediately dropped into a bow.

“Yes, and there is no need to worry; everything is ok,” she assured them. 

“B-but, those aliens-”

“Just rescued Twilight and her friends from a kidnapping,” she said. “But as I stated earlier, everything is just fine now. The Elements are safe and the aliens will be allowed to lay down their arms peacefully and receive a fair-”

“Whoa, hold up!” Clark yelled at the alicorn, still standing in the doorway. “Why 
are we getting arrested?"

“You ruthlessly murdered several of my best guards,” Celestia explained. “They were good ponies, all of them. Surely, you do not expect to get off the hook so easily, do you?” 

“Murder? Like hell!” Clark yelled. “Me and Stanley were kidnapped when we got here; not to mention how quick your guards are to jump the gun, from what I’ve seen. I’m surprised we weren’t murdered outright when we first got here! You want to talk ruthless and brute force? Just look outside.”

“How dare you accuse my guards of such cruelty,” she said angrily. “You will surrender or I will be forced to make you!” 

“I seriously suggest you don’t try that, ma’am,” Stanley suggested.

Being closest to her, he aimed his weapon at the surprised ruler. Covington, as if to reinforce the point, re-targeted Twilight and turning the situation, once again, into a giant Mexican standoff. Clark felt a little sickened by this, as did all the men; now they looked like terrorists. All the same, they had defended themselves and each other, and would rather die than go to jail for doing the right thing.

“Perhaps we can still find a peaceful solution,” Celestia suggested. “Who is your leader?”

“That’s me,” Clark answered.

“Would you be willing to negotiate a bit at a more secluded location?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because I can see you are obviously not of this world, and I may have an answer to getting you home,” she said. “I will leave your men here, as well as my guards. It will be just the two of us.”

That caught Clark’s attention. Maybe this choice would pay off. If he could negotiate some kind of deal, he and his men might be able to get back home, hopefully without losing anyone. This was probably the only chance he would get at it.

“Bates, give me your radio,” he ordered, with the soldier handing it over to him. “Anything funny and my men will act.”

“I give you my word,” she assured.

With another flash, both of them had disappeared. 



John stumbled a bit after the teleportation. Obviously, he wasn’t used to something like that. He rubbed his forehead a bit and regained his balance. He checked his jacket quickly; his weapon was still there, and the radio was still in his ear. That alone told him she probably was honest; but, he knew better than to let his guard down at any time.

The room he was in was rather small, but lavish. There was a table and chairs that looked rather regal. It looked like a place where diplomatic talks between higher ups were held, which would be appropriate.

“I’m sure you know that we cannot proceed without you telling me your name first,” she said, taking a seat.

“You can just call me Six,” Clark said, taking the seat opposite from her. “My real name is to be kept anonymous.” 

“Is that really necessary?”

“In my line of work, yes; at least when talking to people who don’t know my line of work.”

“And what would that be?”

“Classified.”

“I see,” Celestia sighed. “Well beyond that, I would like to thank you for rescuing my student and her friends.” 

“No problem. Who were those guys, anyways?”

“A strange new group of insurgent ponies who wage warfare against our civilians, mainly; not much is known about them right now.” 

“Terrorists.”

“That would be an appropriate term for them.”

“So, why haven’t you done something about it?”

“My guards were never trained to deal with these types of tactics; we have never experienced them before.”

Clark thought on this; the situation seemed rather simple at first. Rainbow needed a way back home, and they needed a counter-terrorist force to protect them. The only obstacle was the little battle his team had with the guards. 

“Yes I saw that when they tried to stop the hostage situation at the bank; didn’t go too well.”

“No, it didn’t,” Celestia said in a melancholy tone. “And yet your men seemed to have little difficulty dealing with these insurgents; how is that?”

Clark sighed and rubbed his head; he could get into real trouble for this.

“What I’m about to tell you is top secret,” he warned, “as in, tell-everyone-and-I-will-literally-have-to-hunt-you-down top secret.”

She nodded her head in understanding.

“Me, and my men, have been specifically selected, trained, and equipped to deal with terrorists. That rescue we did, that was our job; to kill those guys before they had a chance to do anything.”

“So it exists in your world, as well?” Celestia asked, intrigued.

“It’s rampant; that’s why my organization was formed.”

“And why does it have to be so secret.”

“The fewer people who know us, the fewer people can trace us. That means fewer terrorists can expect us or devise ways to stop us. That’s part of the reason.”

“And the other part?”

“The other reason is that we are made up of the best troops from around the world, from many different countries. We aren’t bound by politics or ideals; we can’t let anything get in the way of our mission. Our targets can be any terrorist group, regardless of whom, where, and why.”

“Very interesting; I can see how my guards were unable to stop you.”

“Yes, but getting back on track; I think I’ve got a fair deal for you,” Clark suggested. “You provide us with a way home, and we can help stop some of these attacks.”

“That does seem fair, but you still have to answer for the guards you killed.”

“Your student captured me; how was I supposed to react?” 

“I will talk with Twilight to make sure there are no more misunderstandings,” she assured Clark. “I think we could add on to your proposal to make up for that. I do want you to help stop these attacks, but it must go farther than that. The entire organization must be brought down, and I would prefer that you still be here to keep watch in case anything else comes about. I don’t want you to be a temporary solution.”

That was actually, partly, what Clark meant to begin with; but, it worked in his favor all the same.

“Ok, but we will have to establish an actual link to my world; our supplies are low and I want to let my family know I’m safe.”

“I will look into a portal that can serve as a gateway, but it will take some time. Until then, you and your men can stay in Ponyville with my student, under the watch of the guards.”

Clark was not too keen about the last part, but it was better than sleeping in the woods.

“Rest assured that we will keep your secret safe outside of the town.”

“Ok, so in return for providing us a road home, we’ll be on alert to come help your um…ponies?”

God that felt weird to say.

“Yes, you have a deal.”

With a conclusion finally reached, there was another bright flash that returned the two to the library. 

> Making the Impossible Possible 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This will be your new, temporary home,” the guard said, leading the Rainbow troops to their part of the town’s barracks.

“Everything looks one size too small,” Clark observed.

“They used to belong to the Guards you killed,” the pony said, anger in his words. “Be happy you have anything.” 

The rather hostile guard left the men to their privacy and their new room. It seemed like a normal barracks, albeit everything, as John pointed out, was too small for the men. The beds would be the most immediate problem; he would have to see about getting some custom made for the men.

“Well he wasn’t very warming,” Louis observed.

“We killed a bunch of his friends; he more-or-less has a right to be,” Clark responded. 

“Hey, we said sorry, right?” Ding asked.

“It’s not that simple, Domingo.” 

“Then how do we get their trust back?”

“We do our job, helping them and rescuing the people,” Clark replied. “But to be honest, I could care less if they’re still mad at us; opinion never matters. It’s all about our job, and our job is to protect civilians. If those guards are still pissed after that, then oh well.” 

“Here here,” Covington replied whilst testing one of the small beds. “Six, you got any idea about what we’re going to do with these…accommodations?”

“I’ll see about that. You guys, in the meantime, need to keep up with training,” he ordered. “We’re going to be getting into the action at some point, and we need to be ready when they call.”

“Got it, everyone get your things together; we’re going to practice on the range first today,” Stanley ordered, being met by the standard replies of ‘yes sir’ and the like. 

Clark let the men exit first, preferring to keep out of the way. It was always an impressive sight to see Rainbow suit up and hustle to carry out the mission, even if this was just training and they were more relaxed in it. He followed them out the building and parted ways, going out to the street.

Walking through the streets, he did gain a noticeable amount of attention from the bystanders. Luckily, everyone in town had already been informed of the situation, and not to speak of it outside of the village. That wouldn’t stop the stares and murmurs from each one he passed.

Not that Clark cared, though; there were more important things on his mind. The most immediate was where he was going to get properly sized clothes, beds, and other furnishings for the men. Food probably wouldn’t be a problem and ammo was still in the lower-medium percentile; besides, it just had to last until the gateway back home was opened, then they could get everything they needed and then some. With these thoughts dominating his mind, it took some time to realize someone was talking to him.

“Sir, hello?”

Clark stopped and looked down to find the source of the voice.

“Oh, hey; you’re the one we rescued…and the one that stunned me,” Clark observed.

“Yea, that was me,” the unicorn blushed. “My name is Twilight Sparkle.” 

Another funny name to add to memory.

“Well, how can I help you Miss Sparkle?” 

“Yes, I actually came to find you,” she explained. “You see, I’m a rather…eager learner, and I wanted to ask a few questions about you and your world.”

“I suppose I can, if you could show me where I can get some beds and sheets and whatnot in a size for my men.”

“I don’t know of any stores that sell…well anything in your size. But, my friend Rarity might be able to do it; she’s very good at doing custom work.”

“Alright, you lead the way. We can answer a few questions on the way there, but I’m warning you right now that I won’t be able to answer some of them.”

“Alright,” she said. “Firstly, I never got your name.”

“I can’t tell you that,” he replied. “My real name has to be kept secret.” 

“What? Why?”

“Because of the dangers of my job; if my specifics weren’t classified, then someone could possibly hurt my family, screw with my savings or anything under my name, and general things along the lines of that.”

“Oh, ok; but what am I supposed to call you?”

“Six,” Clark replied.

“Um…ok, if you insist-”

“I do insist.”

“Ok ok, I won’t ask for it. So, what exactly is your job?” 

“That’s also secret,” he replied, receiving an aggravated grunt in return. “But I think you can guess it from what you saw.” 

“You mean rescuing people?”

“Basically.”

“And do you live in a specific country?” 

“I’m from the United States of America,” Clark answered.

“United States; so these states are come together to make a larger nation basically?” 

“Basically, yes.”

“And which state are you from?”

“One near the center called Indiana; specifically it’s capitol, Indianapolis,” Clark answered, remembering his early life there.

“Interesting; and are there multiple nations in your world?”

“Plenty, each with their own culture, ideals, etcetera.” 

John was granted a moment of relief as Twilight wrote everything down.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yes Six, I know it’s sensitive, but can you tell me anything about your family?” Twilight asked. “I’m not trying to put you at risk, honest!” 

Clark was quiet for a moment, but decided this little pony couldn’t really do any harm with basic information; especially since his family was on another world.

“I’m married and have two daughters; one of which is expecting a baby, so that would also make me a grandfather.” 

“I bet you’re anxious to get home in time to see that,” Twilight commented.

“Very anxious.” 

“Well, I’m sure the Princess will have a gateway open soon,” she assured him. “What about your parents?”

“My mother died from cancer when I was young,” John sighed. “My dad was a firefighter; he had a heart attack while rescuing some kids.” 

Twilight went dead silent, sensing that she had accidentally struck a sensitive spot.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-what I meant to do was-”

“Its fine, Twilight; not like you could’ve known,” Clark responded. “But if we could go past that now; and how far are we from your friends?”

“Rarity’s? It’s right up here, actually,” she told him, pointing a hoof at the building.

It took Clark by surprise at first; it looked like a carousel, one that was extremely extravagant. 

“Rarity, I’ve got a customer!” Twilight called.

“I’ll be down in a minute, dear!” a voice responded from upstairs.

“So, she can help us?” Clark asked.

“Mhm; Rarity usually does clothes, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping find some kind of furniture to fit your size.”

“Good evening, Twilight,” Rarity said, coming down the stairs. “And who might the-oh, it’s you!”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“And you to Mr…”

“He only goes by ‘Six’,” Twilight said.

Rarity gave him a quick, confused look before returning to the happy stance from before.

“Oh, well who am I to judge a newcomer’s name? Especially one who saved us; I never got to thank you.” 

“It’s just a job,” Clark replied.

“Oh nonsense, I could never repay you enough,” he said. “And since you’re in here, I can guess that you wanted some help?”

“Yes ma’am; you see, we were given some space to stay at the small base nearby, and understandably nothing there really fit us.”

“So, you want me to make whatever you need in a size to fit?” Rarity guessed.

“That’s about it; clothes, bed sets, a few other things.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can; everything else I’ll be happy to help you find.”

“Thanks, and how much will this cost?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling; consider this little bit free, as part of my ‘thank you’ to you and your troops.”

“Thank you, Mrs. R-”

“I understand you’re trying to be polite, dear, and I’m grateful to meet someone with such manners, but you can just call me ‘Rarity’ if you wish,” she said. “I consider you one of my closest friends, regardless of what others are saying.”

The last part struck Clark hard.

“And what are the other’s saying?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that while we’re working,” she said. “If you’ll give me a minute to grab a few things, I can measure you and find a general size range. Are most of your friends about your size?”

“In that area, yes.”

“Excellent, one moment.”

She went back up the stairs, leaving Clark and Twilight alone again.

“She seems very-”

“Generous?” Twilight finished him. “Yes, you could say she has a reputation for being very giving.”

“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about the bill,” Clark said, sitting on a sofa and thinking about all the money did not have and how useless it would probably be here. “So, Twilight; any more questions you want to ask while we wait?” 

“How do you re-produce, specifically?”

“Uhm…that’s classified.” 



The ‘range’ that had been set up was not exactly up to the modern military standards of an elite black operations unit, but it worked all the same. The same field outside of town provided the best area for it, being clear and open. Most of the targets were just large sheets of paper, cut to partially resemble that of a pony, rather than humans.

The guards who had helped them set it up were rather interested in the team’s weapons, their curiosity betraying their then perfect ongoing act of animosity towards the humans. A few more ponies form the town also seemed interested in them; a bit frightened, but not enough to make them leave. Domingo and Covington agreed to let them watch as long as they did not interfere too much. 

Since a way back home was not open yet, they still had to conserve ammunition for their main weapons; however, pistol rounds were still plentiful, and the team had to practice something. Indeed, despite hardly having used them in a direct combat situation, many in Rainbow were still experts with them.

Weber, who was also known for his pistol skills, put all his shots together in one ragged hole. Paddy Connolly painted an even more perfect hole, all between his target’s crudely-drawn eyes, and all without touching the eyes themselves. Domingo took his first aim at his target some five meters away, pulled the trigger on his weapon, and watched a hole appear a bit down and to the right.

“Damn, missed,” he said to himself, taking aim again.

“Missed? It looks like you hit it,” one of the guards observed. 

“In our context, a ‘miss’ is defined as not placing the round within an inch of where I aimed,” Ding explained, much to the guard’s surprise. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“No, not at all; if it can be done, it should be,” Domingo responded. “It’s possible, it helps; so why not do it?”

The guard decided not to argue, and just continued to watch with the others in awe of the powerful killing tools. When they looked at it, it was no wonder how the humans had beat them; their technology and training far exceeded anything the average guard had. Whether that made the situation better or worse between the two varied, depending on each individual view.

The snipers probably had to be most careful with their training, as their precious rounds and weapons were vital to the team. Homer Johnston only had three shots, and three targets set up separately at 400, 600, and 900 meters. He took his time to get a good aim, all too aware of the eyes watching him. He zeroed in on the closest target and pulled the trigger, the loud sound causing some of the onlookers to jump in surprise. The bullet hit the target with no trouble; the step was repeated at the 600 and was another hit. Hit looked closely at the final shot, waiting for the right moment, and fired; a few tense moments passed before he saw the target 900 shudder, signaling a hit.

“Wonderful work, Homer; you seem to have done the best today,” Weber said, walking up next to him as he picked up his gun. “The wind was in your favor, you know.”

Homer grinned a bit; that was always Weber’s favorite excuse, though not necessarily untrue all the time.

“You sure it wasn’t that semi-auto action?” he asked, chuckling. “I’ve told you time and again that it doesn’t headspace properly.”

“But I got my rounds off quicker,” he retorted.

The two snipers had debated this plenty of times before, even though both knew the other would never relent. The soldiers were very devout to their weapon choice, and both got the job done with theirs. Nevertheless, they continued the debate, much to the confusion of the onlookers who had no real idea of what they were talking about. All the same it ended with the men being gathered around to begin their physical training.



“I can’t believe this!” the stallion raged in the darkness. “All six of the Elements, not just one like we planned, but all six! All of them in one spot, ready to move, and instead we lose the entire team!?”

“Y-yes-s…sir,” the lone scout quivered.

“How?” he growled. “How did this happen!?” 

“It was…t-t-the c-creatures…sir.” 

The room went silent dead silent, which complemented the darkness of it well. Many of the ponies in the room were shocked and scared by this new development. For a few select ones, it was just one more interesting development.

“The same creatures that fought with the Royal Guards?” the same stallion, the leader, asked. “Why would they want to help the ponies they just slaughtered?”

“I’m not sure, sir; but I did see Princess Celestia leaving with one of them, and then returning after a short time. After that, they seemed to be on good terms.” 

This was not at all the good phenomenon they had hoped for; indeed, it was quite the opposite. They had hoped these powerful aliens would join them, and now they were, for all intents and purposes, a dangerous new enemy. But why did they change their minds? Why would they go from enemy to friend so suddenly? 

“Fine then, we’ll just have to take them out, too!” the leader yelled. “Gather all the fighters! We’ll storm that backwards town and put an end to those pests!”

“Calm yourself,” another spoke up.

He was easily recognizable; his coat was the only one that was of a different color.

“Calm? I do not need to be calm! I can-”

“You can what? Send your troops there on a suicide mission and throw away everything we’ve worked for?” the other replied, silencing the leader. “Have some patience; if they are new allies with the Princess, then I’ll see what I can find out about them in the capital.”



“Airborne! Airborne! Have you heard?” Vega chanted as the team neared the end of their five mile run. “We’re gonna jump from a big ass bird!” 

It had always surprised Domingo that a giant like Julio Vega never suffered in his runs. Being around thirty pounds heavier than any other team member, he had worried about his ankles when they first started, but everything turned out fine. In fact, if his chest grew any wider, his shirts would have to be custom-made. Ding was not going to start complaining about that, though; Oso had proven to be perfect for his role on in the team.

“Quick time, march!” Vega ordered, following with the usual march chant for about a half-minute. “Detail…halt!”

The men stood there motionless for another minute or so.

“Fall out.”

All in all things were shaping up well, considering all the factors affecting the troops at time. Their military supplies were low, but at least all their weapons still worked, which by now could be considered a near miracle. Morale was not as high as usual, which was to be expected, but it was better now that they had somewhere safe to sleep. Training was not going to be as extensive without the same facilities that were available at Hereford, but at least the PT would keep their bodies in perfect shape.

“Hey mate, where are the lavatories here?” Covington asked a guard as the men returned to their home.

“What?”

“Shower,” Ding said simply.

“Oh, over through there,” he said, pointing a hoof at a door.

“Uh…I’m not blind, but I’m pretty sure that says ‘Cafeteria’; unless that’s what you call the showers around here.”

“Just uh…go through and they’re on the other side,” the guard replied.

“Thanks,” Vega said, opening the door to the darkened room. “Damn it, this building set up is weird; who the hell puts-” 

“Surprise!”

“Ah Jesus!¿Qué demonios!?” Vega replied to the yelling in surprised Spanish and falling backwards onto the floor.

“Hehe, you sound funny,” the pink one said. “Hi, I’m Pinkie!”

“What? Oh, the Spanish…wait, who…what?”

“Oh, well we never got to meet you after you rescued us, which was awesome by the way! So I really wanted to meet you and say thanks, but I also wanted to throw you a welcoming party, ‘cause it’s my job to throw every new pony in Ponyville a party. So then I thought-”

Applejack shoved a hoof over her mouth to stop the onslaught against the confused soldiers.

“She’s tryin’ to say it’s a surprise thank you-welcomin’ party.”

“Oh, alright,” Doming said, helping Vega up. “You certainly surprised us; I thought I was about to start punching people, or…ponies. You get it.” 

“Glad you didn’t; I’m Applejack,” she said, extending a hoof.

“Nice to meet you,” Doming replied, shaking it firmly.

“Aren’t you gonna tell us your name?” Pinkie asked.

“I’m not too sure if I’m allowed to do that yet, but you can just call me ‘Ding’ if you’d like.” 

“That’s a neat name, how’d you get it?”

“I’ll save that story for another day; right now I just really want to get a good shower.”

“Aw, can’t you stay for the party?” Pinkie asked, zooming to a table and back. “I made a big, sweet cake just for you guys!”

“Ah, jeez; I really shouldn’t eat any-”

“Come on; there’s lots of sugar!”

“That’s the problem, I’ve got to be careful about what I eat so-”

“Don’t you like cake?” Pinkie asked with a sad face.

“Well yea, of course, I’d just rather not eat any ri-”

“But you don’t want any of mine? I made it just for you guys,” she said, tearing up as her puffy hair went flat. “Sorry if I messed up.”

“No no no I-ah damn.”

She started to cry a bit before he could finish. Not really sure of what to do, Chavez picked her up in a crushing hug, which seemed to solve the problem. Though hugging ponies was not part of the machismo Latino attitude he usually wore, Ding did have a soft side; which especially showed after his wife told him she was pregnant. 

“Thanks, I feel better now,” she said. “So can you stay, just for a little bit?”

“I guess we could for a little-”

“Yay! Let’s party!” she yelled, starting the festival. “Sorry if there aren’t a lot of ponies here; some are still kinda scared of you guys.”

“That’s alright; they’ll warm up soon enough,” Vega assured her.

“Yea, but I’ll keep trying to show them you’re nice; and we can start here!” she proclaimed, running off again and returning with a shaking, light-yellow pegasus. “This is my friend Fluttershy.”

The pegasus seemed terrified by the large trooper standing in front of her, trying to get out a few words.

“Um…h-hi-ep!” 

She curled up in ball and hid her face behind her hair; Vega was pretty sure that this was not a good way to start things off.

“Fluttershy, this is…”

“You can call me ‘Oso’; it’s a nickname, like Ding’s.” 

“Yea, so you guys can get to know each other! Have fun!”

Pinkie ran off in another direction, leaving the two standing there in an awkward silence. There was probably no greater contrast in the town than between the outer appearances of these two. Indeed, from Fluttershy’s point of view, it looked like the hulking beast of a man could swallow her up in one bite; though she was probably getting paranoid more than anything.

“You ok?”

He just received a small whimper in reply.

“I get it, I look like a big monster, right?’ he guessed, sitting down and crossing his legs to shorten the height difference. “Trust me, I won’t hurt you; I save that for the bad guys.”

She looked up a bit after this, but quickly ducked back after he reached to try and pet her.

“I guess this is going to take a while,” he sighed. “Alright, I’m a patient guy.”

Other than that, the meetings seemed to be going rather smoothly. Though many of the ponies were annoyed that the Rainbow operators refused to tell them their real names, specifics jobs, and the like, things began to work their way out by themselves. Even Rainbow Dash, who was rather dis-trustful of the humans after the first encounter, was warming up to them, at the same time betraying her enthusiasm for learning about the team itself.

“It was just so cool when you ran in and took down all those bad guys with those weapons!” she exclaimed to Covington, who was leaning against the wall. “And the way you blinded them before you ran in, that was amazing! I mean, it hurt me too, but it was still cool!”

The British soldier was surprised by her reaction to the situation; in all his SAS years, he had never met a hostage quite like her. Usually the hostages the team rescued were traumatized by the event, unable to think straight for days, and sometimes never again. This one, on the other hand seemed rather uppity about it.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied.

“Guess those other guys didn’t, huh?”

That was another, more familiar, thing he saw. Killing another living being, particularly an intelligent one, was not supposed to make you giddy or feel unstoppable or make you feel like the cool hero in a Hollywood movie, it was supposed to make you feel bad; yet he and the other team members had felt it many times before, he had even philosophized a bit about it with Chavez. Maybe it was because they were killing terrorists; not honorable foes, but truly evil people. He guessed that they were the exception. 

“Well, our organization is trained to deal with those kinds of situations.” 

“Yea, I heard; maybe I could join,” she suggested. “I bet I’d make a great addition to the team!”

Covington chuckled at her.

“I doubt you would make it in. We do the impossible; even though there’s folks around the world say that ‘you can’t do this’ or ‘that’s too much to ask for’, there are people here and there that can do it. We’re basically a club of those people.”

“Hey, I can do impossible stuff! I’m the only one who can do a sonic rainboom!”

“I’m…not too sure what that is, but that’s not the point,” Covington said. “Most of us are made up of experienced special forces soldiers, and you haven’t even joined your regular military. I don’t think you’ve even got the right mindset yet.”

“Oh yea? I think you’re underestimating me,” she claimed, flying up into the air. “In fact, I bet I could hold my own against you!”

Covington was surprised yet again, this time it was more shocking. Was she being serious about this? She looked pretty unhappy, so she clearly was not thinking straight. But, he that only re-enforced his idea; she lost control when she was mad, and her ego seemed to be coming before logic.

“I greatly suggest you not try that,” he replied. “I’m trained specifically to kill with my hands; you’ll probably just get hurt. There’s no real point to this violence, anyways.”

“Too late,” she said, hovering up to the ceiling. “There’s no way I’m backing out of a challenge like this!”

She dived at Covington’s position at an ever-increasing speed. He could see she was using her wings to get an advantage over him, which he admitted would be clever if she knew how to apply that advantage properly; instead, she was just flying at him in a predictable, straight charge. He was surprised by her speed, but not much else. Rather than do anything unnecessarily flashy, he timed everything and took a long, but quick, sidestep to the right. Dash, instead of hitting her intended target, rammed head-first into the wall and fell to the floor, the scene gaining a good amount of attention.

“Bloody hell, she’s out cold,” Covington observed. “I didn’t think she’d hit that hard.” 

“That was quiet the show, major.”

Covington looked back at the doorway behind him to see Clark standing there.

“What was I supposed to do, Six; catch her and snap her neck?”

“It’s fine, Major; no real harm done,” Clark returned. “How are things looking with the men?”

“Everyone’s in tip-top shape, though I wish the supply situation could be the same.”

“Well, it might be in a short time,” Clark said to the confused Brit. “We finally have our ticket home.”

“You mean she got the portal opened? That’s wonderful, Six!”

“Yea, for you maybe; I’m going to have to be the first one back to Earth. You know how much of a pain in the ass it’s going to be explaining this to the guys in Washington? They won’t be happy that their best counter-terror unit got home by signing a pact to protect an entirely different world.”

“But they’ll at least be happy we’re alive, right?”

“Of course they will, but you know how the bureaucracy gets.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Covington sighed. “But, good luck to you all the same, Six; we’ll keep things in check here, just hurry back.”

“I’ll go as fast as the superiors allow me.”

“And, please do let our folks know we’re alright.”

“You know I will.” 

> The Prince
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

For Clark, it seemed like forever since he had visited the sprawling metropolis in the District of Colombia; though that did not mean he missed it either. Washington did not have the mass, magic, or culture of a city on the scale of one like New York, and the seemingly endless number of monuments and museums scattered through it made it feel more like a museum than a place one would pick for a vacation spot. And beyond that, there was the obvious political addition; though it did come with the role of playing capitol.  

Walking down the average windowless hall in another Neo-Classical building, Clark switched his thoughts between that and his own plans for how to deal with the situation. There had been a quick brief with a handful of others hew were vital to Rainbow’s existence, but beyond an explanation of what happened, there was not much more for the few others to do. In fact, less than one hundred people in the city knew that the Rainbow organization existed, which was a good number more than he would like.

“John, I don’t know how the hell you pull these tricks off,” the CIA’s director commented as the two continued their stroll. “Jesus, you’ve really stuck us in a corner now, you know that?”

“I was kind of hoping you would be happy to find out a multi-million dollar group of soldiers was alright,” Clark replied.

“Of course I am, only problem is now they’re handicapped to some Disney princess in a fairy tale world. Are you really that bad at negotiating?” 

“Give me a little credit, Ed, I got everyone out alive,” John said. 

“Not technically,” he replied. “To cover both sides we’re going to have to keep at least one team there, and one team here, at least until we recruit more soldiers. That’s not easy to do.”

“Right, so what now?” Clark asked. “Just continue work as normal?”

“More or less,” Ed replied. “You’ll be going back tomorrow; we’ve got some more negotiating to do.”

“Sending me back there already?” 

“You’ve had a week to sort things out here, that’s more than enough time in our world. Besides, you’re someone they trust, at least relatively,” Ed replied, opening up a wooden double-door to a lobby. “But like I said before, you need to work on your bargaining side, which we don’t really have the time for. So, you’ll have some company to help out.”

The lobby was empty except for one average looking, black-haired man. For the first few seconds Clark wondered why it was so empty, and what the random guy had to do with that. Once he recognized the man in the suit, however, he wanted to kick himself hard, or at the least consider visiting an eye doctor. 

“Ryan? Sorry I didn’t notice you earlier,” Clark said.

“Remember its Mr. President, but I’ll let it slide this time since you just got back from what I can assume is purgatory,” Ryan replied. “It’s good to see you again, Jack.” 

“You too, John,” he replied. “You can come with me now. I’ll lay out our objectives on the way to the airport.”

“God… more flying?” Clark groaned.

“Man up! I hate flying too,” Ryan reminded him. “You don’t see me complaining.”

“You didn’t have a deadly plane crash to go through.”

“That’s right, mine was a helicopter,” the President retorted, referring to the crash that ended his career as a Marine platoon leader. 

Clark stopped talking and berated himself mentally for forgetting that crucial part of Ryan’s history. That only reminded John of the real reason Ryan was afraid of flying, with his parents dying in an accident not a year after that. It made him feel sorry, and like a whiny little jackass more than anything, something he detested. 

“Sorry, sir. I forgot about that,” he apologized.

“It’s fine, we’ve got bigger things to worry about,” Jack replied. “Let’s get going.”



 

While walking through the corridors of the castle, it was obvious as to which one of the two was new to the world. Ryan was constantly surprised by every new thing that popped up, which in comparison to what Clark had seen was not very much. Clark hoped it would not throw the President off during the talks too much, and he assumed it would not. 

“Wow, you were right,” Ryan said. “This place is… Christ I can’t even find the right word for it.” 

“Fluffy?” Clark suggested. 

“No, not quite what I had in mind; it feels a little rough around the edges for that,” Ryan continued, searching his extensive vocabulary. “At least this place doesn’t look like that. Ostentatious maybe?”

“I believe the word you are looking for is regal,” a voice said from behind them.

The two stopped and turned to see a white, rather upper-crust looking unicorn.

“That would be the best description. Kingly would also work, if you’d prefer,” he continued.

“Uh I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met you before,” Clark said. “Name?”

“Blueblood? Prince Blueblood? Does that jog your memory, perhaps?” the unicorn asked.

“Hm… nope, sorry. I’ve never heard of you.”

“Hmph, fine then,” the Prince snorted, almost as if he were insulted. “Well, I’ve certainly heard of you, Mr. Clark.”

That worried Clark a bit, and he could tell it worried Ryan as well. There would certainly be some of the population that had heard of the incident and the strangeness that came out of it, but for the news to reach this far off from the town itself was a little scary. Maybe he knew because he was a Prince; maybe he had some kind of special permission to know it. 

“From where?” Clark asked. 

“From private sources and close accomplices,” Blueblood said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And who those be?” Clark continued, getting irritated. 

The look on Blueblood’s face turned from annoyed to insult.

“They would be private, and none of your business human,” he snarled back. “And another thing, if you ask me, we do not need your assistance! We are fully capable of handling this insurgency on our own; you will only cause more trouble!” 

Clark’s fist clenched in anger, but held his restraint, and stayed satisfied with pointing out his flaws.

“Firstly, I didn’t ask you,” he said, keeping his voice deceivingly calm. “Second, we seemed to be able to handle your guys and the bad guys pretty well.”

“Don’t think we will forget that! I will make sure you are held accountable for your actions, even if I must do myself!” the Prince replied, unable to find a true counter. 

“Whenever you want pal; I’m dying for an excuse to put my foot up your royal ass.”

Blueblood and Clark engaged in an angry staring contest that seemed to last forever. It ended with yet another scoff from Blueblood as he turned and moved back down the hall in the opposite direction. Ryan simply stared the whole time, not quite sure what was happening, nor wanting to get involved. When it was over, Clark turned back to him as if nothing had happened. 

“Over-the-top?” Clark suggested to Ryan, getting back in their little game. “Does that sound right?”

The President took a second to understand what Clark meant before responding. 

“That sounds good,” Ryan agreed before trying to change the subject to something more comfortable. “I’m still trying to figure out why the armor is golden. Are you sure that’s not just paint over some other metal?”

“If it was something else, it was just as weak,” Clark answered.

“No way will that stuff stop a bullet; but then again, they don’t have guns,” Ryan commented, still studying the chest plates of the guards they passed  it like the blueprints to some secret weapon.

It looked to Clark like Ryan had not lost much of his special training during his time in office. 

“You never do lose that CIA feel, huh?” 

“No, never,” Ryan confirmed. “You never know when it will become useful again.” 

The two continued down the hall for a bit until they reached a large wooden door. Two gold-clad guards stood on each side, spears ready at their sides. Both were at attention, staring blankly straight forward until the two men came within a few feet of the door. Both looked up and over in recognition of their arrival.

“General Clark? We were told to expect you,” one of them said. “Is this your leader?” 

“Yes, we’re here for the meeting.”

The guard gave the two a quick study with his eyes and grinned slightly.

“I thought so; give me a moment.”

The guard disappeared behind the two large doors, leaving the two to stand there awkwardly with the second guard. He seemed more interested in continuing to stare rather than strike up a conversation, so John and Jack kept to themselves. After two short minutes, the pony returned through the door.

“Go ahead and follow the other guards on the other side of the door; they’ll take you to the Princess,” he said.

“Thank you,” Ryan replied before stepping through the wooden double-doors first.

There were another two guards on the other side, both of whom immediately began to walk back down another corridor, guiding the two without a word. They continued half way down the hall until they stopped at a seemingly random, simple door to their left. Both took positions on the side of it to guard before speaking to their two human guests.

“The Princess is on the other side here,” one explained. “She’s waiting for you, so you can head in now.” 

“Thank you,” Ryan repeated to the new set of guards.

Clark took the first step in this time, entering into a surprisingly simple room. It was nothing more than a stone room with a single window which provided enough sun to light the room fully. The only furniture was a small, rectangular oak table with two sets of chairs on each side. Celestia was sitting on the far one, along with an Earth Pony he had not met before who had a shimmering coat of bittersweet orange.

“General Clark, it’s nice to see you again,” she greeted with a warm smile. 

“Likewise,” Clark replied. 

She turned her attention to Ryan next. 

“And you must be his leader,” the Princess guessed.

“President Jack Ryan of the United States of America,” Ryan explained, extending his hand for a shake.

Celestia extended her hoof, which he shook, not hesitating or being hampered from the lack of fingers. 

Princes Celestia of Equestria,” she responded. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable, then we can begin negotiations.”

“Princess, I don’t believe I know this other pony,” Clark pointed out politely. 

“I was just about to get to him,” Celestia replied proudly. “He is actually the part of the first point I wished to discuss.”

The pony leaned across the table and extended his hoof to Clark in the same way Celestia had, which Clark shook in the same way Ryan had.

“Name’s Quick Tracker,” he said with a friendly smile. “But you can just call me General Tracker, if we’re keeping everything formal.”

“Yes, that’s right; you two hold the same rank,” Celestia noticed.

Clark was not sure if that was entirely right; he doubted that the ranking system of this world was identical to America’s. Even if it was, it still would not be true. Being in the CIA, his official rank was Simulated Major General. All the same, he figured it would be better to keep the simple things simple and agree.

“Yea, it’s nice to finally meet an allied counterpart in this world,” he answered. 

“General Tracker here is quite important; he is going to be the head of Equestria’s own anti-terrorist group,” Celestia explained. 

“That’s nice; at least they won’t be relying on us alone the whole time,” Clark thought. “Makes our job a little easier.”

“General Tracker has been in the Equestrian military for nearly twenty-two years now,” Celestia continued to explain, turning to Ryan. “He has shown great proficiency in hunting down insurgents.”

“That is an impressive, but it does take more than just the proper leadership to create an elite group,” Ryan explained. “There’s a lot more that goes into it; training, equipment, and planning, to name a few.”

“And that is where General Clark can help,” she went on. “I would like Mr. Clark and his Rainbow team to train and supply this group. We can select the best troops, if only you could train and supply them.”

Ryan stopped and thought for a moment before turning to Clark.

“It’s doable,” Clark answered before Ryan could say anything. “It would take time, but it’s possible.”

“I assure you that my ponies will be quite cooperative, I’ll see to that; I’ll select them myself,” Tracker replied. “And I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m sure you are, but that is not the problem,” Ryan replied, stopping again to consider the options. “I will agree to the former, but we will not supply your forces.”

Celestia looked a bit surprised from response.

“I fail to see the problem, Mr. President; we are more than willing to take our matters into our own hooves,” she said.

John kept quiet, but he felt a bit displeased. Why Ryan would not arm the ponies, he could not tell. Perhaps he did not trust them, which he could understand a bit, but not to that point. To him it was just politics getting in the way of things. He did not blame Ryan for that, either, but he still did not like it. It was not something that they could avoid, having to work with a necessary evil. 

“I am more worried about the terrorists getting a hold of them,” Ryan explained. “If we equipped your military with firearms and other weaponry then that means these rebels will get a chance to take them. It could be from taking them off a dead body, or just finding a way to steal them; no matter how, it would make our job far more difficult.” 

Now it was Clark’s turn to be surprised. For all his experience, he had actually not thought of that possibility. It actually made him a bit unhappy, after the feeling shock had passed over; for all of his training and experience, he had not thought of the consequences of that. He and his men had killed ponies; would he have given one of them a gun if they had asked for it? And what if they had actually gotten one? Would they turn on him? He felt that he should have predicted that earlier. For a minute he thought his age was catching up with him; that he was losing his touch.

But he had to give it to Ryan; he knew how to work politics. Maybe that was why he missed the point; he might not have thought of it until one of the ponies actually asked for a weapon. Ryan could see ahead and predict things, which a politician needed to do, which made it a good thing that he was President. Though at the same time, he might not have made it to that position had the original President not been killed by a Japanese pilot’s suicide attack after the U.S. won another war against them back in 1995.

But still, Ryan had stepped up to the plate, and led the nation through another war with Iran the year after. And he had led well in the four years since that war had ended, too. John remembered him urging the nation through the fight, even when the enemy had launched a biological war by attacking the mainland with an over-effective Ebola strain. That part had angered Clark a good deal, but having the of ending the war, and taking the honor of being personally allowed to guide a smart bomb onto the Ayatollah’s crown, eased the pain.

“I… suppose that would cause trouble,” Celestia answered. “Still, I assure you we would take good care of them. We would only assign them to General Tracker’s group.”

“I am sure you would try your hardest, Princess, but I will not risk it,” Ryan replied. “You may have saved Rainbow in an odd way, but that would be rather pointless if a terrorist with a captured gun ambushed one of the soldiers. I do not think either of us would want to deal with that outcome.”

Celestia sighed a bit, and Tracker simply continued to watch with a simple look, in his own world of thought.

“Rest assured, Princess; Rainbow will still train your troops to be the best and deal with these trouble-makers,” Ryan added. 

“You will still be available as a rescue force to respond to hostage situations, correct?” Celestia asked.

"Of course, but for how long? We do have similar situations on Earth.”

“Only until General Tracker’s force has been proven to be effective,” she assured the President. “We are anxious to take matters into our own hands, Mr. Ryan.”

“That seems reasonable enough,” Ryan replied. “I think that covers the problems based around Rainbow. Was there anything else you wanted to talk over concerning that topic?”

“Not immediately, no; though there is certainly a good deal more to talk over in establishing relations,” Celestia said.

“Of course; I’ll have plenty of desk work to do tonight,” Ryan said. “Nothing too different than the usual.”

“I suppose I will have a nice stack of paper to deal with, as well,” Celestia agreed with a chuckle. “Politics seem to be the same everywhere.”

“That would be the case,” Ryan replied with a smile. “I doubt you want to sit in for this, General Clark.”

“Well, you know me,” Clark said. 

“I do not think General Tracker is needed, either,” Celestia added. “Why don’t we let these two go and talk over the matter of establishing this organization, while we continue with our discussions?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ryan said, turning to Clark. “I’ll come find you when we’re all done.” 

Clark watched Tracker get up from his seat and move to the door, and stood to follow him.

“Goodbye, Mr. President.” 

Clark walked over to the door behind him to find that the pony general had already exited the room. He quickly pushed his chair back under the table and left the room. Exiting back into the hallway, he found the two guards at the door still standing at their posts. Immediately, one motioned his spear slightly down the left end of the hall, in the direction Tracker was heading.

“Hey, where are you going in such a rush?” John asked, catching up with him. 

“To get something eat, I’m starved. Haven’t eaten all day,” he replied. “You hungry?”

“No thanks; I’m a little more worried about getting your specialist group up and running.”

“Right, of course,” Tracker said. “We can go over it while I eat, if you don’t mind.”

Clark noticed that this general was being a bit easy-going about things. His nation was being ravaged by insurgent attacks, and he had been given the duty to create a group to hunt them down, yet he showed no kind of worry or anxiety, and only a small amount of seriousness. Surely, there had to be some kind of nervousness Tracker felt, being in such a high position now. 

But, that was nothing more than a minor notice that seemed out-of-place compared to normal. Perhaps he did feel it, and was just good at hiding it. Celestia had chosen him out of the whole military to lead this operation, so Clark felt he could trust Tracker’s abilities for now. Maybe a lack of anxiety or fear was what made him good at his job.

“Sure. Just hope it’s not too noisy,” John agreed. 

“It shouldn’t be around this time of day,” Tracker assured him. “Though if Blueblood’s there, he could fill up the whole room on his own.”

“That Prince guy?” Clark asked.

“Yea, you met him?”

Clark drummed his fingers against his palm, still slightly aggravated over the Prince’s speech.

I did, sadly,” Clark confirmed. “Is he always so pompus?”

“He is, and proud of it,” Tracker explained. “That crazy jingo can get on anypony’s nerves.” 

The word ‘jingo’ stood out strongly to Clark. 

“So is that what he is? Jingoistic?” Clark asked.

“Yea, he hates asking for help, and he’s been pretty mad about Celestia calling for your help to deal with these insurgents,” Tracker said. “He’s been talking pretty big about it lately, too.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Clark said, shaking his head. “He could be trouble.”

“Could be, but not at the moment,” Tracker said. “Let’s get to focusing on my group first. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”