//------------------------------// // Chapter nineteen: a third surprise // Story: Worlds Apart // by Elkia Deerling //------------------------------// The next day was shopping day. They all had no trouble finding what they were looking for at the busy, busy market. Triggerhoof even found an opportunity to craft a harness that allowed him to shoot guns with his wings. Even though they were a bit rusty, he now wore two assault rifles, hanging in a metal framework, which was strapped snugly to his barrel with leather straps. It wasn’t much, but at least it was better than the bow. In a matter of hours, they were all suited up, and heading towards the mysterious maintenance tunnels. They decided to stay together, and explore each tunnel as a group, rather than splitting up. If there really were changelings in the tunnels, they would face the danger together. General Johansson and Doctor Goodman weren’t yet wearing their gasmasks, as their Geiger counters kept quiet. But of course, Triggerhoof had already slipped the thing over his muzzle, because… Better safe than fucking sorry. Their powerful flashlights scanned the walls of the first tunnel, making sure to cover every nook and cranny. Its entrance was very inconspicuously hidden, and the tunnel was much smaller than the enormous, dome-shaped metro tunnels. There were no traces of changelings, which was good. No breeding membranes hanging from the wall, and no spit and saliva everywhere on the floor. The first tunnel was safe. It ended, just as the Engineer had told them, in a dead end; a steel door. Johansson put his pack on the ground and got out the steel cutting charges. He had been able to get a total of four of them, so he made sure to place it correctly. He put the charge against the lock of the door, then stepped back to watch his work. “Alright everyone, back off.” They retreated some distance away. Johansson held the detonator in his hand. As soon as he was satisfied with the distance, he pushed it. “Fire in the hole!” There was a loud flash, and a bang, amplified a thousand times by the reverb of the metro tunnel. Triggerhoof’s ears rang from the bang of the explosives. He looked at Goodman, who had been wise enough to put his fingers in his ears. They moved in, keeping the barrels of their guns on the area in front of them, ready for anything. The steel door opened, revealing a maintenance room. Nothing more, nothing less. There were some pieces of machinery here and there, many, many tools, and something that looked very much like a generator. Goodman thought that the Engineer would be really happy with this discovery. Needless to say, Triggerhoof and Johansson were not. They quickly turned around, and searched for a new tunnel. They found another tunnel, placed a charge, and opened it to reveal more useless junk. They had two charges left now. Johansson decided to scout out ahead, and see if there were tunnels or side passages that looked more promising than the others. In total, they found four more tunnels, but they only had two charges. Trigg discovered the fourth tunnel, and had quickly retreated when his Geiger counter started clicking. That tunnel actually looked different from the others. Where the others had their doors at the end of the tunnel, this one had a sealed iron door before the tunnel, keeping what was behind it a mystery. Whatever there was, there was also radiation. Johansson heard Trigg’s report, thought for a moment, and took a decision. “We’re going through your tunnel, Trigg.” Triggerhoof perked up; his muscles tensed. “Are you sure of that, sir? There is radiation there.” “Are you questioning my orders?” Johansson said, throwing a strict gaze towards his soldier. Trigg’s ears drooped down. “No sir.” Doctor Goodman also wanted to object, and say to Johansson that the Engineer told him it was probably collapsed. But he knew that the stubborn General Johansson wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. As they arrived at the steel door, Johansson rubbed his hands together. “Do you all see that?” The door looked different from the others. The lock was much more advanced, and the hinges looked heavy; almost indestructible. When Johansson tapped his fingers on it, there was almost no echo. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the door looked military-made. “Dayum.” They placed the third charge on the steel door, and stepped back. Here goes nothing, but hopefully something… Johansson pressed the button. A flash of light illuminated the metro tunnel for a split second. The heat sliced through the steel, cutting out a neat square. With a metallic clang, the lock clattered to the ground. As Johansson stepped towards the door, he noticed something very strange. Light streamed through the cut-out square. He placed a heavy boot on the door, and pushed. As soon as the door opened, their Geiger counters went wild. Triggerhoof jumped, and did a few steps back, as if the radiation slapped him on the muzzle. He tried his best to tell himself that he wore a suit, that he was safe, but he still kept glancing at his Geiger counter. The needle was far in the red. Trigg gritted his teeth, gave himself a mental slap in the face, and took a peek. “What the fuck is this place?” The tunnel was illuminated. Lamps were fixed on the walls, neatly arranged throughout the tunnel. The wall was painted a dark green. Sure, there was some dust on the ground, but other than that, the tunnel—or hallway—looked untouched. “How is that possible?” Johansson said. But then he leveled his automatic. “You think there are people inside?” Goodman reached out with his hand, and slowly lowered the barrel of the general in an almost comic gesture. “I don’t think so,” Goodman said. “Look at the cables.” They did so. The cables that connected the lamps seemed to gather and disappear through a narrow slit in the wall. “These lamps must be connected to the generator at that other station,” Goodman further explained. “Those generators are powering these lamps, but the people of the metro don’t know that. Maybe their power output is only half of what it could be.” “Possible,” General Johansson said, lifting the barrel of his gun once more, “but I’m not gonna take any chances. Follow me, and keep your eyes open.” Letting out a sigh, Goodman raised the barrel of his own automatic and stepped inside the hallway, with Trigg covering the rear. The hallway went on for a long while. As they moved, they passed several markings on the wall. Numbers, codes. All signs pointed to the obvious; this area of the metro belonged to the U.S. military. When they passed a couple of splits, and even encountered a functioning elevator, they were further convinced that this military facility went on for a long while. Occasionally, they found signs which pointed in different directions. ‘Systems,’ ‘labs,’ ‘research,’ ‘engineering;’ just a few of the names they encountered. They kept walking through the hallway, going straight ahead. Their Geiger counters went mad. Beads of cold sweat clouded the mask of Triggerhoof, and he kept staring at the little yellow box. The needle was all the way at the end, and Trigg knew for sure that if it could go further, it definitely would. If he hadn’t been wearing his protective suit, he would be fried alive in a matter of seconds. Finally, they reached the end. A large double steel door blocked the way. But, thanks to the power at Star Station, it was functional. Trigg and Goodman took cover in two other hallways, keeping their guns trained on the door, while Johansson pressed the button. With a hiss like a changeling, the pneumatic systems engaged. The door unfolded itself; the heavy iron bolts slipped back into the lock. With a screeching, grinding sound, the door swiveled on its massive hinges, revealing the treasure inside. Like a cigar of death, a missile stood upright. It was enormous, built in a circular concrete space. Triggerhoof, Johansson, and Goodman could see the missile through the window of a viewing platform. Johansson dropped his weapon; it clattered to the ground. He looked like a boy who had found a long-lost toy at the bottom of a toy box. His mouth was open and he was unable to close it. “These are Fists, Winter’s Fists.” Doctor Goodman studied the nuclear missile, his nose close to the glass in an attempt to see how tall it was. “I can’t even see the top,” he said, his voice meek, beaten down by impression. “This thing is hideous!” “Hideous?!” Triggerhoof pushed Goodman away from the window so he himself could take a peek. “This thing is goddamn beautiful!” “Language!” Goodman said. But Triggerhoof was much too distracted to throw curses at Goodman. His eyes went up, taking in every detail of the booster, the sleek body, and the pointed tip of the missile. Suddenly, he noticed something. At the top of the missile, some hoses were unplugged and hung limply in the air. He nudged General Johansson. “Hey, what’s wrong with it?” But Johansson was still spellbound by the machine of mass destruction. His eyes shimmered. He was in total bliss. Triggerhoof thought the man would kneel and worship the thing like a god any second now. He waved a wing in front of Johansson’s face. “Ground Zero to General Johansson? Please respond.” Slowly, Johansson’s hand reached up and put Triggerhoof’s wing back to the pegasus it belonged to. “It’s just… so… beautiful.” “I can’t deny that, sir,” Triggerhoof said with a grin. “But there seems to be something wrong with it. I saw some strange things at the tip.” With a lot of effort, Johansson was able to tear his gaze off the weapon. “I’m sorry, what were you saying, soldier?” Triggerhoof sighed and grunted at the same time. “We have to get to a higher viewing platform, then I can show you what I mean.” “Yes… of course…” Doctor Goodman turned to Johansson. “There surely must be another exit to Ground Zero, don’t you think? I guess this facility should have some kind of emergency exit.” “Yes… of course…” It took some effort, but they finally got Johansson to move. They took the elevator up a few floors. There was even a sign that indicated ‘observation platform’ at the next door. They went through, and were treated with a view of the tip of the missile, where the warhead was. They could literally see the warhead. Indeed, a few hoses and electrical wires hung over the edge of the maintenance platform, and there were some hatches open which shouldn’t be open. Their Geiger counters screamed. “That explains…” Johansson said, his voice still bearing awe. “That explains the radiation. The warhead is exposed. It’s leaking!” Triggerhoof came to another conclusion himself. He thought back to the beaten-up city above. “And that’s why this town is so heavily bombed. The Russians must have found out about this secret base and tried to destroy it. I mean, it makes total sense to bury it close to the metro. The equipment is already underground.” “If the missile is really leaking, then I suggest we get out of here and find a way to the surface,” Goodman said casually, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Do you think it’s still operational?” Triggerhoof said. “Affirmative,” Johansson said. “With a few minor repairs, the warhead can be covered up again, then the missile will once more be the streamlined beauty it was.” Doctor Goodman waved his hands. “My dear soldiers, can we please go and search for an exit before we become French fries?” “We’ve got suits, remember?” Trigg snapped, then turned to the general again. “Can we launch it?” Slowly, General Johansson nodded. “In theory…” “Do you know how to launch it?” Once again, Johansson nodded. “I used to work in a facility just like this one, but much smaller. I had access to everything I needed to launch the missiles. When we had confirmed reports of a nuclear detonation on American soil, I launched the missiles. After that, there was nothing else for us to do. Well, you know what happened after that…” Johansson cleared his throat, slowly coming back from nuclear nirvana to Ground Zero. “We gathered a small crew, got into the Winter, and searched for survivors, help build communities, protect them. And then we stumbled upon Crossroads. Things were so well-organized there. My soldiers and I knew that the bunker underneath the hospital would be a perfect home base to start attacking the reds. And—” “And then the Heat Seekers were formed,” Trigg finished for him. He did a step back. “But… but that’s amazing. I still have the GPS with the coordinates of the red base. We can fire this thing straight into their asses!” Stepping back from the window, Johansson let out a sigh. “I’m afraid not, soldier. Yes, we do have power here. Yes, I know the procedure and how to launch it, but I am not in command here. I don’t have the security launch codes or the two keys for the installation.” Trigg gritted his teeth, and kicked the window. “Dammit!” “It doesn’t matter,” Doctor Goodman said, his tone of voice really irritated now. “We’re not here to fire missiles. We’re here to escape the metro.” “Well, don’t you know where the launch codes might be?” Trigg asked with a raised voice, completely ignoring Goodman. “The highest official, the general of the facility, carried them with him,” Johansson said. “But he is long gone, just like the rest of the soldiers. We’re not gonna get those launch codes.” Now Triggerhoof sighed as well. “I understand, sir.” Johansson reached out and stroked Trigg’s head. “It doesn’t matter, soldier. Come, then we go up onto the launching platform. I think we have earned that after all our troubles.” Before Goodman could object, Johansson said, “If there is an emergency escape hatch, it will be at the top levels of the facility. Might as well stop by to watch the launching platform.” For a moment, Johansson felt like a parent bringing his son to work, showing him what it is he did from nine till five. He guided Trigg into the elevator, waited for Goodman, and pressed the button. When the elevator said ping, and the doors slid open, they revealed yet another hallway, with a curve at the end. “I still don’t see the point of this trip,” Goodman said, as they moved closer. He was almost stomping. “In my medical opinion, you guys have an unhealthy obsession with everything that kills.” “And I wouldn’t trade that for the world,” Johansson said with a smile on his bearded face. When they rounded the corner, they gazed upon a strange display. There was a closed door, bullet casings everywhere, dents all around the lock, and an intercom system. “What the hell happened here?” Triggerhoof said. “Language!” “I really have no idea,” Johansson said, walking closer and examining the door. “But whatever happened, someone wanted to get inside the launching platform real bad.” The door was locked, but not for long. Johansson carefully placed their last steel-cutting charge on the molested door lock, although he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know what lay behind the door. Nevertheless, they took cover. BOOM! And away flew the lock. When the smoke cleared, they stepped inside the launch room, and saw an even stranger display. There was a corpse—more skeleton than human—slumped into a chair. One of his hands was cuffed to a metal suitcase. On the ground lay one bullet casing and one pistol. When Triggerhoof looked closely, he could see a large hole in the skull of the skeleton. Trigg had no trouble at all figuring out what had happened. Doctor Goodman made the sign of the cross with his hand, paying his respect to the dead man, and took a moment to look around the room. It looked like the interior of a spaceship. There were colored buttons, flashing lights, and computers everywhere. Suddenly, Goodman noticed something. On the desk, pinned on a clipboard, lay a note written in pen with shaky, frantic handwriting. He read it first for himself before he read it aloud. “I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it; it’s that simple. I don’t care if the Russians throw a million bombs on America, I am not looking for any retaliation. The others behind the door were shouting, angry, filled with hate for the enemy. They know their families have burned, and now they want more families to be burned. I don’t. Hell, my family is probably dead too, but do I feel any hate? No. I feel only sadness and remorse. Launching a nuclear missile is not going to take away those feelings. “For years I have been a dedicated soldier, proudly serving the American military, but now I’m going to die as a traitor—in the eyes of the others. I don’t care. I’d rather do the right thing—no, I’d rather not do the wrong thing—while I still have the chance. I hope God will have mercy on me, but I highly doubt it. “I have sabotaged the warhead. With the push of a button, the shields will spring open and the radiation will gush out like a wave, killing everyone. I told those savages on the other side of the door what I am going to do. The moment they realized that my threats weren’t empty air, I could hear the sound of the alarm echoing through the hallways, and also the satisfying sound of boots running towards the emergency hatch. Either that, or they are going to use explosives to open the door. Then they will die with me. I leave it up to them. “Hell, why am I even writing this letter? It’s not as if someone will be able to find a way to get to this room. I don’t care. It feels good to finally be able to put my thoughts and worries on paper, without fear of someone eavesdropping on me. At least I die in freedom, making my own choices with my own free will. That feels good too. “Farewell, cruel, hate-filled world. I hope hell will be better. “General Edward Peterson.” “That’s it? That’s what happened?” Triggerhoof said. Once again, Doctor Goodman made the sign of the cross. “I’m afraid so.” With one punch of his hoof, Triggerhoof shattered Edward’s ribcage. “What?! Why did you do that?!” Goodman shouted. Triggerhoof snorted, and flung the dust off his forehooves. “Because he’s a fucking traitor, that’s why!” That was not the Triggerhoof Doctor Goodman wanted to see. “No, Raspberry,” he said, his voice soft, mirroring his disappointment, “Mister Peterson did the right thing.” “I agree with Triggerhoof; the man is a traitor,” General Johansson said. “But it’s good that our skeleton friend here hasn’t launched the missile, because that means that I can.” “Really?!” Trigg and Goodman said at the same time. Trigg sounded pleasantly surprised, while Goodman sounded unpleasantly surprised. Johansson ripped the suitcase off the skeleton’s wrist, taking the whole hand with it in the process. He took out his pistol, put it against the lock, and fired. When the suitcase opened, it revealed some papers, and two keys, each bearing a red keychain. Johansson took the papers and the keys and held them up in his hands. “Perfect. This is everything we need. As soon as we fix up that warhead, this boy is going to fly.” “But… but…” Goodman couldn’t believe his ears. “But you can’t do that! This man here died refusing to launch the missile. His last wish is for it to never be launched.” “Wrong,” Johansson said, while his eyes skimmed the paper. “He wanted to ensure that whoever finds the missile knows of its destructive power. We hold ‘the power of atom at our fingertips,’ which means we can do whatever we want with it. We are the rightful owners now.” “Finders, keepers,” Triggerhoof added. “Exactly, soldier.” Goodman threw his hands in the air. He didn’t recognize his friends in the two monsters that stood before him. “But look at what the nukes created. Look at Ground Zero. The world is already messed up as it is, by our own hands, and now you want to launch yet another one of those God-forbidden weapons?!” “Affirmative,” Trigg and Johansson said at the same time. But Goodman didn’t give up. “You aren’t seriously thinking of throwing that thing upon the red base, are you?” “Yes sir,” Trigg said. He began to grow tired of the professor nagging on and on, while there were preparations to be made. “Tell me one reason why we shouldn’t. Now we have a chance at hitting those filthy communists right in the heart. We would be traitors not to utilize this chance.” “No! You would be heroes,” Goodman said, looking Trigg deep in the eyes. “Raspberry Trick, I believe in life. Life is something precious, and we should cling to it with our hands or hooves. No matter if we are red, blue, or everything in between. In the end, we’re still people. We are fellow human beings, and we should be bringing life, instead of sowing death.” Now Johansson turned around as well, and threw a stare at Goodman. “Yes, doctor. It doesn’t matter to you who lies hurt on the operation table. For you, you’re helping another human being. But for us, it does matter what is at the other side of our gun’s barrel.” “But you could be better. You could be—” “Tell me, doctor,” Johansson said, “If I were a communist, would I shoot you now?” That caught Goodman off guard. He had no idea what to say to this, but he didn’t give up. “But if there are communists who would be like me, who would think like me, then—” “They would still be communists,” Johansson finished. “You cannot change a man’s ideology that simply, Doctor Goodman. They want to destroy us, and force us to take on their ideology.” “And what makes their ideology worse than ours?” Johansson stabbed a finger at Goodman. “You could be put against the wall for such talk, Goodman.” “But you can’t just launch a nuke on them! It’s just… just…” Goodman searched for words. “Wrong. They will never even realize what hit them. Killing them with guns is one thing, but catching them off guard like this. It’s… It’s the same as shooting a man in the back.” Johansson shook his head. “No, Goodman, what you are doing now is the same as shooting a man in the back. Now stop your jabbering and help me fix this nuke. We’ve got a delivery to make.” Turning around, Johansson took out the keys and twirled them around in his fingers. Triggerhoof was gazing intently at all the knobs and buttons and lights of the launching installation. They both froze when they heard a click they knew all too well. “No… no… no, this is too big. I won’t let you do this,” Goodman said, as he held his automatic with two hands. The barrel moved from Johansson to Triggerhoof. Johansson still held the papers with one hand, and the keys with the other. Goodman could shoot him before he even got a chance at drawing his pistol. Triggerhoof, on the other hand, had his gun trained on Goodman the moment he raised his voice. He had expected trouble; horses have a sixth sense for that. “It seems we are enemies now, doctor,” General Johansson said. He had stared into the barrel of a gun before, and knew that talking was the best way to make it vanish. “But I don’t want that,” he continued. “We don’t need to be enemies just because of an argument. How about you lay down the gun, and we’ll talk this over man to man?” “I know you only talk with bullets,” Doctor Goodman said, still holding up his gun. But he trembled over his whole body. Adrenaline kicked in. He knew he had made a final decision soon. “All you soldiers talk with bullets. I still believe in the goodness of mankind. God has given that to everyone, whether communist, capitalist, it doesn’t matter.” Johansson still stood erect and motionless. “It seems that your vision is clouded by religion. Your opinion is biased, and I can understand that. But we can work on that; you have a viable reason why you act as you act now. My offer still stands: lay down the gun, and we’ll talk.” Triggerhoof’s eyes flashed from man to man. He had no idea what to do. His feathers were at the triggers, and his guns were still aimed at Goodman. “So you’re not gonna follow my good advice?” Johansson said. His voice was ominously soft. “No.” A grim smile played around Johansson’s bearded lips. “Then we are enemies, Doctor. And as you know, enemies must be destroyed. I still have a soldier, while you stand alone.” Goodman glanced over at Triggerhoof, still staring into the barrels of the pony’s guns. Nudging with his head, Johansson gave the command. “Triggerhoof, kill him.” Goodman’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t…” Triggerhoof pulled both bolts of both his weapons back with a terrifying click. But he didn’t do anything. “Soldier, I gave you an order,” Johansson said, “carry it out.” “I… I can’t, general,” Triggerhoof said. His voice, for once, didn’t sound gruff and rough, but surprisingly soft, as if he weren’t sure of his words. Even though they were like fire and ice, Doctor Goodman was still the man who had found him, mortally wounded. He was the man who had nursed him back to health. He was the man who had tried to educate him, while all Triggerhoof wanted was to join the Heat Seekers, that legendary squad. Of course Doctor Goodman never approved of that. He wanted to teach him kindness, love, and tolerance, just like the ponies in the show. He wanted to show him the spirit of human beings, the peacefulness in a time of war, a light in the darkness of the world. Goodman had never approved of Trigg’s wargames, but never stopped him—until now. Trigg looked at General Johansson, everything that was left of the Heat Seekers. No, Trigg had always idolized them. He felt completely synchronized with weapons, war, and the Heat Seekers. He had always considered General Johansson his dad. Yet, if that were true, why couldn’t he kill the ‘enemy?’ “You are silent, Triggerhoof,” Johansson said. “We are still at an impasse. This impasse won’t end until you make a move, Trigg. But keep in mind who trained you, who taught you the things that kept you alive in this world. Keep in mind who loved you like a son and always hoped for your safe return. Choose where your loyalty lies, but at least do something.” Silence. The only sound came from the bleeps of the computers in the launch control center. Triggerhoof couldn’t decide. For the first time of his life, he was unsure whether to fire or not. For the first time of his life, he doubted whether the enemy was really the enemy. He’d much rather do nothing, but he knew that was not an option. He bent down through his knees, slowly, unsure of his movements. He was unsure, yet he made a move. Goodman felt the impact, as Triggerhoof launched himself into him. Then he felt a terrible pain in his chest, like a giant bee stinging him, the stinger piercing straight through him. The pain paralyzed him, made his knees weak. Blood spattered the walls, as he went down. Triggerhoof looked behind him, and into the smoking gun of Johansson. This was not the plan. The plan was to tackle and disarm Goodman, not shoot him dead. Yet that is what happened. When Goodman had become distracted by the wing-propelled, charging horse, Johansson had taken the chance to draw his gun and place a well-aimed shot. Triggerhoof stepped away from Doctor Goodman. Blood spurted out of the wound and formed a lake at his head. Doctor Goodman tried to say something. His breaths came in ragged gurgles. Triggerhoof bent through his knees and swiveled his ears. “I… forgive… you… R-R-Raspberry.” And before Triggerhoof could tell him that he wasn’t the one who shot him, Doctor John Goodman slipped away, and left this world behind. “But… I didn’t shoot you,” Trigg said. He knew Goodman was already dead, yet he still spoke to him. “I didn’t shoot you!” he called. “I didn’t shoot you!” he shouted. Then he grabbed Goodman by the shoulders and shook him. “I didn’t shoot you!” The visor of his gasmask went completely white. “I didn’t shoot you! I didn’t shoot you!” Tears stung in his eyes. “I didn’t shoot you!” He screamed louder and louder. “I didn’t shoot YOU! I DIDN’T shoot you! I DIDN’T SHOOT YOU!” He kept shaking the body of Doctor Goodman, as if he could shake him back to life. He had lost a friend who was more dear to him than he realized. He felt a hole in his heart, as if an arrow had punched right through, and left behind dark vapors. “I DIDN’T SHOOT YOU! I DIDN’T SHOOT YOU! I DIDN’T SHOOT YOU!” Alas, Doctor John Goodman would never know that Triggerhoof wasn’t the one who shot him. Suddenly, Trigg felt something. Johansson crouched down, and put a hand on his shoulder. “No, Triggerhoof, you didn’t shoot him. I did, and I am very sorry for that.” Trigg’s head snapped around. He had no idea how to react. “Soldiers die, Triggerhoof,” Johansson said. “The average life span of a soldier on the battlefield is five seconds. Doctor Goodman has been with us for a lot longer than that, and for that, I am both glad and grateful.” Trigg’s voice sounded broken. “But… doc was no soldier. He was… He was…” “A scientist,” Johansson guessed. “A friend.” “You’re right, Triggerhoof,” Johansson said in his softest voice. “A friend he was, right until the end. He didn’t want to kill us, but he knew he had to. He had to make the same decision you had to make. It’s all a matter of loyalty. I can’t say you chose wisely, because I made the choice for you. And for that, I am sorry.” Triggerhoof wanted to bury his head in Johansson’s shirt, but they were wearing protective suits, of course. Instead, he rubbed his muzzle against his bullet-proof vest. He wanted to cry. Triggerhoof couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He wasn’t sure if he had ever cried. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t give a damn. The emotions hit him like a nuclear missile, and scrambled his brains. Once again, he drifted into the void behind the chamber with many doors. He couldn’t help it; he got sucked right into it. Triggerhoof had lost someone so dear to him. He felt as if he lost his father. My… father…? Suddenly, out of the void in his head, a picture started to form. It was the picture of a burly stallion, wearing a moustache and smiling to him, reaching out a hoof. Triggerhoof took that hoof. His father took him somewhere, to a house. It was a colorful house in a colorful neighborhood, full of gold and purple. Inside the house, there was a mare. She looked as if she were worried all the time. She also reached out a hoof, and Triggerhoof took that hoof. Hooves… “And if you do, little Raspberry, know that our doors and our hooves are always open for you.” Triggerhoof let his parents guide him towards the window. There they stopped, and gestured for Trigg to go and look. There was a beautiful sunrise, setting the gold on the roofs ablaze. So sparkly and shiny the city was, that Triggerhoof had to shield his eyes, as if he were watching a nuclear detonation. The city… Canterlot? The sun slowly rose by Celestia’s will; the rooftops glowed. He could see everything. See how things really are… “I don’t know what is wrong with you, son, but whatever it is, I hope you will see how things really are soon.” As he left the sun alone, his gaze went down to their garden. There was a big bush encircling the entire lawn, bearing healthy, blood-red raspberries. Raspberries… “I can’t believe it! My sweet little Raspberry Trick!” Triggerhoof closed his eyes, mulling over everything that shot through his brains like arrows from a bow. He remembered things he wasn’t supposed to remember. Yet somehow, the memories seemed sincere and real. No, it was the void that felt strange. Memories… “Try to remember what happened that day with the changeling attack. Or remember another, happier memory with us. Just try.” “I remember,” Triggerhoof said, before everything went black. He slumped down next to his fallen friend and his commander. For the first time in many years, his dreams were soft and peaceful. ** The general took the hint, and after he positioned the passed-out pony out of the blood pool and into another corner, he left Trigg alone. Making the nuke ready was a one-man-job anyway. After a bit of searching around, he found a blowtorch and a mask, possibly even used by Edward the traitor, and got to work on putting the shielding in place. All the while the general thought about what had happened. Once again, he thought about every possible outcome of that sticky situation. What could he have done differently? The shot, he realized, had also been tricky. He knew he was a crack shot, but also realized he could have hit Triggerhoof. Johansson kept wondering and guessing why the pony did what he did, wondering what went around in his head. When Johansson reached back to pick up the blowtorch, he grasped empty air. Oh shit! Did he accidentally nudge it off the maintenance platform? Johansson turned around on his knees. “Here,” Triggerhoof said, and gave him the blowtorch. That caught the general off guard. He hadn’t even thought about what he would say to Triggerhoof once he woke up. It didn’t matter. First, Triggerhoof had something to say. “Do you question my loyalty, sir?” His voice was completely devoid of any expression. There was no anger, sadness, or despair in it. It was totally blank. Their eyes were at the same height. When Johansson looked deep into Triggerhoof’s eyes, he saw the sorrow and guilt, hidden behind a reinforced, steel door. Triggerhoof had shut down his emotions. General Johansson stood up. “No. I never doubted your fealty to me, the Heat Seekers, the American army… I never doubted it, and I still don’t.” Turning his back to the general, Triggerhoof said, “That is all I wanted to know. If you need any help, just tell me.” Johansson waited until the pony was out of sight andbehind the door. Then, with hands that were trembling a bit, he picked up the blowtorch and resumed his work. Triggerhoof walked back to the launching platform, alone with his thoughts. He didn’t let that time go to waste. He was running, jumping, hunting the fragments of his shredded memories together. He fastened them to each other as Johansson fastened the shield on the missile. Slowly, piece by piece, the lost memories turned into a moving painting. Triggerhoof remembered the place he was from; Equestria, Canterlot. He remembered what he liked to do; archery. He remembered his friends, especially Nockle Stringer. He remembered that fateful day, the day that the changelings attacked. Trigg stopped reminiscing for a second to look at his leg, where a terrible scar reminded him of the changeling’s magical trickery, and the arrow that should have killed him. But above all, he remembered his parents. He remembered how loving and caring they were, and how they tried to save him till the end. Even though massive grief kept whispering with a cold breath through his head, Triggerhoof—no, Raspberry Trick—knew he had lost someone he found, and found someone who he lost. Slowly, Raspberry Trick walked over to Doctor Goodman. He closed the man’s eyes, and laid his hands together on his belly. He almost looked as if he were asleep, and as if someone could wake him up from the dead. Raspberry slipped the gasmask off Goodman’s face, bent down, and nuzzled him as warmly as he could, even though his own gasmask was in the way. A nuzzle, the ultimate sign of love. He should have done that a lot more when Goodman was still alive. Suddenly, the door opened with a hiss, and Johansson stepped inside. “Nuke has been fixed. I just need to initiate the launching procedure and then we’ll get it flying.” But Trick didn’t care about the nuke for a moment. He felt what Edward the traitor had felt. Why create even more bloodshed? It’s not going to bring Doctor Goodman back to life. Trick knew that his last wish would be for the missile not to fly. But he also knew that that was impossible; he still had a commander who stood above him. As Johansson was busy with the keyboard of the computer, Raspberry Trick’s thoughts went to him. He wasn’t angry with Johansson; he had simply reacted to the situation. He neutralized the threat. Yet, couldn’t he have waited for one second longer? Couldn’t he have waited until Trigg was lying on top of Goodman, disarming the man in the flash of a second? There was no point having vengeance. There was no point in blaming. To Raspberry Trick, he and Johansson were still soldiers on a mission. They were fighting a common enemy, and not each other. “Well, it’s awfully quiet here,” Johansson said. Actually, the quietness unnerved him. He knew that Raspberry wouldn’t shoot him in the back. But then why were his muscles tense as he typed? Didn’t he trust his own soldiers? No, Johansson whisked the thought away. As he turned around to grab the keys and the launch codes from the desk, he noticed something hanging on the wall. Suddenly, he let out a chuckle. “Would you look at that.” Trick followed his general’s gaze. There was a box hanging on the wall, with digits and buttons. Raspberry Trick had no idea what it was. “A radio,” Johansson said. “Now that’s some irony, isn’t it? We didn’t have a radio when we needed one, and now we have a radio but don’t need it. And what a radio it is…” Johansson paused his work to look the thing over. “I bet you can hear what’s going on in the entire state with this monster. Shall we turn it on?” Raspberry shrugged. Johansson pushed the button. When the radio came to life and the display fired up, he continued his work, turning his back to Trick. Automatically, the radio tuned in on the nearest signal. Also automatically, Raspberry Trick’s ears swiveled at the source of the noise. At first there was static, but then, someone’s voice could be heard. The voice proudly recited a slogan, advertising himself. Wait… advertising? Triggerhoof stood up and turned his head towards the radio. Advertisements and their makers burned with the world long ago. “…Forget to visit the jewel of Ground Zero; you never know what you might find. Are you looking for weapons? Ammo? Specific parts? Or that one special gift for that special someone? You will find it here in Plaza City.” Raspberry Trick couldn’t force his ears to turn back. The voice was so pleasant to listen too. He sounded as if he had just bought paradise, and was ready to share it with the world. That’s a dumb move, mister, Trick thought. “Everyone is welcome, no matter your nationality, ideology, or naughty past… In here, we are all traders, and we are all family. I assure you, the journey is always worth it. ‘But Mister Rich,’ you ask, ‘I come from so far, and will be too tired to head back.’ No need to fear, my weary travelers. You are all more than welcome to spend the night here—or perhaps even multiple nights—in our underground hotel, safe from bullets and radiation.” Mister Rich? Raspberry Trick dived into his new memories, trying to recall the name. He had seen it before; he knew that. Yes! There it was! Raspberry had once seen the name ‘Rich,’ on a billboard advertising zap apple jam. The name of the pony was ‘Filthy Rich.’ On the radio, Filthy Rich was rounding up his advertisement. “So remember to come on over to Plaza City, and experience the commercial wonder yourself. Whether you’re a trader or not, you are always welcome at Plaza City. Plaza City, fillies and gent—eh, I mean ladies and gentlemen. Tell it to your fellow soldiers, your worst enemies, your neighbors, or your best friends. Plaza City!” Filthy Rich stopped talking, and the radio went static. Triggerhoof was still thinking about the words and promises Filthy Rich had blabbered. Then he turned to General Johansson. “Permission to speak, sir?” “Permission granted,” Johansson said, not taking his eyes off the computer screen. “You know of this ‘Plaza City,’ don’t you? That was the large trading post you talked about back in Democracity.” “Yes, you’re right. That’s the one,” Johansson said. “Never been there myself, though. According to the soldiers in Democracity, it’s an underground shopping mall, and the biggest market on Ground Zero. As I told you before, special squadrons often took the trucks, loaded them up, and drove all the way to the place, hoping to trade. It’s just a shame they weren’t very successful.” Johansson went silent for a few seconds, as the painful memory of the Democracity slaughter came to mind. He shook his head, whisking the memories away. “Anyway, those boasts of that man aren’t empty air. It’s supposed to be really special.” Raspberry Trick pieced the puzzle together. There was another pony there! Silently, Trick wondered just how many Equestrians that terrible storm cloud teleported to Ground Zero. While he was still thinking and puzzling, the static suddenly stopped. Another voice, a female voice, sounded through the speakers. She sounded so enthusiastic Triggerhoof thought the speakers might burst. “It’s high noon here in wonderful Plaza City, and I have some very interesting news to share with you all. Are you ready to hear it, and be flabbergasted? Yes? Good! Here we go! “More ponies have arrived here at Plaza City. Incredible, isn’t it? And I always thought Mister Rich and his lovely family were the only ones! Well, apparently not. I have seen them myself, so I can give you faithful listeners a real, super, eye-witness account. There seemed to be four mares, accompanied by one human. One is totally pink and smiling; another is wearing a brown cowboy hat; another one has a horn and a beautifully styled coiffure, and the last one has wings and a horn, and is purple from head to hoof.” Raspberry Trick surely was flabbergasted. He pressed his ears against the speakers. “The elements! They are at—” “Plaza City welcomes these four special horses with open arms. According to my sources, they have already had a meeting with our lovely president, Filthy Rich. I’m standing here with Mister Rich in his private cocktail lounge. Mister Rich, can you tell me and all our listeners more about the nature of your conversation?” After he cleared his throat, Filthy’s pleasant, salesman voice sounded. “I’m afraid that is classified, Miss Jenny. But I can tell you that they are on a special mission, and that they will probably soon return.” “Oh! Doesn’t that sound exciting? A special mission… What could that be? Oh, I just love the mystery these four ponies are wrapped in. I’m just so eager to get answers, and I bet you are too. Well, stay tuned, because we are going to get at the bottom of this. Next will be an interview with the eight-year-old Sarah, who claims to know more about the ponies. But we’ll find that out, after the break.” The woman’s voice got replaced by static for a few seconds, and then Filthy Rich began advertising his great Plaza City again. Raspberry Trick turned the volume down. He couldn’t believe it. By sheer coincidence, he had learned the location of the elements of harmony! The thick, black blanket got lifted off his heart, burned away by the power of his new objective. He felt better, he really did. His mission wasn’t over; it had just started. Trick’s head snapped towards Johansson. “Do you know the coordinates?” Johansson turned around. Where before Trick’s voice had been monotonous, proving that his loss was heavy, now it was full and powerful again. Johansson found that very strange. “Why are you so interested in Plaza City anyway? Because of those mares?” Raspberry Trick clammed shut. He still didn’t want Johansson to know about his side mission. He wouldn’t understand, and Trick didn’t want to burden him with it. But Johansson had already noticed the hesitation. “Is there something I should know about?” Of course, Raspberry Trick would never lie to his superior, so he told him about the mission of Twilight Sparkle and her friends to defeat Chrysalis and the changelings. He left the elements of harmony out of the story, as he knew Johansson wouldn’t understand that part. After Trick was done, there was a silence. Slowly, Johansson got off his chair and walked towards Trick. Of course he’s angry, Trick thought. Johansson had one iron rule regarding information: no secrets in his squad. But instead of taking disciplinary actions, he said, “You should have told me sooner, Triggerhoof. Whatever your plan is, if it defeats those fucking changelings, then count me in. They take second place on my list of worst enemies, and the Russians are going to be crossed off that list. The changelings are next. We are going together to Plaza City, and find your mares.” Raspberry Trick could hear the hate and vengeance in his general’s voice. He meant what he said, and Trick actually found Johansson’s proposal a good idea. He would make a powerful ally, and he would surely make a difference if they were to attack Chrysalis’s stronghold. Johansson had the feeling that he owed this to the pony whose friend he had shot. Whatever the mission was, he wanted to face it together with his comrade in arms. Suddenly, Trick reached out a hoof. The general saluted, and bumped it. “Triggerhoof, now you are the one in charge.” “Certainly sir,” Trick said, “but there is just one thing.” “Another mission objective?” Johansson said. “No sir. I just wanted to point out that my name is not Triggerhoof. It’s Raspberry Trick.” ** The alarms rang; the emergency lights were on and flashing. The coordinates were set, the missile was fueled. It was ready to go. Raspberry Trick still had a double feeling when it came to launching the missile. He knew it was not what Doctor Goodman would have wanted, but he also knew it was necessary. To him, it was still the right thing to do. Raspberry Trick and General Johansson each stood at a large device with lots of lights, with about two yards between them, so no one person could fire the missile. Johansson looked at Trick, a cold, serious expression on his face. “Raspberry, I will give the sign, and then we both turn the keys and hold them for a few seconds. Got that?” “Roger,” Trick said. Johansson nodded. “Very well. When this light here burns, we both head over to the control panel, and see if something happens.” “Yes sir.” Johansson looked at Raspberry, as he put the key in the keyhole. Raspberry did the same. Johansson turned the key. So did Raspberry. One… Two… A little bell rang. Raspberry saw one green light spring to life. “Launch enabled!” Despite the fact that he knew it would work, Johansson smiled. “Good. All we need to do now is watch and wait.” He turned away from the keyhole and grabbed a bureau chair, sitting down next to Triggerhoof behind the control panel. The panel had six lights, each one representing one step of the launching procedure. None of them was lit. There they sat, waiting, watching. They looked as if they were watching an exciting football match, and as if they waited for one long-expected goal. Another light sprang on; ‘power.’ Or maybe they looked like movie enthusiasts, eagerly waiting for the movie to start and get drenched in the action and spectacle. That might be a more accurate simile, because the nuclear missile would certainly make for a lot of action and spectacle. Another light; ‘silo soft.’ The silo doors had opened, allowing the dog to escape its pen. A fourth light; ‘guidance go.’ The missile’s guiding system had received the coordinates and was ready to direct the doom to the right place. Another light; ‘main engine start.’ Despite the fact that the walls of the silo were made of soundproof material, Raspberry Trick and General Johansson felt the vibrations. They had ignition. The final light flashed on; ‘lift off.’ The rumbling stopped. The alarms stopped. The emergency lights died, and so did the Russians. “Did… did we do it?” Trick asked carefully, as if the missile might come back and bust the bunker they were in. General Johansson grabbed the pony’s head. Their foreheads bumped softly against each other. “Yes, we did it.” ** “General! We have incoming!” General Dovchenko looked out of his window. He couldn’t see anything in the skies. “On the radar, General, on the radar!” They had—with lots of pain and effort—managed to get the powerful long-distance radar working, when they settled in the radioactive missile silo. General Dovchenko had been more than pleased, and had smiled at the irony that they now owned a weapon that belonged to the Americans. Now he could compare missiles. The only downside was that they had to wear suits inside the bunker as well, and couldn’t stay there for long. The general knew this was but a temporary base, but he vowed not to leave until he had figured out the launch codes. So far, they had come up empty. The general stood up and walked over to his radar operator. “What the hell is that?!” The radar operator tried to press a button, but his shaky hands wouldn’t let him. “I-I-It’s moving so fast. I-I-It’s flying so high!” General Dovchenko moved away from his operator, a bit annoyed by the man’s breaking nerves. “Well, if it flies, we can shoot it out of the air. Maybe it’s a spy plane, like a drone or so or so. Men, prepare the anti-aircraft missiles. We’re gonna take that thing down. Period.” “GENERAL!” Dovchenko jumped at the sudden outcry, and turned around. “What is it!” “I-I-It’s coming down! We cannot possibly hit it on time.” The general wanted to slap the man in the face and tell him to man up, but then he looked at the display, and fell strangely silent. That wasn’t like the general. Normally he would curse or scream or take disciplinary action. The silence put the operator on edge. “G-G-General. What is it?” Dovchenko slowly reached up, grabbed his cap, and held it tightly against his chest. He realized what it was. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know why, he only knew there was a nuclear missile heading straight for them. “We fight and die for a cause. But today, we die and die for a cause.” ** “…That’s right people, a nuclear detonation on Ground Zero! Eyewitnesses say they saw an enormous ball of light, and a cloud like a blooming mushroom reach for the sky. The explosion could be seen on the other side of the Aurora crater. After interviewing our own Filthy Rich, he said he had no idea what the explosion could have been. He also stated that it had nothing to do with the mission of the four mares. “Well, I can tell you that I absolutely don’t know if it has really been launched and obliterated its target, or that something else happened, like an accidental meltdown of an old powerplant, or a warhead that accidentally exploded. Let us all hope it is either option two or option three. The last thing this world needs is more candles of life snuffed out by nuclear fire. “We will later bring up a report from our high-powered Geiger counters to see if any radioactive fallout will—” Raspberry Trick turned the radio off. Although Johansson was jolly, the launching of the missile left a queasy feeling in Triggerhoof’s stomach.